Anybody else catch the season finale of the Bachelorette?  It was reality TV at its cheesiest, trashiest, yet vulnerably compelling best as Ashley and the bachelor with the shaved head got hot n’ heavy to the refrains of REO Speedwagon.  It didn’t bring me to tears or anything, but I had to admit, I let out the littlest of sighs.

But the happy, gooey ending wasn’t the most moving part of the show.  It was actually what happened when sweet, little Ashley had to break the heart of the Rafael Nadal-lookalike bachelor (sorry, the only guy whose name I can remember with certainty is… you guessed it, Bentley, aka the Evil Snake).  It was a must-see, trainwreck TV moment, and Rafael’s pain and anger reached poetic heights as he paraphrased a classic line from the oh-so-not-a-classic film “Cocktail”:  “Things don’t end unless they end badly.”  Well said, Rafa, well said.  I was honestly moved; oh, the power of words…

Anyhow, speaking of endings, it’s my last week here in California before I am to return to Korea (apparently, I chose a good time to come; according to one student who left a comment on my Cyworld page, it’s been raining for 23 days).  The last three weeks have pretty much floated on by, with me perpetually happy, hazy, and lazy, only coming out of my fluffy stupor for bike riding and trips to the gym.  My 3 goals for my American month were to work on my novel, set up lesson plans for next semester, and get back into shape.  Well…  Let’s just say my biceps have become nicely toned, and leave it at that.

In my (weak) defense, I should say that I find it hard to write my novel while outside of Korea.  And as for the lesson plans, I’ll still have 4 weeks left before the semester begins once I get back, so I’ll be working my behind off during that time.  I’ll have to.  I plan on actually having a life outside of work starting from this semester (choir, writing group, an actual social life), and that’s just not going to happen unless I get my lessons set up in advance.  Like they say, “Do you live to work, or do you work to live?”

Anyhow, let’s return to our Top 101 Countdown now, where we come to the highest-charting country song:  Wynonna Judd’s “She Is His Only Need.”  I first heard this song when Wynonna visited Rosie O’Donnell’s old daytime talk show, and Rosie specifically requested this song, saying that it made her cry every time.  It’s basically about a guy who loves a lass named Bonnie so much that he spends his whole life giving her everything she wants and loving her unconditionally without a single cross moment or a word of complaint.  In other words, a guy found only in a country song.  But, oh, what a song…

Every once in a while, you could see him get up

 and he’d head downtown

Cause he heard about something she wanted

and it just had to be found

21. She Is His Only Need – Wynonna

Well, I’m back.  How’ve you all been?

As for me, I’ve dedicated the last several months of my life to being the best university teacher (I don’t feel comfortable calling myself a professor without a ph.D) that I can be.  Ultimately, I’m proud to say that I can call my first semester a fairly roaring success.  I got to look at my students’ evaluations this week, and they were quite splendid, if I can say so myself, and it made all the hard work worthwhile.  Now I get two months off (paid, oh yeah!) to recharge my batteries, get back to work on my novel-to-be, return to the gym, and just decompress all around.

And of course, I now have some time to return to my Countdown.  And today’s return entry takes us back to 1990, a time when an Irish lass with a shaved head crashed into the pop culture landscape in a big, incendiary way.  That lass is of course the one and only Sinead O’ Connor.

Armed with an emotion-packed voice and a penchant for confrontation (the “enemies” she took on ranged from MC Hammer to Frank Sinatra to the Pope!!!), she caused a lot of trouble and brought on a hailstorm of criticism upon herself.  But now twenty years have gone by, and what remains more than anything is her music.  And no matter what you may have thought of her back then, I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got remains a timeless masterpiece, an album brimming with strength, pain, and intelligence, highlighted by “Nothing Compares 2 U,” a song that would have been kitschy by almost any other artist.  Miraculously, Sinead dug deep within her personal pain to turn Prince’s bordering-on-silly lyrics into a primal howl of pain.  It’s a song from a wounded animal, singing from a place of honesty where only those who have nothing left to lose roam.

I went to a doctor, and guess what he told me

He said, Girl you better try to have some fun

But he’s a fool

Cause nothing compares to you

22. Nothing Compares 2 U – Sinead O’Connor

One of my favorite novels is “The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter” by Carson McCullers.  No one did heartbreak and unreciprocated love better than Ms. McCullers.  But one of the most poignant passages in that book isn’t about romance at all.  It concerns a young girl who is precocious and talented and hears “music around her all the time” (I’m paraphrasing from memory) but has to go to work at a store to support her family and then with time, the music goes away for good.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about this happening to me.  I’m not making big claims about my writing talent (although I do at the core believe in it), but my mind was always buzzing, and I was devoted to writing.  But now I’m not.  I’m working or thinking about work almost 24-7. 

But I have to keep believing in my talent and that it will be there waiting for me when I call out to it.  You’ve gotta have belief, no matter what the odds may be.  Like Billy Vera here pleading with the girl he loves, even though he knows she’s already gone.  He knows it’s pretty much hopeless, but he knows he’s gotta try…

If you stay, I’d subtract twenty years from my life

23. At This Moment – Billy Vera & the Beaters

Next week is Midterms Week at my university, which means I’ve just about reached the halfway mark of the semester.  It’s all been a blur and a whirlwind–blurwind?–of work, work, and more work.  But it’s all good.  I’m pushing through everything and seeing where it takes me.  So bring it on.  Make the beats go harder…

24. Push It – Garbage

Okay, if you haven’t died from laughing yet, let me explain.  Some time ago, I read a book called The Know-It-All in which the author chronicled his thoughts as he read through all the volumes of the Encyclopedia Brittanica.  It was a pretty cool book, both irreverent and informative, but what really jumped out at me was the part in which the author joined Mensa and atteneded a member’s meeting to see if all his newly gained knowledge would allow him to hobnob with geniuses. 

The reason this part caught my attention so much is that he mentioned that you could get into Mensa using your old SAT scores.  Now I was pretty much a screw-up academically in high school (I wouldn’t get my act together until community college), but I still managed to do pretty well on the SATs, scoring a 1410 (620 Verbal, 790 Math).  Actually, even before that, I did even better on the PSATs, scoring 1420 (620 Verbal, a perfect 800 on Math), and so I got my picture in our high school newspaper with three other students as our scores all automatically qualified us to be National Merit Semifinalists.  It really was ridiculous, because there I was standing next to three honor students while I was rocking something like a 2.5 GPA.  The news came as such a shock to my accounting teacher, Mr. Berens, that he told another class (as one of my friends later told me) that he couldn’t even BELIEVE that I could’ve scored so high.  I remember feeling really down when I heard that and I still think it was unnecessarily mean, but in retrospect, I guess I couldn’t blame him TOO much, since I was getting a D in his class.

