I just got home from school. I walked in, took off my cardigan (which proved suffocating after ten this morning), set a litre of water boiling -- to drink later, since the tap water is rumored to be unpotable -- rinsed a handful of cherry tomatoes I bought on the way home, opened a Pilsner Urquell and sat down to write.
I realize you know little of my daily life, so because today was so average, I find it apt for sharing.
Since we've started at the current time, let's work backwards from here. I bought the tomatoes at a roadside truck selling at least 10 different native fruits and vegetables (and kiwis and bananas from some far-off land). They cost 5000won ($4) for about three kilos. That's enough to feed me for a week, if I make sauces every dinner, eat some at lunch, and snack on them like I'm doing now. Produce is cheap here, so long as it's grown in the country. Beef, on the other hand, is not. There's not much space for cows so they demand a premium. Tariffs and protectionist policies (which I heartily approve of) keep the Korean ranchers from being undersold by the American Meat Machine.
On the way to the tomatoes I passed a number of other street vendors selling maternity and baby clothes, cell phones from some national Telecom, and more, but I wasn't paying attention. I met a number of students on the way, in groups of twos and threes. Most of them just yelled, "Samporduh!!" and waved, while a couple of them asked how I was and replied to my query, "Finethanksyou?"
I have two favorite student interactions. First are the ones where I ask them a question in Korean and they answer in perfect English. For example, the third grader I saw today who, when I asked her "Odie ga-yo?" (Where are you going?), gave me a look of puzzlement, and said as clearly as an American kid, "My house."
The second favorite interaction is where they ask me obvious questions in Korean, like, "Weigookin?" (Are you a foreigner?) Umm... probably?
For the last four hours of school following lunch I did two things: 1) I emailed a couple of people and chatted with my parents, my girlfriend and a friend in Iraq. 2) I read about how to make Japanese ponds -- my first project on arriving home in Covington is to reform our prodigal backyard. (Prodigal, as in it keeps coming back in horrible shape.)
[On a side note: since Tomatoes are semi-poisonous, just how many of these things can I eat before I suffer their negative effects?]
For lunch I ate PB&J, a banana and a chocolate bar. Which is a bit juvenile, but I didn't feel like exerting effort. I read a chapter of Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake as well.
In the morning I had four nearly identical classes in a row. I started each class with my co-teacher, saying Hello, and What's The Date Today and those sorts of things, while I loaded the CD from the national curriculum. I administered a reading test to the few students who were away at science or water-rocket launching competitions yesterday. Once the CD loaded, I clicked on various videos and we asked the students to explain what they saw / heard. I gave a pop quiz on one of the longer videos, with mind-rending questions like, "Where was the boy?" (Possible answers: gift shop, toy shop, New York City, the USA) and "Why didn't the boy buy the toy helicopter?" (It was too expensive. He was in the Statue of Liberty gift shop -- what'd he expect?)
I'd arrived at school just after 8:30, gotten up just after 7:30 and slept last night around 4:30 (with the summer heat comes insomnia). Breakfast was frosted flakes composed of 74% corn (the rest is...?) and soy milk.
Back to the present: on the docket for the evening: maybe meeting friends after they get off work from the hagwons around nine tonight. In the meantime, putting some finishing touches on the beta of my new website, http://sharearchy.com, watching the rest of From Here to Eternity and practicing my French.
Yes, French, because it's just about time to depart this country -- perhaps for good, perhaps not. And French is a useful language, not to mention it's easier than Korean for a native-English speaker.
Showing posts with label korea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label korea. Show all posts
May 14, 2009
May 8, 2009
How to Teach in Korea in 3 Easy Steps
A steadily increasing number of you have asked me how you too can teach English in Korea. I suppose there aren't too many jobs floating around in the United States or something.
Well, at the moment there are a lot of "Teaching English as a Foreign Language" jobs in Korea.
First, the basics. There are three sorts of TEFL jobs in Korea:
You do NOT want to teach at a hagwon.
I don't quite understand why anyone does. Hagwons are where parents send their children after school in a desperate attempt to boost their child's chance at success, at the cost of their child's happiness. My students attend classes from 8:20 am to as late as 11pm. They're exhausted and not especially prepared to learn when they're falling asleep on their desks. From a pedagogical perspective, I'm not sure if hagwons are effective or not, but, as someone once said, "Just because torture works, doesn't mean it's right." Which is not to fault the teachers (and my friends) who work at hagwons: some just didn't know; others are merely meeting market demand.
So, though the public school day lasts only six hours, the after-school school day can last until 10 or 11pm for a third grader. After school and during vacations children attend hagwons -- private academies. As my friend Lauren writes (she's so much better at expressing indignation):
"During vacations, students go to their academies (one for every subject), taking extra classes all day long. And then of course have homework all night. This is on top of the homework assigned by their public school teachers for vacation. They literally have no break from studying. From the time they are 6 until the time they finish high school, they will be studying continuously without one break - they do these classes during the summer vacation too. It's absurd. How do they not crack and go crazy?! No wonder there is little excitement in my students during our classes. It's because they're just off to more classes after I'm done with them."
Lauren continues, "On top of the normal subjects they study, they also generally study 2 instruments, art, and sometimes Chinese or Japanese on top of English. Beyond that, I have students (13 years old) studying computer programming. Every night of the week she tells me she spends 2 hours working on her programming homework. SHE IS THIRTEEN."
As far as actually teaching at a hagwon, it's not the best situation. There are a few excellent hagwons, but most are run by Koreans with little international experience. They're running a business and you're their commodity. They'll pay you about what a public school pays you, but you'll have to teach twice as much (up to 40 hours a week), either in the early mornings or after school into the late evenings. Hagwons are notorious for dodging their responsibilities to you, like paying your pension, deducting the correct amount of taxes, paying you on time, offering you a clean, sanitary, furnished apartment.
Yes, I'm describing the worst possible scenario -- not all hagwons are hellholes. Some are reputable, friendly and treat you well. But it's not worth the risk, especially when there's such an obvious alternative.
You DO want to teach at public schools.
Public schools are not profit driven. That makes them immediately better.
I recommend Footprints Recruiting to help you find a public school to teach at.
A few more tips:
Well, at the moment there are a lot of "Teaching English as a Foreign Language" jobs in Korea.
First, the basics. There are three sorts of TEFL jobs in Korea:
- Public Schools
- Hagwons (privately owned academies)
- Universities
You do NOT want to teach at a hagwon.
I don't quite understand why anyone does. Hagwons are where parents send their children after school in a desperate attempt to boost their child's chance at success, at the cost of their child's happiness. My students attend classes from 8:20 am to as late as 11pm. They're exhausted and not especially prepared to learn when they're falling asleep on their desks. From a pedagogical perspective, I'm not sure if hagwons are effective or not, but, as someone once said, "Just because torture works, doesn't mean it's right." Which is not to fault the teachers (and my friends) who work at hagwons: some just didn't know; others are merely meeting market demand.
So, though the public school day lasts only six hours, the after-school school day can last until 10 or 11pm for a third grader. After school and during vacations children attend hagwons -- private academies. As my friend Lauren writes (she's so much better at expressing indignation):
"During vacations, students go to their academies (one for every subject), taking extra classes all day long. And then of course have homework all night. This is on top of the homework assigned by their public school teachers for vacation. They literally have no break from studying. From the time they are 6 until the time they finish high school, they will be studying continuously without one break - they do these classes during the summer vacation too. It's absurd. How do they not crack and go crazy?! No wonder there is little excitement in my students during our classes. It's because they're just off to more classes after I'm done with them."
Lauren continues, "On top of the normal subjects they study, they also generally study 2 instruments, art, and sometimes Chinese or Japanese on top of English. Beyond that, I have students (13 years old) studying computer programming. Every night of the week she tells me she spends 2 hours working on her programming homework. SHE IS THIRTEEN."
As far as actually teaching at a hagwon, it's not the best situation. There are a few excellent hagwons, but most are run by Koreans with little international experience. They're running a business and you're their commodity. They'll pay you about what a public school pays you, but you'll have to teach twice as much (up to 40 hours a week), either in the early mornings or after school into the late evenings. Hagwons are notorious for dodging their responsibilities to you, like paying your pension, deducting the correct amount of taxes, paying you on time, offering you a clean, sanitary, furnished apartment.
Yes, I'm describing the worst possible scenario -- not all hagwons are hellholes. Some are reputable, friendly and treat you well. But it's not worth the risk, especially when there's such an obvious alternative.
You DO want to teach at public schools.
Public schools are not profit driven. That makes them immediately better.
- You'll teach 22 hours a week at the maximum, though you may be required to stay at school a full 40 hours a week. I've heard of people using that time for naps, for side projects, for reading, for dying of boredom, etc. How you use your free time is up to you. I recommend getting a laptop and reading all the free books available from Project Gutenberg.
- Your pay will be at least equivalent to the hagwons. Public schools pay you on time. My base wage is 2,000,000 won a month.
- You'll get anywhere from 2-6 weeks vacation (I've heard of people getting 8 weeks). Some districts pay that vacation, some pay part of it, some pay only two weeks of it.
- You may have to work summer or winter camps, but they'll pay you overtime for that. I made an extra 500-600,000 won off of camps this winter. That's on top of the base salary.
- They get a budget for hiring you, which includes paying for an apartment. Hopefully you'll be placed in a new apartment, like the teachers in my city were.
- You teach the state curriculum with a co-teacher, which means any curriculum development you do is voluntary.
- You're not contributing to student exhaustion, because public school is compulsory. The better you teach, the less need for a hagwon the parent perceives.
I recommend Footprints Recruiting to help you find a public school to teach at.
A few more tips:
- Do your own research. I spent probably 20 hours researching everything I could find about Korea and teaching here.
- For more information, look around on Dave's ESL Cafe. The forums are full of advice and good and bad experience.
- When you still have more questions (which you should, because even after all that research I was still unprepared for Korea), contact me.
January 11, 2009
Day 106: Notes on a Country
One of my childhood friends moved when we were teens from Seattle to Muscatine, Iowa. His affection for the home of our youth grew through the years. The longer he was away, the more he found his identity in what he'd left. These days he lives in L.A., but even now he seems to have more zeal for my region than I do.
