observations after only a few days back

The last time I'd been to the States was in 2018, before the pandemic. I'd also gone to France that year. Remaining in Korea all this time has revealed, now that I've stepped outside of the Korean shell, the extent to which my thoughts, beliefs, and perceptions have been shaped by my increasing peninsularity. Some of the observations that follow aren't original: either I've made them before, or others have in some form or other.

I used to argue that America was a high-trust society while Korea was a low-trust society. In Korea, people usually assume that others are out to fuck them over. In America, according to the old wisdom, people used to presume innocence instead of guilt—not merely as a matter of jurisprudence but also as a matter of civil conduct in a society. Now, it seems, the tables have turned. You can still lose your wallet in a Korean taxi and have it returned to you. Meanwhile, in America, people have become so politically polarized that no one risks offending anyone else because you never know: you might set off the wrong person, sparking road rage or in-Walmart violence. I haven't seen either of those problems yet, but I do see the stand-offish way in which people treat each other, always wary of the potential for conflict. I go about my days here with a look of pleasant and stupid blandness on my face, and I'm always wary of what I say, choosing the most neutral ways to express myself, not so much because I truly care for my fellow human beings as because I don't want to initiate World War III just because someone is too thin-skinned. I'm here for only three weeks; I don't want to get jailed for turning a stupid person inside out—not even the ogre at the Front Royal DMV.

Lots of homeless folks—usually skinny, bearded white guys—are stalking the streets near traffic lights, doing their best to beg and/or to shame with their hand-lettered signs. I used to be a huge advocate for the homeless when I was in high school. It took years to realize the practical wisdom of the Jesus quote that The poor, you will always have with you. I made a horrific version of the argument a while back about why you can't solve a homeless problem by gathering all the homeless people and burning them to death with a flamethrower.

American bathroom towels are wastefully huge, which is something I know I've mentioned before. Living in Korea often teaches Westerners to make do with less, and an expat quickly comes to learn that huge towels just aren't necessary to dry your whole body. Coming back to the land of huge towels has always been something else for me; it's a different sort of culture shock from, say, going to France and back.

My hotel has paper-thin walls, and the suite doors on both sides of my room have huge gaps that might be allowing the smell of my prodigious poops to waft insidiously next door. Even cheap Korean motels feel more private than my current lodging. Oh, and I saw a roach.

Paying with a card here is a bit different from the Korean experience, and because I'm older now, it takes some getting used to. With my debit card, the machine always asks whether I want cash back. I have to hit "no" to proceed. I must then type in my PIN to continue the transaction, and if I forget to hit "enter" after typing the PIN, I risk holding up the line behind me. In Korea, if you type in a PIN somewhere, the computer then moves automatically on to the next step: there's no need to manually hit "enter." Korean banks are the only exception I can think of: if you type your PIN during an international money-wiring transaction, you have to hit "enter."

Speaking of lines: like in Korea, old Americans in line to buy stuff usually hold everything up because they have so many questions and comments, and this is their one big chance to talk to people, I guess. It's sad because it reflects a certain cultural level of loneliness, but it's worse than that because it's holding up the line. I hate to be the turd in the punch bowl, but I do sometimes find myself chafing when an old person is glacially sifting through her mass of coupons to find just the right one for just the right item so she can receive that coveted discount. I also chafe when the flirty old man is chatting up the young, female cashier, oblivious to the fact that we're all waiting on his goddamn libido to run its course. I sincerely hope that, as I age, I never become such an old person. I normally do my best to have my card and other items prepped and ready for when it's my turn to ring up my shopping. That said, I probably will turn into a doddering, babbling irrelevancy—assuming I live that long.

This is definitely the land of fat asses, and I fit right in. One reason for Americans' slow, deliberate way of moving about is simply that it's the only way they can move. As a people, we are fat, huge, and unhealthy—constantly tired, often depressed, and generally sluggish. Go to the ant, thou sluggard! Consider her ways, and be wise! At least I'm not always being stared at. That said, I fear for our collective future.

