On February 26th, we have a graduation show: my preschool class is finishing their two year preschool program, and graduating to elementary school. This is nice. The graduation show, though, is stressful. We have to put on a big old show to prove to the parents that their money was worth it and their kids now kick butt in English. As the preschool director, it falls upon my head to make sure everything comes off well.
Today, during gym class, we practiced with the six-year-olds. That was as cute as you would ever believe. It's such an easy job directing a performance of six-year-olds: if the kids get it all right, it's really impressive. If they get it wrong and somebody turns the wrong way, it's really cute. You just can't lose! Anyway, the kids did a really good job, considering the graduation show is almost two weeks away.
The seven-year-old kids are working really hard to do a good job, of course.
Well, I was practicing the lines with my class of seven-year-olds during phone teaching today, and the kids really impressed me: they really have their lines down cold! (With one or two exceptions.) The thing about phone teaching, though, is that it's really repetitive and a bit tedious: it's my least favourite afternoon of the month (other than the month when I actually lost my temper at Tom because he was standing in the corner, with his hands over his head and his eyes closed, and still giggling and speaking Korean to Peter). In order to keep myself from shoving a pencil in my ear just to spice things up a bit, I play around with the students on the phone. When I call them, instead of saying "This is Rob teacher," I say, "This is Ashley teacher," and argue with the students about how they know I'm Rob, for sure. Well, today, I had to phone Kevin. "Is this Kevin?"
"Yes."
"No, it isn't. This is Kevin's grandfather."
"No teacher, it's Kevin."
"No. It's Kevin's grandfather!"
"Teacher!"
"Nice to meet you Kevin's grandfather!"
"Teacher!"
"Can I please talk to Kevin now?"
Without missing a beat, Kevin says, "OK," waits for five seconds in silence, and then says, "Hello this is Kevin!"
Quick wit, that one. To play along as subtly as that, with a purely verbal joke, over the phone, at seven years old, in his second language, is pretty impressive to me. I laughed out loud. Kevin's awesome. He has these squirrely bright eyes and a face whose entire shape seems to have been created for the express purpose of laughing. He's great.
At lunchtime today, David broke my heart.
During my first four months at SLP, David was in my homeroom class, and he was like one of those tempestuous days when you never know whether, five minutes later, there will be a downpour or a sunny break in the clouds. He was moody, and his bad moods were awful. Few kids manage to sulk on a par with David's epic glowers. He's the smallest kid in the class, asthmatic, with pale skin and eyes that crinkle when he smiles.
Then, in March, a new student joined, named Belle. She was a nice girl, and she and David became best friends. They played together, sat beside each other, and were really sweet. David always picked her when we played name games, and openly told people that he loved her. Their parents became friends, and they played together after school. When Belle broke her collarbone in August, she missed a month, and then came back to school sooner than the doctor's recommendation, so the doctor told her she had to stay in the classroom during lunch and breaktimes, for about four or six weeks after she returned. Every breaktime, David stayed in the classroom with her, colouring or making paper crafts, to keep her company. David's one of my favourite kids because of that kind of stuff: an absolute sweetheart.
Well, over the last two months, Belle has fallen under the spell of Willy, the most charismatic student in the class. He's bright and sociable, he has good ideas for games, and he's funny as anything. Arooh (the other girl in the class) has taken to following him around like a puppy (while Lucas follows her around like a puppy, saying things like "Arooh I love you. I want to give you a present and chocolate and everything!") For the last two weeks, David, always a slow and somewhat picky eater, has been eating even more slowly than before.
Today, as he mulled over his honeyed sweet potatoes, poking them and contemplating them, instead of eating them, I said, "Davarino? Why are you eating so slowly?"
He looked up at me and said "Teacher, in the playtime Belle is say 'don't play' and everyday 'don't play' to me," and his sweet little eyes had this forlorn helplessness that just about melted me right then and there. He was a really sweet kid, and Belle's been spurning him to be another of Willy's groupies. Silly girl doesn't recognize loyalty and sweetness when she sees it. I hope she figures it out before she grows up, that she doesn't become just another of those young ladies who shunts aside the sweet, generous boys who'll take good care of them, for the charismatic guy who attracts people into his group, but then (as Willy does) plays a bit of a tease, never quite letting a person know whether they're really in the group or not, so that they're never sure if they're in or not, so they have to keep working at the guy's approval (and stroke his ego along the way). (Arooh's had some days when he's made her feel totally rejected. . . but then other days Willy can be a really sweet kid.)
Willy has good parents (I've met them). And I've told them point blank about Willy's ability to do this, and Willy's a sweet kid by nature: he'll figure out, between his parents' guidance and his own innate sweetness, that there's a better way to treat his friends, but for now, it's sure sad to see little broken-hearted David's devotion totally ignored.
So, in summary:
Kevin's funny
David's sweet
Belle's inconstant
Willy's charismatic and charming but unaware just how much influence he has over his classmates
And I'm going to teach adults next month (found a new job) so I don't have to worry so much about issues like that between students, because I know that my students will be adults who can figure such things out on their own.
(Just to show willy's usually a good kid: two stories.
1. Caleb's wife, Heather, brought their baby, Kylie to school to meet the students. The students get so excited to see the baby, they run the risk of mauling her, so Caleb and Heather have to set clear limits on how much they can bug her. Paul reached over, once, and touched Kylie on the nose. To head off a swarm of hands that would follow, Caleb said, "Paul, please don't touch her."
Willy commented, "Yeah. When they're little they die really easily."
2. During the same phone teaching afternoon when Kevin cut me up, I asked Willy, "What special day is it tomorrow?"
"Valentine's day."
"What will you do for Valentine's day?"
"Give chocolate to the teachers."
"Will you give chocolate to Ellen teacher?"
"Of course, teacher." (He's taken to saying, "of course," lately).
"Will you give Ellen teacher a lot of chocolate?"
"Of course."
"How much chocolate will you bring for Ellen teacher?"
"Maybe she will die."
He's not a bad kid. He just doesn't realize how much he influences his group of friends.)
OK. Enough for now.
Love you all! Take care.
Rob
one expat's life in Korea
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Some photos.
I like to draw pictures on the board during attendance time in my homeroom class. It entertains the kids. Here are some examples.
Seals are cute. I can also draw rabbits and elephants and rabbiphants (Rabbiphants are very rare: most elephants are protestant, um, I mean, protephant).
Sam is absolutely incapable of staying in his chair. One day I joked that I need to stick him in his chair with a hammer and nails, and made this illustration.
Then I explained that I could't really do that, because of course, Sam would grow up, and then he wouldn't fit into the small chair, and modified the picture to look like this, to show everybody why I could't nail Sam to his chair. (Though I've been tempted to get out my stapler a few times.)
I'm actually proud of this one. I think it actually looks like a polar bear.
This is one of my favourites.
Sometimes air in Seoul is dirty. Those apartments you can barely see are about two kilometers away. No more than that.
Cute Konglish in a soaps shop.
Seals are cute. I can also draw rabbits and elephants and rabbiphants (Rabbiphants are very rare: most elephants are protestant, um, I mean, protephant).
Sam is absolutely incapable of staying in his chair. One day I joked that I need to stick him in his chair with a hammer and nails, and made this illustration.
Then I explained that I could't really do that, because of course, Sam would grow up, and then he wouldn't fit into the small chair, and modified the picture to look like this, to show everybody why I could't nail Sam to his chair. (Though I've been tempted to get out my stapler a few times.)
I'm actually proud of this one. I think it actually looks like a polar bear.
This is one of my favourites.
Sometimes air in Seoul is dirty. Those apartments you can barely see are about two kilometers away. No more than that.
Cute Konglish in a soaps shop.
Another typical day in Seoul, Korea.
So this morning I woke up as usual, poked around on the internet, started up the coffee maker (at eight in the morning, it's worth it to have the starbucks stuff on hand), and took my shower. I boiled an egg. (Boiling eggs is fun for me right now, because I just finally got the hang of it -- I'd always either do them half-raw or rubbery dry-yolk overcooked. I'm so pleased with myself for figuring this boiled egg thing out, I've been popping them like candy!) On the way to work, I bought a cinnamon swirl at the bakery I mentioned before, where they changed their baking schedule so I could have a cinnamon swirl every morning, instead of just on mornings when I was late.
Got to school, and before I even made it into the classroom, James was saying "teacheeeeerr" in that way Korean kids have perfected, where suddenly "No" can become a fourteen syllable word that requires a two octave vocal range to properly pronounce. He's telling on another student, who pushed him, or stepped on his foot, or looked in his show-and-tell bag without his permission. . . or something.
I'm thinking about implementing a policy where the student who did wrong gets punished, but the student who tattled gets an equal punishment. That's how tired I am of kids coming to teachers with their little "he looked in my book" disputes. We have a teacher named Eunice who's unreal: every time, she hears each kid out and gives them a reasonable solution to their problem. Listening to "he said I don't want to play with you" "no I didn't!" makes me want to chew holes into the inside of my cheek after a while. Her patience is laudable.
Right after that, Willy cracked me up by taking the stuffing out of me, teasing me about something I'd told his family when they invited me to his house: I'm good at cooking a bunch of foods, but I've never managed to successfully cook rice: I always make it too sticky, too dry, burnt at the bottom, or something (now that I've mastered boiled eggs, rice is next). Willy had the whole class poking fun at me about not being able to cook rice. It was funny.
Then, during break time, I was chatting with Caleb in the hallway, when right at waist-level, a little girl in a blue hooded sweater flies by us with her fists up in the air, in the "I'm a flying superhero" pose. On second glance, she has her sweater's hood pulled right over her face. It's Lisa: she has a hooded sweater with a mask on the hood, and eyeholes, so that she can be a superhero anytime she wants. Here she is, in superhero and in secret identity mode.
The boy with Lisa in the first picture is Andy, a funny little boy with gangly arms and legs who doesn't move around so much as he flops. As soon as he's moving faster than walking speed, he always reminds me just a bit of a rag doll -- a Raggedy Andy, if you will. The girl in the second picture is named Sue, owner of my favourite student nickname ever: "Soodlee-Doo!" I used to say it out loud to her, but then other students called her Soodlee-Doo so much she told us to stop calling her that, so now I call her over, and whisper it in her ear, and she twinkles with glee every time.
Anyway, lunch looked unappetizing, so I walked (in a fantastic cold that was so sharp I opened my jacket just to have myself a good shiver: sometimes a good shiver's as invigorating as twenty push-ups) to the sandwich shop near the school, where they know exactly what I want as soon as I walk in, because I always order the same thing. "Kuh-lop senduhweechee, cheejeuh bae-go, ahmaeleekah-no shirop manhee" means "club sandwich no cheese, cafe americano, lots of sugar" the lady smiled: she's seen me coming in there ordering over-sweet americanos since my first year in Korea, 2003, when they first opened, and her husband didn't know how to count out correct change yet -- if the sandwich and coffee was 4900 won, and you gave him 10000 won, he'd give you 6100 won back, or 3100, or 4900. He's much better now.
After the sandwich and coffee (takeout), back to school. More teaching, other stuff, then, after I left school, I popped by my house, picked something up, and headed out to Lotte Mart. You see, I like to hold a keyboard in my lap, but having an entire laptop in my lap is cumbersome and worrisome: what if I spell my coffee, or a sparrow flies into the apartment window and startles me, and I dump the computer on the floor? Yesterday, I bought a keyboard, plugged it in, only to discover that the J key was garbage: it didn't register when struck, unless you really cracked it, and it had a weird feel, different than the other keys. Unbearable, when you're trying to type fast -- like jogging with a stone in your shoe. By phone text message, I asked one of my Korean friends how to say "This keyboard had a broken key when I bought it. Please replace it." She sent the reply, and then I brought the keyboard away.
On the way to Lotte Mart, the taxi driver tried to rip me off, but I caught him before he could go past my destination. This made me feel half-annoyed that this kind of thing still happens, that the driver still sees white skin and thinks I'm some chump tourist whom he can filch by playing dumb, and half-pleased that I'm savvy enough to catch him heading the wrong way and ask him, in Korean, "why aren't you turning right?"
Then, I exchanged the keyboard easily, by showing the text message, the receipt, and the wonky "J" key to the fellow, but was stopped on my way to the escalator by another store clerk who didn't speak English, and didn't understand that I'd already exchanged the keyboard: they thought I still wanted to change the new one, and laughed at my broken Korean and body language. Finally, by going to the clerk who'd already made the exchange (who resolved the issue in three words), they got it, and let me go. I walked out of the store, noticed halfway home that they hadn't taken off the unit's anti-theft security tag, but also noticed that no alarms had gone off on my way home, anyway.