For perhaps the first time since my friend moved, I can commiserate with him. I'm finding my identity is founded more in what I left behind, than in the reasons why I left. Like the philosopher Hegel said, I'm examining my surroundings to find out which of it is not me. That which I don't reject, that which I affirm, I hold onto as the vague outline of my identity. In Korea I reject a lot. Not much of the culture here resounds with me. Instead, after my years of criticizing my home, I'm surprised to find that the silhouette remaining, my core identity, resembles the US.
I realize now that there's a lot of United Statesian inextricably woven into me. It seems, for all my syncretism, I can't get the American out of me.
Having been out of the US for 9 of the past 11 months, I've very gradually become fond of the hobbling, optimistic people and complex, chaotic, confusing land I left behind. Part of that fondness is fed by the stark contrast Korea presents. Part of it grows from brief moments of hope inspired by small people doing grand things.
I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised. It's the very core of the United States that encourages my criticisms, both in opening a podium for discourse via the first amendment and by enamouring me so I'll come critically to its defense when that podium is threatened.
I love that everyone in the US -- immigrant, CEO, religious, Daughter of the Revolution, bourgeois, ex-con, or student -- is, at least theoretically, allowed a soapbox and equal access to the air that will gladly carry their cries.
Perhaps I'm a bit self-righteous when it comes to our constitution and our incorrigible, polyphonic disagreeability. The same brutish, self-unconscious rudeness I despise in some United Statesians when it occurs in a quiet pub or museum, I love when it heralds fierce patriots parading some cronyist injustice or US-government condoned oppression to the chagrin of the supposedly patriotic.
The US is a noble culture and a fetid culture, but there's room for both. There are plenty of governments-by-the-people-for-the-people doing parts of it better. How I'd love Poland's universal free education all the way through university. How I'd love Canada's extensive support for the arts. How I'd love to see individual states defy the central government more, in the spirit of Ireland, Sweden and Connecticut. I'd love to see more legal equality and social acceptance for minorities.
I love that the US constitution protects both the rights of the majority to dislike the minority and the minority to challenge the majority. At the end of all the name calling, bickering and outright conflict, the constitution prescribes civility and allows enemies to dialogue til they become friends or go to dinner as enemies. It allows universities to explore risque subjects. It's the constitution itself that makes allowances via the court system for resistance, defiance and outright disobedience when such freedoms are threatened.
There's little open discourse in Korea. Friends of mine who teach adults English via topic based conversations complain that in consecutive classes, the same basic opinions are rehashed repetitively. Nor is discourse encouraged. Technically the founding contract of Korea protects freedom of speech, but the government doesn't go in for the whole constitutional law thing much: they're a majority party and they've stacked every piece of government machinery with cronies. Just yesterday a blogger was arrested for speculating Korea's currency, the Won, might collapse.
Beneath the government level, the culture itself discourages dissent. At my school, often horrible ideas proceed without questioning, refinement or improvement. For example, a 4th grader was hit by a car when walking across the street. The next day the school banned 3rd graders and younger from riding bikes to school. I was the only one who pointed out the non-sequitur nature of the mandate. Other teachers said, "It's ok, it's ok!" and "Don't you think this makes sense?" giving me a chance to come to their side. No one is expected to embarrass a leader by questioning their wisdom.
Young people are constantly coerced to do as their elders deign, even when decisions are completely non-sensical. For example, in Korea, boys are circumcised when they're in the 5th and 6th grade. Leading doctors here acknowledge the surgery is pointless at that age, as sanitation is no longer an issue for a 12 or 13 year old.
However, according to a friend who's been advocating against circumcision in Korea for the past 4 years, the majority of doctors know little about the procedure beyond how to actually sever the foreskin. Fathers are too busy at work to take their sons' side, and too harried to be approached. Mothers aren't informed on the details of the operation and so mandate their children undertake it. The boys of course understand the ramifications: weeks bedridden, the embarrassment of bloody pants and the effects of heavy painkillers taken for up to a month. Ignorance and corrupted doctrines of Confucianism perpetuate genital mutilation, which is certainly child abuse.
It's the freedom to dissent and the equality of all humans that I identify most with the in US. Children and adults, principals and teachers are equally defended under the law. There's an ingrained, fierce defence of humanity with all its forms, creeds, lifestyles and ideas. It's this aspect more than others that differentiates the US from Korea. Korea often seems juvenile and uniform. It feels like middle school, whereas the US feels like a university full of disagreement and discourse. That aspect alone makes the US rare and worthy of preservation.
Maybe I only feel this idealism at a distance. I have a feeling one day back in the US would dampen my affections. Yet, many of my cricitisms rose in reaction to Bush administration gaffs and big corporate handouts due to traditional politics. Perhaps later this month, that will begin to change. Maybe, maybe not: new ways and old ways have equal opportunity in the US.
I'll end with a summary statement that concisely conveys my current perspective. It rose from the mind of a British man during a similarly convoluted time in US history: the Vietnam War era. Aptly enough, I discovered the statement through another foreigner, a fellow blogger and traveler from Singapore and Malaysia, when she summed up her study abroad experience in the US. She wrote:
Love and peace to you all, and if you're experiencing extreme weather, stock up, hunker down, bundle up and don't forget to enjoy the novelty of the storm.
Galen
PS. Especially to those who disagree with or don't like the next President of the US: As Mr. Obama becomes President, keep in mind his understanding of the country. He sees space for your dissent, whatever your creed, beliefs or lifestyle. I hope this statement lifts your spirits and invites you into discourse: "During the course of the entire inaugural festivities, there are going to be a wide range of viewpoints that are presented. And that's how it should be, because that's what America is about. That's part of the magic of this country is that we are diverse and noisy and opinionated." - President-Elect Obama
For perhaps the first time since my friend moved, I can commiserate with him. I'm finding my identity is founded more in what I left behind, than in the reasons why I left. Like the philosopher Hegel said, I'm examining my surroundings to find out which of it is not me. That which I don't reject, that which I affirm, I hold onto as the vague outline of my identity. In Korea I reject a lot. Not much of the culture here resounds with me. Instead, after my years of criticizing my home, I'm surprised to find that the silhouette remaining, my core identity, resembles the US.
I realize now that there's a lot of United Statesian inextricably woven into me. It seems, for all my syncretism, I can't get the American out of me.
Having been out of the US for 9 of the past 11 months, I've very gradually become fond of the hobbling, optimistic people and complex, chaotic, confusing land I left behind. Part of that fondness is fed by the stark contrast Korea presents. Part of it grows from brief moments of hope inspired by small people doing grand things.
I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised. It's the very core of the United States that encourages my criticisms, both in opening a podium for discourse via the first amendment and by enamouring me so I'll come critically to its defense when that podium is threatened.
I love that everyone in the US -- immigrant, CEO, religious, Daughter of the Revolution, bourgeois, ex-con, or student -- is, at least theoretically, allowed a soapbox and equal access to the air that will gladly carry their cries.
Perhaps I'm a bit self-righteous when it comes to our constitution and our incorrigible, polyphonic disagreeability. The same brutish, self-unconscious rudeness I despise in some United Statesians when it occurs in a quiet pub or museum, I love when it heralds fierce patriots parading some cronyist injustice or US-government condoned oppression to the chagrin of the supposedly patriotic.
The US is a noble culture and a fetid culture, but there's room for both. There are plenty of governments-by-the-people-for-
I love that the US constitution protects both the rights of the majority to dislike the minority and the minority to challenge the majority. At the end of all the name calling, bickering and outright conflict, the constitution prescribes civility and allows enemies to dialogue til they become friends or go to dinner as enemies. It allows universities to explore risque subjects. It's the constitution itself that makes allowances via the court system for resistance, defiance and outright disobedience when such freedoms are threatened.
There's little open discourse in Korea. Friends of mine who teach adults English via topic based conversations complain that in consecutive classes, the same basic opinions are rehashed repetitively. Nor is discourse encouraged. Technically the founding contract of Korea protects freedom of speech, but the government doesn't go in for the whole constitutional law thing much: they're a majority party and they've stacked every piece of government machinery with cronies. Just yesterday a blogger was arrested for speculating Korea's currency, the Won, might collapse.
Beneath the government level, the culture itself discourages dissent. At my school, often horrible ideas proceed without questioning, refinement or improvement. For example, a 4th grader was hit by a car when walking across the street. The next day the school banned 3rd graders and younger from riding bikes to school. I was the only one who pointed out the non-sequitur nature of the mandate. Other teachers said, "It's ok, it's ok!" and "Don't you think this makes sense?" giving me a chance to come to their side. No one is expected to embarrass a leader by questioning their wisdom.
Young people are constantly coerced to do as their elders deign, even when decisions are completely non-sensical. For example, in Korea, boys are circumcised when they're in the 5th and 6th grade. Leading doctors here acknowledge the surgery is pointless at that age, as sanitation is no longer an issue for a 12 or 13 year old.
However, according to a friend who's been advocating against circumcision in Korea for the past 4 years, the majority of doctors know little about the procedure beyond how to actually sever the foreskin. Fathers are too busy at work to take their sons' side, and too harried to be approached. Mothers aren't informed on the details of the operation and so mandate their children undertake it. The boys of course understand the ramifications: weeks bedridden, the embarrassment of bloody pants and the effects of heavy painkillers taken for up to a month. Ignorance and corrupted doctrines of Confucianism perpetuate genital mutilation, which is certainly child abuse.
It's the freedom to dissent and the equality of all humans that I identify most with the in US. Children and adults, principals and teachers are equally defended under the law. There's an ingrained, fierce defence of humanity with all its forms, creeds, lifestyles and ideas. It's this aspect more than others that differentiates the US from Korea. Korea often seems juvenile and uniform. It feels like middle school, whereas the US feels like a university full of disagreement and discourse. That aspect alone makes the US rare and worthy of preservation.
Maybe I only feel this idealism at a distance. I have a feeling one day back in the US would dampen my affections. Yet, many of my cricitisms rose in reaction to Bush administration gaffs and big corporate handouts due to traditional politics. Perhaps later this month, that will begin to change. Maybe, maybe not: new ways and old ways have equal opportunity in the US.
