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May 31, 2006 >> Election DayIt's Election Day here in Korea. Hundreds of mayors and citizen representatives are currently being picked by the people, to the discordant tune of imminent corruption charges six months down the line.
This special day signals two important things:
a) No school! (for some hagwons... muahahaha)
b) No more crazy campaigning. In the last week, we've been woken up every morning by partisan trucks with loudspeakers and blaring tunes, zooming around the city decrying the virtues of various candidates. Major street corners are packed with groups of pamphleteers wielding glow sticks and colour-coded shirts. Gigantic wall ads of prominent men with shit-eating grins supplant usual commercial signage. The main walkways of Sanbon are littered with portable stages where political hopefuls lead their supporters in carefully choreographed dances. I have not seen much in the way of debate, or even discussing the issues of governance, but then again, I don't really speak the language. Perhaps empty promises are delivered via musical performance in Korea?
Anyway, the votes are being cast and we'll soon be rid of the madness generated by most of these hacks. The rest will be set up in office.
[Korean politics] [Obtrusive campaigning] [Sanbon]
Posted by Chris at 03:25 AM >> Commentations (0) | Permalink
May 29, 2006 >> Animeh
What the hell is this all about? Did I get a new maid? My place is pretty filthy...
Find out at the new fresh & sassy image gallery >> AnimeCon
Sadly, the gallery title ruins the surprise...
[Korean anime] [Korean Cosplay] [Korean comics] [Korean subculture]
Fuck, and the Technorati links ruin it even MORE!
Posted by Chris at 12:52 PM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
May 28, 2006 >> Cass Bar Diversion
This weekend me, Chad and Jen went down to Busan to visit a newly-landed Andrea Teacher and make jackasses of ourselves on the south coast. We succeeded admirably, having a grand time raiding museums and beaches and sprawling markets between torrential downpours of rain (we seriously can't head south anymore without mortally offending the weather gods, it seems). But, most importantly, we stumbled across a very special cultural event which can only be properly summarized with one word: "Badass." Sadly Badass will have to wait until tomorrow, because I am rather pooched from mass transit and weekend sleep deprivation.
In the meantime, let's diverge: let's take a short trip through the seemingly inconsequential everyday. The owner of Cass Bar - our Sanbon drinking establishment - is a pretty quality dude. While most pub operators see Westerners as a bit of a nuisance, this guy actually likes us (we think). The Cass Bar is very worthwhile, with a high-tech dart board and a PlayStation 2 hooked up to a gigantic TV, as well as a jukebox. I often think that a bar back home that featured this kind of sideline entertainment would be amazing, and then I realize that most Canadians would be assholes and smash everything up once they got soused. Most unique Korean pop-culture only works because Koreans, as a general rule, are pretty respectful folk.
We, on the other hand, are barely human once we hit the soju. But even when we monopolize Winning Eleven Soccer and play rowdy drinking games and cue up twenty Rage Against the Machine songs in a row, scaring off all his Korean clientele for the night, the owner is a congenial fellow. He's always willing to play around and give us discounts and put up with our retardedness. One day I gave him a yellow card for kicking our asses at darts, and he turned an ensuing picture of me into a soft ad:
I officially endorse this product and/or service.
[Busan] [Drinking in Korea] [Cass Bar]
Posted by Chris at 11:54 AM >> Commentations (0) | Permalink
May 24, 2006 >> The Young Visit the Dead
This was, hands-down, the weirdest and most unnerving field trip in my short history of education. Originally billed as a museum visit to learn about the human body, we somehow ended up in a grim mausoleum of cadavers and dead babies.
I held Kelly's hand as she bounced along beside me in the sun, childishly excited for... something. I don't think anyone really knew what to expect. I was picturing some kind of giant educational playground where kids frolicked inside a giant plastic body: climbing through finger tunnels, swinging from day-glo intestines and sliding down a big red tongue. What we got was significantly less play and significantly more morgue autopsy.
The museum staff was friendly enough but when the first stop on our tour was a skinless, sinewy zombie palming a basketball, I knew we were in trouble. Suspicious, I peeked down the hallway while the kids were learning about muscle systems and saw endless examples of the most hideous biological monstrosity imaginable: the human body peeled back, unmasked and exposed. Creepy skulls and flayed horrors. Heads cross-sectioned and fingers severed. I thought of the children and returned to the group, expecting the worst.