This is my life in Korea. The rule of twos still applies from time to time (in my first year I formulated the principle that every new thing you attempt here takes two tries to get it right, and any task you might want to do takes twice as long as it would in a country where everybody speaks English). Sometimes it's maddening, sometimes it's hilarious, sometimes it's just brilliant. In the end, it's not that much different, I suppose, than life just about anywhere.
Amy teases me about telling pointless stories, stories that don't go anywhere. But I don't think they are pointless. When she worked at the bakery, Mom used to come home every day, and tell some story or another about a grumpy, or a funny customer, or an order she nearly got wrong, but then luckily she re-counted the hot cross buns just before she put them in the box, or other such minute details.
The point of Mom's stories was not so much to teach me something new, or even (usually) to make me laugh. The point of them, I think, was more cumulative than specific -- it wasn't so much any one story she told me, as the fact she told stories about those little things. That said to me that the little things, the pointless uninteresting things, are worth noticing. They are the texture and rhythm of our daily lives, and they keep each day different from the next. If we notice them, suddenly our lives aren't a metronome-dull repetition of wake up, eat, work, eat, work, go home, free time, bed time -- our lives can instead be all cluttered with sounds and smells and personalities we never noticed before. In his book, Letters To A Young Poet, my favourite poet, Rainer Maria Rilke, wrote, "If your everyday life seems poor, don't blame it, blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator there is no poverty and no poor, indifferent place." So maybe that's why I tell stories like these: not so much because I think you'll find them riveting; more because I want to be the kind of human being who notices them. In Seymour: An Introduction, J.D. Salinger (another of my favourite writers) says, "Seymour once said that all we do our whole lives is go from one little piece of Holy Ground to the next. Is he never wrong?" So forgive my rambling if it bores you. I'm just looking for those patches of holy ground.
Love:
Rob
Got to school, and before I even made it into the classroom, James was saying "teacheeeeerr" in that way Korean kids have perfected, where suddenly "No" can become a fourteen syllable word that requires a two octave vocal range to properly pronounce. He's telling on another student, who pushed him, or stepped on his foot, or looked in his show-and-tell bag without his permission. . . or something.
I'm thinking about implementing a policy where the student who did wrong gets punished, but the student who tattled gets an equal punishment. That's how tired I am of kids coming to teachers with their little "he looked in my book" disputes. We have a teacher named Eunice who's unreal: every time, she hears each kid out and gives them a reasonable solution to their problem. Listening to "he said I don't want to play with you" "no I didn't!" makes me want to chew holes into the inside of my cheek after a while. Her patience is laudable.
Right after that, Willy cracked me up by taking the stuffing out of me, teasing me about something I'd told his family when they invited me to his house: I'm good at cooking a bunch of foods, but I've never managed to successfully cook rice: I always make it too sticky, too dry, burnt at the bottom, or something (now that I've mastered boiled eggs, rice is next). Willy had the whole class poking fun at me about not being able to cook rice. It was funny.
Then, during break time, I was chatting with Caleb in the hallway, when right at waist-level, a little girl in a blue hooded sweater flies by us with her fists up in the air, in the "I'm a flying superhero" pose. On second glance, she has her sweater's hood pulled right over her face. It's Lisa: she has a hooded sweater with a mask on the hood, and eyeholes, so that she can be a superhero anytime she wants. Here she is, in superhero and in secret identity mode.
The boy with Lisa in the first picture is Andy, a funny little boy with gangly arms and legs who doesn't move around so much as he flops. As soon as he's moving faster than walking speed, he always reminds me just a bit of a rag doll -- a Raggedy Andy, if you will. The girl in the second picture is named Sue, owner of my favourite student nickname ever: "Soodlee-Doo!" I used to say it out loud to her, but then other students called her Soodlee-Doo so much she told us to stop calling her that, so now I call her over, and whisper it in her ear, and she twinkles with glee every time.
Anyway, lunch looked unappetizing, so I walked (in a fantastic cold that was so sharp I opened my jacket just to have myself a good shiver: sometimes a good shiver's as invigorating as twenty push-ups) to the sandwich shop near the school, where they know exactly what I want as soon as I walk in, because I always order the same thing. "Kuh-lop senduhweechee, cheejeuh bae-go, ahmaeleekah-no shirop manhee" means "club sandwich no cheese, cafe americano, lots of sugar" the lady smiled: she's seen me coming in there ordering over-sweet americanos since my first year in Korea, 2003, when they first opened, and her husband didn't know how to count out correct change yet -- if the sandwich and coffee was 4900 won, and you gave him 10000 won, he'd give you 6100 won back, or 3100, or 4900. He's much better now.
After the sandwich and coffee (takeout), back to school. More teaching, other stuff, then, after I left school, I popped by my house, picked something up, and headed out to Lotte Mart. You see, I like to hold a keyboard in my lap, but having an entire laptop in my lap is cumbersome and worrisome: what if I spell my coffee, or a sparrow flies into the apartment window and startles me, and I dump the computer on the floor? Yesterday, I bought a keyboard, plugged it in, only to discover that the J key was garbage: it didn't register when struck, unless you really cracked it, and it had a weird feel, different than the other keys. Unbearable, when you're trying to type fast -- like jogging with a stone in your shoe. By phone text message, I asked one of my Korean friends how to say "This keyboard had a broken key when I bought it. Please replace it." She sent the reply, and then I brought the keyboard away.
On the way to Lotte Mart, the taxi driver tried to rip me off, but I caught him before he could go past my destination. This made me feel half-annoyed that this kind of thing still happens, that the driver still sees white skin and thinks I'm some chump tourist whom he can filch by playing dumb, and half-pleased that I'm savvy enough to catch him heading the wrong way and ask him, in Korean, "why aren't you turning right?"
Then, I exchanged the keyboard easily, by showing the text message, the receipt, and the wonky "J" key to the fellow, but was stopped on my way to the escalator by another store clerk who didn't speak English, and didn't understand that I'd already exchanged the keyboard: they thought I still wanted to change the new one, and laughed at my broken Korean and body language. Finally, by going to the clerk who'd already made the exchange (who resolved the issue in three words), they got it, and let me go. I walked out of the store, noticed halfway home that they hadn't taken off the unit's anti-theft security tag, but also noticed that no alarms had gone off on my way home, anyway.
This is my life in Korea. The rule of twos still applies from time to time (in my first year I formulated the principle that every new thing you attempt here takes two tries to get it right, and any task you might want to do takes twice as long as it would in a country where everybody speaks English). Sometimes it's maddening, sometimes it's hilarious, sometimes it's just brilliant. In the end, it's not that much different, I suppose, than life just about anywhere.
Amy teases me about telling pointless stories, stories that don't go anywhere. But I don't think they are pointless. When she worked at the bakery, Mom used to come home every day, and tell some story or another about a grumpy, or a funny customer, or an order she nearly got wrong, but then luckily she re-counted the hot cross buns just before she put them in the box, or other such minute details.
The point of Mom's stories was not so much to teach me something new, or even (usually) to make me laugh. The point of them, I think, was more cumulative than specific -- it wasn't so much any one story she told me, as the fact she told stories about those little things. That said to me that the little things, the pointless uninteresting things, are worth noticing. They are the texture and rhythm of our daily lives, and they keep each day different from the next. If we notice them, suddenly our lives aren't a metronome-dull repetition of wake up, eat, work, eat, work, go home, free time, bed time -- our lives can instead be all cluttered with sounds and smells and personalities we never noticed before. In his book, Letters To A Young Poet, my favourite poet, Rainer Maria Rilke, wrote, "If your everyday life seems poor, don't blame it, blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator there is no poverty and no poor, indifferent place." So maybe that's why I tell stories like these: not so much because I think you'll find them riveting; more because I want to be the kind of human being who notices them. In Seymour: An Introduction, J.D. Salinger (another of my favourite writers) says, "Seymour once said that all we do our whole lives is go from one little piece of Holy Ground to the next. Is he never wrong?" So forgive my rambling if it bores you. I'm just looking for those patches of holy ground.
Love:
Rob
Saturday, January 27, 2007
I'm easy to please, really.
Tonight we'll have a wine and cheese night at my house. I can't even eat cheese, but I'm excited to have company, and have a good time. Maybe I inherited the hospitality gene from Mom -- nothing pleases me so well as seeing people around me having a good time (especially if it's partly my doing -- through hospitality, or through suggesting an activity, or [best of all] through recommending a restaurant. For some reason, taking a person to a restaurant I know of, and seeing them really enjoy the food/dish, gives me inordinate, almost inappropriate amounts of pleasure.)
That's really enough to make me happy, right there: some people at my house, some nice conversation, some laughs, and some good food. Wine is the best conversation drink, bar none. Beer is too loud, and lends itself to binge drinking. Hard liquors either must be drunk too slowly, or lead too quickly to drunkenness, and, once drunk on hard liquor, people make bad decisions, and have odd moods (for example, the "let's see what happens if I throw X at Y!" mood). Wine's taste is rich and subtle, good to be savoured (especially red wine), which means it gets sipped rather than gulped. Add to that the way alcohol lowers a person's inhibitions, and you have more honest and interesting conversation than coffee or tea (because they're alcohol free, people's defenses never quite drop). Plus, wine is a happy drunk. People don't start throwing things or swearing or punching when they've had wine.
It doesn't take much to make me happy. Wine and a friend will do. So will wearing my leather-soled doc marten boots and walking in Lotte Department store, where the floors are polished stone, and where I can slide for almost three meters after a short running start. (Yep. That's me. The grown man sliding around on the department store floor like a little kid on an ice patch. Stare if you want, but don't tell me to stop, because I won't. And if you don't like it, just look at the grin on my face and reflect upon whether I'm really hurting anyone. Yay me!)
In other "I love this country" news, the folks at the bakery where I grab a bite every morning on my way to work figured out that the cinnamon buns they make are my favourite thing they serve (Ha! Diagram THAT sentence!). The cinnamon buns are not as good as the ones at Kent Pastry and Bakery, but anything cinnamon is better than no cinnamon. Problem was, their baking schedule had the cinnamon buns ready about five minutes too late for my morning schedule: the only time they were ready by the time I came through was on days when I was already late for work. One day, I came in to find no cinnamon buns, and used the best Korean I knew to say "Nine o'clock. . . cinnamon buns. . . please! Cinnamon buns, ummm, delicious!" The lady gave me a knowing "isn't he cute" smile -- she's been seeing me come in there regularly for more than a year now -- and answered in Korean.
Since then, every morning, the cinnamon buns have been on display by the time I pop in for munchies. I can't even communicate with these people (other than "Have a nice day!" "Do you want a bag?" "Two thousand won, please!" and "Nine o'clock . . . cinnamon buns. . . please! Cinnamon buns, ummm, delicious!") and they're going out of their way, if only just a little, to make my day better. People are great.
And that's all it takes to make me happy, really. Add in a good book to read and good music to listen to, and enough personal time to write stories and poems, and I'll love life, whatever else is happening.
This also makes me happy.
His name is Micah P. Hinson. Beneath the Rose
That's really enough to make me happy, right there: some people at my house, some nice conversation, some laughs, and some good food. Wine is the best conversation drink, bar none. Beer is too loud, and lends itself to binge drinking. Hard liquors either must be drunk too slowly, or lead too quickly to drunkenness, and, once drunk on hard liquor, people make bad decisions, and have odd moods (for example, the "let's see what happens if I throw X at Y!" mood). Wine's taste is rich and subtle, good to be savoured (especially red wine), which means it gets sipped rather than gulped. Add to that the way alcohol lowers a person's inhibitions, and you have more honest and interesting conversation than coffee or tea (because they're alcohol free, people's defenses never quite drop). Plus, wine is a happy drunk. People don't start throwing things or swearing or punching when they've had wine.
It doesn't take much to make me happy. Wine and a friend will do. So will wearing my leather-soled doc marten boots and walking in Lotte Department store, where the floors are polished stone, and where I can slide for almost three meters after a short running start. (Yep. That's me. The grown man sliding around on the department store floor like a little kid on an ice patch. Stare if you want, but don't tell me to stop, because I won't. And if you don't like it, just look at the grin on my face and reflect upon whether I'm really hurting anyone. Yay me!)
In other "I love this country" news, the folks at the bakery where I grab a bite every morning on my way to work figured out that the cinnamon buns they make are my favourite thing they serve (Ha! Diagram THAT sentence!). The cinnamon buns are not as good as the ones at Kent Pastry and Bakery, but anything cinnamon is better than no cinnamon. Problem was, their baking schedule had the cinnamon buns ready about five minutes too late for my morning schedule: the only time they were ready by the time I came through was on days when I was already late for work. One day, I came in to find no cinnamon buns, and used the best Korean I knew to say "Nine o'clock. . . cinnamon buns. . . please! Cinnamon buns, ummm, delicious!" The lady gave me a knowing "isn't he cute" smile -- she's been seeing me come in there regularly for more than a year now -- and answered in Korean.
