I'm waiting for my alien registration card, so that I may then await health insurance, so that I may then await an available Saturday appointment at the international clinic, so that I may then await a prescription for Propecia, so that I may then await possible hair regrowth on my forescalp. I need to take an hour on the subway to go into Itaewon, the foreigner district of Seoul. This is for the initial appointment.
Maybe the doc'll give me the prescription for the goods while I'm at the International Clinic, conveniently located across the street from Hooker Hill (catch an STD one night, get treatment the next day!). Maybe the Propecia will work after three months' use. Maybe the polluted rain in Seoul can cause baldness. It seems like an urban myth and I doubt its veracity, but I've heard that the rain here, if it falls directly on your forehead, may result in some hair loss. If there is even slight drizzle in the air, I notice that most men and women have umbrellas opened.
Many men and women in Korea experience thinning of the hair when they reach their thirties. I'm almost 24, and my hairline is receding even more. Why do I second-guess that letting the Seoul rain fall upon my noggin has something to do with my loss of hair? I took biology in high school, where Mrs. Jewett told me that baldness was hereditary, but I'd already learned that on Marc Summers' Double Dare trivia when I was 10. It's not like I didn't see it coming (going?); my hairline has been surrendering for years, looking more and more like those of my grandfathers'.
They've got a pill for everything now, it seems. The pills all do their jobs and everyone everywhere is happy because the pills work, right? Haha. Yeah, right. Propecia's been in business for long enough, though; they seem a safe bet. Might as well try the pill, eh?
27 January 2007
22 January 2007
Pigeon on a stick
That wasn't chicken that Josh and I ate out on the corner by the subway many times last year. Gena, my Canadian coworker, informed me of this last week. To make sure, I checked with Korean friend Gil. "Yes, it is pigeon; street food is not good for you," he says, ordering from an outdoor avenue stand a plate of boiled pig-intestine filled with noodles and blood, along with some pieces of pig lung. I speared a couple of pieces and ingested them.
If several other people are willing to eat it and call it food, I'll allow at least some into my belly. My belly might get angry, however; if not then maybe someplace else in my digestive system. It's a bit of a game, where winning doesn't mean much and where losing means several days of physical anguish and/or death. Though, I think I'll put the fish bologna and pig tripe ahead of the pigeon. I ate enough winged, vomit-eating rats last year.
If several other people are willing to eat it and call it food, I'll allow at least some into my belly. My belly might get angry, however; if not then maybe someplace else in my digestive system. It's a bit of a game, where winning doesn't mean much and where losing means several days of physical anguish and/or death. Though, I think I'll put the fish bologna and pig tripe ahead of the pigeon. I ate enough winged, vomit-eating rats last year.
13 January 2007
"The Beverly Hills of Korea"
Last year, before going to see Amber and Kate's Daechi area apartment for the first time, they explained that their adult students had told them Daechi was "the Beverly Hills of Korea."
Amber and Kate smiled and explained it was a bit of an exaggeration. The sewage smell in the air aided their explanation, as did the presence of many apartment buildings in place of large houses and mansions, as did the concrete covering 100% of the non-existance of hills.
Ilsan, South Korea, where I arrived on Wednesday, actually is probably more befitting of that nickname; yes, I did read it described with those same "the Beverly Hills of Korea" words in an article. It's easy to conclude that this is a cliche expression used by Koreans to describe an affluent area in Korea in this way. But Ilsan is similar to Beverly Hills, in that the city government works to keep it separate from Seoul. It is also one of the most affluent areas in the country, with several parks and upscale shopping centers. It's grown much in the past 10 years.
Newsweek magazine, in fact, listed Ilsan, South Korea, as one of the world's 10 most dynamic cities.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/13528949/site/newsweek/page/9/
After a year of living in and travelling to places in Korea, I felt skeptical about the inclusion of a Korean city on a "most dynamic" list. Koreans seem traditionally rigid and conservative, holding on to confucianism, some say moreso than even do the Chinese. Judy, a Korean co-teacher last year, told me "Korean men want to be tough guys, always holding their pride close and arguing, exercising any 'superior' power over 'inferiors' simply because they are in a position to do so." The men want to "be tough," and the women want to "look pretty." Friend Seon clarified one of my wonders: "Korean women wear short skirts in the cold winter because they are very fashionable." Upon observing these cultural trends, "dynamic" never came to mind.
Ilsan doesn't feel like real Korea, but after a year of living in Bongcheon, I'm not too disappointed about living in a less-traditional culture; where the ground and air are clean, the people don't spit all over the sidewalks, the hotels aren't the "heart-shaped bed" variety, and where most of the pizza-delivery drivers realize that driving on the sidewalk is stupid. In my opinion, if traditions are preventing a society from progressing in important areas (i.e. average citizen physical and mental health) then people in the society should question the traditions'
importance. The organizers of Ilsan are doing something different, and it landed the city in a popular worldwide magazine's top-10 list.