Kelly was crying softly, looking at the floor and not wanting to examine the corpses further. The rest of the kids were strangely intrigued, with facial reactions ranging from mild disgust to childlike enthusiasm (for anything new and gross). "Don't worry," I told Kelly. "None of them are real... they're all plastic or some stuff." Then I found out that every exhibit was a real person, once living and breathing until a rude finale landed their expired body here. A skeleton propped up on a bike, bony feet glued mid-pedal. A set of severed genatalia, looking woefully undersized. A muscle zombie with a basketball. A once-man, lying on a table, his body diced into pancake strips. I couldn't really blame Kelly for crying.
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That day we saw preserved death in every form imaginable in the almighty name of science. And it was morbidly interesting and it was accurate and the mechanics of the human body is existence itself, but somehow I felt bad for the kids, like they shouldn't have to see the world like this. Not just yet. But, apart from Kelly, they all seemed to survive their encounter with the Informative Morgue just fine. We adjourned to the park and the kids ate, fought and played with anthills. They may have learnt that our lives are short and the end unappealing, but they also figured out that the existence of an insect colony is infinitely shorter.
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[Human biology] [Death] [Korean school trips] [Unattractive life lessons] [Revulsion]
Posted by Chris at 09:48 AM >> Commentations (4) | Permalink
May 23, 2006 >> 'Special' Report
HI, this is Chris Clemens for the Weigook Authority News network. Kim So-Yong is on assignment at Krispy Kreme. Tonight's top story which is not new news but has, in fact, already been covered extensively by more reputable and somewhat less biased sources:
*long, meaningful look at camera 1, just extended enough to impart an air of suitable seriousness when discussing tragedy... you know the look I'm talking about, the sorta awkward one because you always wonder whether the teleprompter has fucked up for one breathless instant*
JUST one week away from the national election, Park Geun-hye, a presidential candidate for the opposition Grand National Party, was attacked by a guy with a box cutter. He slashed her neck for about 60 stitches worth of damage before being promptly hauled away to serve 14 (more) years in prison, yelling and screaming about saving democracy and acting the proper madman. The GNP got a big popularity boost from the incident, virtually assuring them victory over the Uri party next week. This is all based on shit I read in the paper, by the way.
I asked my supervisor if maybe the GNP had somehow set up the attack themselves to pull sympathy votes. She was shocked, then thoughtful: "I would like to think nothing like that could happen in Korea..." Since I've begun reading the newspaper here, almost every week there are announcements of massive anti-trust violations and civil servant debauchery. Korean politics is a hotbed of mistrust and repetitive scandal. Still, a few extra points in the polls hardly seems like it would be worth a large disfiguring scar across one's throat. Maybe someone else in the party made the call and poor Park didn't get the memo. Anyway, that's enough about that.
THANK you for that obviously non-partisan conspiracy analysis, Chris. You are an insensitive lout, poorly versed in Korean scandalmongering and a donkeybanger to boot. Our prayers are with Ms. Park. We sincerely hope she does not resemble a gutted salmon when she returns to politics. And now... what's going on in the world of interior decorating? Not too much? Haven't moved that wardrobe yet, huh. Okay then, let's just roll on over to sports:
*playful laugh, as if reacting to a nonexistent joke although the laugh is just a trivial gesture intended to lighten the air and let the audience know that you're gonna be talking about some dudes kicking a little ball around, which seems infinitely less important than the preceding news and WOW it's tough to do segues with only one person*
TONIGHT, Korea faced Senegal in a pre-World Cup friendly match. The streets were mostly emptied of cars, as everyone was parked in front of a TV for the game. I went down to get some food and the women who run the restaurant had a tiny screen hooked up to a cell phone to keep on top of the score while they worked. As I ate I could hear response to the action from the place next door, yells and curses echoing through the drywall. The convenience store had soccer on the radio. I felt the game wherever I went - it shadowed me as I walked, lived in everyone I met. Across Sanbon, and perhaps all of Korea, people tied their attentions into a single event of seemingly monumental importance. It was incredibly intense and I couldn't help but get wrapped up into the score. Remember that time Canada won the Olympic gold? Yeah, it was sorta like that. I was constantly watching for someone in the street to spontaneously combust from excitement.