Since then, every morning, the cinnamon buns have been on display by the time I pop in for munchies. I can't even communicate with these people (other than "Have a nice day!" "Do you want a bag?" "Two thousand won, please!" and "Nine o'clock . . . cinnamon buns. . . please! Cinnamon buns, ummm, delicious!") and they're going out of their way, if only just a little, to make my day better. People are great.
And that's all it takes to make me happy, really. Add in a good book to read and good music to listen to, and enough personal time to write stories and poems, and I'll love life, whatever else is happening.
This also makes me happy.
His name is Micah P. Hinson. Beneath the Rose
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Home, and Cat Stevens, and some Malaysia pictures.
Just had a great conversation with a friend about how, to me, home is people. Home's a slippery kind of idea -- my Dad just moved to a new church in Niagara Falls, which is great, but it also means that the house where I lived for most of my last decade and a little, is no longer my house. I don't have a bedroom in Canada anymore, by any stretch. There are numerous couches I could probably crash upon, but none that I'd call my space. Even if I DID go back, Agassiz has changed so much from the way I remember it for me that I wouldn't really feel like I belong there (at least in the way I used to).
But you know, I'm not complaining, really. Coming to Korea my first year hurled me so far out of my comfort zones that I had to create some new ones, fast, so now home is not so much a house or a place with my posters on the wall (though that's nice). Rather, home for me has become a starbucks latte on a sunday afternoon, a long walk around my neighbourhood after work, cooking one of my specialty dishes for a friend, showing a friend a restaurant I love, hanging out with someone around whom I don't have to talk or entertain. Curling up on a coffee shop chair and writing poetry. As long as I have access to these things, I'm no longer too far from home, and if I'm near somebody who can ask me good questions, I'm set!
More than anything else, though, home for me is people. Having people around me who know me and respect me gives me a grounding from which I can go off in other directions.
By the way:
I'm listening to Cat Stevens right now (speaking of feelings of home). Wow, this guy's great. He isn't the best singer, not the best musician or composer by any measure, and his songwriting, while simple and well put-together, certainly isn't as clever or intriguing as a Tom Waits or a Leonard Cohen (and certainly not as intentionally obscure as Bob Dylan). Yet, despite that, listening to Cat Stevens, for some reason I can't quite name, is one of the most satisfying things I can think of. It's like sitting down and having a mug of coffee with a good friend -- not spectacular, not even quite memorable, just nice, and relaxing. After listening to one of his songs, I feel like I've gotten to know him a little, and that's nice. There's a warmth and a humour in his music that makes it easy to be around, like that friend in a group who doesn't always say a lot, but just manages to set everyone at ease, and seems to really enjoy everybody's company. So give Cat Stevens a try. You don't have to buy his box set or his complete works, but it's sure nice having his best of in your collection -- sort of like having a tin of hot cocoa powder in the cupboard. You don't have to use it often, but it's sure good to know it's there.
Modelling one of the shirts I bought.
Sliding down the rock slide at seven wells.
The tower on the highest peak of Langkawi Island. There was this fantastic structure with a bridge where tourists could wander (accessible by cable car). It was all held up by this tall tower support, and I have NO idea how they built that whole thing right up on top of a mountain. Best of all, there was a sign tucked away on one corner saying, "If you see dark clouds feel drizzle or rain, or see flashes of lightning, get off the tower immediately! That made me smile.
I may not have mentioned yet that it's really pretty there.
I climbed this rock and swam around in the waterfall pool. Then I looked up and right there, inches from my face, were three black toads, blinking up at the waterfall. I didn't go under the stream because I had no idea how deep the pool was, but it was pretty cool being that close to the waterfall.
On the way up, I was stepping over slippery rocks, and lost my footing as I tried to step around an eight-year-old kid. By twisting my body ridiculously, I managed to fall sideways into the water instead of crushing a child. Once I surfaced, I looked up, and Anthony was laughing at me.
But you know, I'm not complaining, really. Coming to Korea my first year hurled me so far out of my comfort zones that I had to create some new ones, fast, so now home is not so much a house or a place with my posters on the wall (though that's nice). Rather, home for me has become a starbucks latte on a sunday afternoon, a long walk around my neighbourhood after work, cooking one of my specialty dishes for a friend, showing a friend a restaurant I love, hanging out with someone around whom I don't have to talk or entertain. Curling up on a coffee shop chair and writing poetry. As long as I have access to these things, I'm no longer too far from home, and if I'm near somebody who can ask me good questions, I'm set!
More than anything else, though, home for me is people. Having people around me who know me and respect me gives me a grounding from which I can go off in other directions.
By the way:
I'm listening to Cat Stevens right now (speaking of feelings of home). Wow, this guy's great. He isn't the best singer, not the best musician or composer by any measure, and his songwriting, while simple and well put-together, certainly isn't as clever or intriguing as a Tom Waits or a Leonard Cohen (and certainly not as intentionally obscure as Bob Dylan). Yet, despite that, listening to Cat Stevens, for some reason I can't quite name, is one of the most satisfying things I can think of. It's like sitting down and having a mug of coffee with a good friend -- not spectacular, not even quite memorable, just nice, and relaxing. After listening to one of his songs, I feel like I've gotten to know him a little, and that's nice. There's a warmth and a humour in his music that makes it easy to be around, like that friend in a group who doesn't always say a lot, but just manages to set everyone at ease, and seems to really enjoy everybody's company. So give Cat Stevens a try. You don't have to buy his box set or his complete works, but it's sure nice having his best of in your collection -- sort of like having a tin of hot cocoa powder in the cupboard. You don't have to use it often, but it's sure good to know it's there.
Modelling one of the shirts I bought.
Sliding down the rock slide at seven wells.
The tower on the highest peak of Langkawi Island. There was this fantastic structure with a bridge where tourists could wander (accessible by cable car). It was all held up by this tall tower support, and I have NO idea how they built that whole thing right up on top of a mountain. Best of all, there was a sign tucked away on one corner saying, "If you see dark clouds feel drizzle or rain, or see flashes of lightning, get off the tower immediately! That made me smile.
I may not have mentioned yet that it's really pretty there.
I climbed this rock and swam around in the waterfall pool. Then I looked up and right there, inches from my face, were three black toads, blinking up at the waterfall. I didn't go under the stream because I had no idea how deep the pool was, but it was pretty cool being that close to the waterfall.
On the way up, I was stepping over slippery rocks, and lost my footing as I tried to step around an eight-year-old kid. By twisting my body ridiculously, I managed to fall sideways into the water instead of crushing a child. Once I surfaced, I looked up, and Anthony was laughing at me.
Malaysia report, part three.
Since I've already mentioned the most interesting characters I met in Malaysia, here are the nicest ones. These are in either the order I met them, or the order they appear in my diary.
(Days 1-3) Jimmy: you read about him in the "most interesting characters" section too, because he had all kinds of stories and comments about travellers from all kinds of places, who'd stayed at his place. He earns his spot on the 'nicest' list because he did all kinds of legwork/phonework to help us book our trip and our place in Langkawi Island, as well as helping us see the beach on Penang Island, recommending a place to eat near there, and taxiing us there and back.
(Day 5) Emma, the Kiwi (Kiwi:New Zealander = Canuck: Canadian) we met at the seven wells (or was it seven springs?) mountainside. It was our second day on Langkawi Island, we had rented a car and were driving around to some of the landmarks. We climbed about five hundred steps to get to this spot where there were pools cut into rock by a stream channeling its way down to a big cliff/waterfall, and they created chutes and gulleys where we rode natural waterslides, and while there, I started a conversation with a young lady and her father. They were both extremely well-travelled in Asia, the father was a teacher, and the daughter had just started university. This was the first lengthy conversation I had in Malaysia with another traveller who wasn't part of our own group. We'd just gotten our bearings on Langkawi Island, and it was a very pleasant to have a little chat about where we'd been and where we were going.
(Day 6) We took an island-hopping tour that brought us around to a freshwater lake, a grove where we could watch eagles and sea eagles feeding off the tidal pools, and finally to a DIFFERENT sun-drenched beach than the one where we USUALLY sat. On the boat was a honeymooning couple. The new wife had this fantastic glow about her, a light headdress (Malaysia is mostly a Muslim nation: headdresses were everywhere), and she spent the whole trip chatting with, and totally charming, our travel-mate Amy, asking her to take picture of her with her new husband, etc..
Something I noticed: look at the woman's feet in this picture. I saw that same foot stance a handful of times when I saw Malaysian women posing for pictures. Maybe it was just coincidence, but it's a good pose, and it made me smile every time I spotted it -- you know how sometimes you just notice something, and from then on, it makes you smile when you notice it again, like a friend's little mannerism, or some quirk in the way couples talk to each other, or whatever. (Conversely, ever notice something and immediately wish you could un-notice it - like a friend who's a noisy chewer, and once you've noticed, you'll ALWAYS be annoyed by that friend's chewing.)
Anyway, here she is.
Also on day six, on that same beach, I met Theresa and Raiden. I'd brought my juggling balls to the beach. (Juggling is almost as good as having a puppy in terms of "meeting people" tools -- except that puppies attract cute females, while juggling attracts kids and other totally random people [with cameras] -- any age, any type, unpredictably, from super-cool folks to bedraggled parents of young kids.) At the freshwater lake, I'd noticed Theresa and Raiden standing on the dock because she was wearing a very bright orange dress, draped and tied in a way I hadn't seen before. Then, at the last stop on the island tour, I started juggling, and they approached me, asked about juggling (I gave them a mini-lesson), and took pictures with me after we chatted about seasons, Canada, Korea, and Kuala Lumpur. Also, she's the one who told me to try Laksa soup, and I'm glad I did.
Here're Theresa and her boyfriend Raiden with me on the beach.
Also at that beach, I had a nice chat with an Indian couple who were also travelling; the wife was an educator, so we shared notes on education-y stuff, and the husband got a juggling lesson. He approached me with the line, "Are you giving busking lessons over here?" They were very sweet -- big smiles and approachable manner. The husband's smile reminded me of my brother-in-law Frank. (In fact, I saw Frank's Malaysian twin on the ferry back to Penang Island -- he was sitting on the ferry's deck and looking seasick, but his build, his hair, and his mannerisms were identical to how I'd imagine Frank, if he were seasick. And Malaysian.)
(Day 7) The next day, I had a really neat chat with the tour guide on another tour. He was ridiculously knowledgeable about the area's wildlife, the island's history and natural features (rich in limestone: we drove by a cement factory on this resort island, that TOTALLY threw us for a loop, but then I learned that before it became a resort island, its primary industries were limestone (concrete) and marble). He was really well-spoken and full of interesting knowledge, and made me think of my days as a tour guide, how I took a real pleasure in knowing, or finding out, the answer to any question the tourists could throw at me. We went through a bat cave (the sound of a camera's film winding disturbs bats, but we could take digital pictures), and saw a mangrove swamp. Mangroves are trees that adapted to salt water, and they have roots that come up about two or three feet above the water level, so that it almost looks like a tree on stilts. Neat trees. We went to a fish farm, and archer fish (fish that shoot a jet of water to knock bugs off low branches, into the water to eat) shot my thumb when I put it on the rail and wiggled it. They can hit a target at two metres!
In fact, this random clip from the internet looks like it was taken at exactly the place where the fish shot MY finger!
There was a family on our tour boat, from the Netherlands, no less! As the tour continued, I started a conversation with the parents, and by the end of the tour, the two daughters (Bee, seven, and Ella, nine -- exactly the age I teach) were chatting and asking me questions, too. They asked my age and I told them I'd say a number, and they had to guess if my real age was higher or lower. They agreed to play, so the first age I suggested was 161. "Lower!" "OK. Seven." "Higher." With much giggling, they found out my age. The younger daughter especially took a shine to me, asking me questions and telling me endless stories, and at the buffet lunch that ended our tour, she told me, "I want to take you with my family for the rest of our vacation." It was very sweet. The family lives in Japan, and the girls go to an international school there, so I asked them if they know any Japanese.
"A little."
"OK, how do you say 'Goodbye'?"
"Sayonara."
"Very good! How do you say 'stop biting my elbow or I'll cough on your shoe!'?"
"I don't know."
"How do you say, 'Hello'?"
"Konichiwa."
"Excellent! How do you say, 'Can you call the police? I think my puppy ate your bicycle'?"
"I don't know."
"Well you should study more! My goodness!"
Much fun. I don't have a camera, though, so none of them are represented on film. Sorry. I remember what they look like.
