A little more about work

I've gotten a few e-mails asking what work is really like. So here's a diary entry. Sorry, it's a little self-absorbed and boring. Nothing new, I suppose.

Dec. 3., a Friday. It was a big day. I met Mary Eisenhower, granddaughter of the former general and president, and Simon Hong, a Seoul city hall employee who, I would later find out, was dazzled by my eyes. That was in between writing about a soldier killed in Iraq and going to a bar in Seoul dedicated only to 70s music. By Seoul musicians. With Americans who subtly argued about which Korean rock band was singing while trying not to show off their knowledge. Their ability to name bands and release dates was impressive, startling, and, I admit, more than slightly amusing. I'd love to do it all again.

The day started at 7 a.m. with me checking e-mail and finding another soldier formerly stationed in Korea who had died. I think 29 have died since a battalion from here was deployed in late summer.

It's significant, and not just because of each loss. In the military, assignment to Korea is, well, less thrilling than being hit on by Mr. Hong. The country isn't as pretty or as glamorous as some of the islands nearby. The weather sucks and not a lot happens in Seoul. Worse, most of the soldiers live at least an hour from Seoul, and it's really like being at summer camp, without the summer or the camp. Housing is limited throughout the peninsula. Out of the 35,000 troops here, very few have the privilege of bringing families. So far, I think I've interviewed at least half a dozen soldiers who could tell me, to the day, when their one-year tour is up.

So the Army has tried for the past few years to promote Korea as an assignment of choice. Come here, and you'll do your duty and not have to go anywhere scary, like Afghanistan or Iraq, for instance. In fact, if you extend your duty here, we'll pay you an extra $300 a month. (And many, many have.) Now tell all that to the 3,400 soldiers in Korea who got orders this summer to go to Iraq. Tell that to the 29 who have died.

So we're keeping track, trying to write a story about each one who dies. The stories are rewrites of the Pentagon press releases and hometown obits, if we're lucky. But every few weeks we do a bigger local story about who's died from here.

I got to work about 10 a.m. and wrote up the obit and a few news briefs. A little after 11 a.m., I got into a cab with Hae-rym and went to the Korea House, a conference center built to look like Korean palacial grounds of old. It was quite beautiful. The planted maple trees were bright red-orange and the buildings on the ground were simple and beautiful, with rice paper screens and heavy wood beams framing most rooms. A buddist chant echoed through speakers throughout the grounds.

We were there to meet Mary Eisenhower, who heads a cultural exchange group called People-to-People. The news conference was actually a very nice luncheon for Ms. Eisenhower and press, and I wasn't about to stay for the free dumplings. At least she took questions for about an hour first.

Her group, started by her grandfather, sponsors things like summer camps for children throughout the world, works to remove land mines from Asian countries, helps coordinate college exchange programs. The interview was interesting, but then they started serving lunch. Hae-rym didn't understand when I said we had to leave at 1 p.m., because she knew my next appointment wasn't for another hour. After we awkwardly scooted out the door (Hae-rym managed to enjoy a few dumplings) I gently explained to her my reason for leaving early, how reporters shouldn't really take a meal or entertainment in exchange for the story. She understood, but was still disappointed I didn't get to eat good, traditional Korean food. Well, me too, but I have to have some dignity here.

Which brings me to city hall. I wanted to cover an afternoon town hall meeting that invited foreigners to come in and complain about Seoul. This is the fifth year the city has had the meeting, and it has produced helpful results in the past. Last year, complaints about health care service prompted a 24-hour English-language hotline for people with questions about illnesses, hospitals, pharmacies and the like.

Of course, the American troops were invited to this meeting, about three miles from Yongsan Garrison. Of course, none came. But it was still a good excuse for me to go to city hall and get experience covering a story there. I met a couple of very helpful and friendly English-speaking reporters. And I got the faithful reminder that all government meetings are boring, and it's only the people in the audience who matter. I bolted after two hours with some helpful business cards and enough for a 12-inch story. I followed up with e-mails to my new collection of business cards, asking them to remember Stripes for any story ideas they had.

One of those e-mails, apparantly, went to poor Mr. Hong. He responded to me later about my story request and my eyes. I'm never sure exactly sure what the appropriate response is to odd comments from Koreans. They generally are more frank than Americans about feelings and appearances, and they don't always mean them in a suggestive way. (An American man in my language class said a player in his badmitton league recently told him, I love you. He said, dude, no you don't. Hae-rym this week blurted out, Joe is beautiful. When I looked at her slyly, she said incredulously, Well, he is.) I suppose any attempt at offense relies on, at the very least, a passive defense, which translates into a quick deletion of Mr. Hong's e-mail.

I finished work Friday about 7 p.m., dutifully skipping language class. It was lucky for me, cause I got a call from the new AP bureau chief who said a happy hour for the international press club was about to start. With one quick conversation with Joe, in Germany, for directions to the gathering, I was set.

Everyone there was fun and interested to know why I picked Seoul. It was a fun group who only left when the hospitality room forced us out at 10 p.m. That's when I decided to ditch my friends who were going out in my own neighborhood for the new and thrilling prospect of going to a neighborhood so new to me that I can't now recall the name. It was fun, and the Korean liquor they ordered was the best I've had yet. It was just around midnight when I realized the bathrooms had no toilet paper (a common predicament in Korea) and I dediced to head back for the American side of town.

I found my friends back on my own turf, and they served me dinner and a good game of darts. I got home about 3 a.m., and set my alarm for 8:30 a.m. because I had to take pictures of the Army/Navy flag football game that started at 10 a.m. Saturday. (I made it with time to spare, just in case you have your doubts.)

So that sums up a fun, but typical day, at least when it comes to work. This week, on Wednesday for instance, I spent half the day trying to figure out the structure of the Korean National Assembly and helping Hae-rym figure out who to call to track a particular bill. Today, Thursday, I spent half an hour at a round table with a source talking about the North Korean nuclear program. Then I spent half the day doing research to make sure my story won't prompt an international incident, or, more importantly for me, a correction.

It's stressful cause I'm on my own, especially with Joe gone. But it's fun, cause I can decide every day what I want to do. The editors in Toyko give me plenty of guidance, but I get the sense they are also wanting me to make some of these decisions on my own. I'm thankful to have the flexibility and their confidence.

Now it's 9:30 at night, and I'll probably check the wires one more time before seeing what's on Korean cable. Last night it was Clueless and Friends. Not a bad line up really, especially after a day struggling to understand the last 50 years of Korean society.