In the end, the match played to a 1-1 tie and sportscasters enthusiastically replayed and discussed Korea's lone goal for at least half an hour afterwards. Did I mention that this was a friendly? Oh man... the World Cup is coming and there's a sale on box cutters.
IMPRESSIVE Chris, way to tie in the box cutter thing from the previous story! A clearly half-hearted effort for some kind of cross-relevancy. You should probably go to bed. Thanks for that special report on your dinnertime experiences and stupid reminiscing about hockey glory, and we'll see you tomorrow night! Only not really because I (you?) rarely update two days in a row because we are quite lazy.
Goodnight, and good luck in the finals.
*studio fades to black as I pretend to be writing on paper and fiddling with trinkets on my desk and talking congenially to myself*
[Korean politics] [Park Geun-hye] [Korean soccer] [fake ass news]
Posted by Chris at 11:25 AM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
May 21, 2006 >> When Bunny Met Puppy
There's no such thing as animal cruelty here... pets unable to battle for their owner's honour are unceremoniously bashed on the noggin and turned into delicious soup.
Posted by Chris at 10:41 AM >> Commentations (3) | Permalink
>> World Cup Stadium
Ever since the Korean-Japanese World Cup and Korea's unanticipated success in this prestigious competition, this country has been a bit soccer fanatical. Every boy wants to play soccer for their school club activity. Posters of J.S. Park and other superstar players are plastered in subway stations and anywhere else that overburdened public space will allow. Every kid at school is talking about "emmm... you know... Hitler country!" (Germany), the host of this year's World Cup and a frequent topic of conversation. Will Korea repeat their semi-final showing this year? Who will beat the filthy Japanese? Will Zombie Hitler lead Germany to a homeland victory?
Now I don't know and I don't care about these things... unless Hitler has revived dinosaurs and trained them to play soccer, which would be cool. Let's face it: living in Canada rather exempts us from World Cup fever, forcing us to retrace our bloodlines to the Old Countries if we want a viable team to support. This is hardly a decent substitute for rabid nationalism.
Still, one can always capitalize on the hype of others. One of the kids at our school has an uncle who works for a company who owns a soccer team which happened to be F.C. Seoul, so on Saturday we found ourselves headed to World Cup Stadium to catch a game. We arrived after a harrowing cab ride, in which our driver got into a heated exchange with the driver of an SUV, and incidentally taught me and Mike to say, "I hate you, dog-baby!" in Korean. A useful phrase indeed - I took great pains to memorize it, repeating it often to the dismay of nearby parents.
World Cup Stadium was huge - a relic of greater times. As it was, no mere club match could possibly hope to fill this enormity with spectators. The cavernous coliseum of steel and light was built for the eyes of an entire world, not a handful of families looking for memories and accompanying memorabilia. Attendance consequentially looked rather sparse. The stadium is built on top of a fucking mall, for Gods sakes, and has its own subway stop.
After making the brief acquaintance of the nearby Hangang Park, which is reputedly beautiful but perhaps too beautiful for just half an hour, we claimed our seats. The match commenced with the terrifying (for some) hiss and bang of fireworks. Loyal F.C. Seoul supporters dutifully roared and chanted, the tunes to their fight songs recognizably lifted from Western nursery rhymes. Belinda screamed and some kid in the corporate boxes dumped a bag of chips on her head. A toddler wandered over to us, blew his toy horn vigorously into Mike's ear and used our propped-up legs as his own personal hideaway, wallowing in spilt beer out of view of his parents.
The game itself was entirely unremarkable - a single fluky goal in the opening minutes was the only action of note. We were left wondering whether the players were drunk or tired or what. Perhaps the best were off in Germany, training for their upcoming representation of a nation desperate for victory on the world stage. Maybe Koreans just suck at soccer and this country is in for a rude surprise with a 14th place knock-out in coming weeks. Whatever the deal, as a sporting contest the F.C. Seoul game was unsatisfying - unsatisfying but free, we must recall. As an excuse for a blog post it was aight.
And I still remember: Meewha ke sekiya! (I hate you, dog baby!)