I'll end with a summary statement that concisely conveys my current perspective. It rose from the mind of a British man during a similarly convoluted time in US history: the Vietnam War era. Aptly enough, I discovered the statement through another foreigner, a fellow blogger and traveler from Singapore and Malaysia, when she summed up her study abroad experience in the US. She wrote:
After only 4 months [in the US], I am ill-equipped to form a conclusion on America and I suspect that it'll be a nation that will perpetually baffle me.
One man can, though. And that man is Alistair Cooke, a BBC correspondent who had a weekly radio show about America, Letter from America. Never before have I heard such an articulate and moving description of the country, and a timeless one at that- for it holds true almost 40 years later:
--------------
Yes. What is remarkable is not the conflict, but the truce. And yes, almost anything you care to say about the United States is true. One country of many nations, with liberty, opportunity, and at least half a chance at justice for all.One man can, though. And that man is Alistair Cooke, a BBC correspondent who had a weekly radio show about America, Letter from America. Never before have I heard such an articulate and moving description of the country, and a timeless one at that- for it holds true almost 40 years later:
In a self-governing Republic - good government in some places, dubious in others...with two hundred million people drawn from scores of nations, what is remarkable is not the conflict between them but the truce. Enough is happening in America at any one time - enough that is exciting, frightening, funny, brutal, brave, intolerable, bizarre, dull, slavish, eccentric, inspiring and disastrous - that almost anything you care to say about the United States is true.America, I have learned, is what you make of it. The freedom to do so is the most beautiful sort of freedom that I have ever encountered.
- From Cooke's broadcast, 19 October 1969 -
--------------
Love and peace to you all, and if you're experiencing extreme weather, stock up, hunker down, bundle up and don't forget to enjoy the novelty of the storm.
Galen
PS. Especially to those who disagree with or don't like the next President of the US: As Mr. Obama becomes President, keep in mind his understanding of the country. He sees space for your dissent, whatever your creed, beliefs or lifestyle. I hope this statement lifts your spirits and invites you into discourse: "During the course of the entire inaugural festivities, there are going to be a wide range of viewpoints that are presented. And that's how it should be, because that's what America is about. That's part of the magic of this country is that we are diverse and noisy and opinionated." - President-Elect Obama
January 10, 2009
An update, two weeks late
This is an email I sent on December 26. I didn't have time to post it here as I spent the next week traveling. Then I forgot it. Now, finally, an update, two weeks post. It's still fairly pertinent.
I'm drinking a Coke, High Fructose Corn Syrup and all. I just ate a Skippy peanut butter sandwich on the closest thing to white bread I've had in a decade.
I must be missing home.
I moved to the most Puget Sound-ish city in Korea in an attempt to allay the homesickness. Didn't work. Mountains here are 400 meters tall (I miss the sunset silhouetting the Olympics). Whole wheat bread means they didn't quite turn all the flour white (I miss Franz breads baked the same morning). The only non-Korean food here is quasi-Italian or pizza (I miss Ethiopian, Thai, Moroccan). Korea's homogeneous (I miss walking around Greenlake hearing 10 different languages). It RARELY rains here (and when it does you can't enjoy it for dodging the hordes of umbrellas -- Yesterday in Busan, every Korean I saw had an umbrella, save two who were carrying open wine bottles! :D). Most roads here are tollroads or full of traffic signals (I miss cruising for hours, through multiple climates, without slowing or stopping).
But, as I told my cousin, things are exactly how they should be. I've been sick a lot lately, which comes with new germs and new foods and new stresses, but that hasn't slowed me too much. I've been working on curriculum for a UN sponsored English camp to be held this January and trying not to miss the conveniences of the US too much. Things like warm cookies, aesthetics and carpet.
Korea and I are fighting right now. It's normal culture shock sort of stuff, but it's exasperated by the lack of tolerance I have when I'm tired, stressed and sick. I did find a ticket home for Christmas, a ~$170 round trip non-stop to Vancouver. A short train ride and I'd be home. Only the government taxes on the ticket totaled nearly a thousand dollars. ... So I'm spending Christmas in Tongyeong.
I've more journalistic entries in the works, but progress writing is quite slow as I don't have ready access to a computer. I'm scrounging to afford a computer during post-Christmas sales, but until then I have about 30 uninterrupted minutes a day on my school computer. The PC rooms I used to frequent are now off limits to me -- too much smoke, too little ventilation.
Vacation's just starting up here, and officially began the 24th. I'll have the 24th, 25th, 26th, 31st, 1st and 2nd off. Then I've two weeks of English camps. Following those Lauren and I have tickets to Thailand for two weeks. I'm very excited about the potential for warmth, Thai food and more people to more easily communicate with (from what I hear, there's more English speakers and foreigners in Thailand than Korea).
I've been silent so much here that now, after three months, whenever I get a chance to converse, I talk like a stampeding cow. My head shuts off and I dump a thousand word essay in the lap of the person I'm talking [at]. Then I realize it's been minutes since I inhaled and I relapse into silence. It's not the most effective way to win friends and influence people.
At the moment I'm headed to Busan, the closest metropolitan city (3+million people). Museums, Western food, and a doctor are all on the docket. It being Kwanzaa here, and Christmas where you are.
If you want a good laugh, here's an article about some Korean children, not unlike some children from the US. Politicians vary little, throughout the world.
http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2008-12/18/content_10525584.htm
Gotta go, the bus leaves soon.
Happy Hanukkah to Jews. Happy Kwanzaa to those of African heritage. Merry Christmas to Christians and consumers. And Happy Holidays for everyone who goes in for that sort of thing.
I'm drinking a Coke, High Fructose Corn Syrup and all. I just ate a Skippy peanut butter sandwich on the closest thing to white bread I've had in a decade.
I must be missing home.
I moved to the most Puget Sound-ish city in Korea in an attempt to allay the homesickness. Didn't work. Mountains here are 400 meters tall (I miss the sunset silhouetting the Olympics). Whole wheat bread means they didn't quite turn all the flour white (I miss Franz breads baked the same morning). The only non-Korean food here is quasi-Italian or pizza (I miss Ethiopian, Thai, Moroccan). Korea's homogeneous (I miss walking around Greenlake hearing 10 different languages). It RARELY rains here (and when it does you can't enjoy it for dodging the hordes of umbrellas -- Yesterday in Busan, every Korean I saw had an umbrella, save two who were carrying open wine bottles! :D). Most roads here are tollroads or full of traffic signals (I miss cruising for hours, through multiple climates, without slowing or stopping).
But, as I told my cousin, things are exactly how they should be. I've been sick a lot lately, which comes with new germs and new foods and new stresses, but that hasn't slowed me too much. I've been working on curriculum for a UN sponsored English camp to be held this January and trying not to miss the conveniences of the US too much. Things like warm cookies, aesthetics and carpet.
Korea and I are fighting right now. It's normal culture shock sort of stuff, but it's exasperated by the lack of tolerance I have when I'm tired, stressed and sick. I did find a ticket home for Christmas, a ~$170 round trip non-stop to Vancouver. A short train ride and I'd be home. Only the government taxes on the ticket totaled nearly a thousand dollars. ... So I'm spending Christmas in Tongyeong.
I've more journalistic entries in the works, but progress writing is quite slow as I don't have ready access to a computer. I'm scrounging to afford a computer during post-Christmas sales, but until then I have about 30 uninterrupted minutes a day on my school computer. The PC rooms I used to frequent are now off limits to me -- too much smoke, too little ventilation.
Vacation's just starting up here, and officially began the 24th. I'll have the 24th, 25th, 26th, 31st, 1st and 2nd off. Then I've two weeks of English camps. Following those Lauren and I have tickets to Thailand for two weeks. I'm very excited about the potential for warmth, Thai food and more people to more easily communicate with (from what I hear, there's more English speakers and foreigners in Thailand than Korea).
I've been silent so much here that now, after three months, whenever I get a chance to converse, I talk like a stampeding cow. My head shuts off and I dump a thousand word essay in the lap of the person I'm talking [at]. Then I realize it's been minutes since I inhaled and I relapse into silence. It's not the most effective way to win friends and influence people.
At the moment I'm headed to Busan, the closest metropolitan city (3+million people). Museums, Western food, and a doctor are all on the docket. It being Kwanzaa here, and Christmas where you are.
If you want a good laugh, here's an article about some Korean children, not unlike some children from the US. Politicians vary little, throughout the world.
http://news.xinhuanet.com/
Gotta go, the bus leaves soon.
Happy Hanukkah to Jews. Happy Kwanzaa to those of African heritage. Merry Christmas to Christians and consumers. And Happy Holidays for everyone who goes in for that sort of thing.
November 23, 2008
FAQ on food
I like rice. Rice is great if you're hungry and want 2000 of something.
-Mitch Hedberg
A brief list of answers to potentially common questions about Korean food:
1. Do Koreans eat kim chi with every meal?
Yep. And white rice. Even for breakfast. And when they're 35 they look 25. (Yes that's a possible Post hoc ergo propter hoc but it seems more plausible than, "God unfairly made Koreans decay 10 years slower than the rest of the world.")
2. Um... What's kim chi?
It's cabbage, ginger, garlic, peppers, green onions and fermented seafood (oysters or anchovies or shrimp). They mix it all up and then bury it in pots for a few months. When it comes out it's nutrient rich and calorie low.
3. Have you eaten octopus?
My school serves it for lunch at least once a week. And I've eaten whole squids, a squishy-still-moving-slug-ish thing (it looks like digestion), fresh shrimp (cooked in the most torturous way the locals could conceive), abalone, chestnuts, the best pears in the world, etc. I like the food here a lot. But I'll be honest: I'm pretty sick of octopus, if you want to know the truth.
3a. What's the most torturous way the locals could conceive?
They put a quarter inch of salt in the bottom of a pan, heat it up, and toss in live shrimp. When they put the lid on the shrimp bounce around like popcorn, trying to flee the searing heat. After two or three minutes, some shrimp are still jumping. The first (and only) time I saw it, I lost my appetite. Why they don't kill them instantly via beheading or boiling, I hope has more to do with efficiency and less with deep-rooted sadism.