But anyhow, after I read the book, I looked up the Mensa website, and yup, my scores qualified me to become a member.  So I ordered a copy of my scores from the College Board, sent them off to Mensa along with a check for $100-plus for membership dues and score verification, and boom, now I’m an official card-carrying member of Mensa.

I can’t say that I didn’t have moral qualms about applying.  I mean, I’m not so self-deluded to think that I wanted to be a member “just for myself.”  If I had to swear a vow of secrecy and never reveal my memberhood to a single soul, you better believe I wouldn’t have signed that check.  People always go on about how you shouldn’t care what other people think, but the fact is, yeah, I DO care for the most part.  And maybe a part of it comes from living in Korea and some people here thinking that I’m not all that bright due to my limited Korean vocabulary.  I also have an abhorrence for talking “big” and self-aggrandizement (seriously, if I found the cure for cancer, I’d have to ask someone else to take the credit, because I’d never be able to say the words, “Oh, I have the cure for cancer”).  So it’s kind of nice to have the Mensa card just as a kind of assurance.  Right now, I’ll take any I can get!

A whole lot’s happened.  To make a long story short, my life’s become UNIVERSITIFIED, UNIVERSITALIZED, and UNIVERSITILICIOUS.  Yes, it’s been the comeback that everyone… okay, a few… all right, just me, and even me not all that much… has been waiting for:  TOMMYLAND, THE COLLEGE VERSION!!!

Yup, I’m teaching full-time again, this time at a Korean university, and it’s pretty much taken over all life.  In the last several weeks, my life has gone from “sleep, eat, nap, eat, do some writing, eat, and sleep” to “teach, prep, grade, counsel, and collapse in bed for a few Zs before that dreaded alarm clock sounds.” 

It’s been tough, I can’t lie.  I’m teaching 12-13 hours a week over four days (M-Th), which might sounds nice, but the lesson prepping’s been an absolute killer.  I really, desperately want to do a good job and do right by my classes (teach them something but also keep things enjoyable), and I’m giving my all here.   By the time I’m done with my last class on Thursday, I feel exhausted and pretty much numb.  And relieved, extremely relieved that everything’s gone okay.

And that’s the good side.  Things ARE rolling alone nicely.  As of now, three weeks into the semester, I have managed to find my rhythm.  I’ve developed a nice rapport with the students; I now know what I want to teach for each class; I’ve come up with my classroom rules and grading policies; the other teachers and I are getting along well; and as draining as the work has been, it’s also been incredibly rewarding.  Ultimately, hard work pays off in just about every situation.  I’ve been able to get the ball rolling.  Now I just have to keep pushing and make sure it stays rolling.  Right now is the toughest time for all of us new teachers since we’re all figuring things out as we’re going along and we’re all developing class materials and lesson plans completely from scratch.  It’s our pay-your-dues semester.

Bottom line:  Like the wise Tim Gunn says, I’ve just gotta make it work.  And the only way to make things to work is to work yourself.  And that’s what I’m doing.

–TWO FIREFLIES (for H.S.W.)–

Under the lamppost there now lies

Brittle remains of two fireflies

Their lights faded, their wings grown still

They do not move, they never will

But there in the previous night

You would have seen a golden light

They shone to see each other fly

Under the lamppost they now lie

–T.K.

First of all, Happy Valentine’s Day!  A day for love and romance or crass commercialism at its disgusting worst?  You decide.

Anyhow, I’ve spent the last ten days or so on a big movie kick.  Specifically, I’ve been watching the films up for the upcoming Academy Awards.  It all started when I kept hearing all the hype surrounding The Social Network and The King’s Speech, and I was curious to see which one I would like better.  And once I got my answer (see below), I figured I’d go ahead and watch the rest of the nominees to get fully Oscar-ized.  The only Best Picture nominee I decided to skip was Toy Story 3, as I’m not particularly big on animation (aside from The Simpsons, Galaxy Express 999, and Dumbo, which brought me to tears as a boy), and I didn’t want to have to watch through Parts 1&2.  So with no more ado, here are my thoughts and ruminations on the rest of the Best Picture nominees along with a couple more that are up for acting awards:

**Alert:  Yes, there are likely to be spoilers**

INCEPTION:  One of the three films I actually watched in a theater in 2010 (along with Salt & Eat Drink and Pray), and it was easily the best of the lot.  I usually end up finding big-budget, special effects-laden movies to be silly and paper-thin in terms of story, but this one was a welcome exception, successfully combining a complex, multi-faceted plot that challenges our notions of reality with action sequences that managed to be cool without patronizingly cartoonish.  Add in great acting performances all around (esp. from Mr. Dicaprio & Marion Cotillard, who I think should’ve WON for Best Supporting Actress but wasn’t even nominated) and a what-the-hellishly ambiguous ending (though I’m firmly in the “It began to wobble, so it must’ve fallen” camp), and it’s a great achievement all around.  TOMMYLAND GRADE=B+.

THE SOCIAL NETWORK:  Yes, this story about the origins of Facebook is well-constructed and well-acted (especially by the guy who played Marcus Zuckerberg), but I found it too cool for its own good.  Basically, I didn’t find myself caring about any of the characters, all of whom were clever, privileged, and intelligent but never displayed much humanity or sense of caring about anything besides themselves.  Ultimately, betrayal or not, they all ended up millionaires (billionaires?), and I found the whole thing just as impersonal and flippant as I often find Facebook itself.  TOMMYLAND GRADE=C.

THE KING’S SPEECH:  Surely the least epic film ever made about a king, and that sense of intimacy helps the movie succeed quite well in its quite modest goals.  Basically, royalty or not, it’s about a movie about a guy who tries to get over his stuttering problem, as simple as that.  Really, it’s not a whole lot different that “The Karate Kid,” with Colin Firth in the place of Ralph Macchio and Geoffrey Rush playing Mr. Miyagi.  The performances are really quite impeccable (Firth and Rush play off each other like virtuosos), and the story is pleasant and uplifting, but never quite provides that adrenaline rush of Daniel-san delivering his iconic crane kick.  TOMMYLAND GRADE=B.

THE BLACK SWAN:  This is an interesting one.  It’s really two movies thrown together in a cinematic blender.  One is a beautifully shot and acted character study on an artiste suffering for her work.  The other is a cheesy, campy thriller with an obligatory “shocking” ending that belongs on late-night cable.  The two parts are well-represented by two of its performances:  the first, by a never-smiling Natalie Portman who acts and dances with perfect precision throughout, and the second by a madcap, over-the-top Winona Ryder who camps it up with trashy, Mommie Dearest glee every time she appears.  It’s an odd mix all right, but it’s all so beautifully shot that I was buying into it right up to the final few scenes in which feathers began to sprout, blood began to flow, and any remaining sense of realism went out the window.  TOMMYLAND GRADE=B (Would’ve been an A with a more convincing ending).