Posted by Chris at 08:51 AM >> Commentations (0) | Permalink
May 17, 2006 >> The Wedding Spiral
Ever since I first encountered the tolerant sadness of wedded Korean women, I've been interested in the institution of marriage here. I've never heard a female here talk positively about her relationship: their grievances against husbands run the gamut from silent neglect to hyper-jealousy. They don't know anything about sex because they've barely had it - most've only dabbled to procreate and now that the ring's on the finger and baby's in the crib, the man of the house is 'engaged' elsewhere. It's said that 90% of all Korean men cheat on their wives at whiskey clubs and company shindigs. This is an accepted part of society here. A Korean friend recently told me about a rowdy social with his new corporation, where the bosses hired everyone hookers as a bonding experience. In this country wives get the shaft, although never in the good way.
I am sure the reality isn't as atrocious as the portrait - I have seen many couples happily walking hand-in-hand beneath cerulean skies, enjoying the day with their children. I notice high school kids curled up against each other in cafes, asleep, together despite their curfews and their monumental academic stress. I can't ever picture them asleep on split beds, bitter and divided. I refuse to believe that infidelity and lovelessness is everywhere.
And yet the institution of marriage here often seems to be a facade, a photo-op with tragic results. We once brazenly walked into a wedding held in Myong-dong Cathedral. Behind the bride and groom, an enormous cache of lights ensured a maximum level of picturesque moments: the altar was as carefully planned as a movie set. As the newly-wedded couple walked down the isle, we stood to congratulate them in our own boorish Western way - we had been moved - but they stopped halfway and returned to the altar for photographs. They had pantomimed walking out of the church for the sake of the wedding video. The guests began to leave, their presence superceded by pictures and an overwhelming lust for recorded memories. The couple smiled obligingly for the flashbulbs as workers began to take down the decorations around them.
It felt somehow wrong, somehow hollow. Weeks later, Belinda described a wedding she and Dook attended a few weeks back and her findings opened my mouth wide.
The gathering was huge but most of the guests were socializing in back rooms - not even bothering to witness the ceremony. As the vows were finalized, people began pouring into the main hall to give white envelopes to the couple: wedding gifts, cash, to the tune of 50 or 100 bucks per guest. Then most of them left hurriedly as food was served. One hour in, one hour out.
Belinda was told (and told me... and I'm telling you) that many people attend weddings specifically for the purpose of giving money. Some families attend several unions a weekend, forking out dough each time. Why would anyone want to do that, I wondered, my mouth inexplicably full of chicken. If you're going to a wedding and have to pay for it, I think you'd damn well want to stay for the food instead of rushing off to the next ceremony. There might be free chicken! But Belinda elaborated fearsomely.
The connection between guest and the couple is sometimes featherweight, most often facilitated between the groom's parents and their extended social network. Every time a parent attends the wedding of an associate's progeny, no matter how remotely affiliated, they record the amount of their gift in a little diary. When their own child marries, the wedding guest list is compiled from this diary. Every family that has received money in the past now owes money. It is understood that they will attend the ceremony, paper envelopes in hand, at the risk of delivering a terrible insult by declining the invitation. They will return the investment, and this is often what weddings are called: an investment, a 'second job'.
And this is why marriage is such a sullied institution in Korea. Marriage is not a celebration of friends and family and coming together: it is a glorified fundraiser. The wishes of the groom and bride are brushed aside. A small wedding with close friends is an impossible dream. To earn money for a future together, you have to begin that future in an overlit hall full of avaricious, disinterested strangers.
This is why unhappy mothers push oh so hard for their daughters to marry without love, why the age of thirty signals desperation and failure. Parents who have invested in marriage get no return if their child doesn't wed. They have delivered countless white envelopes into the hands of virtual strangers. They expect recompense: for their child's perceived future, for themselves. In Korea, parents survive old age on the financial support of their descendants alone.
This is why divorce is made impossible: by a woman's family, not by her spouse. The debts have all been paid at the first wedding - a second would never receive gifts. In the parents' minds, divorce is a crashing financial failure tenfold worse than simple marital unhappiness. What's worse, the children of divorced parents can't live with either of them: by government mandate, the split couple are branded unfit parents. One of the kids in my homeroom comes from a broken family and he lives with his grandparents. Although his mother is still a large part of his life, she cannot be his legal guardian. Ending an unhealthy relationship has never been so costly. Starting over has never been so difficult.
This is, I think, why wives in Korea are taken for granted so easily and abundantly. They are tied to their vows with bonds stronger than those found in any religious text. Their own family threatens excommunication; their children are held hostage.
