Being in Tokyo

As I mentioned before, Kristie and I spent a week in Tokyo, Japan,
during the beginning of December. I went to a Technology conference
there, while Kristie was the tourist.

Is it bad to say that my favorite part was visiting the Apple Store in
Ginza? It has four floors, you know.

Click here to see more pictures of our Tokyo trip.

China

See more China pictures here

We returned from China without incident. No Communist guards, no chasing, no prisons. The worst part of it all was that our tour took us to a jade factory, silk factory, and pearl factory. And if you think that is fun...

The best part of last week's trip was clearly the Great Wall. It was great. (I'm sure I am the first to make such a joke). It was an arduous climb, quite steep in many places, but it was the most enjoyable part of the trip. It was a spectacular sight.

It was a quick four days, and the lesson I learned is to not take an organized tour with a large group of co-workers. If they annoy you at work, guess what four long, tired days can do to a relationship. I'm exaggerating. Sort of.

In this group of pictures, I'm not going to try to explain them because I have forgotten what some of these things are. The Wall is obvious. If you haven't seen Kristie's pictures of China, go to her website at www.kristiecoiaphotography.com/proofs/china . She has a different set of photos than I do. She captures finer details; I took pictures of toilets. You'll see why I picked her as my favorite photographer.

The shopping on the street was an extreme sport. Vendors scream and chase and grab you to buy their knockoff products. We both bought jackets there, but it was a terrible experience. The haggling is part of it, but it is too much work. I offered $10 to her $120. She handed me a calculator and said, "Give real price, not jokey price" (please add stereotyped inflection here). "Jokey price" was my favorite phrase of the trip, saying it to the point of annoying Kristie. We got the jackets for $20 after some chasing, grabbing, and yelling. She told me that I made her cry and "she no like me, but like wife." It was the most intense place I've been (the Silk Alley Market, not Beijing as a whole), and I'm not eager to return.

Bootleg DVD's abound here. Any DVD for 89 cents. I'm not saying it's legal, it's just the way it is. There are stores for bootlegs. They are well-lit, and have salesmen approach and ask if they can help. I was handed a basket as I browsed through thousands of titles, many still playing in theaters in the States. A teacher I went with bought $300 worth, and they even gave him a receipt. I don't think anyone pays much attention to that FBI warning at the start of the movies.

I bought a set of lefty golf clubs there that are imitation Calloway's, and customs had a problem with them. I got through, but had a lecture on bringing counterfeit goods into Korea. I just needed a left-handed set; I don't know the difference between Calloway and K-Mart. OK, I do know the difference, but you understand my point.

I'm in Tokyo now. We got in yesterday at 5 pm, and now I'm waiting for Kristie to wake up so we can go exploring. My first stop is the Apple Store. Then Starbucks. Then, I maybe the Gap. I'm really trying to experience Japanese culture.

Thanks for letting me bore you with China pictures. I'll soon bore you with Japanese pictures.

Ron

Dogs, Soviets, and the Great Wall

We are settling into our apartment just fine. Still lots of unopened boxes, but now we have a room to store the stuff and our motivation weakened. Aslan is enjoying herself. There is a park next door, so we go there to toss the ball around for her. In general, Koreans are afraid of dogs bigger than a handbag, so most run when they see her. Yes, they run in the opposite direction. Some scream. I met a woman at the park and talked to her about this. She said that the reason for it is that since the dogs learn commands in English, they think the dog won't stop attacking when they say "No" in Korean. They are discriminating against my dog because she doesn't speak Korean! It's as if they think that all Americans train their dogs to attack little Asian kids. There is a school nearby, so lots of kids are around, and I try to get them to pet Aslan to not be afraid of "American" dogs. Some enjoy throwing the ball for her to retrieve. Others cry. Perhaps I'm perpetuating an unfounded fear.

Our Itinerary
Kristie and I are going to Beijing, China, over Thanksgiving. We are leaving on Thanksgiving morning and returning on Sunday evening. We are excited. It's hard to believe that I'll be on the Great Wall in two days. I want a picture of me climbing the wall and getting chased by Communist guards. That'll make a fine Christmas card.

The school is sending me to Tokyo for a technology conference on December 6-10. They pay for everything; we just buy Kristie's airline ticket for her to go also.