127 Hours:  Poor guy.  Yikes.  Poor guy.  YIIIIKKKKEEESSSS!!!  Those are pretty much the only thoughts that ran through my mind as I watched this.  To put the story in a nutshell, James Franco (likable as always) gets his arm stuck under a rock while out exploring nature, suffers for the eponymous number of hours, then cuts his own arm with a cheap Swiss Army knife to finally escape (all based on a true story!).  It’s not usual film fare, and I’ve got to give the film credit for pulling it off (sorry, no pun intended), but I’m still not sure why anyone would willingly pay money to watch this.  TOMMYLAND GRADE=C.

THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT:  Ever watch “Little Miss Sunshine”? (If you haven’t, I definitely recommend it)  This one’s got a very similar vibe with another likable yet mildy dysfunctional family.  Annette Bening and Julianne Moore are lesbian moms raising two teenagers, and then they come in contact with the guy who donated the sperm that spawned the two kids, which causes all kinds of trouble for the family.  It’s a fun, highly watchable film, but really, it’s all fairly standard (almost sitcom-ish at times) and nothing particularly new, lesbians or not.  In fact, the plot’s almost identical to Down and Out in Beverly Hills, in which a rich family “adopts” a homeless Nick Nolte, who unintentionally raises similar havoc in their lives.  Also, I’m a bit puzzled by all the praise being heaped on Annette Bening.  I thought she was good but didn’t have to do a whole lot; just speaking in a lower-than-normal voice and then act sad when she finds out her wife is having an affair with the sperm donor.  I don’t know; I didn’t even think she was the best actress in the film, as I found Julianne Moore more convincing.  I also didn’t care much for the ending and how shabbily the sperm donor character was dealt with (it’s not like he forced Moore to have an affair with him).  TOMMYLAND GRADE=B-.

THE FIGHTER:  Okay, now we’re talking.  This film is about a small-time boxer and his dysfunctional family, and it was the first one on the list that I found myself completely engrossed by.  And I even hate boxing!  But this film, like most boxing films, really uses the “sport” as an allegory for Man and Life, how we all have to suffer, and often bleed, to make our dreams into reality.  The acting by everyone in the cast is pitch perfect (by everyone from Marky Mark to the Handbag Girl from The Office!), and every scene feels so darn real.  Unfortunately, I was disappointed by the Rocky-esque ending, the only part that came off remotely cliched, but seeing that it was based on a true story and that’s what really happened, I couldn’t blame the movie too much. (In many ways, it reminded me of “The Wrestler,” which was even better)  TOMMYLAND GRADE=A-.

TRUE GRIT=I don’t really like Westerns, and this one didn’t change my opinion one iota.  It’s kind of like “The Kids Are All Right” in that aside from one twist, the basic story is one that’s been told time and time before.  Here, the twist is that the main character is a 14 year-old girl who’s trying to get a cowboy bounty hunter to find the villain that killed her father.  It was all fine as Westerns go, I guess, and I thought that the young girl gave one heck of a performance (movies need more girl characters like her), but I just couldn’t get into it.  And I don’t think Jeff Bridges should’ve been nominated for Best Actor; all he had to do was act “grizzly”!  TOMMYLAND GRADE=C-.

WINTER’S BONE:  I had never heard of Jennifer Lawrence, but wow, she made one heck of an impression.  She, like this movie, knows when to let silence tell the story.  The movie is about a teenaged girl living in a drug-addled community supporting her crazy mother and her younger siblings whose methhead father goes missing.  To keep the family from being evicted from their house (the father had put up the house for his bail bond), she has to somehow find him, dead or alive.  This is easily the bleakest film here (yes, even bleaker than the story about James Franco’s arm) with little hope or beauty found anywhere, but what IS there is the strength found in the human will to survive, and to help those we love to survive along with us.  It’s about being heroic in the best way possible, quietly and without a touch of self-aggrandizement.  TOMMYLAND GRADE=B+.

RABBIT HOLE:  This one’s not nominated for Best Picture, but Nicole Kidman is up for Best Actress, and deservedly so.  It must be tempting to get all mushy and dramatic when you’re playing a mother grieving the loss of a child, but she knows when and when not to pull the emotional trigger, making her performance all that more touching.  Unfortunately, the rest of the cast doesn’t really match up.  Aaron Eckhart is just okay, and the young guy who plays the driver who accidentally hit Nicole’s son gives such a lumpy performance that I’m surprised Nicole didn’t slap him and yell, “Can’t you even TRY to keep up with what I’m doing?”  TOMMYLAND GRADE=B-.

BLUE VALENTINE:  Again, not a Best Picture nominee, but Michelle Williams is up for Best Actress, and I really wanted to watch this as I’m a sucker for movies about relationships gone bad.  And really, that’s pretty much all there is to this story:  Boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love and get married, and then boy and girl start emotionally destroying each other little by little shortly thereafter.  It’s all very simple, but it’s also the most devastating movie I’ve seen since Schindler’s List.  Nothing really huge happens in the film, no big “twist,” no big fireworks, no happy ending with a chase to the airport or any other rom-com cliche.  It’s just one scene that leads into the next, each offering us a layer of how this couple fell in love and how far apart they’ve grown despite both being good, decent people underneath.  It’s sad, sad, sad, but oh so real, real, real, and I loved every minute of it.  Would I recommend it as a Valentine Day’s movie to watch with your significant other?  No, not unless you’re in the mood to break up with that person.  Still, for me, it was the best movie on this list, and my favorite film of 2010.  TOMMYLAND GRADE=A.

Best Picture Pick:  THE FIGHTER (Too bad Blue Valentine wasn’t nominated, though.)

Best Director Pick:  CHRISTOPHER DOLAN (Inception was such a difficult movie to pull off with all its different facets, and he succeeded admirably.)

Best Actor:  COLIN FIRTH (I thought he was kind of overrated in the overwrought “Single Man,” but here, he brings humanity and vulnerability that can come from the burden of having more power than you think you deserve.)

Best Actress:  MICHELLE WILLIAMS (She doesn’t make one false, pandering move.)

Best Supporting Actor:  GEOFFREY RUSH (Restrained yet all the more powerful for it; just brilliant.) 

Best Supporting Actress:  THE GIRL FROM TRUE GRIT (She totally carried that film with her moxie and riot (cow)girl power; she really should’ve been nominated for Best Actress.)

Finally, here’s the song that’s used perfectly and heartbreakingly in Blue Valentine:

You and Me – Penny & the Quarters

Doo doo, just another Tuesday come and gone.  Well, actually, not quite.  Let me rewind the tape a little.

Having lived in South Korea for much of the last ten years, one of the places I’ve always meant to visit is the DMZ, the Demilitarized Zone between North and South Korea. Well, I was working on my novel last week when it hit me that the main character should visit the border for a number of symbolic reasons.  Of course, I couldn’t write about it without doing it myself.  So after a quick call to the American USO Office in Seoul, I was all set to visit one of the most notorious and volatile areas on the planet.