I have heard that, since most weddings take place in specialized halls on the fifteenth floor of some building and not a church, the act of "I Do" is simply a picture show of pomp until the couple actually registers their union at City Hall. I have also heard that some wives, entrusted with this task, secretly don't ever register, which gives them an easier avenue of escape later down the road. So perhaps there is hope in subversion and tactile rebellion, somewhere deep down inside this mess.
I would like to think that change is coming, a revolution of young Koreans who realize that weddings should not be mistaken for a lending cartel. I would hope that, one day, mothers will realize that it is not their duty to inflict the same unhappiness on their daughters that they themselves endured. Perhaps fathers will think twice before rushing their offspring up the isle just so they can claim lucrative marriage doweries from corporate overlords.
But for now, I think one particular tradition in Korean marriage encapsulates the current state of things quite nicely. The best man often requests the groom to hoist the bride's mother onto his back and do deep knee bends in front of the congregation, ajima perched precariously on his shoulders, to prove to everyone that he is strong. This crazy stunt supposedly shows the whole world how much he loves his new wife.
How much he loves his wife... who he might not even love, because he might've met her two months ago through a parentally-enforced matchmaking service. And perhaps she's reached the end of her 'silver' years and been guilt-tripped-strong-armed into reclaiming a costly investment. But hey, maybe they actually like each other a little. Maybe they'll learn to love, once they have no other choice. Maybe, just maybe, he's part of the 10% who believe in marital fidelity.
And at least he can lift her conniving mom onto his back. Right on up there, strong as an ox he is! That's pretty good, right?
Right?
Posted by Chris at 08:36 AM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
May 16, 2006 >> The TRAX Once Traveled
For the past month, Sally has brazenly branded her homework with schoolgirl crush grafitti before handing it in. Every chapter summary for Prince Caspian comes accompanied with "TRAX" scrawled into the margins in bold black print, making the assignment rather unworkable as proof to her mother that Sally is engaged in Serious Study here at Herald School. I once asked what the hell TRAX was: she told me that TRAX is a "visual rock" band, "the best band in all of time!" Apparently they are so damn good that she can't resist etching their godlike monicker into everything she owns: her notebooks, her folders, her prototype robot death squads.
Since I once made Sally a mix CD and she came back next class proclaiming that the Deftones' My Own Summer was her favourite song, I figured TRAX might be halfway cool. I didn't know exactly what 'visual rock' entailed but since modern music genres live and die in a hipster's heartbeat, it probably didn't matter. TRAX continued to plague my marking, but left little long-term impact on my life.
Today Sally handed me an essay comparing Western and Korean suburbs and I noticed that the customary "TRAX" had been replaced by "TAX & Rose", neatly stenciled in the bottom-left corner. Huh? Sally explained that Rose had left the band to pursue a solo career as a vocalist, but that she still liked him. He was Rose, after all.
"Wait... wait... this guy in this band you like... his name is Rose?" She assured me that indeed it was. TRAX is compiled from the four band members' names: Typhoon, Rose, Attack and X-Mas. "But Sally, X-Mas is just a politically correct way to say Christmas. You are listening to music created by people named Rose and Christmas. This cannot be cool."
Sally remained stolidly dedicated to her opinion that TAX & Rose was the greatest thing going since kimchi. Since her mom had just bought me a giant box of cookies for Teachers' Day, I withheld further criticism at the time. But, my interest piqued, I came home and hunted up the official TRAX webpage.
Now, if Korean music is a neverending sample-pack of former American successes and expired trends (and it is), 'visual rock' has got to be the Korean version of that ridiculous, perplexing and short-lived abortion child of the '80s, HAIR METAL. Splashed with the scent of leather and a hint of Goth, TRAX has revived an unseemly horror from the past, inflicting a new wave of fluffy glam upon unsuspecting Korean teenagers. The despair has traveled Eastwards. But there are dredlocks too, and all kinds of things that make me laugh uncontrollably and with a tinge of madness.
I WILL PLAY IN THE SNOWFIELDS OF APOCALYPSE, MY LOVE, UNTIL YOU BRING MY HAIR SPRAY TO THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN.
BONUS QUESTION: Can you guess which one of these dudes is the estranged Rose??
Posted by Chris at 11:11 AM >> Commentations (10) | Permalink
May 14, 2006 >> Effrontery
Tonight, two girls I just started tutoring told me they had spent the day down at the primary school, practicing their basketball shots. This is all well and good until you factor in their additional statements of:
a) We hate basketball.
b) We hate physical education.
c) We were at a special class for extra practice because
d) We have a physical education test coming up at school.
