going down the only road i've ever known

the last time I woke up, I was in Ilsan, South Korea, at a co-worker's apartment;
the time before that, I was in the south of Beijing, at Paco's apartment.

As this morning dawns, I arise at my parents' house in Delaware; and, tonight, I'll be laying my head to rest at my new apartment in New Haven.

After 77 days in South Korea - 55 days of work - and 7 days' vacation in China, it's time to go back to school.

what will this year be called?

Dénouement

For the past work week, I've had a steady tension building, a bubbling froth in the pit of my stomach that sends my mind into a joyfully-wound knot. I'm a kid on Christmas Eve.

There's a saying among certain circles of society, memorialized in The Wire as such: "There are only two days you serve in prison: the day you go in, and the day you get out."

My bags are packed: one lies in a co-worker's apartment, awaiting my return to Seoul eight days hence, and another, half-empty, lies open next to my door. My passport, wallet, and ticket information sit, stacked neatly, on my desk. I've long since stripped my bed of its accoutrements, tucked away in the former piece of luggage, and I lie on the comforter provided, alongside the mattress, by my company.

Reflexive soul-searching will seize its own kairos; for now, I'm just chilling out.

I can't remember the last time I felt this roiling anticipation: probably last summer, preparing to leave for China. Of course, this time, there's an additional tool thrown into the machinery: the palpable, albeit slim, chance of China's vigilance in public health abruptly shutting down my hopes of a leisurely week.

And before that? The strongest association which I can provide is from my youth: the hour before arriving at a beloved summer camp, driving our way out of Delaware, stopping in Philadelphia for lunch, approaching on the winding Pennsylvania foothills. Me barbaric with a pent-up boil of preparation, banging on the ceiling of our old Volvo sedan, ecstatic. So.

In approximately 8.5 hours, I fly out to Beijing; God willing, I'll make it through customs with no hold-up and emerge on the other side of my 7 days off before returning to the States. I've heard that China has started blocking blogspot; if so, communication may be infrequent. So, for now

I lay me down to sleep

Visions of Seoul II

Signs that the end is near:

During my work hours, I have begun to refer to myself - and request that my students follow suit - by an ever-lengthening series of esoteric pseudonyms, of increasing complexity.

At first, it started by requesting that my students refer to me as "J-dogg"; after which, it was followed by "the J-dizzle". Today, I called myself "Big Teacher J".

Extrapolating, by Friday, I will have assumed an entirely new alter ego.


Additionally, I have begun referring to myself in the third person. I.e. "You know the J-dogg don't play like that." "Yall now flying with the big J-dizzle, a/k/a Big Teacher J."


Edit (7:28 PM): I thought of another one this afternoon.

They can also call me "The J Train".

Edit (Friday, August 21): Plan succeeded admirably. Students have taken to calling me J-dogg. One student even wrote it in his essay.

BUSTOUT Summer 2009 Line 2

my homeboys in 北京 stay cooking up the flyest gear I've ever seen. After the recent launch of BUSTOUT Girl, they are back at it with a full line of tees and some new rock-inspired corduroy pants.

On a personal note: these days, I've been seeing my personal taste in fashion mature a little bit: I'm more likely to head towards a nearby Uniqlo or wear something from Staple Design, A.P.C., or Band of Outsiders if I want to get fresh. But if I'm in the mood to wear something a little looser and more streetwise, more and more my staples - apart from the occasional piece of early-2000s BAPE - are all coming from the BUSTOUT collection.

God willing, I'll be kicking it in Beijing in about a week, and picking up every piece of the following... and more...

Summer 2009 drop 2: Tees







Summer 2009 drop 2: pants





Summer 2009 drop 2: caps




Modelled by part-time Jay Chou impersonator and full-
time store staff JACKAL.

BUSTOUT 2009 drop 2: BUSTOUT GIRL

for the ladies down with the movement.







BUSTOUT: Street We Are... international?

he's a well respected man about town

How we get down in the K; every weekend, all weekend.


Gabe & Czarina came out to Ilsan for a late afternoon of walking around
and touring Lake Park.