I got up at 5 A.M. this morning to be able to get to the USO by 7.  Once there, about 30 of us boarded a bus and headed up north towards the border.  Our guide was a young Korean woman in her early twenties who was pretty and perky and quite proficient-of not all the way fluent-in English.  (I’ll call her Janie.)

As we drove for about an hour and a half, the huge buildings of Seoul gradually disappeared, replaced by the Imjin River and the barbed wire fence that ran alongside it to prevent the North Koreans from crossing over it.  We soon crossed a short bridge called the Grand Unification Bridge and drove on to an army compound, which had the feel of a summer camp retreat, with small, dull-colored buildings scattered here and there, the only signs of life being the few soldiers standing at attention at checkpoints.

We got off the bus at a small building called the Visitor Briefging Center where an American soldier stepped up on stage and gave a historical overview of the Joint Security Area (JSA), where we would soon be visiting.  To clear up the various names, the DMZ refers to the area that runs 2 km north and 2 km south of the border, officially known as the Demarcation Line.  The JSA is the small, smack-in-the-middle part of the DMZ where North and South Korean officials have meetings and North and South Korean border guards virtually co-exist.   It’s about as tense an area as you can get, especially with crazy events such as the 1976 Axe Murder Incident when North Korean soldiers wielding axes attacked and killed American soldiers who were trimming down a tree in the JSA.  (The axe in question is now housed in the North Korean Peace Museum; apparently, irony is alive and well up north.)

After the presentation, it was time to see the JSA for ourselves.  We were escorted by the American soldier who warned us not to bring our bags into the JSA (in case North Koreans accuse us of trying to bring explosives in) and also not to try to communicate with or gesture towards the North Korean soldier we were likely to see on the other side of the JSA (in case we get accused of trying to antagonizing them).

The Smurf Blue Buildings of the JSA

We got off the bus and entered a big, gray building called the Freedom House, where meetings betweens North and South Korea sometimes take place.  Once we crossed the building, we came face to face with three small, sky blue buildings (each about the size of a mobile home) and then in the distance, a bigger, gray, multi-story building known as the Panmungak, North Korea’s main building in the area.  The one North Korean guard we could see was stationed in front of Panmungak’s door, dressed in a green uniform with red stripes on the shoulders.  I kept watching him and when we appeared, he took out a pair of binoculars and took a good look at us.  (I would love to know what went through his mind at that moment.)

Can you spot the North Korean soldier?

Our American soldier escort then led us to one of the sky blue buildings, the MAC (Military Armistice Commission) Conference Room, where talks take place between duty officers from both sides.  It’s basically your everyday conference room, dominated by a shiny lacquered wood table surrounded by chairs on both sides.  The crazy thing is, the table served as a microcosm of the border itself; when we crossed the table, we were officially in North Korean territory.  Also, there were two South Korean soldiers standing at guard, one standing near the table and one standing in front of the door on the opposite wall.  As it was explained to us, when North Korean tour groups visit the DMZ, they enter the same room, but the South Korean guards leave and are replaced by their North Korean counterparts, one of whom blocks the entrance that we came in.  It was just kind of mind-boggling to look at this room and this table-a nice table, but STILL!-and ponder the meaning of it all.  As some of us crossed the table, we noticed a dead bug of some kind lying on the floor.  Someone wisecracked, “It must have died while trying to defect.”

The Table

Soon, we said goodbye to the room and to the Korean guards (they never spoke, and our guide warned us not to touch them since “they will hit you”) and got back on the bus.  As we drove away, the American soldier pointed out where the Axe Murder Incident took place, and we also passed the Bridge of No Return where after the Korean War, POWs were given the choice to either cross and go to the other side or to stay where they were (apparently, the bridge is depicted in one of the James Bond movies, and I’m pretty sure it’s the bridge Angelina Jolie walks across to meet her husband in the beginning of “Salt”).

The Bridge of No Return--Once You Cross, You Could Never Go Back

We next drove on to the 3rd Infiltration Tunnel, one of the secret tunnels North Korea dug to get into South Korea for surprise attacks.  It’s not much to look at, basically just a short, rocky cave with a low ceiling (we all wore helmets, and I was never so happy that I wasn’t tall).

North Korea said they were just "coal mining." Riiiiiiiiight...

Afterwards, we went on to the Dora Observatory located on top of Dora Mountain, where we were theoretically supposed to get a grand view into North Korea, namely the Propaganda Village (where almost no one actually lives) and the ultra-high flagpole with the North Korean flag perpetually waving (in a classic case of phallic competition, the South Koreans outdid the original North Korean flagpole with a higher flagpole of their own, only to see the North Koreans come back and build a higher one still).  Well, that didn’t really happen in reality as the day was too hazy to see pretty much of anything aside from the humbled South Korean flagpole. 

After that, we moved on to the final place in our itineary:  Dorasan Station.  It’s pretty much your average rail station with the requisite lobby and counters and railroads and stop signs.  The only thing it’s missing is an actual train.  A few years back, a railroad between North and South Korea opened with great fanfare, and a train actually ran from Dorasan Station (the northernmost station in South Korea) to stations in North Korea for a little while.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t to last, and now the deserted station now plays host only to visiting tourists. 

Dorasan--A Stationary Station

Looking at the railroads heading up north to God-knows-what-it’s-like-over-there, I thought about all the things I saw today, and I don’t know, I can’t say that I came to any epiphany or some greater understanding of anything, really.  I think issues of North and South Korea, of war, of families torn apart for the rest of their lives, it’s all beyond the grasp of anyone who hasn’t experienced them firsthand.  The tour today was intriguing, interesting, and thought-provoking, yes, but for me to claim that they brought me any real insight into the Korean War and its aftermath would be pompous and asinine.  Ultimately, if today taught me anything, it was that there is so much that I do not know, so much that I cannot understand.  It was a completely humbling experience; that’s the best way I can describe it.  And really, I think it’s a good thing.  We all should be humbled every now and then; otherwise, we’d never strive to be more than what we are now.  So that is how I chose to leave the DMZ at the end of the day:  absolutely humbled, and utterly grateful for it.

So Which Way Now?

After a Friday night of soju and karaoke, a Saturday of sleeping it off, and a Sunday of comebacks at my writing group’s workshop and choir practice, I feel like I’m back in the swing of things here in Korea.  It’s quite cold here–it snowed quite a bit yesterday–but I actually like it.  The cold is waking me up from the lethargic, calorie-filled haze I happily immersed my brain in while I was in the States.  Now that I’m back, it’s time for me to reclaim my crown as the Most Productive Unemployed Person in all of the Korean Peninsula.