That's right. Affluent Korean children who are not athletically-inclined go to a special gym school. On a Sunday afternoon. So they can do well on their physical education exam. So they can get into a good high school. So they can eventually get into a good university.
Something is wrong here. There are no child-like avenues of joy that don't eventually merge into the mega-superhighway which unerringly streaks towards the blinding lights of Seoul National U.
Posted by Chris at 07:08 AM >> Commentations (0) | Permalink
May 11, 2006 >> Now we're cooking with gas, on your trash
On an ordinary Thursday night, return home from a lesson where you have just spent an hour assuring Korean children that 'spicy' is an adjective suitable for any purpose. Mission success: you were invited to "have a spicy time" as you left. Back at the apartment, discover that Belinda and Mike have been cooking up an ingenious, outlandish scheme. They are busily constructing a makeshift barbeque out of discarded furniture, a wire frame and an old satellite dish.
Almost two hours will be spent trying to hammer, kick and blow-torch a chair seat from its precious moorings. In the end, a hack saw purchased from the dollar store will painstakingly begin to cut the necessary framework out of its shackles. And when you say the hack saw is cutting, you really mean Belinda and Mike are cutting and the saw is merely an implement of freedom... until the blade breaks.
Spastically useless with most manual labour, you will use your walking skills to return to the dollar store to purchase a hack saw refill. The dollar store carries a wide variety of tools that all, unsurprisingly, cost a dollar... or chon-won, as the local lingo goes. The sweetness of the chon-won deal is called into question when the second blade breaks shortly after. Upon returning for yet more tools, the proprietor will try to teach you how to saw. "Push-ee GAH," he will say, thrusting your new saw downwards vigorously. "Pooool-ee NO!"
He will also show you how to turn the blade so the teeth face outwards, taking the saw out of safety mode and actually rendering it useable. The shopkeeper clearly thinks you are retarded. Then he finally realizes that you were actually hanging around hoping to get a shopping bag so you don't have to walk through the busy Sanbon core waving two fucking murderous hack saws. You're already Western: that's bad enough. And you don't need to learn how to saw, which you've tried to tell him for five minutes (to no avail). This is kind of a lie, because you are pretty bad at sawing.
Back at the homestead, pieces of debris and refuse are cut and assembled lovingly into a barbeque-esqe visage. Mike has destroyed most of the chon-won store toolbox with his bare hands, and all that's left to do is screw the chair appendage to the derelict desk, holding the charcoal-pit-satellite-dish in place. Mike and Belinda lovingly add final touches to the decor, fingertips brushing the barbeque's sleek contours with heartfelt zeal and affection. Their baby has been forged and it's ready and willing to turn hunks of raw meat into a steak sandwich, and maybe a light salad.
We lug the barbeque up onto the roof and fill it with cardboard and splintered wood for a trial run. The sweet, pungent smell of paint burning off the satellite is the harbinger of a glorious summer, and spirits are high. Then the desk catches fire and we have to rush to blow it out before the entire night goes up in flames. Perhaps some design adjustments will be made before our first rooftop cookout. But it's enough that a spontaneous dream was realized; more than enough.
Makeshift BBQ total cost:
$2 - wire frame (the 'grill')
$4 - 4 hack saws (all snapped and broken in the line of duty)
$43 - two pizzas, cheese sticks and spaghetti. Pizza is goddamn expensive here!
Posted by Chris at 11:33 AM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
May 10, 2006 >> Song 4 is Champion!
In most of my classes, I'm approaching the End of the Book, a rare and wonderful blossom that only flowers once every three months or so. It's a time when there is literally nothing left to do: no more stories, worksheets or tests. Well, I'm sure we could review or something but these are kids, we must remember, and sometimes they like to goof off. And I like to goof off. And the End of the Book is a perfect time for not learning English.
We've been using a new curriculum designed specifically for Herald Schools: the Herald Leader series. I've taught plenty of ESL books since my arrival here - English Time, Side By Side, High Five, Let's Go, etc etc etc - and the Herald books stack up pretty well against the competition, with one exception: the songs.