4. Oooook... something happier perhaps? What's octopus taste like?
Octopus tastes unique. It's really rich, like Top Ramen condensed into 8 tentacles. And sometimes it's entirely blah. I think it depends on how it's cooked. Sometimes it chews like thick noodles. Other times it's like masticating surgical tubing.
5. Is there anything Koreans eat that you refuse to try?
One thing: dog. They eat dog here. I have yet to see it for sale or in a restaurant, but seeing as I don't even like meat, I'm not about to eat Otis.
Another teacher and I remarked on the strange scarcity of shorebirds, pigeons and ravens. I've never been to a city and not seen pigeons and black birds. Nor have I ever been within 50 miles of a body of salt water and not seen seagulls. I mean, there's more seagulls in Spokane, 300 miles from a sea, than there are in Tongyeong, which rests in the middle of a bay, spread across multiple harbors and surrounded by hundreds of islands.
And, in Tongyeong, Chicken & Beer shops abound.
I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions. Meanwhile, no "chicken" for me.
6. How is the beer?
Budweiser's better. Thankfully the exchange rate ensures a bottle of Stella at a bar only costs US$5.75. You'd think that'd mean I'd drink less.
7. What do Koreans drink then?
In lieu of beer, the national drink is Soju. It's basically sweet vodka with a tequila kick. I won't touch the stuff. My co-workers and principals do, frequently. It's considered a marketable skill to be able to drink your boss under the table so people here practice a lot. Not kidding.
8. What's your favorite food?
I like most of it. The ingredients are fresh, cheap and the fish and rice are ecologically friendly. A lot of foods have labels telling you how close to organic it is. Also they eat food that's in season for the most part. So we've got great fruits right now and certain types of fish. I'm guessing in the next season we'll be eating different types of fish. The fast majority of fish we eat is caught the same day and live up until a couple of minutes before we eat it. Restaurants have tanks of fish out in front so you can preview dinner. In the fish markets, little old ladies sitting on stools point at the live fish they have in shallow bowls, which then protest by splashing water everywhere.
But the soups win overall. They're spicy, hearty, and healthy. Sometimes they have tofu, or muscles or shrimp. Other time they have fish in them. Like whole fish, chopped into three pieces and plopped into your soup.
8. How spicy?
Let me give you an example: a couple weeks ago I for dinner I ate fire. Of course I don't mean crackling in your fireplace fire. Oh no. I mean burned at the stake in the inquisition fire. Midway through my meal the pain reached a sufficient level, so I doused my mouth with just about a litre of water, which I hope simultaneously protected my stomach lining from vaporizing. It was quite the exercise in suffering. Like a good Korean Buddhist I strove to accept my circumstances as inescapable, and by the end of my meal I'd achieved complete detachment, albeit through ambivalence towards survival and a blunt numbness in my mouth.
I'm not complaining though. I'm convinced the spicy food best explains why I haven't been sick in Korea. Since so many illnesses enter the body through the nose and since my sinuses are regularly drained by lunch or dinner, germs have little time to colonize my body.
9. Sooo... that's your favorite food?
Not actually. One food in particular stands out as remarkable though. It's called 실비 and pronounced Shill-bee. It's entirely antithetical to profitable restauranteering. Say you go out for fish in the United States. You want a bit of seafood too. So you buy some fish, some muscles, oysters, clams on the half shell, then move on to some squid, a bit of abalone, and then a couple of crabs. You decide you want some beer. So you order a few of those. The meal runs you a hundred bucks or so. The food, if you're lucky was caught within the past week, and only on ice for a couple of days total.
Ok, now shillbe. You do things in reverse. You buy five or six beers. At 5,000 won each they run you around $30. That's some expensive beer. But here comes the finger food. It starts with some raw squid, octopus, muscles, some steamed oysters, abalone, and other seafoods. There's kimchi of course, and some potato pancakes. There's plenty of other sides as well (bean sprouts, seaweed, etc). You drink and eat to your fill. Then the server returns. This time she deposits four fried fish, some cooked squid, some new shellfish, some seaslugg-ish thing, some rice, etc. You're full again, but oh, here she comes with more fish, more seafood, more sides. Ad infinitum. She came back with at least 4 courses, but I really can't remember. I was rolling around on my back, futilely flailing my hands.
Oh and this fish and these seafoods were harvested that morning. Thirty bucks for more seafood than you can eat and 5 large beers to share amongst your friends. Perfect.
10. Do you ever miss food from home?
Yes! Lauren and I agree that its the small things we miss most about home. And most of those small things are food.
I miss flavor. Korean food has three flavors: spicy, fishy and umami. When we eat spaghetti, Korean people sometimes express surprise at the intensity of flavors. When I eat the same spaghetti I think, "Well, it's not that spicy."
I miss the diversity of tastes and spices in food from home. I miss that on Monday I can eat Mediterranean or Teriyaki, on Tuesday French or Chinese, on Wednesday Ukranian or Italian, on Thursday Thai or Indian, on Friday Ethiopian or Mexican, on Saturday fish-and-chips or Sushi, on Sunday oatmeal and all the leftovers. Every day here I eat Korean food. There's diversity in Korean foods, but it's still bit monotonous, and you know how much I abhor monotony.
I miss my Mom's soups on the first crisp days of fall. I miss Rachel's fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. I miss my dad's barbecue and chocolate milk. I miss sub sandwiches. I miss the choice and the paradox that comes with it.
Appreciate what you have: if you're not living in Poland or small-town Korea, you have plenty of options at dinner time.
If you have more questions, contact me. I love the food here, so I'm happy to talk about it.
-Mitch Hedberg
A brief list of answers to potentially common questions about Korean food:
1. Do Koreans eat kim chi with every meal?
Yep. And white rice. Even for breakfast. And when they're 35 they look 25. (Yes that's a possible Post hoc ergo propter hoc but it seems more plausible than, "God unfairly made Koreans decay 10 years slower than the rest of the world.")
2. Um... What's kim chi?
It's cabbage, ginger, garlic, peppers, green onions and fermented seafood (oysters or anchovies or shrimp). They mix it all up and then bury it in pots for a few months. When it comes out it's nutrient rich and calorie low.
3. Have you eaten octopus?
My school serves it for lunch at least once a week. And I've eaten whole squids, a squishy-still-moving-slug-ish thing (it looks like digestion), fresh shrimp (cooked in the most torturous way the locals could conceive), abalone, chestnuts, the best pears in the world, etc. I like the food here a lot. But I'll be honest: I'm pretty sick of octopus, if you want to know the truth.
3a. What's the most torturous way the locals could conceive?
They put a quarter inch of salt in the bottom of a pan, heat it up, and toss in live shrimp. When they put the lid on the shrimp bounce around like popcorn, trying to flee the searing heat. After two or three minutes, some shrimp are still jumping. The first (and only) time I saw it, I lost my appetite. Why they don't kill them instantly via beheading or boiling, I hope has more to do with efficiency and less with deep-rooted sadism.
4. Oooook... something happier perhaps? What's octopus taste like?
Octopus tastes unique. It's really rich, like Top Ramen condensed into 8 tentacles. And sometimes it's entirely blah. I think it depends on how it's cooked. Sometimes it chews like thick noodles. Other times it's like masticating surgical tubing.
5. Is there anything Koreans eat that you refuse to try?
One thing: dog. They eat dog here. I have yet to see it for sale or in a restaurant, but seeing as I don't even like meat, I'm not about to eat Otis.
Another teacher and I remarked on the strange scarcity of shorebirds, pigeons and ravens. I've never been to a city and not seen pigeons and black birds. Nor have I ever been within 50 miles of a body of salt water and not seen seagulls. I mean, there's more seagulls in Spokane, 300 miles from a sea, than there are in Tongyeong, which rests in the middle of a bay, spread across multiple harbors and surrounded by hundreds of islands.
And, in Tongyeong, Chicken & Beer shops abound.
I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions. Meanwhile, no "chicken" for me.
6. How is the beer?
Budweiser's better. Thankfully the exchange rate ensures a bottle of Stella at a bar only costs US$5.75. You'd think that'd mean I'd drink less.
7. What do Koreans drink then?
In lieu of beer, the national drink is Soju. It's basically sweet vodka with a tequila kick. I won't touch the stuff. My co-workers and principals do, frequently. It's considered a marketable skill to be able to drink your boss under the table so people here practice a lot. Not kidding.
8. What's your favorite food?
I like most of it. The ingredients are fresh, cheap and the fish and rice are ecologically friendly. A lot of foods have labels telling you how close to organic it is. Also they eat food that's in season for the most part. So we've got great fruits right now and certain types of fish. I'm guessing in the next season we'll be eating different types of fish. The fast majority of fish we eat is caught the same day and live up until a couple of minutes before we eat it. Restaurants have tanks of fish out in front so you can preview dinner. In the fish markets, little old ladies sitting on stools point at the live fish they have in shallow bowls, which then protest by splashing water everywhere.
But the soups win overall. They're spicy, hearty, and healthy. Sometimes they have tofu, or muscles or shrimp. Other time they have fish in them. Like whole fish, chopped into three pieces and plopped into your soup.
8. How spicy?
Let me give you an example: a couple weeks ago I for dinner I ate fire. Of course I don't mean crackling in your fireplace fire. Oh no. I mean burned at the stake in the inquisition fire. Midway through my meal the pain reached a sufficient level, so I doused my mouth with just about a litre of water, which I hope simultaneously protected my stomach lining from vaporizing. It was quite the exercise in suffering. Like a good Korean Buddhist I strove to accept my circumstances as inescapable, and by the end of my meal I'd achieved complete detachment, albeit through ambivalence towards survival and a blunt numbness in my mouth.
I'm not complaining though. I'm convinced the spicy food best explains why I haven't been sick in Korea. Since so many illnesses enter the body through the nose and since my sinuses are regularly drained by lunch or dinner, germs have little time to colonize my body.