Staying away from sugar is hard while I'm here. (Hell, it's hard in Korea.) Temptations abound. Walmart has huge shelves of nasty carbs in the form of cakes and frosted cookies and sugar-soaked breads. There's pasta and sugary drinks galore. While I've gotten better—thanks to the Grim Reaper's thus-far two attempts on my life—at resisting temptation, the temptation still exists. Just like in Korea, finding decent-tasting "health" food is hard. For the most part, I stick to my standbys: Coke Zero, Cherry Coke Zero, minimally carby salads, solid meats, etc. But as I admitted a couple days ago, I've also fallen off the wagon, gobbling Jamaican beef patties soon after renting my Nissan.

Lots of tattoos and nose rings among the younger folk, but also among some older folks who ought to know better. Also: lots of ill-fitting clothing and bad hair. I say nothing and just tolerate it. What else can I do? I might not like the way these things look, but I have no desire to legislate looks. Besides, I'm in no position to. It does provoke the thought, though: which is better—American slobbiness or Korean robotic, group-first conformity? Both can be equally oppressive. Speaking of looks, the Americans who've succeeded at remaining thin often strike me, with my Korean-calibrated senses, as tall and gawky and awkward, what with their starey eyes and floaty, clownish strides as they amble down sidewalks in their too-tight pants. Even though the Western part of my mind still finds Korean chicks generally to be flatter than Kansas (many Korean women start filling out in their forties) and horribly infantilized, this return to America has impressed upon me how, well, different Americans—in all of their shapes and sizes and colors—look compared to Koreans.

I do often feel separate from both cultures—Korean and American. It's fun, while in the States, to strike up a conversation in Korean with ethnic Koreans. And it's fun to speak in French with Western francophones while in Korea. There's just something attractive about context-driven contrasts, I guess. But the price one pays is separateness, with full sociocultural integration always remaining elusive and only questionably desirable. Feeling as if one belongs can provide a deep sense of wholeness and security, but it can also stifle the spirit and cultivate a hive-mind mentality. I've never been a big fan of full integration, but I've always been a fan of the implied culture of the Island of Misfit Toys

At least my driving skills have been coming back to me as I get to know this rental Nissan. I'm still a bit stiff and jerky with braking, but my situational awareness has mostly returned, partly thanks to how easy it is to drive in the States. As Europeans scornfully note, Americans tend to drive in a relatively slow, lackadaisical way that makes driving easy—unlike, say, the happy chaos of Rome or the frenetic roundabouts of Paris or the mob mentality of Cairo (admittedly not Europe, but still). In that sense, the trafficky sense, Americans are still a high-trust society. We're not nearly as selfish and opportunistic as the most aggressive Korean drivers. (But in some cities, we're getting there.)

I remember thinking that France and Switzerland's roads were narrower and filled with much smaller cars. Even though many Korean cars are smaller than American ones, I've seen enough wide, expansive roads in South Korea to think Korea skews more American than European when it comes to vehicles and traffic (the exception being the smaller roads and lanes out in the sticks). And Korean vehicles come in all shapes and sizes these days, with large, gas-guzzling SUVs becoming ever more popular. And then there are the ridiculous sports cars: in a country that's too small and mountainous to accelerate in properly, the sight of a foreign sports car meant to eat distance for breakfast is one of the saddest things ever.

American people in public spaces seem to have gotten ruder. There's a lot less "excuse me" and a lot more walking in such a way as to cut slower people off, or inconsiderately blocking aisles and entranceways while one jabbers on a cell phone. This is modern life, I guess—plugged in and more attentive to one's tech than to what's right in front of the eyes.

One salutary effect of American PC culture, though, is the refusal to say stupidly blunt, offensive things under the guise of "sincerity" (really just an excuse to be a fucking asshole). I'm happy to take a break from the relentlessly oppressive ajumma culture that's always loudly selfish and unnecessarily critical.

But this toe-dip back into American culture will be over soon enough. There are more insights to gain, and maybe I'll blog about them, but in the end, all my roads lead back to Korea. That seems to be were my choices have led me, and South Korea is the life I know. If I ever did move back to the States (a dimming prospect), I'd definitely have to find a place where nobody was around. Wyoming again comes to mind. Peaceful. Spacious. Austere. Me and my dogs.

Yeah, a man can dream.