Over Christmas break, we are going to Hawaii for a week.

I knew that we would travel, but I didn't expect so much so soon.

Teaching
Teaching at Osan has been going well. The kids are, overall, pretty good. For classes, I teach English, U.S. History, and Psychology. I am the National Honor Society sponsor, as well as the literary magazine director. I've made four kids cry so far, and it's only second quarter.

Here's my best story: we had a unit on the Civil War which included reading, discussions, videos, etc. Lots of talk on several of the angles. They took a test on it last week with one of the questions being as follows:

____________ surrendered to ________________ to end the war.

Put in your own answer. The South surrendered to the North, Lee surrendered to Grant, whatever. One student filled it in like this:

The North surrendered to the Soviets to end the war.

I suppose that's expected when the school makes an English teacher teach History.


Here's how to call us from the States. 011-8231-667-4046.

That's all for now.

Ron and Kristie
(and the soon-to-be Korean-speaking Aslan)

My Letter to Michael Moore

Michael Moore,

Can you at least admit that you were wrong about what this country overwhelmingly wants? The polls show that. It seems that you (and others on the losing side) cannot even admit that this is the beauty of democracy: the people choose. Now, rather than accepting that Voice, you have to make excuses and attempt to diminish that Voice.

You had your voice with your documentary. People listened. I listened. I even showed bits of it to my U.S. History class. I love the fact that I live in a country in which you have the right to attack a sitting president. You were as sure as you were smug that victory was guaranteed. I can't help but suspect that you had your talking-head bit planned to recite when asked by reporters on your opinion of "the part Fahrenheit 9/11 played in electing John Kerry." I can also suspect that you realize your Best-Picture hopes were also dashed on November 3rd. How will a movie about the "ficticious" presidency of George Bush win in light the numbers and all that red on the map behind Peter Jennings's head?

Can't you admit that John Kerry lost fair and square? In light of noodles and underwear giveaways, can't you admit that you lost as well? Be as gracious and honest as John Kerry was and admit it. People in this country lean farther away from you than you care to realize. I'm not asking for you to write about how your opinions on politics were wrong. I guess I want to hear that you opinions about the political pulse of this country were wrong.

On November 3rd, 200 people in Portland, Oregon, (my state) "protested." Protested what? Fair and legal elections? Democracy? Their candidate didn't win? This seems a bit silly to me. I understand disappointment, but this seems too much. And misplaced. Get your cameras and make a new documentary about that. The great "Uprising" that took place after Bush won. When will it stop? When will people on your side be willing to accept the results? I know that your easy answer is "when Bush is gone." But is this really just about Bush? Honestly? Isn't it about squelching a Voice that differs from one's own. It seems that as a Conservative, I am automatically your enemy in your eyes and on your site and in your speaking engagements. Anything I say if automatically discounted and demonized through that filter. My voice is part of the bigger Voice that was heard on Tuesday. You need not agree with it; but you should agree that it was the Voice heard and chorused by many. And it won.

Part of the unifying of this "divided country" we hear so much about lately is for you to tolerate an opposing viewpoint. Tolerance begins with acceptance.

Respectfully,

Ron Coia

Kristie Arrives Today

In case you didn't already know, Kristie arrives in Seoul in a few hours. I'm excited, but also a bit nervous. Isn't that strange? Maybe I'm afraid she won't like me anymore since I've gained about 110 lbs of kimchee weight, and I've tattooed the Korean flag on my back.

Korea puts a man through many changes.

I saw "Bring it On" twice, you know

Strange Moment of the Week
A few girls from one of my classes asked me to be the sponsor for the cheerleading squad. I laughed. What is this? Last year, I was approached to be the sponsor for the Hip-Hop Dance Club. Perhaps I exude an air of rhythm and fancy footwork, but I don’t realize it. It is possible that while I’m explaining semicolons or metaphors, there is some kid in the back thinking, “Boy, I bet that guy really has some moves. It’s too bad he can’t help us win the All-State Competition next month.”

Maybe I’m in the wrong profession. It is funny to picture me involved with cheerleading. Maybe I can be the guy that all of the girls throw up in the air. I’ll do a few backflips, then land with some brilliant flourish. I’m small-framed, so I could theoretically do that. No, I doubt the sponsors get involved with the tosses. I could, though, try to teach a difficult move that I know the girls couldn’t perform. I’ll throw my clipboard down in mock-frustration and say, “OK, girls, let me show you how it’s done. Put me up.” After several mid-air tumbles, the applause¬–and their hopes for winning the competition–would rise and fill the gymnasium.