I don't agree that all rich people should start up their own communes and keep all the poor people out, and I don't know if that is the major motivation behind Ilsan's fight to keep its population down. Perhaps more Seoullites will begin to move to smaller towns and expand their economies, creating new jobs, as they might realize that everyone cramming into the big city isn't for the best. But what do I know about sociology and economics and foreign cultures? Not enough, but maybe if I'm interested and thinking, I could learn a thing or two.
Amber and Kate smiled and explained it was a bit of an exaggeration. The sewage smell in the air aided their explanation, as did the presence of many apartment buildings in place of large houses and mansions, as did the concrete covering 100% of the non-existance of hills.
Ilsan, South Korea, where I arrived on Wednesday, actually is probably more befitting of that nickname; yes, I did read it described with those same "the Beverly Hills of Korea" words in an article. It's easy to conclude that this is a cliche expression used by Koreans to describe an affluent area in Korea in this way. But Ilsan is similar to Beverly Hills, in that the city government works to keep it separate from Seoul. It is also one of the most affluent areas in the country, with several parks and upscale shopping centers. It's grown much in the past 10 years.
Newsweek magazine, in fact, listed Ilsan, South Korea, as one of the world's 10 most dynamic cities.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/13528949/site/newsweek/page/9/
After a year of living in and travelling to places in Korea, I felt skeptical about the inclusion of a Korean city on a "most dynamic" list. Koreans seem traditionally rigid and conservative, holding on to confucianism, some say moreso than even do the Chinese. Judy, a Korean co-teacher last year, told me "Korean men want to be tough guys, always holding their pride close and arguing, exercising any 'superior' power over 'inferiors' simply because they are in a position to do so." The men want to "be tough," and the women want to "look pretty." Friend Seon clarified one of my wonders: "Korean women wear short skirts in the cold winter because they are very fashionable." Upon observing these cultural trends, "dynamic" never came to mind.
Ilsan doesn't feel like real Korea, but after a year of living in Bongcheon, I'm not too disappointed about living in a less-traditional culture; where the ground and air are clean, the people don't spit all over the sidewalks, the hotels aren't the "heart-shaped bed" variety, and where most of the pizza-delivery drivers realize that driving on the sidewalk is stupid. In my opinion, if traditions are preventing a society from progressing in important areas (i.e. average citizen physical and mental health) then people in the society should question the traditions'
importance. The organizers of Ilsan are doing something different, and it landed the city in a popular worldwide magazine's top-10 list.
I don't agree that all rich people should start up their own communes and keep all the poor people out, and I don't know if that is the major motivation behind Ilsan's fight to keep its population down. Perhaps more Seoullites will begin to move to smaller towns and expand their economies, creating new jobs, as they might realize that everyone cramming into the big city isn't for the best. But what do I know about sociology and economics and foreign cultures? Not enough, but maybe if I'm interested and thinking, I could learn a thing or two.
20 February 2006
skiing
I went three weeks ago. I fell on my face five times, not once did I roll, so I did rather well. I went down some "Black Diamond" courses. I doubt they were real Black diamonds, since there were only a couple lumps resembling moguls and considering that I didn't have a rough time on any of them.
I didn't know about the trip until the night before, in a "pub" with some buddies.
Josh gets a phone call from friend Grant, asking if we wanted to go skiing. We finish our beers, go home and start packing, get up at six, onto the subway, and we're on a bus off to someplace in Korea that has mountains and skiing on those mountains. Grant didn't come because he had diarrhea.
The snow is melted away, Spring will bring smog and my parents for 10 days, and I may start running soon. I joined a gym this morning, I've been sedentary my entire five month stay. Time to move.
I didn't know about the trip until the night before, in a "pub" with some buddies.
Josh gets a phone call from friend Grant, asking if we wanted to go skiing. We finish our beers, go home and start packing, get up at six, onto the subway, and we're on a bus off to someplace in Korea that has mountains and skiing on those mountains. Grant didn't come because he had diarrhea.
The snow is melted away, Spring will bring smog and my parents for 10 days, and I may start running soon. I joined a gym this morning, I've been sedentary my entire five month stay. Time to move.
25 January 2006
A morning conversation with mr. che, Josh and me
mr. che: did you know all Korean teachers at wonderland are not married?
Josh and Me: oh... yea?
mr. che: yes, yes. they are all not touched. {walks over to Josh, rubs his arm} like this. No skinship. Skinship.
Josh and Me: {nervous and awkward laughter}.
mr. che: { did you know that, um, the no touched Koreans also, um, no sexing?
Josh: {turns head away, eyebrows raised, lips pinched and curling up on the sides}
mr che: {approaches me, wide-eyed, brings his face close to mine} have you heard of sex?
Josh: {pinching the inside of his thigh in order not to laugh in mr. che's face}
Me: Sex? Ah... yeah, I've heard of it.
mr. che: all Korean teachers, except Carrie... no sex. You must watch for Korean women with many {rubs lips, indicating lipstick} red and many . They look like lion. rarrrr. { They will follow you and you must stay away. Koreans with no are okay.