9. Sooo... that's your favorite food?
Not actually. One food in particular stands out as remarkable though. It's called 실비 and pronounced Shill-bee. It's entirely antithetical to profitable restauranteering. Say you go out for fish in the United States. You want a bit of seafood too. So you buy some fish, some muscles, oysters, clams on the half shell, then move on to some squid, a bit of abalone, and then a couple of crabs. You decide you want some beer. So you order a few of those. The meal runs you a hundred bucks or so. The food, if you're lucky was caught within the past week, and only on ice for a couple of days total.
Ok, now shillbe. You do things in reverse. You buy five or six beers. At 5,000 won each they run you around $30. That's some expensive beer. But here comes the finger food. It starts with some raw squid, octopus, muscles, some steamed oysters, abalone, and other seafoods. There's kimchi of course, and some potato pancakes. There's plenty of other sides as well (bean sprouts, seaweed, etc). You drink and eat to your fill. Then the server returns. This time she deposits four fried fish, some cooked squid, some new shellfish, some seaslugg-ish thing, some rice, etc. You're full again, but oh, here she comes with more fish, more seafood, more sides. Ad infinitum. She came back with at least 4 courses, but I really can't remember. I was rolling around on my back, futilely flailing my hands.
Oh and this fish and these seafoods were harvested that morning. Thirty bucks for more seafood than you can eat and 5 large beers to share amongst your friends. Perfect.
10. Do you ever miss food from home?
Yes! Lauren and I agree that its the small things we miss most about home. And most of those small things are food.
I miss flavor. Korean food has three flavors: spicy, fishy and umami. When we eat spaghetti, Korean people sometimes express surprise at the intensity of flavors. When I eat the same spaghetti I think, "Well, it's not that spicy."
I miss the diversity of tastes and spices in food from home. I miss that on Monday I can eat Mediterranean or Teriyaki, on Tuesday French or Chinese, on Wednesday Ukranian or Italian, on Thursday Thai or Indian, on Friday Ethiopian or Mexican, on Saturday fish-and-chips or Sushi, on Sunday oatmeal and all the leftovers. Every day here I eat Korean food. There's diversity in Korean foods, but it's still bit monotonous, and you know how much I abhor monotony.
I miss my Mom's soups on the first crisp days of fall. I miss Rachel's fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. I miss my dad's barbecue and chocolate milk. I miss sub sandwiches. I miss the choice and the paradox that comes with it.
Appreciate what you have: if you're not living in Poland or small-town Korea, you have plenty of options at dinner time.
If you have more questions, contact me. I love the food here, so I'm happy to talk about it.
November 13, 2008
A Korean Opinion on Obama
This is long. Really long. My main point ends in the paragraph after the story of Sai. Feel free to stop there. :)
So Mr. Obama's the President-Elect.
I'm sure some of you are elated. And some of you are hiding your face in your hands, convinced you've witnessed the end of an age.
The reaction among the people I interact with in Korea is favorable to Mr. Obama. My fellow teachers like him, though one mentioned worries about Mr. Obama's negative stance towards Free Trade Agreements (in the end we both agreed Fair Trade is better for everyone).
My students love him. They don't really know much about issues, but they have an interesting insight: When I asked them why they prefer Mr. Obama to Mr. McCain, they universally replied, "Because he's kind."
Hm. Kindness. It is an attractive trait. Unkindness is exactly what dissuaded me from respecting Ms. Palin (and now that McCain's aides are talking, it turns out the unkindness is one among many disagreeable symptoms). Kindness seems a great platform to run on, and a great reason to elect a human as president. Mr. Obama did run the gentler campaign, although Mr. McCain and Lieberman both generally showed themselves to be gentlemen. Ms. Palin was the pitbull chewing on the childs arm, a strong contrast to Mr. Obama who showed himself respectful, even-tempered and, well, kind.
My students and co-teachers have wanted to know what I think. I've told them the same thing every time, and it's not a short answer.
The pundits' extreme approval or abhorrence of the President-Elect reminds me of an old story about hasty conclusions (and it turns out the story has it's own name in Korean, which I can't spell). There are many versions, but here's one:
---------------
Which is where you and everyone you know come in.
This is our country (well, if you live here or can claim citizenship), and it's our responsibility to fix it.
Your opinion of Mr. Obama, or of any of his policies, is irrelevant, completely. Any crumbling of the United States during his administration will be your fault, not his. The president of the United States is not responsible for the health of the United States. The president is the chief diplomat and signatory. The legislature is responsible for the health of the nation. They represent you, the people. The president represents the states. That's why they're chosen through the electoral college, a group of electors chosen by the states. You choose the legislature, and they, not the president, speak for you. You and the States balance the power of the nation, both limited by the courts.
Mr. Obama has been placed in a role that can't legislate. He has executive orders, but most presidents avoid using them (except at the very beginning or end of their terms, to fortify their party's positions or to start with a clean slate). His administration will pass policy ideas to the house and senate, and sometimes even write the laws, but you, via your representatives, pass the laws.
Yes, you. You can influence your congresspeople to vote against policies you don't like, or to vote for policies you do like. If you live in a district controlled by the party you don't belong to, you still have a say in what gets passed.
Voting is not democracy. (Most dictatorships vote too.) Democracy is direct decision making by the people with no intermediary government. Of course, we have representatives, because we're not a democracy. We're a republic. A federation of states. But we hold to democratic ideals, and our congresspeople want to get reelected, so they do what we want them to. Or I should say, they do the will of those who talk the most and loudest.
Your responsibility for your country goes beyond November 4th. You also are in charge of what laws pass, what taxes are levied, what wars are fought. What happens in this country is up to you.
Beyond your responsibility to country, and to yourself, you are responsible to your fellow humans. We are all members of a social contract: wishing to avoid a lonely, exposed and miserable existence, we group with other people and each give up a little freedom so that we can all have a bit of security. Government is one means to that security. Another means to that security, perhaps the one most dependent on you, is altruism.
Our kind actions towards each other will benefit our country more than legislation, for two reasons: first, we're divided on the proper type of legislation, but likely agree on kindness. Second, legislation is general. It's vague imparticularity prevents it from precisely treating the needs of individuals. Your altruism, on the other hand, can directly address pertinent immediate and perpetual needs. Enough small changes can have huge, exponential effects.
Altruism is a more important democratic action than voting. By doing good you positively alter the course of our country and society. Perhaps you cannot specifically dictate whether or not Mexican immigrants will be offered citizenship, but that likely will be because other people influenced their legislators, or were altruistic enough to eliminate the problem in another manner (for example, ending Free Trade Agreements that devestate Mexican farmers, thus reducing the necesity of their emigration).
But you can make the United States more inhabitable by making it a safer place, a place where people trust each other, support each other and like each other, all by being kind to other people. By improving the environment we live in, we will improve our lives and our country.
What Mr. Obama can do is remind us citizens and sojourners who we are and what principles we agree to live by in our social contract. Principles in which I agree that another human may have liberty to non-violently act however they wish in exchange for my liberty to do the same. In which I agree no one is guilty until they're proved thus univocally. In which I agree we're in this together, and not in this seperately. We rise and fall as one; we are E pluribus unum.
We are the change we need, not Mr. Obama. He's just there to point the way and to tell other countries where we're going and how much they're going to like the way we remodeled and how they're welcome here, all of them, anyone, so long as they're willing to work for the common good.
Love to all of you, and peace, hopefully.
So Mr. Obama's the President-Elect.
I'm sure some of you are elated. And some of you are hiding your face in your hands, convinced you've witnessed the end of an age.
The reaction among the people I interact with in Korea is favorable to Mr. Obama. My fellow teachers like him, though one mentioned worries about Mr. Obama's negative stance towards Free Trade Agreements (in the end we both agreed Fair Trade is better for everyone).
My students love him. They don't really know much about issues, but they have an interesting insight: When I asked them why they prefer Mr. Obama to Mr. McCain, they universally replied, "Because he's kind."
Hm. Kindness. It is an attractive trait. Unkindness is exactly what dissuaded me from respecting Ms. Palin (and now that McCain's aides are talking, it turns out the unkindness is one among many disagreeable symptoms). Kindness seems a great platform to run on, and a great reason to elect a human as president. Mr. Obama did run the gentler campaign, although Mr. McCain and Lieberman both generally showed themselves to be gentlemen. Ms. Palin was the pitbull chewing on the childs arm, a strong contrast to Mr. Obama who showed himself respectful, even-tempered and, well, kind.
My students and co-teachers have wanted to know what I think. I've told them the same thing every time, and it's not a short answer.
The pundits' extreme approval or abhorrence of the President-Elect reminds me of an old story about hasty conclusions (and it turns out the story has it's own name in Korean, which I can't spell). There are many versions, but here's one:
---------------
An old man named Sai lived near the border of China. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit.
"Such bad luck," they said sympathetically.
"We'll see," Sai replied.
The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses.
"How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed.
"We'll see," replied the old man.
The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune.
"We'll see," answered Sai.
The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated Sai on how well things had turned out.
"We'll see" said Sai.
----------------
Some of you are mourning Mr. Obama's election. Some of you are cheering. I say, wait -- we will see.
He's inherited the toughest set of issues since and perhaps even surpassing FDR's: two wars; a volatile economy; a country with no remaining diplomatic or international political capital; a nation divided into two camps which don't understand each other and won't, because they shun each other; an abused earth full of abused people -- often at the hands of United State's interests; the weight of an immediate 46% disapproval rating.
Mr. Obama can't fix everything. He's not a messiah or anything the conspiracy theorists have accused him of. He's a human who just got hired to the most stressful job available. And just like the rest of us humans, he needs needs people showing up at the game, needs rest and kindness and applause. He faces every emotional need the rest of us do, but he has to do it with 46% of the voting populace telling him they don't like him for various reasons, most of which have nothing to do with him as a person.
The guy's under a lot of pressure, and the problems seem to be growing, at the moment.
Some of you are mourning Mr. Obama's election. Some of you are cheering. I say, wait -- we will see.
He's inherited the toughest set of issues since and perhaps even surpassing FDR's: two wars; a volatile economy; a country with no remaining diplomatic or international political capital; a nation divided into two camps which don't understand each other and won't, because they shun each other; an abused earth full of abused people -- often at the hands of United State's interests; the weight of an immediate 46% disapproval rating.