I’ve actually just finished an important chapter in my novel-in-perpetual-progress.  It’s the one that takes place in the city of Gyeongju, and it marks a turning point in the story.  And having gotten through it, I can actually say for the first time that the end is–at least, kinda, sorta, maybe, keeping-my-fingers-crossed–somewhere in sight.  I’ve just prepared a chapter-by-chapter layout of everything I’ve written so far, and from the likes of it, I should be coming to the end three or four chapters from now.  Of course, there’s a whole lot of rewriting that will need to happen, but my overall vision of the narrative is starting to take shape.  I just need to make sure I don’t fuck it all up now.

I can’t even imagine what it will feel like when I put my final, finishing touches on the last scene.  Speaking of which, here’s the next song on our Top 101 Countdown–also slowly but surely approaching its inevitable end–”Last Scene” by the Korean jazz-electronic-pop band, Rollercoaster.  It’s my all-time favorite Korean song.

24. Last Scene – Rollercoaster

Thinking that it must be even harder for you than for me

Doesn’t help me at all…

While I was in the States, I had a lot of talks with my older brother about God and the Bible.  He’s a born-again Christian, and I’m not.

Although we don’t agree on everything, I admire him for his faith and there’s definitely a sense of peace about him that wasn’t always there before.  As for me, I don’t know.  I’m just not keen on religion, especially with all the hateful crap you see fundamentalists spewing all in religion’s name.  (My brother had a prescient line about this:  “No one hurts Christianity more than Christians.”)

But still, I do believe in God.  I don’t know if God is a He or a She, white or black, has a beard or not, or whatever, but I’ve got to think there’s something out there that’s greater than all of us.  Otherwise, life would me so random, so meaningless.  And that would just… SUCK!  All of the world’s pain, all its suffering, all the sweat, all the running around and scrambling we have to do day after day, I’ve got to think that it’s all gotta add up to something once death comes and strikes.

Is it selfish of me to think that God’s gonna reward us in the afterlife?  And I’m not just talking about myself, I’m talking about everyone, maybe even murderers.  Why?  Well, if you check out the background stories of a lot of serial killers, they’ve had incredibly abusive and messed-up lives from the get-go and never really had a chance at normalcy.  I don’t really know, but I’d like to think Heaven is a grand old party where all our sins get forgiven–no matter how great–and we get to spend eternity by our loved ones talking about how we wouldn’t have stressed so much during our days on Earth if we’d known how cool the afterlife was going to be.  And of course, there’d be an endless supply of great food and great music to keep us happy (like Dolly and Kenny here).  A beach would be nice, too, with green water and white sand… 

25. Islands in the Stream – Dolly Parton & Kenny Rogers

And the message is clear

This could be the year for the real thing

The first person I met upon returning to Korea was D., my ex, who had asked me to bring back some vitamins (C & D).  We met and had a quick dinner together.  It was nice, comfortable.  But yeah, it’s strange to think that you would’ve died for this person at one time, but now, it’s ‘Hey, how’ve you been?  Here are your vitamins.’ 

Still, I’m glad we were able to remain friends.  D. asked me about the book I’m writing, and I was really tempted to say, “Much of it is about you.”  Maybe I will someday.  Maybe.

26. Don’t Wanna Try – Frankie J

Tell me what’s the use in holding on

When all we do is hurt our love?

So after a month of luxuriating in and engorging myself upon American-style laziness (mostly watching the Tennis Channel and eating up the mountains of food my mom cooked up everyday), I’m back in Korea with its patches of snow and ice on the ground.  I must say, I wasn’t all that crazy about coming back.  The month passed by in a flash, and it seemed like I had barely overcome my jetlag and the time difference before it was time to get back on a plane.

It’s such a strange duality for me, my Korean and American lives.  When I go to the U.S., my life in Korea seems to melt away like it was all just a dream, and now that I’m back, it’s my life in America that seems to slowly dissipate.

And above all, there is my family.  My wonderful, eccentric, wildly dysfunctional family with all our eccentrities and incompatibilities.  So loving and so maddening at once.  I will miss them more than I could ever say (or write).

But ultimately, life goes on, and really, feeling sad about not being with my family isn’t going to anything besides making me feel sad.  I’ve got things to do, a book to write, a job to get ready for, and ultimately, a life to live.  And really, I’d rather live it with a smile and not a frown.

Noah and the Whale – L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.

On the plus side, I finally started building my writing muscle.  I wrote 380 pages of the first draft of my novel-to-be.  I performed in our choir concert without embarrassing myself.  And I managed to land a teaching position at a university with conditions that I’m quite happy with.

And of course, there’s been the music, as always.  I actually think 2010′s been a really great year music-wise.  Sure, if you just look at the Billboard charts, it’s easy to get discouraged, but in the Age of the Downloader, it’s possible to be expose yourself to all kinds of music scenes, whether it be indie or underground or in another language or what have you.  It’s become possible to design a musical palate tailor-made for your exact tastes; there’s no more need to settle for the mainstream stuff anymore.

So in this Golden Age, here are the Top 32 golden nuggests that I found shining the brightest:

32.  Mood Ring – The Howling Owls

31.  The One That Got Away – Katy Perry

30.  Fletta – Bjork & Antony Hegarty

29.  California Run – Neil Nathan

28.  Fuck You – Cee-Lo

27.  Is He Really Coming Home – The School

26.  Get Out of My Way – Kylie Minogue

25.  Kickstarts – Example

24.  Hello – The Cast of “Glee”

23.  Tighten Up – Black Keys

22.  Belinda – Ben Folds

21.  Vanity – Christina Aguilera

20.  Sex and Violence – Scissor Sisters

19.  Without U – 2 PM

18.  Afraid of Everyone – The National

17.  Up to the Mountain (Live) – Crystal Bowersox

16.  Run – Epik High

15.  Female Wrestler (Remix) – Power Animal

14.  Queen of Denmark – John Grant

13.  Lewis Takes Off His Shirt – Owen Pallett

12.  Dance to This Song – WongFu & KevJumba & David Choi

11.  Baby – Justin Bieber & Ludacris

10.  Tightrope – Janelle Monae & Big Boi

9.  Dancing on My Own – Robyn

8.  All the Lovers (Ext. Mix) – Kylie Minogue

7.  Don’t Look Now – Far East Movement & Keri Hilson

6.  The World Is – Matthew Ryan

5.  XXXO – M.I.A.

4.  Nothin’ on You – B.O.B. & Bruno Mars

3.  Spring and Fall to a Child – Natalie Merchant

2.  Acts of Man – Midlake

1.  A Fairytale Ending – The Boy Least Likely To

The Top 17 Songs (for a 2010 Mix CD)

The Ciccione Siblings--Before the Literary Backstabbing

Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas.  Mine consisted mainly of sitting on the sofa watching the all-day Christmas Story marathon on TBS while my brother and his girlfriend grilled some ribs on the barbeque.  It was kinda dull, kinda awkward, but also awfully comfortable.  And the ribs turned out pretty darn good!