Alex and I met up in Gangnam late one Saturday afternoon for dinner,
coffee, and a discussion lasting long into the night.


Unwilling to be and uninterested in eating alone, I invited Gabe, Michelle,
and Sungwon along for Korean Chinese food (as opposed to Chinese
Chinese food); and they, natives of Ilsan, wound up seeing the Lake Park
fountain show for the first time (my nth, for arbitrarily high integer n).


After the last day of their summer SAT courses, we
took sticker photos.

I am mad ulzzang in this joint


And today, with Jean and Pauline, after church, on our way to lunch at a
local chicken place, before heading out to gyeongbokgung for some
sightseeing and a museum visit.

In hindsight comparison, I realize that the spot at which we took today's
photograph is identical the the spot at which Alex and I, weeks before,
took ours.

2 more weeks of summer work. In 13 days, I'll be asleep in 北京...

Let the countdown to journeys commence

bene dicta, magister

It's 8:34 AM, and the streets of Ilsan are covered in a fine mist, rendering the pavement slick and slightly cool. Passing cars and buses scatter the puddles, tossing minute particles of water two or three feet into the air.

I'm out for a morning jog. Sequestered for the night earlier than I had planned, thanks to the compound effects of jetlag (despite my casually swaggering boasts of having grown accustomed to international travel, I am still impacted by the long reach of geography) and an afternoon spent out with friends, I woke at 5 AM. Completing some long-overdue tasks and emails, I decided to head out for a run, to clear my head and stretch some sorely-neglected muscles.

As I run, my mind drifts; 36 hours ago, when I was a knotted bundle of anxious tics: would my luggage clear through San Francisco onto my Seoul flight? Would the laminar plywood of my forcibly-checked skateboard (intended to be carry-on baggage) crack under the shifting mounds of luggage deep in the hold? Would my computer, with its finicky wireless connection, work in Korea? (Yes; No; Yes.)

My mind worries back and forth; 2 months ahead, with a host of invented complaints and light neuroses: will I grow prematurely bored of a repetitious summer, as I did my second summer in 北京? Will my students respond, grow, respect in the same way that they did (or did not) last year? How ought I - how must I - speak to them in such a way as to grasp at their attentions, or earn their mustered approval? What does it mean, to speak well?

The Benediction is the closing prayer of the Christian worship service, the opportunity for the presiding clergy to invoke the grace, mercy, love, and care of God for the congregants. Its roots: bene + dictio, which serve as a verbal phrase: adverb + verb: to speak well.

Context. One of the fundamentals which I've already begun drilling into my students, with which they will be well - and perhaps frustratingly - familiar by summer's end (or so I hope). What is the context of a speech made well?

My thoughts flow: a story. Bono, gregarious and irrepressible frontman and lead singer of U2, got his name from a music shop in his Irish hometown. He and his gang of youthful, gregarious, irrepressible friends used to hang around in the streets, staging absurdist plays and existentialist physical comedies. On one of the streets lay a music store, Bonovox; and so his mates began playfully referring to him as Sir Bonovox. The young Paul David Hewson disliked the moniker, at first, until he discovered the latinate roots of the word: Bono + vox, adjective + noun: good voice.


Actions speak louder than words. - American Proverb.


It occurs to me, that the phrase, "speaking well", possesses in itself two meanings: transitive and intransitive. To speak well, intransitively, means simply to speak skillfully or convincingly. "He speaks well", as synonymous with "he's a good speaker."

To speak well, transitive: in this case, however, speaking well of another. "He speaks well of her," as synonymous with "he praises her" or "he admires her."

My life is, of course, ostensibly one endowed with a career of speaking well of another: the most beloved condensation of the Christian creeds, to me, is the old chestnut, "To know Christ and make Him known". To proclaim Him; to speak well of His love for me. And it occurs to me, that, in this case at least, the transitive and intransitive uses of the verbal phrase dovetail: to speak well to those with whom I am surrounded for the summer, the most purposeful preparation is, quite simply, to speak well of the one with whom I have grown - am growing - more and more acquainted.

in nomine patri, et filii, et spiritus sancti