(Day 8) Rachel was sitting on the beach when I went out on my last morning to take my last dip in the water. I walked over and parked myself beside her and we had a lovely chat. She teaches dance to children, and she had a really nice, gentle way. She was there with some friends from her church group, and all their names were biblical names starting with R-- there were Rachel, Ruth and Rebecca. We joked that we got along because my names starts with 'R' too. We had a good, little chat about finding our way home, and wrote a very nice e-mail to me, to boot!
Here are the four things my friend Rachel loves the most about Malaysia.
1. It's really diverse. As a former English colony, and because of its geography, you'll see (some) English, Indians, Thai, Chinese, and Malaysian, all with regularity (and you'll also see all those influences on restaurant menus). This means most people are versed in many languages, and they all generally get along peacefully.
2. It's really easygoing -- everybody there's really laid back. That's nice.
3. Because so many cultures are represented, there's always a holiday or a celebration taking place, and all the special days -- the Muslim holidays, the Chinese ones, the Indian ones, the Western ones, and the Malaysian ones, are observed by their respective groups. The day after Christmas, we saw a Chinese parade in Georgetown, and near the end of our stay, we saw a lot of shops closed during regular business hours, because Muslim Hajj period ended -- the Muslims who took the pilgrimage to Mecca are supposed to have come back on that day, or week.
4. GREAT food.
Here's the drawback:
Every Malaysian I properly chatted with said they wished they could have four seasons. The sun there was so nice, and they all pined for snow! They even mention it in their e-mails! When I think about it a second time, I realize that it's true for me, too: I LOVE seasons. Fall and spring are my favorite things, and the cold of winter really sharpens me. Summer's probably my least favorite season (unless I'm on a beach or a walking trail), but it's true. Seasons are great. Don't take them for granted: especially if you live in a place where leaves turn red in the fall.
Oh yeah. Can't forget about this:
I met this lady on day three, Christmas Day, and she gave me some tongue within five minutes of my meeting her! Some of you may think that's a little fast, but once you see her picture, you'll understand why I had no choice but to go along.
(Days 1-3) Jimmy: you read about him in the "most interesting characters" section too, because he had all kinds of stories and comments about travellers from all kinds of places, who'd stayed at his place. He earns his spot on the 'nicest' list because he did all kinds of legwork/phonework to help us book our trip and our place in Langkawi Island, as well as helping us see the beach on Penang Island, recommending a place to eat near there, and taxiing us there and back.
(Day 5) Emma, the Kiwi (Kiwi:New Zealander = Canuck: Canadian) we met at the seven wells (or was it seven springs?) mountainside. It was our second day on Langkawi Island, we had rented a car and were driving around to some of the landmarks. We climbed about five hundred steps to get to this spot where there were pools cut into rock by a stream channeling its way down to a big cliff/waterfall, and they created chutes and gulleys where we rode natural waterslides, and while there, I started a conversation with a young lady and her father. They were both extremely well-travelled in Asia, the father was a teacher, and the daughter had just started university. This was the first lengthy conversation I had in Malaysia with another traveller who wasn't part of our own group. We'd just gotten our bearings on Langkawi Island, and it was a very pleasant to have a little chat about where we'd been and where we were going.
(Day 6) We took an island-hopping tour that brought us around to a freshwater lake, a grove where we could watch eagles and sea eagles feeding off the tidal pools, and finally to a DIFFERENT sun-drenched beach than the one where we USUALLY sat. On the boat was a honeymooning couple. The new wife had this fantastic glow about her, a light headdress (Malaysia is mostly a Muslim nation: headdresses were everywhere), and she spent the whole trip chatting with, and totally charming, our travel-mate Amy, asking her to take picture of her with her new husband, etc..
Something I noticed: look at the woman's feet in this picture. I saw that same foot stance a handful of times when I saw Malaysian women posing for pictures. Maybe it was just coincidence, but it's a good pose, and it made me smile every time I spotted it -- you know how sometimes you just notice something, and from then on, it makes you smile when you notice it again, like a friend's little mannerism, or some quirk in the way couples talk to each other, or whatever. (Conversely, ever notice something and immediately wish you could un-notice it - like a friend who's a noisy chewer, and once you've noticed, you'll ALWAYS be annoyed by that friend's chewing.)
Anyway, here she is.
Also on day six, on that same beach, I met Theresa and Raiden. I'd brought my juggling balls to the beach. (Juggling is almost as good as having a puppy in terms of "meeting people" tools -- except that puppies attract cute females, while juggling attracts kids and other totally random people [with cameras] -- any age, any type, unpredictably, from super-cool folks to bedraggled parents of young kids.) At the freshwater lake, I'd noticed Theresa and Raiden standing on the dock because she was wearing a very bright orange dress, draped and tied in a way I hadn't seen before. Then, at the last stop on the island tour, I started juggling, and they approached me, asked about juggling (I gave them a mini-lesson), and took pictures with me after we chatted about seasons, Canada, Korea, and Kuala Lumpur. Also, she's the one who told me to try Laksa soup, and I'm glad I did.
Here're Theresa and her boyfriend Raiden with me on the beach.
Also at that beach, I had a nice chat with an Indian couple who were also travelling; the wife was an educator, so we shared notes on education-y stuff, and the husband got a juggling lesson. He approached me with the line, "Are you giving busking lessons over here?" They were very sweet -- big smiles and approachable manner. The husband's smile reminded me of my brother-in-law Frank. (In fact, I saw Frank's Malaysian twin on the ferry back to Penang Island -- he was sitting on the ferry's deck and looking seasick, but his build, his hair, and his mannerisms were identical to how I'd imagine Frank, if he were seasick. And Malaysian.)
(Day 7) The next day, I had a really neat chat with the tour guide on another tour. He was ridiculously knowledgeable about the area's wildlife, the island's history and natural features (rich in limestone: we drove by a cement factory on this resort island, that TOTALLY threw us for a loop, but then I learned that before it became a resort island, its primary industries were limestone (concrete) and marble). He was really well-spoken and full of interesting knowledge, and made me think of my days as a tour guide, how I took a real pleasure in knowing, or finding out, the answer to any question the tourists could throw at me. We went through a bat cave (the sound of a camera's film winding disturbs bats, but we could take digital pictures), and saw a mangrove swamp. Mangroves are trees that adapted to salt water, and they have roots that come up about two or three feet above the water level, so that it almost looks like a tree on stilts. Neat trees. We went to a fish farm, and archer fish (fish that shoot a jet of water to knock bugs off low branches, into the water to eat) shot my thumb when I put it on the rail and wiggled it. They can hit a target at two metres!
In fact, this random clip from the internet looks like it was taken at exactly the place where the fish shot MY finger!
There was a family on our tour boat, from the Netherlands, no less! As the tour continued, I started a conversation with the parents, and by the end of the tour, the two daughters (Bee, seven, and Ella, nine -- exactly the age I teach) were chatting and asking me questions, too. They asked my age and I told them I'd say a number, and they had to guess if my real age was higher or lower. They agreed to play, so the first age I suggested was 161. "Lower!" "OK. Seven." "Higher." With much giggling, they found out my age. The younger daughter especially took a shine to me, asking me questions and telling me endless stories, and at the buffet lunch that ended our tour, she told me, "I want to take you with my family for the rest of our vacation." It was very sweet. The family lives in Japan, and the girls go to an international school there, so I asked them if they know any Japanese.
"A little."
"OK, how do you say 'Goodbye'?"
"Sayonara."
"Very good! How do you say 'stop biting my elbow or I'll cough on your shoe!'?"
"I don't know."
"How do you say, 'Hello'?"
"Konichiwa."
"Excellent! How do you say, 'Can you call the police? I think my puppy ate your bicycle'?"
"I don't know."
"Well you should study more! My goodness!"
Much fun. I don't have a camera, though, so none of them are represented on film. Sorry. I remember what they look like.
(Day 8) Rachel was sitting on the beach when I went out on my last morning to take my last dip in the water. I walked over and parked myself beside her and we had a lovely chat. She teaches dance to children, and she had a really nice, gentle way. She was there with some friends from her church group, and all their names were biblical names starting with R-- there were Rachel, Ruth and Rebecca. We joked that we got along because my names starts with 'R' too. We had a good, little chat about finding our way home, and wrote a very nice e-mail to me, to boot!
Here are the four things my friend Rachel loves the most about Malaysia.
1. It's really diverse. As a former English colony, and because of its geography, you'll see (some) English, Indians, Thai, Chinese, and Malaysian, all with regularity (and you'll also see all those influences on restaurant menus). This means most people are versed in many languages, and they all generally get along peacefully.
2. It's really easygoing -- everybody there's really laid back. That's nice.
3. Because so many cultures are represented, there's always a holiday or a celebration taking place, and all the special days -- the Muslim holidays, the Chinese ones, the Indian ones, the Western ones, and the Malaysian ones, are observed by their respective groups. The day after Christmas, we saw a Chinese parade in Georgetown, and near the end of our stay, we saw a lot of shops closed during regular business hours, because Muslim Hajj period ended -- the Muslims who took the pilgrimage to Mecca are supposed to have come back on that day, or week.
4. GREAT food.
Here's the drawback:
Every Malaysian I properly chatted with said they wished they could have four seasons. The sun there was so nice, and they all pined for snow! They even mention it in their e-mails! When I think about it a second time, I realize that it's true for me, too: I LOVE seasons. Fall and spring are my favorite things, and the cold of winter really sharpens me. Summer's probably my least favorite season (unless I'm on a beach or a walking trail), but it's true. Seasons are great. Don't take them for granted: especially if you live in a place where leaves turn red in the fall.
Oh yeah. Can't forget about this:
I met this lady on day three, Christmas Day, and she gave me some tongue within five minutes of my meeting her! Some of you may think that's a little fast, but once you see her picture, you'll understand why I had no choice but to go along.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Learned something today.
I learned something today, about ancient Greek theater, nonetheless.
Those great old plays (some of the best ever written, for my money) usually include a chorus. The chorus' main function was, between scenes, to provide commentary and sometimes background information on the events occurring onstage. Today, I realized why the old writers included a chorus: because the parents of the actors playing minor roles and bit parts called the playwright to complain that their children were not getting as many speaking parts as the lead actors. The chorus was a nice way for those background characters to get in some speaking parts, and balance out the allocation of lines.
In a completely unrelated note, I just finished writing the script for the play my students will perform for their graduation presentation, and, coincidentally, it includes a chorus!
While in Malaysia, juggling on the beach, I met a really charming couple. We exchanged cards, and managed to make e-mail contact.
They sent me this fantastic picture of the peaks on Langkawi Island -- the picture of Amy and me is from this same area, but their picture really gives a great view of the area, and the myriad colours green on those mountainsides (one of my favorite parts of the trip -- I talked so much about the trees in the cable car up, that Amy teased me about it that afternoon).
Those great old plays (some of the best ever written, for my money) usually include a chorus. The chorus' main function was, between scenes, to provide commentary and sometimes background information on the events occurring onstage. Today, I realized why the old writers included a chorus: because the parents of the actors playing minor roles and bit parts called the playwright to complain that their children were not getting as many speaking parts as the lead actors. The chorus was a nice way for those background characters to get in some speaking parts, and balance out the allocation of lines.
In a completely unrelated note, I just finished writing the script for the play my students will perform for their graduation presentation, and, coincidentally, it includes a chorus!
While in Malaysia, juggling on the beach, I met a really charming couple. We exchanged cards, and managed to make e-mail contact.
They sent me this fantastic picture of the peaks on Langkawi Island -- the picture of Amy and me is from this same area, but their picture really gives a great view of the area, and the myriad colours green on those mountainsides (one of my favorite parts of the trip -- I talked so much about the trees in the cable car up, that Amy teased me about it that afternoon).
Saturday, January 13, 2007
If you like martial arts stuff. . .
As you may have noticed, I learned how to put movie clips onto my blog. This pleases me.
Here's a guy called Tony Jaa, a new action star from Thailand. His fighting style is Muay Thai, which might be the deadliest martial art -- many world class ultimate fighters, pride fighters, and K1 fighters are trained in Muay Thai because it's sickeningly effective. He's awesome -- in his films, he does all his own stunts, and his skills are just silly. Here he is at a demonstration in a theatre.
And if you think the whole martial arts thing is silly, then check this one out instead. It made me and my roommate howl.
At its best, and at its worst, I suppose.
Today my student invited me to his house, so I went and had a nice chat with his father and mother, while Willy played lego and built things out of jenga blocks. I used to teach his older brother, Peter, back in 2003, and he was the one whom I once made to laugh so hard he sprayed mango juice all over his notebook. It was quite nice. We talked about how great Korea is (of course) and what an interesting experience it has been, living here.
Take care!