Josh: Yes...? Are you talking about makeup?
mr. che: yes, yes.
Me: {silent}
Josh: {silent}
mr. che: {silent}
{the female korean teachers come into the teacher's lounge, and mr. che points at them}
{the female korean teachers come into the teacher's lounge, and mr. che points at them}
24 January 2006
On Thursday I get my wisdom teeth pulled.
It'll take between 15 and 30 minutes. Today the dentist looked at them. "Simple extraction." I plan on teaching a Kindergarten class with gauze in my mouth. After that, my two hours will have expired, and I can spit the gauze and go about my business unhindered.
Maybe I'll get laser eye surgery within the next seven months.
Maybe I'll get laser eye surgery within the next seven months.
09 January 2006
New Years
Instead of a big ball dropping from the sky like in Times Square, a bunch of men battering-ram a huge bell. Then the fireworks explode. Everyone has a delicious time with beebimbap and soju, and then the next thing you know, you're waking up on someone's floor where a dog's resting his sleeping head on your crotch.
20 December 2005
Speaking of Weddings...
I attended the wedding of Weon Chun last weekend. I first met Weon's sister, Seon, in Juneau last summer while on an Alaskan boat cruise. Seon and Weon both attended the University of Iowa, where my aunt lives. My aunt met them through some education conference, and I met them through my aunt.
I met Weon for dinner once in October, and she invited me to her wedding. Last weekend was the second time in my life I saw her. It was the second time I saw Seon, too. Two busses took the wedding party out of Seoul and south to some other town. Luckily, Seon sat next to me on the bus and accompanied me at the wedding. There was one other white guy there, a Frenchman. Seon and Weon were the only ones there who spoke good English.
Weddings are held in wedding halls, not in chapels. Machines blew bubbles in the air when Weon walked down the aisle to the traditional wedding march song. Seon and I got there late; we were eating dinner in the dining hall beforehand (they had us eat before, not after the ceremony). The pews were full, and there were many of us standing in the back of the hall looking out at the bride and groom. Everyone in the back was talking throughout the whole ceremony, which was funny. There was a quartet of girls who sang a couple tunes. It was almost identical to a ceremony like that in America. A friend marries the couple, though, not the preacher.
After the ceremony, I witnessed the traditional Korean fertility blessings, which took place in a special room. Weon and her husband changed into beautiful exotically colored dress and knelt, bowed before their parents, who also were dressed in the tradional Korean garments. Between the two groups was a table of fruits and nuts. The newly married held a sheet between them, and first Weon's parents gave blessings and threw nuts and berries into the sheet. Then the husband's parents gave their blessings, then all the elders of the husband's family (the wife's parents are her only family members allowed to give blessings, "traditional sexism," as Seon put it).
Seon also introduced me to the one Korean at the wedding who was around my age, and who also happened to be a beautiful female student at a university not too far from where I live. "You look tired," she told me. I get tired when I'm nervous. Instead of getting antsy and hyped, my brain just shuts me down, maybe overcompensating for the energy a normal person should be feeling. That was the end of that.
What a fun day
I met Weon for dinner once in October, and she invited me to her wedding. Last weekend was the second time in my life I saw her. It was the second time I saw Seon, too. Two busses took the wedding party out of Seoul and south to some other town. Luckily, Seon sat next to me on the bus and accompanied me at the wedding. There was one other white guy there, a Frenchman. Seon and Weon were the only ones there who spoke good English.
Weddings are held in wedding halls, not in chapels. Machines blew bubbles in the air when Weon walked down the aisle to the traditional wedding march song. Seon and I got there late; we were eating dinner in the dining hall beforehand (they had us eat before, not after the ceremony). The pews were full, and there were many of us standing in the back of the hall looking out at the bride and groom. Everyone in the back was talking throughout the whole ceremony, which was funny. There was a quartet of girls who sang a couple tunes. It was almost identical to a ceremony like that in America. A friend marries the couple, though, not the preacher.
After the ceremony, I witnessed the traditional Korean fertility blessings, which took place in a special room. Weon and her husband changed into beautiful exotically colored dress and knelt, bowed before their parents, who also were dressed in the tradional Korean garments. Between the two groups was a table of fruits and nuts. The newly married held a sheet between them, and first Weon's parents gave blessings and threw nuts and berries into the sheet. Then the husband's parents gave their blessings, then all the elders of the husband's family (the wife's parents are her only family members allowed to give blessings, "traditional sexism," as Seon put it).
Seon also introduced me to the one Korean at the wedding who was around my age, and who also happened to be a beautiful female student at a university not too far from where I live. "You look tired," she told me. I get tired when I'm nervous. Instead of getting antsy and hyped, my brain just shuts me down, maybe overcompensating for the energy a normal person should be feeling. That was the end of that.
What a fun day
Speaking of plastic surgery...