I woke up today (the 26th) and for the first time felt like I had completely gotten over my jetlag.  And with the weather finally California-esque, I hopped on my bike once again to hit the road (though not literally this time, thank God).

I knew I had to do it as soon as my hands were healed enough for me to grab the handlebars.  It’s like when Madonna fell off that horse and broke a zillion bones but got back on that horse the first chance she had.  She was quoted as saying that she knew she had to do it; otherwise, she’d be afraid to do it forever.  I took her words to heart, and fortunately, no more fear here, thank you very much.

It really shows that there is a whole lot one can learn from great divas, whether it be their courage, their style, their travails, or their triumphs.  So in their honor, here are my reviews on the diva biographies I’ve read in the last few months:

LIPS UNSEALED by Belinda Carlisle

You may remember Belinda in her bubbly, chubby Go-go incarnation or from her more sophisticated, redheaded solo days.  Well, it turns out she was high as a kite through it all.  “Mad About You” could’ve been about coke; “Heaven is a Place on Earth” was pretty much what she was thinking when was snorting it.  A particular “Yikes” moment is when she drops off her son at his school and then goes to the school restroom for a quick hit because she can’t even wait to go home first.   Full credit to Belinda for her unflinching honesty and willingness to take full responsibility for all her troubles.  GRADE:  B.

BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE by Pat Benatar

It’s interesting.  Despite her tough rocker chick persona, it turns out Pat Benatar was first and foremost a smart businesswoman.  There’s no drugs, no scandal to talk of here.  Rather, the conflict in her bio comes from the record industry itself.  She recounts the sexism she had to face through her career, from the execs who demanded she go out and do promos within days of a miscarriage to the radio DJs who’d make comments like “Why don’t you come over and sit on my lap, honey?”  It’s actually pretty interesting to read about, and Pat also gives a very detailed account of the recording process behind her best-known albums and songs.  Things get a bit too cheesy when she goes on (and on and on) about how wonderful her husband is, but ultimately, Pat shows that one can rock without being self-destructive.  GRADE:  B.

LIFE WITH MY SISTER MADONNA by Christopher Ciccione.

Obviously, there’s a moral dilemma here.  I’m not big on someone selling out a family member for a quick buck, which is what Madonna’s little brother is undeniably doing here.  But once you get over that, this is one heck of a fun read on the Material Girl.  Madonna’s life story has been told time and time before, but Christopher, having been a member of her inner circle for much of her career, offers up new, wacky stories for the very first time.  And to Christopher’s credit, he doesn’t do a “Sister Dearest” hatchet job; he gives her ample credit for the good she’s done while also describing the ways in which she’s hurt him (apparently Madonna can be a bit self-absorbed and temperamental at times–you don’t say!).  Ultimately, this book is gossipy, tawdry, sometimes even pathetic (Christopher’s insistence that his drug use–strongly frowned upon by Big Sis–was strictly “recreational” is worth a few eyerolls), but it’s just too much fun to resist in the end.  GRADE:  A.

KATE BUSH:  UNDER THE IVY by Graeme Thompson

With Kate Bush being notoriously private, it’s pretty much a sure thing that we’re never going to get an autobiography out of her.  (Seriously, even a new album seems like it may be asking for too much–we had to wait something like 15 years for Aerial.)  So this unauthorized bio is about as close a look into Kate’s life and work process that we’re probably ever going to get.  Thompson suceeds in presenting a meticulously researched career retrospective, and while clearly a fan, he manages to stay fairly objective throughout the book.  However, Kate Bush has been iron-determined to remain an enigma throughout her career, and Thompson never manages to shed any real light on just what’s been going on in that mysterious head (and heart) of hers.  He presents Kate’s genius, yes, but he doesn’t provide any glimpse into what lies behind it.  GRADE:  C.

OPRAH: A BIOGRAPHY by Kitty Kelley

Oprah may not be a pop star, but if she released a CD tomorrow, is there any doubt that it will go straight to #1 and break all sorts of records?  Oprah is Oprah, which means she can be anything she wants to be, basically.  From what I’ve heard, Kitty Kelley is known to be a “poison pen” biographer, but she actually stays pretty respectful here.  While she does suggest that Oprah isn’t quite as faultless as she seems (really, who could be?) and has exaggerated aspects of her rags-to-riches success story, she never drags Oprah through the mud outright and never tries to undermine Oprah’s philanthropy and achievements.  Similarly to the Kate Bush book, we don’t get a look into Oprah’s innermost thoughts and secrets, but a document on Oprah’s life is interesting enough in itself to deserve a read.  GRADE:  B+.

Trust me, you don't want see what's under the bandage

The rain in Spain may fall on a plain, but here in L.A., it’s been raining all around, all day and night.  And it’s been a pain and a drain.  Just insane.  Let me cue the strain.

So there I am, at 5:00 AM this morning, up and wide-eyed, eager to start the new week here in California.  So I get the bike out of the garage and start pedaling away to the local 24 hour fitness, taking little notice of the clouds in the sky.  I go, work out a bit, and continue on to Best Buy, where I look at covers for my just-purchased Sony PRS-950 e-reader (one word review:  AWESOME!!!).  In what will prove to literary foreshadowing, a salesperson asks me if it’s raining outside.  I tell him it was sprinkling a tiny bit when I arrived.

Fifteen minutes or so later, I walk out of the store and find a deluge in progress.  A couple of “Aw, crap”s later, I decide that nothing can stop me (I do what I do, come rain or shine!).  I ride on in the rain to the bank where  the banker lady looks at me with a look of undisguised pity before she hands me my cash.  I’m assuming it was due to me being soaked and dripping and not to my microscopic account balance.

Back outside, I set out on the road again.  I’m about halfway to my destination, the post office, when I see railroad tracks up ahead.  There are metal platforms that lead up to the tracks and gaps in the platforms.  I decide to speed up to be able to go over the gaps, and oopsie daisy, I hit the platforms at an angle, causing my bike to spin and topple right over.  Ow, ow, ow.  I end up lying at the edge of the road on my back, dazed and confused (even more than usual).  “Shit!” I cry to the sky, which just spits back more rain on my face.

I gingerly get back up on my feet and assess the damage.  Both my palms are bleeding, like I’ve been hit with sudden stigmata.  My jeans now have a huge hole over the left knee, which is also bleeding.  I take a few steps, and fortunately, the knee itself seems to hold up.  The biggest damage has been inflicted on my right hand, which has a being chunk of skin hanging from it now.

A few (or not-so-few) more swear words later, I put the chain back on my bike and get back on.  I resume riding, this time at a turtle’s pace (well, I guess turtles don’t ride bikes, but you know what I mean).  I approach my house and in an instant choose to pass it by.  Holding the handlebars with my fingertips, I continue on to the post office.  I wipe my bleeding hands on the back of my jeans and then pick up my package.  Fortunately, the postal lady seems to notice nothing.  Then, only then, do I make my way back home.