Mr. Obama can't fix everything. He's not a messiah or anything the conspiracy theorists have accused him of. He's a human who just got hired to the most stressful job available. And just like the rest of us humans, he needs needs people showing up at the game, needs rest and kindness and applause. He faces every emotional need the rest of us do, but he has to do it with 46% of the voting populace telling him they don't like him for various reasons, most of which have nothing to do with him as a person.
The guy's under a lot of pressure, and the problems seem to be growing, at the moment.
This is our country (well, if you live here or can claim citizenship), and it's our responsibility to fix it.
Your opinion of Mr. Obama, or of any of his policies, is irrelevant, completely. Any crumbling of the United States during his administration will be your fault, not his. The president of the United States is not responsible for the health of the United States. The president is the chief diplomat and signatory. The legislature is responsible for the health of the nation. They represent you, the people. The president represents the states. That's why they're chosen through the electoral college, a group of electors chosen by the states. You choose the legislature, and they, not the president, speak for you. You and the States balance the power of the nation, both limited by the courts.
Mr. Obama has been placed in a role that can't legislate. He has executive orders, but most presidents avoid using them (except at the very beginning or end of their terms, to fortify their party's positions or to start with a clean slate). His administration will pass policy ideas to the house and senate, and sometimes even write the laws, but you, via your representatives, pass the laws.
Yes, you. You can influence your congresspeople to vote against policies you don't like, or to vote for policies you do like. If you live in a district controlled by the party you don't belong to, you still have a say in what gets passed.
Voting is not democracy. (Most dictatorships vote too.) Democracy is direct decision making by the people with no intermediary government. Of course, we have representatives, because we're not a democracy. We're a republic. A federation of states. But we hold to democratic ideals, and our congresspeople want to get reelected, so they do what we want them to. Or I should say, they do the will of those who talk the most and loudest.
Your responsibility for your country goes beyond November 4th. You also are in charge of what laws pass, what taxes are levied, what wars are fought. What happens in this country is up to you.
Beyond your responsibility to country, and to yourself, you are responsible to your fellow humans. We are all members of a social contract: wishing to avoid a lonely, exposed and miserable existence, we group with other people and each give up a little freedom so that we can all have a bit of security. Government is one means to that security. Another means to that security, perhaps the one most dependent on you, is altruism.
Our kind actions towards each other will benefit our country more than legislation, for two reasons: first, we're divided on the proper type of legislation, but likely agree on kindness. Second, legislation is general. It's vague imparticularity prevents it from precisely treating the needs of individuals. Your altruism, on the other hand, can directly address pertinent immediate and perpetual needs. Enough small changes can have huge, exponential effects.
Altruism is a more important democratic action than voting. By doing good you positively alter the course of our country and society. Perhaps you cannot specifically dictate whether or not Mexican immigrants will be offered citizenship, but that likely will be because other people influenced their legislators, or were altruistic enough to eliminate the problem in another manner (for example, ending Free Trade Agreements that devestate Mexican farmers, thus reducing the necesity of their emigration).
But you can make the United States more inhabitable by making it a safer place, a place where people trust each other, support each other and like each other, all by being kind to other people. By improving the environment we live in, we will improve our lives and our country.
What Mr. Obama can do is remind us citizens and sojourners who we are and what principles we agree to live by in our social contract. Principles in which I agree that another human may have liberty to non-violently act however they wish in exchange for my liberty to do the same. In which I agree no one is guilty until they're proved thus univocally. In which I agree we're in this together, and not in this seperately. We rise and fall as one; we are E pluribus unum.
We are the change we need, not Mr. Obama. He's just there to point the way and to tell other countries where we're going and how much they're going to like the way we remodeled and how they're welcome here, all of them, anyone, so long as they're willing to work for the common good.
Love to all of you, and peace, hopefully.
October 21, 2008
Context, Details, Teaching English
Let me give you some context.
Korea is like a neck and Gyeongsangnam-do is like the necklace, from which three pendants hang. Tongyeong is those diamonds laid on a bed of mother of pearl, which is the sea. The necklace and the neck are emerald mountains speckled with vermillion and amber sapphires: tufts of turning leaves.
You can see chocolate stones jutting from the oyster sand beneath the clear seas. The coves are shallow, but the channels are deep. Ships weave between islets. This land the fantasy writers dreamed to design. I walk through close streets, neon-lit. My eyes are light; now every turn brings something new. Foreign words for foreign concepts, hastily beloved. Shillbe, choding hakkyo, noribong.
Here I'm a celebrity. Here I have three arms. My tongue makes two statements: what I meant, and "aberration". Here I am "handsome teacher", like Quasimodo.
Here people I've never met pay for my food, secretly. I go to pay and the owner says, "Anyo, anyo." No, no. It's paid.
I've had the chance to test my philosophy. And it's strong. I'm happy.
To be specific:
Over the weekend the sixth graders went on a fieldtrip to Seoul. I spent the day coaxing them towards English explanations. They saw parliment, the money museum and science museum (it sounds like New York's Museum of Natural History plus robots), the President's house (named the "Blue House" for its roof), and the largest amusement park in Korea. Their favorite part of the trip? I'll give you one guess.
They adored the 50m tall, 60mph, 77 degree decline on what is perhaps the scariest looking wooden roller coaster I've ever seen. I would not board that thing unless my family and friends' lives depended on it. They liked staying up late and eating snacks and talking and watching TV. Ah, at least some things never change. Not that I mind change, but really, I think we had more fun on bus trips. I asked them what they did on the drive to Seoul. They said, in order of frequency: MP3s! Cellphone Games! Nintendo DS! Sleep! Talk!
WHAT? What happened to SONGS? Summer camp songs!? Not that I can remember any of them. And the Alphabet game? License Plates? Slugbug? Books!? I'm not sure if I was easily entertained or if childhood has been irreversibly dislodged from the human experience. Ah-gup-dah, to say the least. Ahgupdah means disappointed. I'm not going to hazard a guess at the Korean spelling. Ok I am: 아급다
I'm learning Hangul as quick as I can. Today was my day to learn words and promptly forget them, but yesterday went better. I don't have a Hangul course or textbook or anything so I'm picking it up randomly where I can, from fellow teachers, friends, street signs, wherever. I learned ahgupdah from playing Billiards.
Oh right, billiards. You're not going to believe people do this to themselves. In Korea, men, for pure amusement (and possibly for camaraderie) play billiards. I'm not talking about pocket ball, commonly known as "pool" in the States. Billiards has no pockets, though otherwise the table is traditional. I played two different but connected games: 4 ball and 3 cushion. 4 ball is relatively easy: hit you cue ball so that it hits both red balls on the table without hitting the other team's cue ball. Easy easy. Not. Once you've done that maybe 25 times, you're done warming up. Now it's time for 3 cushion. In three cushion there are multiple levels. The first involves hitting your cue ball so that it hits a red ball, hits exactly three cushions and then hits the other red ball. Which is easier than the second level in which you have to hit three cushions and then BOTH red balls.
Oriupdah. Difficult. Said difficulty meant I said ahgupdah all night long. I scored 2 points. My partner scored at least 30. These guys are amazing. They examine the table, muse for two or maybe three seconds, lean over, aim and bam, cue ball hits both reds.
Me? Oh I examine the table. I note that the table is green. I note that red ball #2 is not conveniently placed. I muse for 10 maybe 20 seconds. No timely typhoon or earthquake distracts my companions, so I leave red ball #2 where it is. I lean over, say the rosary and bam, my cue ball hits red ball #1, then gravitates towards wherever red ball #2 isn't -- usually the other cue ball. I stand up, say ahgupdah with some conviction, accept condolences and pretend I have faith I'll figure this game out.
But don't tell anyone.
Teaching English
The second round with the third graders went well. If you keep them distracted and repeating everything you say, they don't have time to form coalitions and impeach you. They absolutely love learning and I absolutely love the way they call me "Mr. Sample".
Back to the 6th graders and today's lesson and my philosophy: When I mentioned the songs we'd sing on bus trips, one of the male students called me the Korean equivalent of "baby", an epithet which incited the other male students to my defense. They insisted I guard my honor and fight the student on the spot. I politely declined and proceeded to explain I'd rather shake his hand and make a friend than punch his lights out and make an enemy. To which one of the nicer students called me "Gandhi". At which point I realized I was breaking Epictetus' maxim of never explaining your philosophy, but rather living it. So I shook the kid's hand and moved on.
Crisis averted.
On a(n even) funnier note: today at lunch some of my 4th graders came to visit me after they finished eating. Their homeroom teacher is one of my friends here so I asked them if he was a good teacher. To which the smartest kid in school (a 4th grader!) replied, "No! He's bad! He's very bad!" She proceeded to explain that the teacher tells them to "Sit down and to shut up," a teaching style she disapproves of. She asked me if I knew her teacher. I said, "Oh yes. He's my friend." She blanched and covered her mouth and said, "Please don't tell him!"
Of course I did. I turned to the table behind me, where he happened to be sitting, and asked him if it could be true. He denied everything. Which was to be expected.
I returned to the prosecutor for more details. She repeated her accusation, so I drove to the root of the issue: I asked if kids stood up in class. She said yes. I asked if students talked a lot in class, if they were very loud. She answered in the affirmative again.
The solution stood plainly before me: "You know," I said, "if all the students sat down and didn't talk, he wouldn't say 'Sit down' or 'Shut up'." Then she sunk me with a truth too obvious to refute: "Yes," she said, "But we're children and children need to run around and talk."
That's what a Whitworth education gets you: swift defeat in a debate with a 10 year old.
More, eventually. Don't wait up nights.
Well, it's bedtime here, 7:00 in Seattle, 10:00 in New York and 16:00 in Paris and you're all going about your days. I hope they're grand. Miss you my loves, but not enough to call or come home. Be in touch. I'll be too.
Korea is like a neck and Gyeongsangnam-do is like the necklace, from which three pendants hang. Tongyeong is those diamonds laid on a bed of mother of pearl, which is the sea. The necklace and the neck are emerald mountains speckled with vermillion and amber sapphires: tufts of turning leaves.