Here's a guy called Tony Jaa, a new action star from Thailand. His fighting style is Muay Thai, which might be the deadliest martial art -- many world class ultimate fighters, pride fighters, and K1 fighters are trained in Muay Thai because it's sickeningly effective. He's awesome -- in his films, he does all his own stunts, and his skills are just silly. Here he is at a demonstration in a theatre.
And if you think the whole martial arts thing is silly, then check this one out instead. It made me and my roommate howl.
At its best, and at its worst, I suppose.
Today my student invited me to his house, so I went and had a nice chat with his father and mother, while Willy played lego and built things out of jenga blocks. I used to teach his older brother, Peter, back in 2003, and he was the one whom I once made to laugh so hard he sprayed mango juice all over his notebook. It was quite nice. We talked about how great Korea is (of course) and what an interesting experience it has been, living here.
Take care!
Friday, January 12, 2007
Malaysia report, part two.
Personally, I think a good thirty to forty percent of a travel experience depends on the food. You can go to a beach resort, get some rainy, cloudy days, but still eat well and enjoy your time. On the other hand, if your first meal in a destination gives you stomach trouble for the rest of your stay, you won't exactly write home about your adventures, except in the "you think YOU had a bad vacation?" way. Sure, some vacations, everything goes wrong (my trip to Japan with Matt was like that: things went awry from beginning to end, but we still had a fantastic time through the misadventures), and sometimes everything goes right (like my trip to Jiri Mountain and Kwangju, again, with Matt -- every single endeavour was a full-fledged success), and sometimes things fall somewhere in between, but whatever else happens, ya gotta eat well. Here are the best meals I had while in Malaysia.
1. The malaysian restaurant where sea foods were displayed with prices per 100g. All the food was fresh-caught that day, and you could point at a fish and ask for a specific way of cooking it, they'd weigh it, and barbeque (or steam, or broil) it for you. We went there one night, and they said, "we're so busy -- it'll take an hour for the food to come out". We left that night, but came back a few nights later, intent on bucking up and waiting the (this time) 45 minutes to get this food. The meal featured some redsnapper, some squid, and some noodles, and the redsnapper was the best white fish meat I think I've ever tasted. Rich, flavourful and buttery, it barely needed chewing -- just savouring.
2. A little Indian restaurant right across from our hotel on Langkawi Island, where we had our first meal (late lunch) on the island. I ordered mutton in that wonderful, long-grained rice that Indians make so well, all done up just spicy enough, and scooped onto naan bread (the soft flatbread that's probably, after lamb, my favourite Indian food).
3. A little outdoor cafe where I ordered a rice dish "in the style of the country people" with a flower cut up into it, that served both as colour and as flavour. These little pink petals were like something between a gentler ginger and a sweet lemongrass, and they made the dish (along with the other green herbs and vegetables in the brown rice) a proper rainbow. Tasty, too.
4. Laksa soup had been highly recommended to me by another woman I met on the beach, so we walked up and down the restaurant strip to find it. It's a red, mildly spicy soup with fish in it that has about the consistency (in the one I had) of eel, along with a few other vegetables. It was quite nice, and the dessert we had afterwards was a sweet bean paste in crushed-ice with coconut milk on it, which, now that I describe it that way, somewhat resembles the Korean dessert Pat Bingsu, with coconut milk instead of cream.
5. The farmer's breakfast at a place called "the Tomato Garden" right next to our motel. Big hunks of potato and onion, turkey-bacon (to stay hallal, in the Muslim country), scrambled egg and fat slices of toast, with proper drip coffee (blast that instant coffee so pervasive in Korea! Blast it all!), and, if you wanted, fresh orange juice. It wasn't Malaysian, but it sure was good, and the lady who served it to us had a great smile, and one of the most perfectly-shaped heads I've ever seen. (You wouldn't think, but a well-shaped melon can be really attractive -- right up there with perfect teeth among the kinds of things that can take a nice face and suddenly make it exceptional)
6. (ignominious mention) The restaurant where they put milk in the scrambled egg for the egg and tomato sandwich, so that it set off my allergic reaction and I couldn't eat the darn thing. They didn't charge us for it, but it sure wasn't the best Last Meal On Langkawi Island I could have had. In fact, our Last Meal Before The Flight was also pretty unimpressive: after waiting in line at this crowded place (usually crowds are a sign of a good restaurant, right?) and even after asking the waiter for chef's recommendations, the Chinese food we had just before leaving for the airport was mediocre at best, and certainly the most disappointing dish of the trip.
Everywhere we went, the spicy soup (tom yam, a great Thai staple) and the curries (an Indian staple) were fantastic -- yay for countries with diverse cultural influences! Plus, Tiger Beer (from Thailand -- kind of the fallback on-tap beer there) is much better than Cass or OB (the fallback on-tap beers in Korea).
But boy, we ate well there! Plus, because we never quite got the price scale sorted, we kept ordering way more food than we needed, thinking "it must be a small portion if it's so cheap!" and so we got chances to sample much more food than we ought to have.
Now I'm back in Korea. Maybe I'll post my forty-three favourite Korean dishes in a later post.
Bye now!
1. The malaysian restaurant where sea foods were displayed with prices per 100g. All the food was fresh-caught that day, and you could point at a fish and ask for a specific way of cooking it, they'd weigh it, and barbeque (or steam, or broil) it for you. We went there one night, and they said, "we're so busy -- it'll take an hour for the food to come out". We left that night, but came back a few nights later, intent on bucking up and waiting the (this time) 45 minutes to get this food. The meal featured some redsnapper, some squid, and some noodles, and the redsnapper was the best white fish meat I think I've ever tasted. Rich, flavourful and buttery, it barely needed chewing -- just savouring.
2. A little Indian restaurant right across from our hotel on Langkawi Island, where we had our first meal (late lunch) on the island. I ordered mutton in that wonderful, long-grained rice that Indians make so well, all done up just spicy enough, and scooped onto naan bread (the soft flatbread that's probably, after lamb, my favourite Indian food).
3. A little outdoor cafe where I ordered a rice dish "in the style of the country people" with a flower cut up into it, that served both as colour and as flavour. These little pink petals were like something between a gentler ginger and a sweet lemongrass, and they made the dish (along with the other green herbs and vegetables in the brown rice) a proper rainbow. Tasty, too.
4. Laksa soup had been highly recommended to me by another woman I met on the beach, so we walked up and down the restaurant strip to find it. It's a red, mildly spicy soup with fish in it that has about the consistency (in the one I had) of eel, along with a few other vegetables. It was quite nice, and the dessert we had afterwards was a sweet bean paste in crushed-ice with coconut milk on it, which, now that I describe it that way, somewhat resembles the Korean dessert Pat Bingsu, with coconut milk instead of cream.
5. The farmer's breakfast at a place called "the Tomato Garden" right next to our motel. Big hunks of potato and onion, turkey-bacon (to stay hallal, in the Muslim country), scrambled egg and fat slices of toast, with proper drip coffee (blast that instant coffee so pervasive in Korea! Blast it all!), and, if you wanted, fresh orange juice. It wasn't Malaysian, but it sure was good, and the lady who served it to us had a great smile, and one of the most perfectly-shaped heads I've ever seen. (You wouldn't think, but a well-shaped melon can be really attractive -- right up there with perfect teeth among the kinds of things that can take a nice face and suddenly make it exceptional)
6. (ignominious mention) The restaurant where they put milk in the scrambled egg for the egg and tomato sandwich, so that it set off my allergic reaction and I couldn't eat the darn thing. They didn't charge us for it, but it sure wasn't the best Last Meal On Langkawi Island I could have had. In fact, our Last Meal Before The Flight was also pretty unimpressive: after waiting in line at this crowded place (usually crowds are a sign of a good restaurant, right?) and even after asking the waiter for chef's recommendations, the Chinese food we had just before leaving for the airport was mediocre at best, and certainly the most disappointing dish of the trip.
Everywhere we went, the spicy soup (tom yam, a great Thai staple) and the curries (an Indian staple) were fantastic -- yay for countries with diverse cultural influences! Plus, Tiger Beer (from Thailand -- kind of the fallback on-tap beer there) is much better than Cass or OB (the fallback on-tap beers in Korea).
But boy, we ate well there! Plus, because we never quite got the price scale sorted, we kept ordering way more food than we needed, thinking "it must be a small portion if it's so cheap!" and so we got chances to sample much more food than we ought to have.
Now I'm back in Korea. Maybe I'll post my forty-three favourite Korean dishes in a later post.
Bye now!
Monday, January 08, 2007
Everybody should have a New Year's Resolution.
My student Eric's new year's resolution:
"Teacher! My New Year's plan! When I in bathroom and shwii (the Korean word for peeing), and shwii is on toilet and messy, I New Year's plan to clean up the shwii!"
"That's a great New Year's plan, Eric. Your mommy will be very happy if you do that."
In that vein, my New Year's resolution is that when I forget to wash my dishes after I
cook, and leave them for so long that my roommate washes them instead, so that he can use the pan or the plates, this year, I'll say, "Thanks" instead of "Sucker".
"Teacher! My New Year's plan! When I in bathroom and shwii (the Korean word for peeing), and shwii is on toilet and messy, I New Year's plan to clean up the shwii!"
"That's a great New Year's plan, Eric. Your mommy will be very happy if you do that."
In that vein, my New Year's resolution is that when I forget to wash my dishes after I
cook, and leave them for so long that my roommate washes them instead, so that he can use the pan or the plates, this year, I'll say, "Thanks" instead of "Sucker".
Report on Malaysia!
I'm back from Malaysia, relaxed, fadingly sunburnt, and full of great stories. I didn't bring a camera to Malaysia (my two coworkers both brought theirs, and one of them is a shutterbug, so I figured we'd get plenty pictures), so I made a point of journalling every chance I got, to write down impressions, thoughts, things I'd noticed, before they escaped me, and I filled up almost an entire (small, to be fair) journal!
The trip was, to apply an overarching theme (without dismissing the rest of what happened) a journey of characters.
My favorite characters were:
The cross-eyed restaurant owner who'd ordered for us before we had a chance to say "actually, I DON'T feel like having redsnapper tonight" -- it took a concerted effort to get him to order something else for us that we actually wanted, but once he had, the dishes were quite marvellous!
Jimmy, the hotel proprietor in Georgetown on Penang Island. Two buildings down from his inn were some sketchy kinds of places with ladies in short skirts standing in the doorway, but he (in a crackled, raggedy old voice, with his gap-toothed mouth,) helped us do everything we wanted to do, including connecting us with a guest house on Langkawi Island (such a beautiful little resort island), taxiing us around, and storing my winter jacket while I didn't need it.
The guy at the Jam Band Cafe. His speaking voice sounded like a sore-throated man, doing an impression of a little boy disguising his voice to sound like an adult over the phone. (Follow that?) Then, when he sang, he sounded like the lead singer from Pearl Jam, if someone were holding his head under water and squeezing his larynx. Every break between songs, he'd go from table to table, asking people if they played an instrument, if they wanted to come up and jam with him, or else he'd introduce the next song in his unbelievable voice (and with a mullet to stop a bullet), saying things like "this soooong is a ... it's a song for people who want to hear songs with people, because people, you know, that's what it's all about, is people understanding and understanding you understanding me that life man, that's people. Sorry about me all this woof woof bla bla dadedah in the talking with all you people out there. . . " and so forth. Fantastic. For the rest of the week we'd occasionally start talking like him, for giggles and such.
The masseuse from Borneo who started chatting about music with me, and by the end of the hour-long massage was singing me full choruses of her favorite Rod Stewart and Destiny's Child songs, to see if I knew them.
The lady who sold me one of those lovely light cotton beach shirts, and talked in this singsong voice that was either an exhausted person trying to put on a cheerful face, a bitter, disillusioned woman being sarcastically chipper to the tourists she despises, or a second language English speaker using a style of intonation that's really cute or charming in her original language, but sounds incredibly forced and contrived in English. Couldn't quite get a read on her.
The taxi driver who took me across Langkawi Island on the way to a tour (also mulleted. . . this is making me nervous), and told me, among other things, "my wife left me to go back to the city. Didn't like island life, slow pace, didn't like that I have less earning power here than pushing pencils in Kuala Lumpur. I said she can go. . . but if she wants to come back, she might have to take a number!" and "You gonna stay in Korea long?" (me:) "I don't know. My sister really wants me to come back to Canada for good." "Well you tell your sister, if she can find a rich lady in Canada wants to marry you, you'll come back to stay." The guy cracked me up about three times a minute.
The main port in Langkawi Island was a town called Kuai, which literally means "gravy" because there's an old legend that some giants spilled some gravy on that spot. What a great legend! Forget myths and tales and narratives! Here's to random placenames from cute anecdotes about mythical beings! "Yes, this town is called. . . Missed A Spot, because after Velman the Giantwife washed the Titan Balgor's shirt for the first time, he spotted a wine stain, and threw his shirt down onto the very place where our city hall now stands!"