Cold, bleeding, a bit traumatized, I think about what happened.  Crappy as it was, I decide I’m pretty lucky all around.  I think about all the things that could have happened to me.  I could’ve fallen on to the road and been run over by a truck.  My plane could have crashed and never made it to LAX.  I could have had no parents to return to.  I’ll take bleeding palms and a scraped knee over that any time.

I finally made it back home shortly after eleven.  It had been a long, long day.  A shower, a change of clothes, disinfectant, and a few bandages later, I now feel a lot better.  Due to my mangled palms, I won’t be able to work out or drive for some time, but still, all things being considered, it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.  Palms heal.  Wounds scab.  And while I won’t be winning Tour de France any time soon, I will come back stronger and hopefully a little wiser.

Ting Tings – Hands

With that formality behind me, I’ve been able to write again, and well, to say that it’s brought me joy is an understatement.  Seriously, I may or may not ever be published, but I will forever love the process of writing.  It is such a rush, better than sex, better than pizza, better than soju (though that one’s not saying much), better than just about anything really, because you really have to earn your way to it.  Hard.  But good.  (“That’s what she said!” as Michael Scott would say, HA!) 

The writing group I go to had a Christmas brunch last weekend and a holiday-themed flash fiction writing contest to go with it.  (For those of you not up-to-speed on writer-lingo, “flash fiction” just means fiction that’s really, really short, like a couple of pages or so; I just learned this recently myself.)  So I cranked out a little story called “Christmas at McDonald’s” as my writing-comeback piece.  I didn’t win the contest, and the story is really simple and cheesy as lasagna, but I’m still pretty proud of it.  If not anything else, it’s been a great primer to get me motivated into digging back into my would-be novel after I arrive in the States later this week.

Anyhow, feel free to download the story and give it a read.  It’s really short and (hopefully) painless.  Oh, and of course, have a Merry Christmas, at McDonald’s or elsewhere

Christmas at McDonald’s (PDF)

I can’t stop listening to this.  This guy awes me.  John Grant’s entire Queen of Denmark album is incredible (definitely in my Top Three for the year), but it’s the closing title track that reaches out and takes a hold of your heart in an iron grip.

John Grant’s similar to the Lumberjack Rock artists that I naturally gravitate to (Bonnie Prince Billy, William Fitzsimmons, Damien Jurado, etc.), but with one key difference:  resilience.  This is the voice of a guy who’s gone THROUGH a shitstorm and not only lived through it but has also learned from it. 

There’s an underlying strength and self-awareness to Grant’s music.  He’s not pretending that there is no pain in the world; instead, he’s looking it in the eye and  not running away from it.  And if he isn’t living life with fear, he seems to be singing, why should you?  Good question indeed.

Queen Of Denmark – John Grant

I’m headed to the States next Thursday for a month-long stay with my family.  It should be nice.  I’m looking forward to it for the most part, though there’s some trepidation in me as well.  I love my family to death, but the dynamics can be… interesting.  Still, as much as we disappoint, annoy, nag, pressure, and frustrate one another from time to time, we are family, and families are meant to be together.  I’m sure Janet can relate.

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been sleeping with Kate Bush. Okay, okay, let me clarify. I’ve been putting her music on my CD player each night to listen to while I’m falling asleep.

I was aware of Kate before. I knew and loved “This Woman’s Work” from years back, and I also liked the duet she did with Peter Gabriel. And of course, I heard that she had been an influence on Tori Almighty. But I had ordered her “Whole Story” collection back when I was in high school from the BMG CD Club (remember the “Get 10 CDs for a penny” ads?), and when “Wuthering Heights” started playing, all I could think was “What the hell is with this shrill woman?” I ended up selling the CD to a used CD store and pretty much lay Kate to rest for good, I thought.

But then a few weeks ago, I was watching The Amazing Race where the racers had to plant potatoes in a Russian field while several babooshkas cheered them on. As I was watching, I knew I had heard that word in a song before, so I went tracking it down, and it led me back to the Kate Bush league. Since then, I’ve been digging through her back catalogue, and it’s been like digging my fingers into a treasure box dug up from the bottom of the ocean. Her music: it’s just genius piled on genius piled on genius. I can’t think of better music to sleep with.

Lord Alan Sugar, the British (and far smarter) version of Donald Trump on "The Apprentice UK"

After following the ABCs of the university employment process (Applying, Begging, & Crying), I am proud to say that my days as a lazyass bum are now numbered. Starting next March, I will be teaching English at a university for the first time.

It was definitely a stressful process, so I’m hugely relieved that it worked out in the end. University positions are apparently extremely competitive, and with no experience at that level (widely considered a must), I feel extremely fortunate.

It was all kind of serendipitous, too. I was actually relatively certain that things had gone very nicely at my first interview, so somehow I managed to convince myself that I had it in the bag. So when I got the e-mail telling me about my third interview (my second was the debacle described a couple of posts down), I almost thought about not going, since I (very stupidly) thought it might just complicate things. But I ended up going, but I cared so little about the outcome that I didn’t feel any nervousness whatsoever. This turned out to be a huge blessing in disguise, as I managed to remain calm and professional throughout without jumping up and down screeching, “Oh, pick ME, for the love of all that is sacred, hire MEEEEEE!” The interviewing panel of professors seemed to respond pretty well; they were all quite nice and spoke excellent English. One of them even recognized and complimented my alma mater, Pomona College, which probably makes him one of about five people in Korea that’s heard of the school. They also asked me about my writing (I told them my book was about “love and culture”), my favorite authors (again “Scott Spencer and Haruki Murakami”), and the year that I spent teaching blind students at a community center (actually wasn’t all that different from teaching non-blind kids, although a couple seemed to have incredible photographic memories when it came to hearing words and remembering meanings).

That very night, I got a call from the school, saying they wanted me for the position. It really caught me off guard, but it got me thinking about the school seriously for the first time, and after several days of thinking about it, I accepted. It’s a good thing I did, because I never even heard back from the first school (nor the second, though that was pretty much a given). So it all worked out well in the end, and I’ll officially be signing the contract with the university about ten days from now. I’m excited and nervous. It’s going to be a new challenge for me to teach university students, but I’m ready to do everything in my power to make it all work. Tommyland: the College Version, should be interesting.

More than anything, I’m glad the stress of a job search is finally behind me. I’d been too occupied with sending off resumes, checking out new ads, visiting schools, preparing teaching presentations, and just plain fretting to do anything else for the last month or so. Now I can finally write and read and breathe again. Feels very good, indeed.

Some random cross-referencing on Wikipedia brought me to this relevation: “Norweigan Wood,” one of my favorite books of all time, has been turned into a film, and it’s coming out in December. I was stunned at the news, but I suppose I shouldn’t have been. So many books I love have been turned into movies, all of them with one thing in common: they all turned into crap.