I went to a wedding last weekend, and the woman who accompanied me, Seon (the bride's sister) had had some freckles removed the week before. Seon is a professor in Pasadena, and she flew over for the wedding and for some touch-ups on her already barely blemished face. I must have changed my facial expression a little, because after telling me of the freckle removal, she explained how looks are so important to Koreans. She showed me her Gucci watch her ex-boyfriend had bought her. "At least you got something out of the relationship that lasts," I told her. She said she's going shopping for a Gucci bag soon, or a fake Gucci bag (fake labels made in Korea are still good quality, apparently).
Many women receive breast implants from their parents as a graduation gift. Others receive nosejobs, or the combo. Children get the bottom thing on their tongues cut so that they can speak English better (it's a crock, the thing under my tongue prevents me from sticking it out and curling it, but I speak it pretty okay).
Another surgery I forgot to mention is "double-eyelid" surgery. Koreans, like the Chinese and Japanese, have more skin on their eyelids, unlike non-East-Asians. "Double-eyelid" surgery removes some skin, giving the patient a Westernized look. The Korean Prime Minister had his eyes done "to enhance his vision," a myopic excuse which many of the older Koreans don't buy. The younger ones, those getting the surgery, find his statement plausible, like the annorhexic American girls (and their boyfriends) who nod their heads and laugh when they hear that being fat is unhealthy. They probably didn't laugh if they heard the latest news that having a little fat in the thighs may be healthier for the heart. Maybe they just give that news the same treatment they give to the news on the alarming trend of annorhexia.
Somebody also told me of "re-virginization," a surgery to make it look like a woman still has her hymen after she's lost it. The man wants a "virgin" wife, I guess. This seems like something that would only happen in the highest society; my Korean coworkers (aside from my boss) aren't pinched-up stress-bombs whose shit doesn't smell. I don't know how common "re-virginization" might be, the news obviously wouldn't report much on it here. Image importance may get a little ridiculous in Korea, as it does in the US.
Many women receive breast implants from their parents as a graduation gift. Others receive nosejobs, or the combo. Children get the bottom thing on their tongues cut so that they can speak English better (it's a crock, the thing under my tongue prevents me from sticking it out and curling it, but I speak it pretty okay).
Another surgery I forgot to mention is "double-eyelid" surgery. Koreans, like the Chinese and Japanese, have more skin on their eyelids, unlike non-East-Asians. "Double-eyelid" surgery removes some skin, giving the patient a Westernized look. The Korean Prime Minister had his eyes done "to enhance his vision," a myopic excuse which many of the older Koreans don't buy. The younger ones, those getting the surgery, find his statement plausible, like the annorhexic American girls (and their boyfriends) who nod their heads and laugh when they hear that being fat is unhealthy. They probably didn't laugh if they heard the latest news that having a little fat in the thighs may be healthier for the heart. Maybe they just give that news the same treatment they give to the news on the alarming trend of annorhexia.
Somebody also told me of "re-virginization," a surgery to make it look like a woman still has her hymen after she's lost it. The man wants a "virgin" wife, I guess. This seems like something that would only happen in the highest society; my Korean coworkers (aside from my boss) aren't pinched-up stress-bombs whose shit doesn't smell. I don't know how common "re-virginization" might be, the news obviously wouldn't report much on it here. Image importance may get a little ridiculous in Korea, as it does in the US.
09 December 2005
"Andrew Teacher, why no black hair?"
"Why don't I have black hair? Because (I have European ancestry? No, too complicated for kindergarteners. God made me that way? No, not good enough for Clara.), I am from
"New teachers? Yellow hair?" Kids asked when Amber and Kate visited wonderland yesterday. The children at the school haven't seen so much blonde hair before. They screamed in excitement and ran into their classrooms, peering through the windows at the two American women in the hallway. Chris, a Gustavus grad staying at Amber and Kate's, a full beard on his face, walked behind them. No screams, just looks of wonder at another foreign man. The kids might be used to the facial hair - I'm trying a goatee at the moment. They ask to pet it sometimes.
"Give Peace a Change"
Appears as a quote on a John Lennon poster I saw in Seoul. Funny, but I'm more taken by the fact that they care about his legacy out here.
28 November 2005
Wonderful wonderland
Josh just had two classes dropped from his Thursday schedule - parents keep pulling kids out of the school - they don't like our director, according to our supervisor. I don't think us teachers are in trouble. wonderland is a corporation - they have other schools across Seoul. We'll see how long our current school can stay afloat, then if shit finally hits the fan, excitement!
16 November 2005
Severe Throat Infection
"I have one?" I ask the doctor in the clinic.
"Yes."
I look over at his computer screen: the program is in English, and he's typed in all of the symptoms I told him. A list of conditions follows the symptoms, including Severe Throat Infection. Remember that Simpsons episode with the virtual doctor program?: "You've got Herpes."
I'm lucky the doctor knows English. The aides at the front desk did not. They ran and got him after he finished treating a woman for an ear infection. The clinic is set up so you can see into the examination room right when you enter. There is no door to the examination room - it's wide open. The patients in waiting could hear me gag when the doctor swabbed my throat.