You can see chocolate stones jutting from the oyster sand beneath the clear seas. The coves are shallow, but the channels are deep. Ships weave between islets. This land the fantasy writers dreamed to design. I walk through close streets, neon-lit. My eyes are light; now every turn brings something new. Foreign words for foreign concepts, hastily beloved. Shillbe, choding hakkyo, noribong.
Here I'm a celebrity. Here I have three arms. My tongue makes two statements: what I meant, and "aberration". Here I am "handsome teacher", like Quasimodo.
Here people I've never met pay for my food, secretly. I go to pay and the owner says, "Anyo, anyo." No, no. It's paid.
I've had the chance to test my philosophy. And it's strong. I'm happy.
To be specific:
Over the weekend the sixth graders went on a fieldtrip to Seoul. I spent the day coaxing them towards English explanations. They saw parliment, the money museum and science museum (it sounds like New York's Museum of Natural History plus robots), the President's house (named the "Blue House" for its roof), and the largest amusement park in Korea. Their favorite part of the trip? I'll give you one guess.
They adored the 50m tall, 60mph, 77 degree decline on what is perhaps the scariest looking wooden roller coaster I've ever seen. I would not board that thing unless my family and friends' lives depended on it. They liked staying up late and eating snacks and talking and watching TV. Ah, at least some things never change. Not that I mind change, but really, I think we had more fun on bus trips. I asked them what they did on the drive to Seoul. They said, in order of frequency: MP3s! Cellphone Games! Nintendo DS! Sleep! Talk!
WHAT? What happened to SONGS? Summer camp songs!? Not that I can remember any of them. And the Alphabet game? License Plates? Slugbug? Books!? I'm not sure if I was easily entertained or if childhood has been irreversibly dislodged from the human experience. Ah-gup-dah, to say the least. Ahgupdah means disappointed. I'm not going to hazard a guess at the Korean spelling. Ok I am: 아급다
I'm learning Hangul as quick as I can. Today was my day to learn words and promptly forget them, but yesterday went better. I don't have a Hangul course or textbook or anything so I'm picking it up randomly where I can, from fellow teachers, friends, street signs, wherever. I learned ahgupdah from playing Billiards.
Oh right, billiards. You're not going to believe people do this to themselves. In Korea, men, for pure amusement (and possibly for camaraderie) play billiards. I'm not talking about pocket ball, commonly known as "pool" in the States. Billiards has no pockets, though otherwise the table is traditional. I played two different but connected games: 4 ball and 3 cushion. 4 ball is relatively easy: hit you cue ball so that it hits both red balls on the table without hitting the other team's cue ball. Easy easy. Not. Once you've done that maybe 25 times, you're done warming up. Now it's time for 3 cushion. In three cushion there are multiple levels. The first involves hitting your cue ball so that it hits a red ball, hits exactly three cushions and then hits the other red ball. Which is easier than the second level in which you have to hit three cushions and then BOTH red balls.
Oriupdah. Difficult. Said difficulty meant I said ahgupdah all night long. I scored 2 points. My partner scored at least 30. These guys are amazing. They examine the table, muse for two or maybe three seconds, lean over, aim and bam, cue ball hits both reds.
Me? Oh I examine the table. I note that the table is green. I note that red ball #2 is not conveniently placed. I muse for 10 maybe 20 seconds. No timely typhoon or earthquake distracts my companions, so I leave red ball #2 where it is. I lean over, say the rosary and bam, my cue ball hits red ball #1, then gravitates towards wherever red ball #2 isn't -- usually the other cue ball. I stand up, say ahgupdah with some conviction, accept condolences and pretend I have faith I'll figure this game out.
But don't tell anyone.
Teaching English
The second round with the third graders went well. If you keep them distracted and repeating everything you say, they don't have time to form coalitions and impeach you. They absolutely love learning and I absolutely love the way they call me "Mr. Sample".
Back to the 6th graders and today's lesson and my philosophy: When I mentioned the songs we'd sing on bus trips, one of the male students called me the Korean equivalent of "baby", an epithet which incited the other male students to my defense. They insisted I guard my honor and fight the student on the spot. I politely declined and proceeded to explain I'd rather shake his hand and make a friend than punch his lights out and make an enemy. To which one of the nicer students called me "Gandhi". At which point I realized I was breaking Epictetus' maxim of never explaining your philosophy, but rather living it. So I shook the kid's hand and moved on.
Crisis averted.
On a(n even) funnier note: today at lunch some of my 4th graders came to visit me after they finished eating. Their homeroom teacher is one of my friends here so I asked them if he was a good teacher. To which the smartest kid in school (a 4th grader!) replied, "No! He's bad! He's very bad!" She proceeded to explain that the teacher tells them to "Sit down and to shut up," a teaching style she disapproves of. She asked me if I knew her teacher. I said, "Oh yes. He's my friend." She blanched and covered her mouth and said, "Please don't tell him!"
Of course I did. I turned to the table behind me, where he happened to be sitting, and asked him if it could be true. He denied everything. Which was to be expected.
I returned to the prosecutor for more details. She repeated her accusation, so I drove to the root of the issue: I asked if kids stood up in class. She said yes. I asked if students talked a lot in class, if they were very loud. She answered in the affirmative again.
The solution stood plainly before me: "You know," I said, "if all the students sat down and didn't talk, he wouldn't say 'Sit down' or 'Shut up'." Then she sunk me with a truth too obvious to refute: "Yes," she said, "But we're children and children need to run around and talk."
That's what a Whitworth education gets you: swift defeat in a debate with a 10 year old.
More, eventually. Don't wait up nights.
Well, it's bedtime here, 7:00 in Seattle, 10:00 in New York and 16:00 in Paris and you're all going about your days. I hope they're grand. Miss you my loves, but not enough to call or come home. Be in touch. I'll be too.
October 6, 2008
3rd Graders, Yoga
Today I had five classes of third graders. How to put this nicely... today I encountered 150 reasons for abstinence. The governments of the world should investigate compulsory shifts teaching third graders as a win-win approach to birth control. What monsters! What savages! What sycophants! What cretins!
I pretty much lost my voice. I spent almost an entire class trying to explicate increasingly lucidly my intended denotation of the word "quiet". When I was 9, grown-ups constantly told me to respect my elders. I figured when I became an elder kids would have to respect me. Now I realize those adults were on a power trip and I let myself be conned. And now I realize if I want respect, I'm going to have to wring it from the students' small bony... grades.
But I survived. I made it to the afternoon. Only to learn tomorrow I teach my normal four classes of 6th graders (they're not so bad -- at least they're semi-sentient!) and then I also get to teach an English class for teachers. I'll be up to 27 lessons a week at that point. Whoa.
Tomorrow I've decided to cop out at the first English for Teachers' class and spend 40-50 minutes focusing on introductions and question and answer sessions. It'll be the 23rd time I've formally introduced myself to a class of Korean students. You won't believe me, I'm sure, but I mean this with my whole heart, if you want to know the truth: I'm sick of talking about myself.
That's why I'm blogging. Because this isn't talking about... ahem... myself... oh look at the cute ironies flitting about the room! Darling aren't they.
Teaching really isn't that bad. I don't mind it. Relatively at least. Relative to what, you ask? Relative to my newest recreation. Yoga.
Yoga was created by Buddhists to hammer home the point that life is suffering. However, many people misinterpreted the message and realized life is gloriously pleasurable, compared to death by sustained awkward pose. And so the cycle continues. People complain, decide to improve their lives, begin yoga and run smack into the epiphany that life is easy -- Yoga is suffering.
Ok get up. Stand with your feet together. Put your right hand on the ground, in line with your feet. Your upper body should form a perpendicular line, a beam across the two posts of your feet and hand. Now lift your left foot off the ground till it is parallel and in line with your body. Lift your left hand to the ceiling; extend as far as you can. You should look like you're half way through a cartwheel. Well done. Now just hold that position for three minutes. That's it! Super easy. Super fun. Feels super good. Straight out of Guantanamo.
No really. As I walk to Yoga I really feel like an insane prisoner of war. Like a detainee with a cell phone. "Hello? Hey Mr. Cheney. Oh, you and Rummy want to waterboard me? Great! I'll be right over."
I'm not trying to trivialize the plight of the accused (and yet-to-be-accused) in various prisons around the world. They can't escape. I can. So why do I keep making that walk of pain? American culture taught me No Pain No Gain. So I figure, a lot of pain, a lot of gain. Which of course is denying the antecedent but hey, ho, here I go!
I pretty much lost my voice. I spent almost an entire class trying to explicate increasingly lucidly my intended denotation of the word "quiet". When I was 9, grown-ups constantly told me to respect my elders. I figured when I became an elder kids would have to respect me. Now I realize those adults were on a power trip and I let myself be conned. And now I realize if I want respect, I'm going to have to wring it from the students' small bony... grades.
But I survived. I made it to the afternoon. Only to learn tomorrow I teach my normal four classes of 6th graders (they're not so bad -- at least they're semi-sentient!) and then I also get to teach an English class for teachers. I'll be up to 27 lessons a week at that point. Whoa.
Tomorrow I've decided to cop out at the first English for Teachers' class and spend 40-50 minutes focusing on introductions and question and answer sessions. It'll be the 23rd time I've formally introduced myself to a class of Korean students. You won't believe me, I'm sure, but I mean this with my whole heart, if you want to know the truth: I'm sick of talking about myself.
That's why I'm blogging. Because this isn't talking about... ahem... myself... oh look at the cute ironies flitting about the room! Darling aren't they.
Teaching really isn't that bad. I don't mind it. Relatively at least. Relative to what, you ask? Relative to my newest recreation. Yoga.
Yoga was created by Buddhists to hammer home the point that life is suffering. However, many people misinterpreted the message and realized life is gloriously pleasurable, compared to death by sustained awkward pose. And so the cycle continues. People complain, decide to improve their lives, begin yoga and run smack into the epiphany that life is easy -- Yoga is suffering.