It’s uncanny how the film versions have time and time again sapped the magic from great books; apparently turning a book into a movie is reverse alchemy by nature. “Endless Love,” “Dying Young,” “The Great Gatsby,” “A Separate Peace,” the list goes on and on (I didn’t even like “The Accidental Tourist,” and that was nominated for a billion Oscars).

Still, there is no doubt I’ll be going out to the theatre to see “Norweigan Wood,” if only to grind my teeth every time they desecrate a scene from the book (I’m already irked by the trailer; there’s no way Wanatabe was such a pretty boy, and Midori seems to be missing the very spunk that defined her as a character). One must always hold on to hope, after all.

Well, here’s my biggest D’oh moment of Year 2010 (though knowing me, I could very well outdo myself in the next month and a half). Here’s the scene: I am giving my 10-minute teaching “lesson” as a part of an interview with one of the top five most prestigious universities in all of Korea. What I’m doing is presenting a faux game show to the “students” to introduce them to the cultural references and vocabulary items that will come up in the article they are going to read before the following class.

Knowing that the article is going to talk about a state senator, I present a picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger on the screen and say, “This man is the senator of what state?” The students give their answers, and I carry on. After I’m done, one of the interviewers asks me, “Isn’t Arnold Schwarzenegger the Californian governor, not the senator?” Of course, she was 100% right, and I was 100% a pure-grade butthead. I admitted my mistake, and the interview went on, but really, I was in no position to make mistakes as I don’t have prior teaching experience at a university. The panel was very no-nonsense, very direct, and apparently, I haven’t learned anything from all the Apprentice episodes I’ve watched, because I did not hold up very well. At one point, one of the inquisitors asked me what I knew about the school’s English program that set it apart from other schools, and since I couldn’t very well answer “Nothing,” I started babbling on about how I’m sure such a fine school as this one would probably take a “holistic” approach, and don’t even ask what I meant by that, because I still have no idea. D’oh, d’oh, d’oh X 100.

So I’d say that my chances of getting hired at particular school range from 0.00000001% to 0.00000002%, but overall, it was definitely a valuable learning experience. Fortunately, the interview with I had with another college a few days prior to that debacle actually went considerably better. The panel there was intimidating as well, but they were also more willing to smile, and I actually saw a few nod appreciatively as I made my points during my teaching presentation. They also asked me some questions which were more informal and personal, like “Who’s your favorite writer?” (Scott Spencer and Haruki Murakami) and “Have you visited this part of Korea before?” (Yes, I have a friend who lives nearby). And the office workers positively loved me once they found out I spoke conversational Korean, and the guy who was giving instructions to the waiting candidates ended up asking me to translate for him quite a bit. If I were a tad more evil, I could’ve just said something like, “Oh, he said the interviews are all canceled, so you guys should just go on home,” but I didn’t. Anyhow, I won’t know until the end of the month, but I’m rather optimistic about that, knock on wood.

But who knows what will happen? With teaching at a universitiy in Korea, it’s the whole catch-22 situation of having to have experience for you to be able to gain experience, and it takes both luck and persistence to get your foot in the door (fortunately, I do have a Master’s degree, without which I doubt I’d even be getting to the interviewing stage). So if that means having egg on my face a few times during the whole process, well, bring it on, because I’m ready to make more than a few face omelets. Maybe I should make one for Senator Schwarzenegger, as well…

Anapji Pond in Gyeongju

I’m back from a two-day trip to Gyeongju, the ancient capital of the Silla Kingdom that ruled over much of the Korean Peninsula for hundreds of years… Okay, well, that’s pretty much it as far as my historical knowledge of Gyeongju goes. However, I can tell you, the place is indeed pretty amazing, from the tall grave mounds of old Silla rulers right in the middle of downtown to the huge stone Buddha statue in the Seokguram Grotto, the ancient Bulguksa Temple, and the autumn colors in full bloom pretty much all over the place. It was just as inspirational as I hoped it would be (scenes for my novel rose up in my mind like they were always there just waiting to come out). It was also exhausting (I walked and walked everywhere, shades of Paris), but more than anything, it was just plain out fun and really tranquil. History, it does a mind good!

So you had the Hatfield vs. the McCoys, the Montagues vs. the Capulets, and Debbie Gibson vs. Tiffany. But add this new one to the list of the most tumutuous rivalries of all time: the poetry writers vs. the prose writers. There was a showdown at my writers’ group this afternoon, and well, it wasn’t pretty (headache, headache).

Basically, here’s how it went down. One of our members, a lady who’s a prolific poet, submitted five of her poems to be read and discussed for today’s workshop. This is within the group’s guidelines (you can submit up to five things as you don’t go over the total word count of 3,500), but quite a few of the members aren’t really too keen on poetry overall (personally, I don’t mind poetry, and I write it once in a while myself, but certainly, my heart’s more in novels and stories), so submitting five fairly lenghty poems was… well, let’s just say it took chutzpah, for sure.

So we started discussing the poems one by one. The first one, about three or four of the twelve or so members today made comments. The second one, maybe one or two members had anything to say. At this point, the lady was clearly annoyed and asked why people were remaining silent and not offering any feedback. Obviously, an awkward moment. Then it got worse. One of the quiet members commented that he found it tough to come up with things to say for all five poems, which pressed on the lady’s nerves even more. The day’s moderator, no shrinking violet in the speak-your-mind category, said something about how much more difficult it was to come up with constructive comments on poetry as opposed to prose, and by then the lady poetess had turned from defensive to downright angry (“Don’t put words in my mouth and tell me I’m angry!” she said, angrily).

Around this time, I offered up the point that there tended to be less feedback on poetry submissions overall so she shouldn’t take the “silence” personally, but I think by then she just didn’t want to hear it. Then another member pointed out two of the five submissions had been submitted before, and it seemed to him that she didn’t seem to have taken into consideration the feedback she had received before, and that’s why he was silent. Well, a few moments and a few more back-and-forths later, the lady got up and walked out of the meeting.

So it was definitely a memorable workshop, but also a really unpleasant one to watch take place. I don’t know; I totally get why the member was frustrated, but at the same time, you can’t really demand feedback from people who for whatever reason feel reluctant to give it. And when the members were explaining their reasons for not giving the feedback, they were really just being honest. I don’t know. It was just a bit too much drama Project Runway-style (I really wonder what the three new members thought of all of it), especially after having to deal with my aunt’s medical saga and the prima donna antics of certain choir members (at least I know that ego clashes in group situation are certainly not culture-specific).

Overall, it was all a big communication breakdown, I think, which is a shame as we’re all there to take part in something that we love: writing. So can’t we writers all just get along? I sure hope so. In that spirit, I dedicate this song to our group:

29. When Love Breaks Down – Prefab Sprout