He also sprayed a menthol-smelling mist into my throat, then air, then menthol, then air - he went back and forth about five times. Then he pulled out a different little metal tube and some tweezers. He pulled on my right nostril and put the little tube in, releasing a spray that made my eyes water. He went to the left nostril, then back to the right, then left again. I smiled nervously the whole time - it's pretty different from what the doctors do to me back home.
After the chair sequence, an aide showed me to another room with a bunch of tubes. It reminded me of the assisted-suicide room they showed on the news during the Kevorkian debacle. The aide put a tube in my hand and told me to say "aghh." A mist flowed from the tube, and I spent six minutes sitting and breathing in vapor.
I wasn't finished, though. The same aid showed me to the other side of the room, where she had me stick my face in a light gun (it's about as big as a cop's radar gun). At the bottom of the barrel was a red light bulb. It's super hot, but the barrel isn't wide enough for anyone to touch face to the bulb. Three minutes breathing in hot air from the light, maybe there was more herbal stuff coming from the light gun - it had a soothing smell.
That was it, though. I paid eleven bucks (I don't have insurance), took a sheet of paper downstairs to the pharmacy, and paid fourteen bucks for twelve individually wrapped bags of multicolored pills of all shapes and sizes.
Who knew being sick in Korea could be this much fun?!
"Yes."
I look over at his computer screen: the program is in English, and he's typed in all of the symptoms I told him. A list of conditions follows the symptoms, including Severe Throat Infection. Remember that Simpsons episode with the virtual doctor program?: "You've got Herpes."
I'm lucky the doctor knows English. The aides at the front desk did not. They ran and got him after he finished treating a woman for an ear infection. The clinic is set up so you can see into the examination room right when you enter. There is no door to the examination room - it's wide open. The patients in waiting could hear me gag when the doctor swabbed my throat.
He also sprayed a menthol-smelling mist into my throat, then air, then menthol, then air - he went back and forth about five times. Then he pulled out a different little metal tube and some tweezers. He pulled on my right nostril and put the little tube in, releasing a spray that made my eyes water. He went to the left nostril, then back to the right, then left again. I smiled nervously the whole time - it's pretty different from what the doctors do to me back home.
After the chair sequence, an aide showed me to another room with a bunch of tubes. It reminded me of the assisted-suicide room they showed on the news during the Kevorkian debacle. The aide put a tube in my hand and told me to say "aghh." A mist flowed from the tube, and I spent six minutes sitting and breathing in vapor.
I wasn't finished, though. The same aid showed me to the other side of the room, where she had me stick my face in a light gun (it's about as big as a cop's radar gun). At the bottom of the barrel was a red light bulb. It's super hot, but the barrel isn't wide enough for anyone to touch face to the bulb. Three minutes breathing in hot air from the light, maybe there was more herbal stuff coming from the light gun - it had a soothing smell.
That was it, though. I paid eleven bucks (I don't have insurance), took a sheet of paper downstairs to the pharmacy, and paid fourteen bucks for twelve individually wrapped bags of multicolored pills of all shapes and sizes.
Who knew being sick in Korea could be this much fun?!
11 November 2005
Girl Hair
One of my classes is obsessed with looking at my hair, laughing at it, and then telling me that I have "girl's hair." Lots of older women like to perm their hair, I've noticed, and my hair is curly. I think I know why they laugh at me. Only that one class.
I got boxes of little cookie sticks from students today. The Korean version of Valentine's Day is in progress, and they give each other cookie sticks as a sign of love, I guess. I didn't have anything with to stir my coffee this morning, until a kindergartener handed me a cookie stick. They're covered in chocolate, too, yum.
I like wearing suits in class - they make me feel like an intelligent teacher instead of a bumbling fool. I've recently experienced an influx of new music from friends back home (Nick and Miller) and from the internet, so I spend lots of my free time listening. Animal Collective runs through my head while I'm in class teaching and goofing around with kindergarteners - I often feel like I'm going insane and start freestyle singing about the class sometimes, sometimes I'll tap my shoes on the floor, do a little dance. Sometimes, when I arrive at the classroom, I walk right by, then come back and walk by again, then crouch by the door and peep my head in, look around at the ceiling, then at the kids, and crack a smile.
I like storytime. I get to read books to the kids, and I add little sound effects and change the voices of different characters. I sometimes have to play keep away with the book in order to get the kids interested (I take the book and whiz it in front of their uninterested faces, then weeve the book around my ankles like a basketball). One of the books has an accompanying music CD, and the singing is all little kids singing. I sing along in falsetto, amusing a couple kids and freaking out the others.
I got boxes of little cookie sticks from students today. The Korean version of Valentine's Day is in progress, and they give each other cookie sticks as a sign of love, I guess. I didn't have anything with to stir my coffee this morning, until a kindergartener handed me a cookie stick. They're covered in chocolate, too, yum.