In ESL, songs are important. They rouse children from the drowsiness of rote memorization. Songs give kids a rhythmic backdrop for this strange and terrifying new language they are being force-fed, and if the tune is catchy enough, they'll always have a new phrase pattern floating annoyingly in the back of their minds. With the right song, you'll have a generation of second-language speakers walking around mumbling, "Are there two mirrors? No, no, no there AREN'T!!!!" and as long as they aren't saying "ISN'T" or "DOOVEN'T"... well, that's a good thing.
I am sad to say that the Herald songs are an apocalypse of tempo, a calamity of cadence. Every line swings wildly in meter, its rhythm an unpredictable mish-mash of long drawn-out syllables and SUPERFASTLET'SGOGOGOGOGO verbal speedways. Somehow the engineers of these songs have managed to cannibalize a simple tune like "Mary Had a Little Lamb," creating a monster that leaves even the smartest kids bewildered and stupefied. I'm stupified. Once they (we) struggle to get the hang of even one verse, the next will inevitably screw them (us) over. Oh, it's windy in September? You got that one, huh? Well now IT'S WArm in MA.....RCH, fucker! It's as if these songs are designed to be unsingable.
So at the end of our unforgettable journey through Herald Leaders C1, me and my low-level class spent the lesson today ripping through all the songs one-by-one and rated them on how terrible they were. We spent a whole lesson critiquing: "Teacher, teacher... is very bad!! Is fast and doesn't like and crazy!" There were heated debates and fierce partisan politics involved, but we finally managed to come to a concensus: the Chapter 4 song was the best, not chosen for clarity or usability, but because it has a badass train whistle sound between verses. Wooo- woooo!
And this is how I get paid.
Posted by Chris at 06:31 AM >> Commentations (4) | Permalink
May 09, 2006 >> The Sutra of the Distant Past
I am a horribly neglectful bastard, the kind of rapscallion who goes out and does things and then doesn't write about them. This kind of villainy often has dire repercussions, such as a gigantic backlog of unused content and blog hit counts tumbling into the deep trenches of the sea. But ahhh well, kenchanayo, such is life. I now return to the fray, refreshed and ready to once more throw myself into the bizarre nuances of Korean culture.
As none of you probably know, it was recently the venerable and mighty Buddha's birthday. Yes, he was born - he was not just an obese materialization, suddenly smiling benevolently from his many pedestals and shrines around the world. Some poor woman popped his divine mass out, once upon a time.
In celebration of this momentous event, the latter half of April was dedicated to His radiance. Much of this dedication revolved around the act of stringing lanterns across every single urban gully in the entire city of Seoul. The omnipresent glow of lanterns dominated streets, reigned over highways and guarded brothel doorways for weeks on end. Children held lanterns. Lanterns held children. In Buddha's birthday, I have finally found a holiday poised to overtake the esteemed Christmas shopping cart, and its helpful sidekick Jesus, in the ongoing race to attain 100% Holiday Symbol Oversaturation! 'Tis a glorious day.
The culmination of all this lanternization arrived a few weekends ago, at the Lotus Lantern Festival. A sizable cadre of us saddled up Dook's horsey-van and rode on up to Jongno-3 to observe the celebrations and perhaps impart a little of our Western notions of enlightenment. My personal contribution was that people are pretty stupid, so if spiritual success is hinged on the notion of downsizing sensationalism in life, the fine folk sitting in their Southern trailers watching Springer all day are probably two steps away from Nirvana and the ultimate nothingness. Luckily for Buddha, monks far less idiotic than I were in charge of his birthday so there were no teenaged baby mommas hitting each other with chairs in Siddhartha's honour.
There was, however, a fat Korean biker.
And a poor unsuspecting monk, whom we waylaid for photo-ops. There were many monks, in fact. In the background you can see just one of the myriad of shops that featured lantern memorabilia for sale.
In the midst of the throng, a troupe of miniature geishas frolicked with their mothers and, I assume, did some fairly traditional things.
We wandered around the streets, looking at booths featuring temple food (which had been specifically prepared to contain no pleasurable flavours) and Buddhist contingencies from Nepal and Thailand and Shangri-La and various other mystical places. At one point we were Shanghai-ed into chanting and rhythmically bashing some little wooden bowls with sticks. Under an open-air tent, we feigned concentration while random passer-bys snapped photos of us. If there's anything that gets in the way of transcendence, it's feeling like a zoo animal in the midst of a parade of humanity. We met some Western acolytes who were in the middle of a temple stay: they seemed very into Buddhism, as you might suspect from someone who has abandoned their lives to wake up at 4 am every day in a strange country for deep bowing.