"What happened next, grandfather?"
"They went on to the next island, and spent the second night of their marriage where we now find the town called 'Bickering'"
Here are some pictures.
"Lah" is the saying Malaysians (apparently) use the way Canadians say "eh". We saw this sign encouraging Malaysians to learn proper English.
The music at one club was so terrible, Amy and I had to bust out some ballroom moves, while Antony took pictures. This picture won both "best action shot" and "silliest face".
Did I mention that it's really pretty in Malaysia? And that I had to wear shorts this day (December 27th)? That's right, it's true. Sucka!
(These pictures are from Antony's camera. That's why they're all of me and Amy together.)
The trip was, to apply an overarching theme (without dismissing the rest of what happened) a journey of characters.
My favorite characters were:
The cross-eyed restaurant owner who'd ordered for us before we had a chance to say "actually, I DON'T feel like having redsnapper tonight" -- it took a concerted effort to get him to order something else for us that we actually wanted, but once he had, the dishes were quite marvellous!
Jimmy, the hotel proprietor in Georgetown on Penang Island. Two buildings down from his inn were some sketchy kinds of places with ladies in short skirts standing in the doorway, but he (in a crackled, raggedy old voice, with his gap-toothed mouth,) helped us do everything we wanted to do, including connecting us with a guest house on Langkawi Island (such a beautiful little resort island), taxiing us around, and storing my winter jacket while I didn't need it.
The guy at the Jam Band Cafe. His speaking voice sounded like a sore-throated man, doing an impression of a little boy disguising his voice to sound like an adult over the phone. (Follow that?) Then, when he sang, he sounded like the lead singer from Pearl Jam, if someone were holding his head under water and squeezing his larynx. Every break between songs, he'd go from table to table, asking people if they played an instrument, if they wanted to come up and jam with him, or else he'd introduce the next song in his unbelievable voice (and with a mullet to stop a bullet), saying things like "this soooong is a ... it's a song for people who want to hear songs with people, because people, you know, that's what it's all about, is people understanding and understanding you understanding me that life man, that's people. Sorry about me all this woof woof bla bla dadedah in the talking with all you people out there. . . " and so forth. Fantastic. For the rest of the week we'd occasionally start talking like him, for giggles and such.
The masseuse from Borneo who started chatting about music with me, and by the end of the hour-long massage was singing me full choruses of her favorite Rod Stewart and Destiny's Child songs, to see if I knew them.
The lady who sold me one of those lovely light cotton beach shirts, and talked in this singsong voice that was either an exhausted person trying to put on a cheerful face, a bitter, disillusioned woman being sarcastically chipper to the tourists she despises, or a second language English speaker using a style of intonation that's really cute or charming in her original language, but sounds incredibly forced and contrived in English. Couldn't quite get a read on her.
The taxi driver who took me across Langkawi Island on the way to a tour (also mulleted. . . this is making me nervous), and told me, among other things, "my wife left me to go back to the city. Didn't like island life, slow pace, didn't like that I have less earning power here than pushing pencils in Kuala Lumpur. I said she can go. . . but if she wants to come back, she might have to take a number!" and "You gonna stay in Korea long?" (me:) "I don't know. My sister really wants me to come back to Canada for good." "Well you tell your sister, if she can find a rich lady in Canada wants to marry you, you'll come back to stay." The guy cracked me up about three times a minute.
The main port in Langkawi Island was a town called Kuai, which literally means "gravy" because there's an old legend that some giants spilled some gravy on that spot. What a great legend! Forget myths and tales and narratives! Here's to random placenames from cute anecdotes about mythical beings! "Yes, this town is called. . . Missed A Spot, because after Velman the Giantwife washed the Titan Balgor's shirt for the first time, he spotted a wine stain, and threw his shirt down onto the very place where our city hall now stands!"
"What happened next, grandfather?"
"They went on to the next island, and spent the second night of their marriage where we now find the town called 'Bickering'"
Here are some pictures.
"Lah" is the saying Malaysians (apparently) use the way Canadians say "eh". We saw this sign encouraging Malaysians to learn proper English.
The music at one club was so terrible, Amy and I had to bust out some ballroom moves, while Antony took pictures. This picture won both "best action shot" and "silliest face".
Did I mention that it's really pretty in Malaysia? And that I had to wear shorts this day (December 27th)? That's right, it's true. Sucka!
(These pictures are from Antony's camera. That's why they're all of me and Amy together.)
Saturday, December 23, 2006
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Merry Christmas everyone! I'm going to Malaysia for nine days, to sit on the beach, ride elephants, and get massages and great food for cheap.
I love you all, I promise I'll post some stories and maybe even pictures, and I hope you all have a great Christmas and new year with people you love!
love: Rob
I love you all, I promise I'll post some stories and maybe even pictures, and I hope you all have a great Christmas and new year with people you love!
love: Rob
Thursday, December 21, 2006
A Christmas Movie
Who DOESN'T love the movie Love Actually? If you watched it, I mean, properly watched it, paying attention and all, and hadn't just been dumped by your honey (so that it brought back the sadness), but you still didn't enjoy it, please, let me know why? I totally don't get it when people don't think that movie's sweet, funny, warm, and romantic. (Responses saying things like "needed some wild nekkid sex scenes" or "I h8 awl moovies wiht no kung foo so it sukkd," need not reply.) And don't say "it's too sappy and cute" either -- of COURSE it's sappy and cute. That's what you're signing up for when you get a movie called "Love Actually" -- that's like renting "Cheerleader Chainsaw Massacre 5" and then disliking it because it was kinky and gory. I suppose the "too many storylines" beef is legitimate: if you don't pay attention you'll get lost, but if you DO pay attention, it's so charming! And if you DON'T want to pay attention, if you just rent movies to snuggle with your sweety, then get The Santa Clause 2, so that you have a reason to look away from the TV and snuggle more, by gum, and rent Love Actually another time! That's right. I refuse to allow anybody reading my blog to dislike Love Actually! Unequivocally! (You can't tell, but I just pounded my fist on my desk.)
Also: if you haven't seen "A Christmas Story" (unavailable in Korea, and it hurts me, it hurts me so, that it isn't), go out right now and find it. Track it down if you must. It's the best movie that nobody's seen (though people with cable TV will say it's as overplayed as Shawshank Redemption (or Jean-Claude VanDamme and Steven Seagal movies in Korea -- they're always running on one channel or another)). I'd put Christmas Story right up there with "Army of Darkness" for cult classics. I'll even go as far as to call it the "Princess Bride" of Christmas Movies (and anyone who knows me could attest to my feelings about The Princess Bride -- tie me down and give me a lollipop, that movie's better than spaghetti!)
I'm going to Malaysia for Christmas. When I get back, I'm gonna put up something Sally (the bright one) wrote and sent to me, and tell you about our adventures in Saccaria. I'm a bit worried right now -- my stuffed elephant Zooey seems to have been kidnapped by aliens, and we hope to rescue him before anything really terrible happens. It might be the subject of my next story.
Merry Christmas all, love love love:
Rob
(ps: here's a video from the movie "Love Actually" DVD special features. You know how every Christmas, some sell-out washed-up rockstar records a crap Christmas record to grab some cash? Well this video mocks those cynical stinkers every bit as much as they deserve.)
Christmas Is All Around - Billy Mack
Also: if you haven't seen "A Christmas Story" (unavailable in Korea, and it hurts me, it hurts me so, that it isn't), go out right now and find it. Track it down if you must. It's the best movie that nobody's seen (though people with cable TV will say it's as overplayed as Shawshank Redemption (or Jean-Claude VanDamme and Steven Seagal movies in Korea -- they're always running on one channel or another)). I'd put Christmas Story right up there with "Army of Darkness" for cult classics. I'll even go as far as to call it the "Princess Bride" of Christmas Movies (and anyone who knows me could attest to my feelings about The Princess Bride -- tie me down and give me a lollipop, that movie's better than spaghetti!)
I'm going to Malaysia for Christmas. When I get back, I'm gonna put up something Sally (the bright one) wrote and sent to me, and tell you about our adventures in Saccaria. I'm a bit worried right now -- my stuffed elephant Zooey seems to have been kidnapped by aliens, and we hope to rescue him before anything really terrible happens. It might be the subject of my next story.
Merry Christmas all, love love love:
Rob
(ps: here's a video from the movie "Love Actually" DVD special features. You know how every Christmas, some sell-out washed-up rockstar records a crap Christmas record to grab some cash? Well this video mocks those cynical stinkers every bit as much as they deserve.)
Christmas Is All Around - Billy Mack
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Another student crack-up.
They were in fine form today. It was parents' day, so the parents could come, and sit in on a class, to see how their children were coming along. It's a stressful day for the teachers, but we made it through OK. Before the parents came, I briefed my kids on how to behave properly during the open class. I told them to sit properly, raise their hands, and wait to be called on.
James piped up, "Or else mommy will take you to bathroom, pok pok pok!" (he mimed a spanking motion with his hand.)
I said, "I hope your mommy won't take you to the bathroom and spank you, but I also hope you're very good boys and girls today!"
Then Willy said, "But mommy is a girl. I'm a boy!"
So I rubbed it in: "Yes, Willy! Maybe your mommy will take you into the girls' bathroom!" All the boys shrieked, thinking, "wow, that would be doubly embarrassing!"
One of my girls, Arooh, smiled smugly, "I'm a girl that's OK. I can girls bathroom going that's OK."
To which Willy promptly replied, "Your daddy will come."
Wiped the smug smile off her face like lightning, and made me laugh out loud.
James piped up, "Or else mommy will take you to bathroom, pok pok pok!" (he mimed a spanking motion with his hand.)
I said, "I hope your mommy won't take you to the bathroom and spank you, but I also hope you're very good boys and girls today!"
Then Willy said, "But mommy is a girl. I'm a boy!"
So I rubbed it in: "Yes, Willy! Maybe your mommy will take you into the girls' bathroom!" All the boys shrieked, thinking, "wow, that would be doubly embarrassing!"
One of my girls, Arooh, smiled smugly, "I'm a girl that's OK. I can girls bathroom going that's OK."
To which Willy promptly replied, "Your daddy will come."
Wiped the smug smile off her face like lightning, and made me laugh out loud.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
I'm gonna post links and things like that on this blog, and just assume everyone has an internet connection fast enough for streaming video, large graphic files, etc.. If you don't, check out file sizes on pictures or whatever you want to download, to make sure you don't tie up your computer for long stretches of time, and just. . . kind of . . . be aware of that. You might miss out on some of the fun stuff. Sorry.
http://howitshouldhaveended.com/Divx%20links/Superman.html
This one made me laugh out loud.
There's also a pretty good clip on the same website about Lord Of The Rings.
http://howitshouldhaveended.com/Divx%20links/Superman.html
This one made me laugh out loud.
There's also a pretty good clip on the same website about Lord Of The Rings.
Silly conversation in class.
Had a lot of bloody noses in school today. Yuk. My student Danny's like a geyser-- get him excited and suddenly blood's flying everywhere.
Our former teacher Ashley came to visit at lunch time. She taught at SLP for quite a while, so the kids remember and miss her; a handful of the kids in my class now were in her homeroom back in the day. Ashley came to my class just after lunch finished to say hello to me and the students, so I encouraged the kids who knew here well to get out of their chairs (I've finally trained them well enough that they USUALLY wait for my say-so before they're up and about) and give Ashley a hug. Or a kiss. Or a tickle. You know, just to keep things interesting.
Once everybody returned to their seats, Kevin started teasing James (who used to be one of Ashley's favourites) that he wanted to give Ashley a kiss, so I kept pretending I heard Kevin saying he wanted ot give Ashley a kiss. Once most of the students were giggling, I asked Kevin if he wanted to marry Ashley. He, sensing the humour in the moment, agreed. "Yes, teacher."
I offered to phone Ashley on my cellphone and make the proposal. Kevin agreed, so I got out my phone, pretended to push some buttons, and then made a big show of asking Ashley if she wanted to marry Kevin.
"Oh. Kevin, before she agrees to marry you," I said, she has some questions.
"OK teacher."
"Do you have a car?"
"Yes."
"Do you have money?"
"Yes."
"Does your daddy have money?"
"Yes." (I'm relaying these yes's into the phone.)