I like wearing suits in class - they make me feel like an intelligent teacher instead of a bumbling fool. I've recently experienced an influx of new music from friends back home (Nick and Miller) and from the internet, so I spend lots of my free time listening. Animal Collective runs through my head while I'm in class teaching and goofing around with kindergarteners - I often feel like I'm going insane and start freestyle singing about the class sometimes, sometimes I'll tap my shoes on the floor, do a little dance. Sometimes, when I arrive at the classroom, I walk right by, then come back and walk by again, then crouch by the door and peep my head in, look around at the ceiling, then at the kids, and crack a smile.
I like storytime. I get to read books to the kids, and I add little sound effects and change the voices of different characters. I sometimes have to play keep away with the book in order to get the kids interested (I take the book and whiz it in front of their uninterested faces, then weeve the book around my ankles like a basketball). One of the books has an accompanying music CD, and the singing is all little kids singing. I sing along in falsetto, amusing a couple kids and freaking out the others.
02 November 2005
Movies in a moleroom
I caught up on a couple of movies this past week - the city has its assortment of PC rooms, one type being movie rooms. These have nice comfy reclining chairs at every computer, and a pair of headphones with each as well. There is a network full of (most likely illegal) movies. They have subtitles, but most are english-speaking movies.
I watched "Sideways" finally. The best was while he's sneaking into the house, a Korean woman was asking me what the name of the movie was. I didn't know what she was saying at first, and then she pointed at the monitor, right when the scene flashed to the naked couple fornicating on the bed. The woman blushed, pulled her hand away and quickly ran off to her computer.
I'm sitting amongst about thirty or forty people, thinking "well, at least one person here knows that I'm watching a movie with naked people engaging in intercourse."
Two nights ago, I watched the final installment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Finally. It was good, probably would've been better had I seen it upon its initial release two years ago.
I'm doing some reading as well. I accomplished a great feat: I read Pride and Prejudice, all the way to the end. It took me three months, but I pulled it off. For the first two months, I could only maybe read five pages at a time, because I had to read and reread paragraphs. The language of Jane Austen took much getting used to. I'd never heard of a male reading this book in its entirety, and finding some enjoyment. It really made me think about myself in my present and past relations with others. I can at least acknowledge my own faults more easily now, as Elizabeth and Darcy both confessed to each other their behavioral miscues.
I'm going to start Crime and Punishment soon. I'm going to read all of the older books first, so I don't have as hard a time trying to figure out exactly what is being said by the writers of 150 years ago.
I get cable TV next Monday, the beginning of my demise whilst in Korea.
I watched "Sideways" finally. The best was while he's sneaking into the house, a Korean woman was asking me what the name of the movie was. I didn't know what she was saying at first, and then she pointed at the monitor, right when the scene flashed to the naked couple fornicating on the bed. The woman blushed, pulled her hand away and quickly ran off to her computer.
I'm sitting amongst about thirty or forty people, thinking "well, at least one person here knows that I'm watching a movie with naked people engaging in intercourse."
Two nights ago, I watched the final installment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Finally. It was good, probably would've been better had I seen it upon its initial release two years ago.
I'm doing some reading as well. I accomplished a great feat: I read Pride and Prejudice, all the way to the end. It took me three months, but I pulled it off. For the first two months, I could only maybe read five pages at a time, because I had to read and reread paragraphs. The language of Jane Austen took much getting used to. I'd never heard of a male reading this book in its entirety, and finding some enjoyment. It really made me think about myself in my present and past relations with others. I can at least acknowledge my own faults more easily now, as Elizabeth and Darcy both confessed to each other their behavioral miscues.
I'm going to start Crime and Punishment soon. I'm going to read all of the older books first, so I don't have as hard a time trying to figure out exactly what is being said by the writers of 150 years ago.
I get cable TV next Monday, the beginning of my demise whilst in Korea.
27 October 2005
they suck
Headaches, especially when teaching. I have to do report cards and I feel confused because I can't think. "Eric is a good student. Go Eric!" "Grace is nice. She does her homework." These are some examples of my extensive criticism.
In one of my new classes, the kids cry a lot because I'm not like Jaron teacher. They're not a bunch of hellraisers like the other kindergartens I had, so I don't know how to approach them, I don't want to yell at them, they're too nice, but they don't listen! I'm going to take their stickers away. That'll get them on their toes. And it'll make them cry. Damn you, Jaron teacher! Damn my head!
My new computer kicks ass. It has a scanner. I can send you prints of my butt.
In one of my new classes, the kids cry a lot because I'm not like Jaron teacher. They're not a bunch of hellraisers like the other kindergartens I had, so I don't know how to approach them, I don't want to yell at them, they're too nice, but they don't listen! I'm going to take their stickers away. That'll get them on their toes. And it'll make them cry. Damn you, Jaron teacher! Damn my head!
My new computer kicks ass. It has a scanner. I can send you prints of my butt.