There were also some emissaries from a radically different sector of society. Ronald was there to promote the wonders of obesity, as Buddha is perhaps the finest example of a wildly overweight role model. Enlighten yourself with a cheeseburger, hungry Koreans!
Throughout the festival, stages were erected and jerked-off with many different fingers of Korean pop. We watched in awe as a set of middle-schoolers in suits and ratpack hats brought Backstreet Back, saw some mentally disabled ballet and witnessed dudes in mime masks jitter and vibrate to electronica. A well-received (by me and Chad, at least) Army Girl drrrty pop act sent my imagination to jail for statutory rape. Club bump and grind has gotten pretty popular in Korea, and nobody does it better than five hot teenaged girls, I can assure you. The Ascended One was undoubtedly pleased with their offering. On the other side of the club coin, there were quite a few B-boy hippity-hop breakdancers. We actually witnessed one B-boy group in a circle, heads bowed, praying backstage before their set: asking Jesus for help so they could headspin for Buddha's birthday. Huh. Only in Korea.
Who're these guys??? It's strange who suddenly turns up in this country, although it seemed as though half of Seoul had pegged the Lotus Lantern Festival as a worthwhile endeavor that weekend. Still, this land is a depository, a dumping ground for Canadian graduates, especially from good ol' Wilfrid Laurier. Does the alumni association count ESL teaching as successful after-grad employment in its elephantitis-afflicted statistics?
The Man Himself, soliciting donations outside his own temple. That's a big palm to grease.
And those are puffy hats to wear. This ultimate drum corps prowled the streets, lending their clownish percussion to the celebratory atmosphere. Other silly hats included: Skullcaps with long dangerous swinging tassels, kingly crowns (with fake beards) and Abraham Lincoln-style top hats. Silly hats are a big part of Buddhism.
After hours of waiting around, watching kids (and Belinda) jump rope and checking out crafts tables where YOU TOO CAN CONSTRUCT YOUR VERY OWN LOTUS LANTERN IF YOU CAN ONLY DESTROY THE THRONGS OF TOURISTS TAKING ALL THE SPOTS, the parade finally started. Oh, that's right. I didn't tell you about the parade yet. Well there was one. You can't go to bed satisfied that Buddha's birthday has been properly celebrated unless you've witnessed a parade, y'know? It would be like Christmas without going to the mall.
So we followed the throngs down to a main road, elbowed ourselves into a spot in front of a large media van, and watched a river of light flow past. Lantern-wielding monks, temple goers and general populace poured down the street in unrelenting quantities. Interspersed between the foot soldiers of Buddhism were large floats of famous warriors, kings and emperors who had spent their lives in the noble service of religious fervor. Some of them were terribly fierce, and I was told that lots of them had taken on the post-humus service of guarding temples from demons and Jehovah's Witnesses, and thus had to be depicted as monstrous folk. One dude had three faces, and another one was stabbing himself in the ear with his dagger. For a peaceable religion, Buddhism sure features some heavy hitters in the hall of fame.
Keeping in line with the Asia Is Ridiculous In Every Aspect of Life part of my stay here, we witnessed a pig riding a motorcycle fire a flamethrower at a taxi. I am not joking. This was a float in the parade.
And there were dragons... huge, spicy dragons that breathed mechanical fire out of their nostrils. They were gorgeously painted and lit, and soared down the promenade as majestically as it is possible to soar when one is mounted on a rattling flatbed truck. If it was possible to have a giant lantern-dragon as a pet, I would borrow a ranch out in Alberta and let Spiky roam unfettered, flying free of the shuddering Hyundai that shackled him in his previous parade life. Ahhh dreams...
But all is for naught. Life is apparently no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body or mind; No form, sound, smell, taste, touch or mind object.
There is no ignorance and also no ending of ignorance.
There is no truth in suffering, of the cause of suffering, of the cessation of suffering.
There is no wisdom and there is no attainment whatsoever.
I can't help but wonder: what's left? A subway ride home, that's what. A subway ride home is something you can depend on, a universal constant in a sea of wave-washing ideologies. Thank you Buddha, for inventing subways. And thank you, Koreans, for letting me touch your Buddha.
Posted by Chris at 08:38 AM >> Commentations (7) | Permalink