I said no, I cannot be the sponsor for the team. I just can’t bear to think about the looks on their faces if they didn’t win State. They would have worked too hard to lose. I’ll practice my tumbles and think about next year.

Breakfast and the ATM

(currently listening to a conversation about teachers)
I walked to base to have breakfast. I still haven’t found a Korean place that serves eggs. I’m not interested in kimchee for breakfast. I stopped at the base bank to withdraw some cash. As I was leaving the ATM, a woman stopped me and gesticulated toward the machine. She motioned to me that she wanted help to withdraw $500.00 from her checking account. She demonstrated this by “writing” the amount on the machine edge. I helped and entered the amount. By this time, I realized that she not only didn’t speak English, she was also deaf. We finished that transaction, and she needed help with another card. She wrote on the machine that she needed $400.00 from another card, this time savings. She was very kind and thankful for my assistance.

I thought about how hard it would be to be in an environment with a language that you do not speak as well as being deaf. It put perspective into being an outsider.

My musing ended when I started to think that I could have been helping her in some illegal activity. Security police won’t be interested in my thoughts on being an outsider.

Living Without Living

(currently listening to The Minus 5)
I just returned from seeing “Collateral.” Even if you haven’t seen it, you probably know the premise: Tom Cruise plays a hit man who forces Jamie Foxx to drive him around the city. The main story is mediocre, typical bad huy-good good chases and gunshots. However, there is another story working that I enjoyed far more. Jamie Foxx’s Max is paralyzed with not doing what he wants, and he convinced himself that the past twelve years of driving taxis is a temporary job. Vincent chides him for not doing that which he really wants. While Max criticizes Vincent for senseless killing, Vincent makes a case for existentialism in that nothing really matters. Killing a man in an apartment is no different than 10,000 Rwandans dying in one day. Nobody notices. They both criticize the other for not really living: Vincent in his morally corrupt occupation, Max in his dead-end one.

I could continue, but this is not a movie review. I felt a connection to this message of living without living. I have been inwardly complaining about some aspects of my current situation here in Korea. As the sign states on the subway in the concluding scene in the movie, “Life is too short.”

Seventeen Years Ago

Seventeen years ago today, I left home to join the Air Force. I have forgotten so many of the details on that trip, but what I do remember is that I felt a bit like an adult. I had a suitcase and a plane ticket, both very grown-up items.

I usually remember this date. This year is different. I left seventeen years ago when I was seventeen. I have lived outside of Rhode Island as long as I lived in it. A turning point. Equal. Halved. It’s like the glass that caused debate on its fullness or emptiness.

The Outsider

Today is another day of questioning this decision. I am an outsider here is many ways, and it is uncomfortable. Being an outsider among Koreans is the easy, expected one. I think I can deal with being an American how doesn’t speak Korean; I’ve played a similar role when I lived in Germany. Being an outsider in the local economy is nothing new. Sure it’s uncomfortable, but in a fun way. Far worse than that is how I feel as an outsider with the other teachers at the high school. Ever since I have arrived, I felt passed over by others as if I had blood on my door. I am not receiving the same treatment I think the others are getting from the established teachers. I can’t explain it, but it appears that I am being ignored. I felt a similar feeling when I arrived at Clackamas, but that is so much different. Here, I need people to help me, rather than simply making friends. With the exception of a few people, the staff doesn’t seem interested in getting to know me. I’m not looking for a sleepover invitation for Christmas morn, just a few kind words. The principal knows little about me (she talked about the school’s strengths the entire time) and hasn’t tried. I was in her office on Monday to have a chat, but she talked about how great Osan High School is.

If one more person tells me that Osan’s students are the best, and how I’ll never have an experience like this again, and whatever other cult-sounding phrases I have heard more times than I’ve seen trash in the streets, I’m going to scream.