"Will your mommy be nice to Ashley if she marries you?" (I've heard some really remarkable stories from women who married firstborn sons in Korea, and the epically harsh treatment some mothers in law give to their sons' wives -- Western mothers-in-law really have some catching up to do, if the stories are true. And it's much harder in Korea to convince your husband to move to a different city, because of the cultural, familial obligation of the firstborn to the parents -- sometimes, when Koreans find out that I'm a firstborn son, they're surprised that I'm here in Korea rather than living with my father and taking care of him, especially because 1. I'm not married, and 2. My mom died.)
"Yes," Kevin assured me his mommy will be nice to his new wife.
I passed that last "Yes," into the phone, and said, "OK, Kevin. Ashley says she'll marry you!"
The class had a good laugh together. I've had to spend a lot of time breaking up arguments and things in that class, so it's a really nice release to have a few good laughs with them, too.
One of my students told me I'm funnyman, so I answered, "I'm not funnyman. I'm BATMAN!"
(and I have the t-shirt to prove it).
In a related story, to file under "Rob is a nerd", this photo was taken when the photographers came to my school. We took another one that looks normal, but this is the one that got the best reaction when all the teachers looked through the proofs.
Our former teacher Ashley came to visit at lunch time. She taught at SLP for quite a while, so the kids remember and miss her; a handful of the kids in my class now were in her homeroom back in the day. Ashley came to my class just after lunch finished to say hello to me and the students, so I encouraged the kids who knew here well to get out of their chairs (I've finally trained them well enough that they USUALLY wait for my say-so before they're up and about) and give Ashley a hug. Or a kiss. Or a tickle. You know, just to keep things interesting.
Once everybody returned to their seats, Kevin started teasing James (who used to be one of Ashley's favourites) that he wanted to give Ashley a kiss, so I kept pretending I heard Kevin saying he wanted ot give Ashley a kiss. Once most of the students were giggling, I asked Kevin if he wanted to marry Ashley. He, sensing the humour in the moment, agreed. "Yes, teacher."
I offered to phone Ashley on my cellphone and make the proposal. Kevin agreed, so I got out my phone, pretended to push some buttons, and then made a big show of asking Ashley if she wanted to marry Kevin.
"Oh. Kevin, before she agrees to marry you," I said, she has some questions.
"OK teacher."
"Do you have a car?"
"Yes."
"Do you have money?"
"Yes."
"Does your daddy have money?"
"Yes." (I'm relaying these yes's into the phone.)
"Will your mommy be nice to Ashley if she marries you?" (I've heard some really remarkable stories from women who married firstborn sons in Korea, and the epically harsh treatment some mothers in law give to their sons' wives -- Western mothers-in-law really have some catching up to do, if the stories are true. And it's much harder in Korea to convince your husband to move to a different city, because of the cultural, familial obligation of the firstborn to the parents -- sometimes, when Koreans find out that I'm a firstborn son, they're surprised that I'm here in Korea rather than living with my father and taking care of him, especially because 1. I'm not married, and 2. My mom died.)
"Yes," Kevin assured me his mommy will be nice to his new wife.
I passed that last "Yes," into the phone, and said, "OK, Kevin. Ashley says she'll marry you!"
The class had a good laugh together. I've had to spend a lot of time breaking up arguments and things in that class, so it's a really nice release to have a few good laughs with them, too.
One of my students told me I'm funnyman, so I answered, "I'm not funnyman. I'm BATMAN!"
(and I have the t-shirt to prove it).
In a related story, to file under "Rob is a nerd", this photo was taken when the photographers came to my school. We took another one that looks normal, but this is the one that got the best reaction when all the teachers looked through the proofs.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Definition of Irony
Text message I got from a Korean friend of mine yesterday:
"Sorry. I can't meet you tonight for dinner. I have to study English."
"Sorry. I can't meet you tonight for dinner. I have to study English."
Monday, November 27, 2006
Here are some of my favourite pictures of my students.
Tom might be the cutest boy in any of my classes. Speaks amazingly well too.
Ryan actually thinks he's Tigger. Sometimes he climbs out of his chair, and stands in front of me, bouncing like Tigger. I sang "The Tigger Song" to him and he almost fell over from dancing so hard.
I love the pure joy in Jessie's face here, and also in Cecilia's face on the next picture.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
November 25th 2006: More sad news and a long-awaited update.
Hi everybody. Thanks so much for continuing to care and hear about me. One of my other friends, who writes updates, kindly gave her readers an opt-out clause. I never have before, but here you go. If you don't read these anyway, or if you don't want them, or never liked me in the first place (ha ha ha), please feel free to reply, and ask me to take you off the list. I'm not a great correspondent, so being off this list doesn't mean I'll immediately start writing you personal e-mails -- this update is intended to keep people I care about in the loop, despite my bad record at keeping in touch. But that said, if you don't want the letters, feel free to opt out. I won't give you any grief if you're too busy, or if you feel like your life has moved on.
Since my last e-mail, things have been hectic, beginning with...
A trip to Shanghai -- fantastic city! Interesting regions, lots of french architecture, because it was originally built up by the
French. Huge difference between rich and poor there, but a fantastically engineered skyline and some really, really, really great food. Also, the internationals there (though maybe this was just because I moved around in the tourist areas) were a lot more varied than in Korea, it seemed. In Korea, most internationals are English speaking teachers or soldiers, or German-speaking tourists (to be really general). I heard snatches of all kinds of languages in Shanghai, and faces that looked like they came from all kinds of places.
My longtime coworker Heather had a baby! They're all healthy, and her husband Caleb Overstreet (you know him, Cheryl) is so cute when he talks about being a daddy. Suddenly he turned about five times softer and sweeter. My brother once told me about one of his friends seeing his first child for the first time, saying "a whole new section of my heart opened up", and I've seen Caleb change once that new section opened in his heart. It's amazing. It's difficult for me to wax eloquent about such a thing because I've only seen the effect and not experienced it, except to say that anybody I've ever asked about it (including a
brand-new grandfather) still steadfastly tells me that seeing your own kids for the first time is one of the most transformative events in your life. Maybe sometime I'll get a chance to experience that. (Now don't everybody think I'm dropping hints or fixing to settle down by that -- this is just to say that I've been seriously touched by this parenthood thing.) Having seen how parenthood (or coming parenthood) has changed a handful of my friends (and more every year), it's a beautiful thing, the way their roots suddenly, so effortlessly deepen, and their lives suddenly have another meaning added to it, and a meaning that comes completely out of love. It also helps me understand how some of the parents I deal with in the preschool have so little perspective on their kids -- "Well, he's really a good boy -- he just has a little problem hitting his classmates and stealing their toys and ripping pages out of books for attention and whining when he's punished -- but he has a sweet heart inside."
As Heather's due date approached, the doctor's order for her to stop teaching and rest added a whole new wrinkle to the whole
work situation. Our boss didn't manage to find a replacement on time, so first I had to teach overtime to fill in for some of her classes, and then the replacement he did find. . .
None of the teachers at the school got a good feeling about the e-mails she sent, but we didn't really do much about it at the time. Then, she arrived. Her name was Angi. She was older than the rest of us, and an extremely intense person. We'd have a beer together and she'd want to have more, go to another place, go to the clubbing district, and go until six AM. Somehow, every time she talked to my boss, it turned into a shouting, crying fit -- I've never seen a relationship get to explosive so quickly before. She made unreasonable demands that were outside the contract's parameters, she lost the receipt for her airplane ticket, when my boss had sent her money to buy it. If she didn't get what she wanted, right away, she'd blow up, and turn extremely rude. Meanwhile, she showed up late for work regularly, smoked in our building (which is against the law), and basically made the workplace very stressful.
She got herself fired in only three weeks, which is remarkable. Really remarkable. Considering how expensive it is to get a western teacher out to Korea, to have Mr. Kim willing to cut his losses and get her out of the school community after such a short time shows how negative her influence was on the school, in just about every way.
So, I was back to teaching overtime until we could find another replacement. Meanwhile, the school's new academic supervisor
had her first September, which is the beginning of a new semester, and she had to learn the ropes while juggling new classes, new books, and hundreds of phone calls from parents who wanted their kids in a higher level. As she was busy, she passed the SLP Speech Contest completely over to me. So, I was working overtime, organizing a schoolwide contest, and trying to hold together a preschool program with a new teacher, and a missing teacher. My roommate Antony was a champ for filling in for as long as he did, working twelve hour days without complaining. Finally, Lorraine came, and she's worked out really well, and my schedule, since the Speech Contest finished (on my birthday), has returned to normal just in time for next year's preschool recruiting season.
All that to say, I've been busy. It's been an adventurous time. Melissa, my old roommate, left, and her replacement is great. I like Amy quite a bit. We miss Melissa, of course, but Amy's nice too.
Since mid-August, if you asked me about my life, I'd tell you that I was too busy to do the things I loved in life.
Too busy to see friends, too busy to spend huge tracts of time alone in coffee shops, too busy to take long walks, do yoga, and write poetry.
Then I'd tell you about the bright spot in my life:
When Melissa left, she introduced me to a family she knew. The two daughters were Sally and Lisa, and Sally is a certifiable genius. She taught herself English, and now she speaks it, and writes it, better than most native speakers her age. She's nine, and she reads books written for 12-15 year-olds.
here's a video clip from a movie I saw (one of my favorites) about a Korean girl who signs up for English lessons. Sally
appears in it. Wait for the clip to upload, and then skip to about the 8:20 mark, and you can see her. The movie was made in 2003, so she's a bit older now, but you get the idea.
[the video has been taken down, due to copyright violations]
That's Sally saying "Your English is terrible."
She's sweet and smart and awesome. Her tutor is teaching her advanced writing -- formal writing in particular -- because her mom wants her to score perfect on the TOEFL (Test Of English as a Foreign Language) also known as the test whose score will determine whether second-language English speakers can qualify for North American Universities. She scored nearly perfect on the TOEIC (Test Of English for International Communication), which is business focussed, rather than academic, and will earn you a job, rather than a spot in a university.
The first day we met, Lisa (the younger sister) was going through a book, and we were reading about Camels, and talking about Kiwi, and the phrase "Kiwi the Camel" came up. We thought that would be a good name for a character in a children's story. We decided to write a story about Kiwi the Camel -- I said "If you write me a story about Kiwi the Camel, I'll write one for you."
Next time I saw them, Lisa (the seven year old) told me a short story. Sally gave me a five-page long first chapter for a book about Kiwi the Camel! I agreed to write the second chapter, she wrote the third, I wrote the fourth, and so we'll go until we finish the story. Sally's funny, bright, inquisitive, and she soaks up everything I can tell her, and teaches ME stuff on the way. She's one of the three coolest ten-year-olds I've ever met. Maybe the number one!
Her younger sister Lisa was the funniest little thing. Seven years old, she earned the nickname Giggles in no time, and made me laugh out loud. She also liked storytelling, and we'd get into silly little tangents about one thing and another, and she'd draw little pictures in her or get into teasing, tickling fights with her sister. I was utterly charmed. See the attached pictures of Sally and Lisa.
Then, last Tuesday, I went to a Sauna with Caleb, and when I came out, I had two missed calls from Sally. I called back, and her grandmother answered the phone, didn't speak English, so passed the phone to Sally.
"Hi Sally how are you?"
"Not so good."
"Oh. Well what's up?"
"Guess where Lisa went." (Sally always has a roundabout
way of giving news.)
"To Thailand?" (I always give silly answers first when Sally
says, "guess what?")
"This is serious, Rob." (That was when I noticed her sad, tired voice.)
"Is she OK? Did she go to the hospital?"
"Rob, there was an accident with a bus. Lisa went to heaven."
A seven-year-old I know got killed by a careless bus driver! The family is absolutely devastated. On Wednesday I arrived at their house at my usual time, armed with a present for Sally, a card, and a lot of spaghetti sauce, for days when they don't feel like cooking. Everybody looked pretty rough, Mom and sister especially. I'll go back again next Wednesday, and then the challenge is to figure out how much a goofy Canadian can do in this situation.
Because I'm older, and not a long-time acquaintance, it changes what I can and can't do, but I've been through the wringer of loss just recently, so at least I know what not to do, and I know how cloying it is when people say "I can help you." I guess I'll take most of my signals from Sally, and if she wants to talk, I'll do my best to listen kindly, and if she doesn't, I'll just be around, and be steady. Steady's nice, too.
It's sad that a kid as young as Sally has to go through such a loss, and even worse that a kid like Lisa can be taken away so young. The random, arbitrariness by which some people die young and other live out their lives, by which some people's lives are just loaded up with death and others never lose anybody (I knew a girl named Erin who lost her brothers to malaria at age 10, and lost her parents in a plane crash at age 20), makes it difficult to make any sense of things that happen. Maybe that's the idea -- maybe we aren't supposed to make sense of it. Maybe it's just too big, too mysterious for us to say anything about it at all. Maybe the thing we learn from most deaths is simply that everybody dies.
