Friday, June 21, 2002.
Plans this weekend:
Watch Korea
v. Spain game at 2:30 a.m. tonight.
Go to work after game, around 4:30 a.m.
Sunday too.
RESISTING A POLICE OFFICER"Do you know why I pulled you over?" the police officer asked.
"I was speeding," I confessed sheepishly, not just because of that post-busted adrenaline, but because she was quite attractive. Not "model" attractive but natural and confident attractive. Black hair pulled back. Faint lines under her brown eyes. Maybe twenty-eight to thirty-five years old. Italian, Jewish, mixed? Nice smile too.
"Yeah, you were," she smiled and warmed up, "I saw you speeding past those other cars. The speed limit is 25. I clocked you at 51. I couldn't believe it. I even rechecked the radar."
"Um … that sounds about right."
Lying to a police officer is certainly a sin in society's book, but lying to an attractive and very nice woman is worse. Even the law will forgive you eventually (I hear).
"So where are you going?" the she-cop asked.
"To church," I said thinking that sounded like an obvious lie for some reason at 11:00 a.m. on Sunday morning,
"… actually Korean class at church, I mean. I'm learning Korean." Which didn't sound much better, but who would make up something like that?
She let me off with only 10 miles over the speed limit. She was really nice and I wouldn't have complained either way.
"Don't drive so fast around here," she joked, "you might hit a jogger."
They should run faster.
THIEF IN THE TEMPLE
When I rushed down to the basement classroom where the Korean class was, there was a little Korean boy and girl, around seven years old, arguing at the table. New class members, I guessed. Cool.
Just as I was about to sit in one of the kiddie chairs next to them, my Korean teacher saw me,
"We moved to upstairs classroom. This is for kids now, haha!"
Kids or not, they were using the same book I was.
The beginner's class had five students and a teacher.
There were The Russians - two Koreans from Uzbekistan actually. They spoke little English, and even less Korean. Teacher would laugh because one of them sounded like he had a North Korean accent. (Uh huh, I've seen this Korean spy movie before….)
There was Little Orphan Elvis - a short middle-aged Korean man with an Elvis pompadour and attention-deficit disorder. He was familiar with many a European country, custom, and language but knew neither his real parents NOR his real age.
The fourth student was Mrs.Green. She was half-Korean like me, although I would have never guessed. For some reason her eyes looked green, although they were really brown. In her mid-forties, the last time she spoke a Korean word was age three.
I was the fifth student and at 31, the youngest, oddly enough.
Teacher was an older divorced mother of two. She reminded me of a Chihuahua amped up on kim chee. Short, feisty, sometimes bitter ("all men bad"), usually blunt ("all men bad"), but still funny and endearing. She also asked that we always call if we couldn't make it to class, lest her otherwise hard feelings would be hurt.
Little Orphan Elvis and I were the fastest learners.
I accelled because I had been studying for over a year at home. L.O. Elvis had that Rain Man thing going for him.
Every Sunday after class I would bore Amy with how fun Korean class was. How I wish it wouldn't end.
Someday I would understand what my favorite K-goddesses were saying during taped interviews. Someday I would be able to survive Korea without a single word of English. Someday I would understand what those old Korean folk were saying behind my back right in front of me. Someday I would understand why someone always dies in Korean soap operas or music ballads (which are really like Cliff's Notes of soap operas). Someday.
I tried to explain to Teacher that I'd been studying at home for a while, but she would just try to console the lagging Mrs. Green by saying,
"Oh, very good, Mrs. Green. Scott only better because he's young and smarter. You doing well for your age, yeh."
We learned other things in Korean class, like how Korean-Russians get VERY upset when you mispronounce important Russian words, like "vodka" … or as they put it "VOTE-KAH!!"
Teacher also taught us the word for "bad" ("nappun"). As in "all men are bad." She'd go on about how men have tiny hearts ("maum") and big eyes ("noon"). How they leave you and your two kids for a younger hoochie girl, and then try to steal the kids during summer weekends. Women on the other hand, were bad in their own way too - they were calculators (forgot the word). Constantly calculating a man's monetary worth versus the hassle of having to deal with his tiny heart / big eyes complex.