The Church Visit

I visited the local American church, Mission Baptist Church with unfavorable results. It was the standard blend-it-all-together-so-that-a-message-is-difficult-to-see type of place. I walked to the church and sat in the back. The pastor beelined his way to me with a heavy southern drawl in tow and let me know that he “was so happy that I could visit today.” The associate pastor (I immediately knew that he was the associate pastor because his drawl was inferior to the first guy) followed up to greet the poor wanderer who came in from the wilderness. A Korean couple sat next to meet, but we carefully avoid eye and physical contact.

Here’s the measure of a church, plain and simple. This is the yardstick in which everything else is measured: how does a church welcome visitors. If the pastor stands up and gives a warm, toothy greeting to people who made it in for the first time, then that is a church I’m eager to continue learning about. If the pastor in any way makes me stand up in front of 100 other people to say my name, then I will not go back. In this simple test lies the heart and soul of sound doctrine. I think you already know which church this is.

During the pleading to stand and introduce yourself to a crowd of people who will not even attempt a stab at memorizing your name, I sat silent. But, they had these damned name tags. I didn’t have one so that labeled me. My bare chest was my Star of David awaiting persecution. The Korean lady turned to me and said, “Is this your first time?” I nodded, then she said, “You can stand up and introduce yourself.” I said, “No thank you,” as if she offered me another helping of chimsee. “Go ahead,” she urged. I replied, “I don’t want to.” She then broke all kinds of social ettiqutte when she waved to the back at the pastor while tapping me on the back with her other hand. She was flagging down the head pastor as if it the Gospel Ship was leaving station and she was in the snack bar. I turned to her and in my mean-yet-quiet voice said, “Please stop that.” She followed my command and faced forward looking for other visitors.

We shook hands during the greeting part of the service (that was after eviscerated choruses and before the sermon on “Great Leaders are Humble Servants”), but continued avoiding each other. After the final greeting was pronounced, I turned left out of the pew and headed for the exit door. She called out to me, “See you next Sunday.” I cursed with my smile.

Seat 14J to Seoul, Korea

I’m in seat 14J in Business Class behind a set of rambunctious twins around five. Why are they up here? They belong in Economy torturing those saps back there. Perhaps a more fitting question is why am I up here? Not in Business Class in front of the behind-the-curtain seats(mileage upgrade), but why am I am a plane going to Korea, a country of which I know nothing? I’m leaving a group of friends that I greatly enjoy, a city that has become my home over the past 13 years, a teaching position that I felt I was really growing into, not to mention leaving my wife behind for three months. Kristie and I talk about how these last couple of years have been our happiest days; we are contented by our current life, not grumbling about needed a change from work, the weather, or people. So I’ll ask once again, why am I sitting in 14J next to Alfred the German software company vice president filling out custom forms watching the brats throw the United Comfort Pack around in their overstuffed chairs?

I don’t know.

At times, I’m a hypocrite. I like to think that I one of those adventurous types, wanting to travel and see and experience. That’s what I tell my Rhode Island people back there. I left Rhode Island when I was 17 to join the Air Force. I never thought that I was an adventurous before that, I just wanted to do something cool. As I told many times since, that plane trip to San Antonio, Texas, began an altered course for my life. It was a trajectory that took me far away from the ordinary. Let me go back to my blatant hypocrisy: I am pretty ordinary. I like being a home with Kristie and I shy away from major disruptions in my routine. As Kristie or other close friends can attest, I become out-of-sorts during major moves, decisions, or even projects around the house. I’m afraid of all the aspects that can go wrong. Even as I type, I fear the problems in getting a house in Korea, Kristie not being able to rent out our own house, Aslan being able to get enough exercise, etc.

I think the reason I like the unknown future is because I’m uncertain and afraid of it. It’s a titillating feeling that could be psychopathically deviant if it were applied to other areas of life. The uncertainty is alluring to me. The fact that I don’t know anything about the country in which I’m going to live for two years, or whether I’ll enjoy the new school, or if I’ll make some good friends makes this one of those trajectory points. I’m not sure what my opinion of Korea will be in two years, but I’m quite certain that the path of our lives will be altered some. A slight angle at the point of trajectory will, of course, grow into a larger angle as the line lengthens. If this were Math class, a diagram would help.

The brats are watching Garfield: The Movie. I even dislike their movie choice. Enough of that. The flight attendant brought a dish of warm nuts and a glass of Merlot, the humble offerings of a new trajectory.