Ok get up. Stand with your feet together. Put your right hand on the ground, in line with your feet. Your upper body should form a perpendicular line, a beam across the two posts of your feet and hand. Now lift your left foot off the ground till it is parallel and in line with your body. Lift your left hand to the ceiling; extend as far as you can. You should look like you're half way through a cartwheel. Well done. Now just hold that position for three minutes. That's it! Super easy. Super fun. Feels super good. Straight out of Guantanamo.
No really. As I walk to Yoga I really feel like an insane prisoner of war. Like a detainee with a cell phone. "Hello? Hey Mr. Cheney. Oh, you and Rummy want to waterboard me? Great! I'll be right over."
I'm not trying to trivialize the plight of the accused (and yet-to-be-accused) in various prisons around the world. They can't escape. I can. So why do I keep making that walk of pain? American culture taught me No Pain No Gain. So I figure, a lot of pain, a lot of gain. Which of course is denying the antecedent but hey, ho, here I go!
September 30, 2008
Korea
Lau and I made it to Tongyeong. We've been here a week now. Of course I apologize for the lack of updates.
I've got internet now, but I'm not using it tonight. Tonight, I'm in downtown Tongyeong, a short walk from where I had my first non-spicy food in days: sushi. I'm in what the Koreans call a PC-봉 - pronounced PC /bong/ and translated internet cafe. Except I may be the only person here actually using the internet. All around me high school and maybe college age kids command vast armies in a game I played when I was 12. Starcraft, the best seller from 1996 or 97, has yet to fade in popularity here. Apparently there's three Korean cable channels devoted to broadcasting computer game tournaments and Starcraft players have a shot at celebrity: one champion has a fan base of 500,000 and another named earnings in 2005 of US$200,000 (according to the Wikipedia article on StarCraft).
Speaking of TV, now that I have a "real" job, I feel far less guilt when I crash for a day and just watch reruns. On Sunday I watched almost the entire second season of Prison Break, nearly commercial free. Now I understand the hoopla, and now I'm about ready to put my TV back in the box.
I would actually, but for two reasons: 1) I put the box on the trash pile across the street. The box disappeared; however, the trash remains for the succor of a growing population of flies. How homey. 2) CNN. Yep, CNN. The liberal rag that relies on sensationalism in lieu of accurate, thorough reporting. I can explain: CNN in the US is geared towards the popuation (of course it is -- that's how they profit). CNN for the rest of the world also targets its audience. It's simple business logic. And the most obvious deduction is that US Citizens have the IQ of your average turtle. CNN in the rest of the world employs reporters to cover the news. They expose. Oh, they're still liberal, but a pet rock could detect their bias, so we can forgive them for having one. We all do, anyway. I take that back: BBC might not have a bias. They're reassuringly balanced. They're like the hyper intellectual you danced with in high school who apologized every time they sort of stepped off beat. I split my news-time between the two triliterate stations and I'm feeling pretty well informed.
I meant to say something more about bugs. If you've ever seen a spider and shuddered, don't even consider crossing the ocean to this land. First of all, the mosquitoes are brutal, persistent and thirsty. I kill them willingly, apologizing to Gandhi and Buddha each time. I'm not sure they'd disapprove, All Men Are Brothers aside. I might even be improving my karma by killing those dark agents for malaria. Plus, there's enough of them to go around. The spiders clearly aren't doing their job. Speaking of #@%^*@# spiders. Have you ever taken a forked stick and gathered spider webs to catch dragonflies? Me either. Our spider webs aren't that strong. Our spiders aren't that big.
Yep. In Korea the spiders are so large and so evil, you can recycle their web to make a net strong enough to catch dragonflies. ... They're big. And black. And metallic. Neon green, red and yellow mark them. I'm pretty sure that means, "Poisonous, hah! We're not poisonous. We're chemical warfare."
And my vice principal picked one up like they were cuddly kittens. Yes, they're that large.
"He mentioned his vice principal!" you're thinking to yourself. That's what you're really interested in. My school. Ok, fine. I teach English at a school full of adorable, raucous monsters and gregarious, conniving angels. In every single class someone has asked me if I have a girlfriend. In one class they tried to marry me off to my co-teacher. I told her I was ineligible for a green card seeing as I ask too many questions and that persuaded her to peel her arms from around my neck. No I didn't really say that. Have more faith in me than that.
Mom, I'm engaged. Kidding. Relax.
I teach at two schools in the area. One's rural and fairly poor. The other is fairly urban and rich. Both are populated by the nicest people in the world. Come to think of it, this entire country is nice.
My days consist of four classes in the mornings, lunch and then a few "office hours" in which I flip coins and try to learn Korean. Or watch the dollar regain its former strength. The dollar is stronger now against the Korean Won than it's been in 5 and a half years. Did I tell you when I was in Poland, the Zloty was stronger against the dollar than it had been in years?
Money hates me.
Oh the cockroaches here are huge. And mosquitoes are devouring me as I type, even though I'm inside and surrounded by very distracted prey.
Before class my co-teacher gives me a run through. She leads the first class so I can see what we're aiming for. I lead the next three. She told me today that one of her worst behaved classes has calmed down and learned since I arrived. I'm glad to have such clear feedback that I'm making a positive impact. I've taken advice from Clinton's escapade in Newark and decided to be difficult to please, to instill discipline and respect first, and then to be nice later, once I have them whipped. Hah. Always the idealist.
Our apartments are nice but poorly constructed. Can't wait for the first earthquake. We're a three minute walk to the water, but we're on an inlet, so we're protected from the main bay by a mountain. That means pleasant weather and no tsunamis. I can walk to school in about three minutes. Lau's co-teacher gives her a ride everymorning. We're both pretty happy here, I think.
Time's up. I don't feel like spending another 80 cents to tell you more.
I've got internet now, but I'm not using it tonight. Tonight, I'm in downtown Tongyeong, a short walk from where I had my first non-spicy food in days: sushi. I'm in what the Koreans call a PC-봉 - pronounced PC /bong/ and translated internet cafe. Except I may be the only person here actually using the internet. All around me high school and maybe college age kids command vast armies in a game I played when I was 12. Starcraft, the best seller from 1996 or 97, has yet to fade in popularity here. Apparently there's three Korean cable channels devoted to broadcasting computer game tournaments and Starcraft players have a shot at celebrity: one champion has a fan base of 500,000 and another named earnings in 2005 of US$200,000 (according to the Wikipedia article on StarCraft).
Speaking of TV, now that I have a "real" job, I feel far less guilt when I crash for a day and just watch reruns. On Sunday I watched almost the entire second season of Prison Break, nearly commercial free. Now I understand the hoopla, and now I'm about ready to put my TV back in the box.
I would actually, but for two reasons: 1) I put the box on the trash pile across the street. The box disappeared; however, the trash remains for the succor of a growing population of flies. How homey. 2) CNN. Yep, CNN. The liberal rag that relies on sensationalism in lieu of accurate, thorough reporting. I can explain: CNN in the US is geared towards the popuation (of course it is -- that's how they profit). CNN for the rest of the world also targets its audience. It's simple business logic. And the most obvious deduction is that US Citizens have the IQ of your average turtle. CNN in the rest of the world employs reporters to cover the news. They expose. Oh, they're still liberal, but a pet rock could detect their bias, so we can forgive them for having one. We all do, anyway. I take that back: BBC might not have a bias. They're reassuringly balanced. They're like the hyper intellectual you danced with in high school who apologized every time they sort of stepped off beat. I split my news-time between the two triliterate stations and I'm feeling pretty well informed.
I meant to say something more about bugs. If you've ever seen a spider and shuddered, don't even consider crossing the ocean to this land. First of all, the mosquitoes are brutal, persistent and thirsty. I kill them willingly, apologizing to Gandhi and Buddha each time. I'm not sure they'd disapprove, All Men Are Brothers aside. I might even be improving my karma by killing those dark agents for malaria. Plus, there's enough of them to go around. The spiders clearly aren't doing their job. Speaking of #@%^*@# spiders. Have you ever taken a forked stick and gathered spider webs to catch dragonflies? Me either. Our spider webs aren't that strong. Our spiders aren't that big.
Yep. In Korea the spiders are so large and so evil, you can recycle their web to make a net strong enough to catch dragonflies. ... They're big. And black. And metallic. Neon green, red and yellow mark them. I'm pretty sure that means, "Poisonous, hah! We're not poisonous. We're chemical warfare."
And my vice principal picked one up like they were cuddly kittens. Yes, they're that large.
"He mentioned his vice principal!" you're thinking to yourself. That's what you're really interested in. My school. Ok, fine. I teach English at a school full of adorable, raucous monsters and gregarious, conniving angels. In every single class someone has asked me if I have a girlfriend. In one class they tried to marry me off to my co-teacher. I told her I was ineligible for a green card seeing as I ask too many questions and that persuaded her to peel her arms from around my neck. No I didn't really say that. Have more faith in me than that.
Mom, I'm engaged. Kidding. Relax.
I teach at two schools in the area. One's rural and fairly poor. The other is fairly urban and rich. Both are populated by the nicest people in the world. Come to think of it, this entire country is nice.
My days consist of four classes in the mornings, lunch and then a few "office hours" in which I flip coins and try to learn Korean. Or watch the dollar regain its former strength. The dollar is stronger now against the Korean Won than it's been in 5 and a half years. Did I tell you when I was in Poland, the Zloty was stronger against the dollar than it had been in years?
Money hates me.
Oh the cockroaches here are huge. And mosquitoes are devouring me as I type, even though I'm inside and surrounded by very distracted prey.
Before class my co-teacher gives me a run through. She leads the first class so I can see what we're aiming for. I lead the next three. She told me today that one of her worst behaved classes has calmed down and learned since I arrived. I'm glad to have such clear feedback that I'm making a positive impact. I've taken advice from Clinton's escapade in Newark and decided to be difficult to please, to instill discipline and respect first, and then to be nice later, once I have them whipped. Hah. Always the idealist.
Our apartments are nice but poorly constructed. Can't wait for the first earthquake. We're a three minute walk to the water, but we're on an inlet, so we're protected from the main bay by a mountain. That means pleasant weather and no tsunamis. I can walk to school in about three minutes. Lau's co-teacher gives her a ride everymorning. We're both pretty happy here, I think.
Time's up. I don't feel like spending another 80 cents to tell you more.
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