I would just shake my head and laugh.
Until we started doing the praying thing, at least.
GOD: ZERO,
ME: ZERO
"Today, we start with prayer. You first," Teacher nodded to me one day.
"Huh?" …What I really meant was "Hell no," but luckily I didn't finish my sentence.
"Uh huh. You start, now, go."
"But … I … don't really … know…," my face and ears were turning redder than a satanic babboon's ass in heat. And I had a feeling I wasn't going to be rescued by the ASWAT (Atheists Special Weapons And Tactics) team anytime soon.
So I slowly and painfully eeked out a prayer. I managed to say thanks a lot for the nice people here, blah blah, without saying the words "Lord" or "Jesus" or "God" even once. I couldn't say the words because it would have felt like a lie to them and to myself.
It was definitely one of the most uncomfortable things I can remember in a long time.
Later, Teacher asked me,
"Do you go to the church sermons?"
"No, my cousins talked to the pastor. He said I could still come," I confessed.
"It's alright. So which church do you go to?" Teacher asked.
"Um, I don't really go to church anywhere."
"Hmm … you not ready yet, then?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm not ready. But I want to bring my baby boy and Amy here in a couple months," I answered truthfully.
And it made me a little sad not to believe and belong, right then.
I have nothing against people who believe. My Ahab-esque anger against The White Whale of God because of my dad's death or Sylvia's death or others is gone. No hard feelings, really. If you are angry at God, then that means you believe there is a God. Very tricky, they almost had me there … because I was pretty fucking angry for quite a while. I was earth-shattering screams with lightning crashing around me to the sounds of Wagner's "Flight of the Valkyries" on a stormy mountaintop angry for a while there. And that was just while I was sitting quietly in 9th grade orchestra class.
I don't think people who are religious are dumb or weak or smoking masses of opiates, to paraphrase that famous quote.
I do have a great aversion to people who push "their way" down other people's throats. And the judgmental ones really sicken me. Like who are they to say they are any better than someone because of sexual preference or belief system or gigabytes of porn. The ones who argue with science to defend their faith strike me as misguided as well. Even I know the two things are completely different worlds. Neither can prove or disprove the other.
But I am very attracted to the nicer qualities in people who try to be "good Christians." Like simple kindness and compassion. And community. And love.
I feel this whenever I go to that church. I feel it when the kind pastor speaks to me as a respectful friend. He's only six years older and rocks at video games and paintball from what I hear.
I really do want to start going to church and bringing my little son and my Amy as well. But sorry, not for God.
God just. Does. Not. Compute. In my world.
I'd want to go to church for the nice people. I've never really felt like this before.
Like with the Korean World Cup team, I love the players and how they play; I'm just not so crazy about the sport itself.
K - GOD
(not to be confused with the Korean pop group, "G.O.D"
which stands for "Groove Over Dose," I'm afraid ....)I believe people should try to be compassionate, to make themselves and others feel good. To make this meaninglessness a better place. I don't believe there is a heavenly authority saying you should be good, though. I don't believe human life is innately valuable to anything other than humans either, if that. I believe chance dictates everything. We just try to assign meaning to it afterwards (makes for better entries too). We will never understand everything, since we can never be "outside of the box" of our Universe or existence.
When the music stops, that's really what it's all about to me. It's not fun, but that's why I like the flashy music and fun dancing videos.
I think it's funny that my interest in Korean pop music and language eventually brought me to love church.
But if I did believe in God -- not that I would -- but if I did, I would think God was a female force. The attention to nature. Birth to EVERYTHING. The cyclical nature of life. Working in mysterious ways, and all (from this male's point of view at least). Subtle and sweet at times, blunt and cold at others (like my Korean Teacher or Amy even).
Huh, maybe God is a Korean woman.
At least that might explain why all your favorite people are always dying off ...
Just like in a Korean soap opera.
___________________________________________________________
DAE HAN MIN GOOK MAHN SAE!!
Go Korean Team Go !!!
Korea v. Spain tonight at 2:30 a.m. EST.
If I prayed, I'd pray for the Korean team.
But instead, I think I'll just root for them at my cousin's place tonight.(I hope I can get up for it. Taking a nap in preparation now.)