19 October 2005
Seoraksan: a big, beautiful mountain park
I climbed a mountain last weekend. The leaves are starting to change color, so it was very pretty. I looked at a poster of the animals that supposedly live in the park. Lemurs were the first animal. That would've been AWESOME. But, no cuddly big-eyed lemurs, only a couple of stupid chipmunks.
Field Trip today! I have to make sure my kids don't get hurt or die. Fun.
Taster's Choice coffee sucks, and that's all they have here. I miss Caribou.
I told the kids in my problem class yesterday that they'd have a new teacher next week. They smiled and whispered to each other in excitement upon the news of my departure. Sean is from Edina, Minnesota, and he's worked with autistic kids. The problem class is meant for him more than for me.
The air doesn't stink as much now that it's colder.
Field Trip today! I have to make sure my kids don't get hurt or die. Fun.
Taster's Choice coffee sucks, and that's all they have here. I miss Caribou.
I told the kids in my problem class yesterday that they'd have a new teacher next week. They smiled and whispered to each other in excitement upon the news of my departure. Sean is from Edina, Minnesota, and he's worked with autistic kids. The problem class is meant for him more than for me.
The air doesn't stink as much now that it's colder.
10 October 2005
'twas a fight 'n turds
Yesterday, I did a pronunciation exercise with my kindergarteners. The tool I used is like a rolodex with three changable parts. Each part has letters, example: [k] [or] [t] = kids say "court." Flip the last part to "s," "cores." Get it?
The very first letters in the rolodex are [t] [er], "tur." Guess what letter I picked to finish it off? I had my kids say "turd" individually. They had no idea. I laughed each time. After the first two kids, I left my class unattended, went to Josh's class, interrupted them, and showed Josh. He laughed, too, and I returned to hear and correct the pronunciation of the next five kids.
After that, I had them play chalkboard team wordsearch: two teams, board divided in two, same words on both sides, I say the word, team member on each side tries to find it, first team there gets a point. They got really competitive, and the bell rang. Two kids from the losing team jacked two kids from the winning team. I'm late for my break time, and I have to get two kids to stop crying and get the other two to say they're sorry, as well as yell at them. The kids were still crying a little when I left the room, but I needed my breaktime!
Josh and I saw another fight in the street last night. Three old men. I still get very uncomfortable when I see people fighting. Two guys were fighting one guy with glasses. One of the duo grabbed the solo guy and the other Duo guy banged solo guy's head against a streetpole, shattering his glasses. I went into a convenience store and bought an icecream, and when I got back outside, the other two guys were restraining the third. They weren't beating him down, just holding him. I don't know what was going on, and I walked off with my icecream.
The very first letters in the rolodex are [t] [er], "tur." Guess what letter I picked to finish it off? I had my kids say "turd" individually. They had no idea. I laughed each time. After the first two kids, I left my class unattended, went to Josh's class, interrupted them, and showed Josh. He laughed, too, and I returned to hear and correct the pronunciation of the next five kids.
After that, I had them play chalkboard team wordsearch: two teams, board divided in two, same words on both sides, I say the word, team member on each side tries to find it, first team there gets a point. They got really competitive, and the bell rang. Two kids from the losing team jacked two kids from the winning team. I'm late for my break time, and I have to get two kids to stop crying and get the other two to say they're sorry, as well as yell at them. The kids were still crying a little when I left the room, but I needed my breaktime!
Josh and I saw another fight in the street last night. Three old men. I still get very uncomfortable when I see people fighting. Two guys were fighting one guy with glasses. One of the duo grabbed the solo guy and the other Duo guy banged solo guy's head against a streetpole, shattering his glasses. I went into a convenience store and bought an icecream, and when I got back outside, the other two guys were restraining the third. They weren't beating him down, just holding him. I don't know what was going on, and I walked off with my icecream.
09 October 2005
Gim-Chee
I returned to Cheonpung Land (bungee) with Josh, and we braught along the rest of the Wonderland crew plus Amber and Kate. This time, I came as a spectator only. My stomach was in knots after a night of wolfing down red-hot cabbage at a Korean barbeque. A glass of wine, a couple shots of soju, one Manhattan and two Long Islands (thank you New York), and a tall dark beer may have assisted the Gimchi in ravaging my tum-tum on Saturday.
I took lots of pictures of my buddies jumping off of a 63 meter structure with big blue elastic cords attached to their ankles. They also went on this really tall group swing. Four people at a time do this - they strap you into a superman position side-by-side, then raise ya'll up, then one of the four pulls a release cord, and the rest of us watch the four scream as they all drop down and swing back up, back and forth for a few times.
A few more did the "ejection seat," where two people sit side by side in a little orb, two elastic cords connect to the sides of the orb, the cords tighten and stretch back, and then the orb catapults into the air, where it begins to tumble about, shaking up its screaming passengers.
