The Slow Befuddled Spiral of a Trilingual M.C., Part One

The first time I heard someone say “Comedy equals tragedy plus time,” I’m pretty sure it was Alan Alda in a Woody Allen movie. He was good and greasy in that movie, if memory serves. And that movie served up some tragedy, some comedy and some zaniness. I’m going to work in all of those in this story, with the dark stuff up front.

It begins with a tragedy, the death of 159 people during a Halloween festival in a place called Itaewon, in Seoul in 2022. About 200 more were injured. It shook the country and even made Koreans consider whether there might be some inherent curse in this strange Western holiday, Halloween. Just my opinion, but Itaewon has yet to recover. Fewer people are on the streets, you see more vacant storefronts and a lonely and desolate feeling in the air…not the vibrant atmosphere of the past.

Itaewon is the least Korean place in Korea. It’s an international neighborhood of clubs, restaurants of all types, souvenir shops and “big and tall” clothing shops for, well, you know who you are. If you want poutine or Turkish ice cream, you can eat them. If you want U.S. Army surplus boots, jackets or scary patches, they’ve got ‘em. Sequined dress, gaudy as can be? Check. Baseball cap that says “외국인“ (foreigner): About 12 bucks. (Haggle a bit. The lady’s nice and will give you a deal.)

Michael Jun is something of a “gyopo,” meaning a Korean who lives outside of the country. I’d call him a diet gyopo, because he probably spends more time living in Korea than his other home in California. He’s the publisher of Itaewon News, which gives a bit of news of the neighborhood and beyond. A bit. Mostly, it focuses on his pet project, which we’ll get to later.

I met Michael Jun during a jaunt to Itaewon with a friend, in late August. Our destination was a new South Indian restaurant. After paneer dosas and sambar, coffee. (Holly’s Coffee, a Korean franchise I rate above Starbucks, as I do with most coffee franchises.) We perched on the second floor with coffee and baklava from a Turkish bakery. On the street below, a procession materialized and marched past us for 20 minutes. Pro-impeached President Yoon, Pro-USA, anti-President Lee. “Stop the Steal!” and “China out of Korea!” signs were ubiquitous, among American and Korean flags. Well, we HAD to take some pictures.

(If you look to the left of the Hamilton Shopping Mall, you can see the alley where the Halloween tragedy occurred. And most of the signs are in English. Ain’t that something?)

As my friend and I continued to take pictures, the gaunt Korean man sitting next to me took some too. I was a bit surprised when he asked me, in English, “Do you know what this is about?” I did. He told me his background, that he lives in the L.A. area part of the year, and that he’s fairly conservative, politically. Michael Jun. Pleased to meet him. We had a good conversation about Trump and America, Lee and Korea, then exchanged phone numbers, all the while neglecting my friend, who had resorted to phone scrolling in the way young lady little-sister types do when they get bored.

Koreans usually don’t approach strangers, so my meeting with Michael Jun had a hint of portent. Fortuity. He’s a newspaper guy; I used to write for the Oklahoma Gazette. Our politics were somewhat aligned. I thought he was gearing up to offer me a writing job. I had no sooner gotten home that night when my phone rang. It was him. He told me about “Itaewon World Music Spirit,” a music festival he had created in honor of the lives lost in the Itaewon tragedy. It was to be held October 22, and he wanted me to attend.

I was reluctant. I’ve been to a few of these types of shows in Korea. Singers sing a uniform selection of ballads accompanied by a recording, and talk interminably between songs. I get drowsy. Still, I didn’t want to say no, so I said, let me see. A week later, he called again.

That’s enough for part one.