I have a friend who stopped believing in God not long ago, and she said the main difference in her life (other than her Sunday routine) is that now she's afraid of dying.
Another of my dear friends just found out her dear step-father has terminal cancer.
And I just can't think of anything else to say.
Anyway, that's what's been on my mind lately.
My father spent two days in the hospital: there was some bleeding somewhere in his body, but it's healed up. I hope he'll be OK.
Take care, everyone.
love: Rob
(look for cute student stories and Engrish follies below)
Between the hammers our heart
endures, just as the tongue does
between the teeth and, despite that,
still is able to praise.
-Rainer Maria Rilke-
Ninth Elegy
(here is the cute students section of the letter. I wanted
to put a clear break between this and the rest. I almost
wanted to put them in a separate e-mail)
"David, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
"A scientist."
"What kind of scientist? An animal scientist? A rock
scientist? A dinosaur scientist?"
"I want to be a make yummy food and chocolate scientist."
"You want to be a food scientist."
"Yes. Food scientist."
"Well maybe you can give me some of your yummy food!"
"No teacher. You can buy in the store."
"My daddy has a Christmas car. It's a Santa Fe"
Ten plus five is fifteen. Ten plus six is sixteen. Ten plus Ryan is Ryanteen!
Instead of activity book, my kid said "Get out your captivity book." -- and he actually knew what captivity was! He made that joke on purpose!
I taught them "silly billy". Next time I was giving silly answers to questions instead of straight answers, my kid reprimanded me saying, "Teacher, don't say a billy silly!"
and my favorite wasn't from a student. It was at the Chinese Circus I saw in Shanghai. There were signs around the auditorium saying "please turn off your cellphone and don't bring bombs" (maybe they meant flashbulbs)
It made me laugh: why haven't US airlines thought of this? Just put up a sign and that'll end all danger on flights! You could put it next to the seatbelt sign and the "no smoking" sign that never turns off.
Imagine the dialogues.
Head Attendant: "Excuse me, sir, I'll have to ask you to
return to your chair and stop threatening the flight attendants.
You'll notice that the 'No Terrorism' light is still on in the cabin."
Terrorist: "Oh. Oops. My bad." (Returns to chair, embarrassed.)
Here are pictures of Sally, and Lisa, who was killed.
Since my last e-mail, things have been hectic, beginning with...
A trip to Shanghai -- fantastic city! Interesting regions, lots of french architecture, because it was originally built up by the
French. Huge difference between rich and poor there, but a fantastically engineered skyline and some really, really, really great food. Also, the internationals there (though maybe this was just because I moved around in the tourist areas) were a lot more varied than in Korea, it seemed. In Korea, most internationals are English speaking teachers or soldiers, or German-speaking tourists (to be really general). I heard snatches of all kinds of languages in Shanghai, and faces that looked like they came from all kinds of places.
My longtime coworker Heather had a baby! They're all healthy, and her husband Caleb Overstreet (you know him, Cheryl) is so cute when he talks about being a daddy. Suddenly he turned about five times softer and sweeter. My brother once told me about one of his friends seeing his first child for the first time, saying "a whole new section of my heart opened up", and I've seen Caleb change once that new section opened in his heart. It's amazing. It's difficult for me to wax eloquent about such a thing because I've only seen the effect and not experienced it, except to say that anybody I've ever asked about it (including a
brand-new grandfather) still steadfastly tells me that seeing your own kids for the first time is one of the most transformative events in your life. Maybe sometime I'll get a chance to experience that. (Now don't everybody think I'm dropping hints or fixing to settle down by that -- this is just to say that I've been seriously touched by this parenthood thing.) Having seen how parenthood (or coming parenthood) has changed a handful of my friends (and more every year), it's a beautiful thing, the way their roots suddenly, so effortlessly deepen, and their lives suddenly have another meaning added to it, and a meaning that comes completely out of love. It also helps me understand how some of the parents I deal with in the preschool have so little perspective on their kids -- "Well, he's really a good boy -- he just has a little problem hitting his classmates and stealing their toys and ripping pages out of books for attention and whining when he's punished -- but he has a sweet heart inside."
As Heather's due date approached, the doctor's order for her to stop teaching and rest added a whole new wrinkle to the whole
work situation. Our boss didn't manage to find a replacement on time, so first I had to teach overtime to fill in for some of her classes, and then the replacement he did find. . .
None of the teachers at the school got a good feeling about the e-mails she sent, but we didn't really do much about it at the time. Then, she arrived. Her name was Angi. She was older than the rest of us, and an extremely intense person. We'd have a beer together and she'd want to have more, go to another place, go to the clubbing district, and go until six AM. Somehow, every time she talked to my boss, it turned into a shouting, crying fit -- I've never seen a relationship get to explosive so quickly before. She made unreasonable demands that were outside the contract's parameters, she lost the receipt for her airplane ticket, when my boss had sent her money to buy it. If she didn't get what she wanted, right away, she'd blow up, and turn extremely rude. Meanwhile, she showed up late for work regularly, smoked in our building (which is against the law), and basically made the workplace very stressful.
She got herself fired in only three weeks, which is remarkable. Really remarkable. Considering how expensive it is to get a western teacher out to Korea, to have Mr. Kim willing to cut his losses and get her out of the school community after such a short time shows how negative her influence was on the school, in just about every way.
So, I was back to teaching overtime until we could find another replacement. Meanwhile, the school's new academic supervisor
had her first September, which is the beginning of a new semester, and she had to learn the ropes while juggling new classes, new books, and hundreds of phone calls from parents who wanted their kids in a higher level. As she was busy, she passed the SLP Speech Contest completely over to me. So, I was working overtime, organizing a schoolwide contest, and trying to hold together a preschool program with a new teacher, and a missing teacher. My roommate Antony was a champ for filling in for as long as he did, working twelve hour days without complaining. Finally, Lorraine came, and she's worked out really well, and my schedule, since the Speech Contest finished (on my birthday), has returned to normal just in time for next year's preschool recruiting season.
All that to say, I've been busy. It's been an adventurous time. Melissa, my old roommate, left, and her replacement is great. I like Amy quite a bit. We miss Melissa, of course, but Amy's nice too.
Since mid-August, if you asked me about my life, I'd tell you that I was too busy to do the things I loved in life.
Too busy to see friends, too busy to spend huge tracts of time alone in coffee shops, too busy to take long walks, do yoga, and write poetry.
Then I'd tell you about the bright spot in my life:
When Melissa left, she introduced me to a family she knew. The two daughters were Sally and Lisa, and Sally is a certifiable genius. She taught herself English, and now she speaks it, and writes it, better than most native speakers her age. She's nine, and she reads books written for 12-15 year-olds.
here's a video clip from a movie I saw (one of my favorites) about a Korean girl who signs up for English lessons. Sally
appears in it. Wait for the clip to upload, and then skip to about the 8:20 mark, and you can see her. The movie was made in 2003, so she's a bit older now, but you get the idea.
[the video has been taken down, due to copyright violations]
That's Sally saying "Your English is terrible."
She's sweet and smart and awesome. Her tutor is teaching her advanced writing -- formal writing in particular -- because her mom wants her to score perfect on the TOEFL (Test Of English as a Foreign Language) also known as the test whose score will determine whether second-language English speakers can qualify for North American Universities. She scored nearly perfect on the TOEIC (Test Of English for International Communication), which is business focussed, rather than academic, and will earn you a job, rather than a spot in a university.
The first day we met, Lisa (the younger sister) was going through a book, and we were reading about Camels, and talking about Kiwi, and the phrase "Kiwi the Camel" came up. We thought that would be a good name for a character in a children's story. We decided to write a story about Kiwi the Camel -- I said "If you write me a story about Kiwi the Camel, I'll write one for you."
Next time I saw them, Lisa (the seven year old) told me a short story. Sally gave me a five-page long first chapter for a book about Kiwi the Camel! I agreed to write the second chapter, she wrote the third, I wrote the fourth, and so we'll go until we finish the story. Sally's funny, bright, inquisitive, and she soaks up everything I can tell her, and teaches ME stuff on the way. She's one of the three coolest ten-year-olds I've ever met. Maybe the number one!
Her younger sister Lisa was the funniest little thing. Seven years old, she earned the nickname Giggles in no time, and made me laugh out loud. She also liked storytelling, and we'd get into silly little tangents about one thing and another, and she'd draw little pictures in her or get into teasing, tickling fights with her sister. I was utterly charmed. See the attached pictures of Sally and Lisa.
Then, last Tuesday, I went to a Sauna with Caleb, and when I came out, I had two missed calls from Sally. I called back, and her grandmother answered the phone, didn't speak English, so passed the phone to Sally.
"Hi Sally how are you?"
"Not so good."
"Oh. Well what's up?"
"Guess where Lisa went." (Sally always has a roundabout
way of giving news.)
"To Thailand?" (I always give silly answers first when Sally
says, "guess what?")
"This is serious, Rob." (That was when I noticed her sad, tired voice.)
"Is she OK? Did she go to the hospital?"
"Rob, there was an accident with a bus. Lisa went to heaven."
A seven-year-old I know got killed by a careless bus driver! The family is absolutely devastated. On Wednesday I arrived at their house at my usual time, armed with a present for Sally, a card, and a lot of spaghetti sauce, for days when they don't feel like cooking. Everybody looked pretty rough, Mom and sister especially. I'll go back again next Wednesday, and then the challenge is to figure out how much a goofy Canadian can do in this situation.
Because I'm older, and not a long-time acquaintance, it changes what I can and can't do, but I've been through the wringer of loss just recently, so at least I know what not to do, and I know how cloying it is when people say "I can help you." I guess I'll take most of my signals from Sally, and if she wants to talk, I'll do my best to listen kindly, and if she doesn't, I'll just be around, and be steady. Steady's nice, too.
It's sad that a kid as young as Sally has to go through such a loss, and even worse that a kid like Lisa can be taken away so young. The random, arbitrariness by which some people die young and other live out their lives, by which some people's lives are just loaded up with death and others never lose anybody (I knew a girl named Erin who lost her brothers to malaria at age 10, and lost her parents in a plane crash at age 20), makes it difficult to make any sense of things that happen. Maybe that's the idea -- maybe we aren't supposed to make sense of it. Maybe it's just too big, too mysterious for us to say anything about it at all. Maybe the thing we learn from most deaths is simply that everybody dies.
I have a friend who stopped believing in God not long ago, and she said the main difference in her life (other than her Sunday routine) is that now she's afraid of dying.
Another of my dear friends just found out her dear step-father has terminal cancer.
And I just can't think of anything else to say.
Anyway, that's what's been on my mind lately.
My father spent two days in the hospital: there was some bleeding somewhere in his body, but it's healed up. I hope he'll be OK.
Take care, everyone.
love: Rob
(look for cute student stories and Engrish follies below)
Between the hammers our heart
endures, just as the tongue does
between the teeth and, despite that,
still is able to praise.
-Rainer Maria Rilke-
Ninth Elegy
(here is the cute students section of the letter. I wanted
to put a clear break between this and the rest. I almost
wanted to put them in a separate e-mail)
"David, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
"A scientist."
"What kind of scientist? An animal scientist? A rock
scientist? A dinosaur scientist?"
"I want to be a make yummy food and chocolate scientist."
"You want to be a food scientist."
"Yes. Food scientist."
"Well maybe you can give me some of your yummy food!"
"No teacher. You can buy in the store."
"My daddy has a Christmas car. It's a Santa Fe"
Ten plus five is fifteen. Ten plus six is sixteen. Ten plus Ryan is Ryanteen!
Instead of activity book, my kid said "Get out your captivity book." -- and he actually knew what captivity was! He made that joke on purpose!
I taught them "silly billy". Next time I was giving silly answers to questions instead of straight answers, my kid reprimanded me saying, "Teacher, don't say a billy silly!"
and my favorite wasn't from a student. It was at the Chinese Circus I saw in Shanghai. There were signs around the auditorium saying "please turn off your cellphone and don't bring bombs" (maybe they meant flashbulbs)
It made me laugh: why haven't US airlines thought of this? Just put up a sign and that'll end all danger on flights! You could put it next to the seatbelt sign and the "no smoking" sign that never turns off.
Imagine the dialogues.
Head Attendant: "Excuse me, sir, I'll have to ask you to
return to your chair and stop threatening the flight attendants.
You'll notice that the 'No Terrorism' light is still on in the cabin."
Terrorist: "Oh. Oops. My bad." (Returns to chair, embarrassed.)
Here are pictures of Sally, and Lisa, who was killed.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Hey everybody! I'm famous!
click on the link and wait for the pictures to start scrolling. I'm right near
the beginning.
http://www.koreapolyschool.com
the beginning.
http://www.koreapolyschool.com
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