On the subway ride back, a lady used my backpack as a pillow. I had to stand in the crampacked subway, and the lady had to stand, too. There were a couple of herky-jerky stops where she flew off of my back, I could feel the release of her weight and hear her grumbling and making startled gasps. I watched Jaron watching her when this was happening, unsuccessfully repressing his laughs. Once the train stopped, the lady would come back to my backpack and put her head back on it and fall asleep once again.
I'm going to go grocery shopping now. It's kind of funny, the play-by-play dude with the microphone who watches shoppers and tells them through the PA system what they should buy.
"Acne creme, lots and lots of acne creme," he says in Korean to the adolescent walking past the toiletries section. "Miracle bra, extra-enhancing," he says to the Korean women as they stroll past the underwear section of the grocery store.
I'm hilarious, and the Packers are 0-4, and I gotta go get some grub.
I took lots of pictures of my buddies jumping off of a 63 meter structure with big blue elastic cords attached to their ankles. They also went on this really tall group swing. Four people at a time do this - they strap you into a superman position side-by-side, then raise ya'll up, then one of the four pulls a release cord, and the rest of us watch the four scream as they all drop down and swing back up, back and forth for a few times.
A few more did the "ejection seat," where two people sit side by side in a little orb, two elastic cords connect to the sides of the orb, the cords tighten and stretch back, and then the orb catapults into the air, where it begins to tumble about, shaking up its screaming passengers.
On the subway ride back, a lady used my backpack as a pillow. I had to stand in the crampacked subway, and the lady had to stand, too. There were a couple of herky-jerky stops where she flew off of my back, I could feel the release of her weight and hear her grumbling and making startled gasps. I watched Jaron watching her when this was happening, unsuccessfully repressing his laughs. Once the train stopped, the lady would come back to my backpack and put her head back on it and fall asleep once again.
I'm going to go grocery shopping now. It's kind of funny, the play-by-play dude with the microphone who watches shoppers and tells them through the PA system what they should buy.
"Acne creme, lots and lots of acne creme," he says in Korean to the adolescent walking past the toiletries section. "Miracle bra, extra-enhancing," he says to the Korean women as they stroll past the underwear section of the grocery store.
I'm hilarious, and the Packers are 0-4, and I gotta go get some grub.
06 October 2005
Whitewater Rafting
Last weekend, Josh, Jaron, Amber and Kate joined me as we rafted down some river two hours from Seoul. (Everything we've done everywhere is two hours somewhere from Seoul). I forgot to take my cell phone out of my pocket until halfway through the trip. It still works. I got soaked. My wallet still works, too. It still has some dampness to it, as do the dollar bills. We had one guide, who's English name was "No Passing" she told us.
"No Passing" made us play games where we dumped each other into the cold water. I started shivering, and then she made us play "Titanic," where a male rafter holds a standing female rafter on the edge of the raft. The other rafters paddle the raft in circles until either the centripetal force conquers the standing rafters' centers of balance, or until Scrumplet pushes them overboard.
"No Passing," who my fellow rafters swear took a shine to me, had me hold her while the other rafters spun us. I finally lost my grip, she fell in, and I stayed in the raft, not jumping in after because I was cold and I'm an asshole. I warmed up quickly.
Our group of five conquered the rapids alongside two Korean groups of about twelve apiece. While alongside these other rafts full of people, our leader had us "attack." We splashed them a little with our paddles, and they returned the favor, soaking us. On the busride back to the changing rooms, the Koreans asked Josh to sing a pop song. He sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," thinking maybe he'd pulled a fast one with an American Kid's song. The Korean sang the Korean version for three seconds afterward and laughed.
We all packed dry clothes, so the busride home didn't give us hypothermia or pneumonia or influenza. We ate pizza later. There was corn on it, and carrots, along with the pepperoni and cheese and tomato sauce. It's good, regardless of the interesting toppings.
I hope my apartment doesn't smell like feces when I return tonight.
"No Passing" made us play games where we dumped each other into the cold water. I started shivering, and then she made us play "Titanic," where a male rafter holds a standing female rafter on the edge of the raft. The other rafters paddle the raft in circles until either the centripetal force conquers the standing rafters' centers of balance, or until Scrumplet pushes them overboard.
"No Passing," who my fellow rafters swear took a shine to me, had me hold her while the other rafters spun us. I finally lost my grip, she fell in, and I stayed in the raft, not jumping in after because I was cold and I'm an asshole. I warmed up quickly.
Our group of five conquered the rapids alongside two Korean groups of about twelve apiece. While alongside these other rafts full of people, our leader had us "attack." We splashed them a little with our paddles, and they returned the favor, soaking us. On the busride back to the changing rooms, the Koreans asked Josh to sing a pop song. He sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," thinking maybe he'd pulled a fast one with an American Kid's song. The Korean sang the Korean version for three seconds afterward and laughed.
We all packed dry clothes, so the busride home didn't give us hypothermia or pneumonia or influenza. We ate pizza later. There was corn on it, and carrots, along with the pepperoni and cheese and tomato sauce. It's good, regardless of the interesting toppings.
I hope my apartment doesn't smell like feces when I return tonight.
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