My entire post that I just put up somehow disappeared because I can't understand the blasted Korean words on this site.
I am doubly angry.
And I will sulk in this dank PC room.
To sum up the post: this day has been a complete waste.
I need a drink.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Sunday, July 23, 2006
It's not me; it's you
Massachusetts. New York. There's really not that much of a difference, right? Both in the Northeast. Both have gorgeous falls and brutal winters. Just a three hour drive from Amherst, MA to New York, NY; in Texas, that'll cover the diameter of a single metroplex. But for some reason, whenever my grandmother asks me for the name of my college that's "somewhere in New York," I become outraged. The conversation always goes a little like this:
Grandmother (in Korean): Can you write down the name of your school for me? All I can remember is that it's in New York.
Me: My school's not in New York.
Grandmother: It's not? Where is it?
Me: Massachusetts.
Grandmother: Mass....what?
Me: Massachusetts.
Grandmother:....
Me: The same state that Harvard is in.
Grandmother:...
Me: 3 hours north of New York.
Grandmother: (smiles)
And with that smile, I know that I've lost. That smile is her way of telling me, "No, I refuse to understand what is coming out of your mouth. Look how satisfied I am with knowing that your school is in New York."
Wait a minute. Shouldn't I be the one in this country that's not supposed to know what's going on or what this and that word means? And shouldn't I be the one sending these uncompromising pleasant smiles to people to let them know that as a foreigner, "I refuse to understand!" Mind you, I've had this conversation with my grandmother more than 5 times.
So today I set out to end this once and for all, for my own sake, for my grandmother's sake and for my alma mater's sake. And so for the 6th, 7th, xth time...
Grandmother: Can you write down the name of your school for me again? I keep forgetting it and all I remember is that it's in New York.
Me: Grandmother, my school is not in New York. (notice the emphasis on "not")
Grandmother: Really? Then where is it?
Me: (here it goes) Massachusetts.
Grandmother: Can you write that down for me?
Me: (writes down) See. Mass-a-chu-setts.
Grandmother: Is this in New York?
Me: No. It's 3 hours north of New York. Did my mother tell you my school was in New York? Because she's been there twice.
Grandmother: Yeah, she did. She went up to New York for your graduation.
Me: Well, Massachusetts is not New York. My school is an hour and a half west of Harvard.
Grandmother: I always thought Harvard was in Washington, D.C.
And all I could do was smile. Smile and take another bite out of the sliced watermelon that my grandmother so dutifully prepares for me. The K.O. smile that indicates that it's over and that no one will succeed, in either the understand or the explaining. I'll just have to live with the fact that my grandmother will never be able to say "Massachusetts" and let her believe that Amherst College is really in the Big Apple--a fact that my mom may already have been aware of.
The week is about to start anew, which means....another week of TOEFL and another week of combatting blank stares from young Korean adolescents.
Grandmother (in Korean): Can you write down the name of your school for me? All I can remember is that it's in New York.
Me: My school's not in New York.
Grandmother: It's not? Where is it?
Me: Massachusetts.
Grandmother: Mass....what?
Me: Massachusetts.
Grandmother:....
Me: The same state that Harvard is in.
Grandmother:...
Me: 3 hours north of New York.
Grandmother: (smiles)
And with that smile, I know that I've lost. That smile is her way of telling me, "No, I refuse to understand what is coming out of your mouth. Look how satisfied I am with knowing that your school is in New York."
Wait a minute. Shouldn't I be the one in this country that's not supposed to know what's going on or what this and that word means? And shouldn't I be the one sending these uncompromising pleasant smiles to people to let them know that as a foreigner, "I refuse to understand!" Mind you, I've had this conversation with my grandmother more than 5 times.
So today I set out to end this once and for all, for my own sake, for my grandmother's sake and for my alma mater's sake. And so for the 6th, 7th, xth time...
Grandmother: Can you write down the name of your school for me again? I keep forgetting it and all I remember is that it's in New York.
Me: Grandmother, my school is not in New York. (notice the emphasis on "not")
Grandmother: Really? Then where is it?
Me: (here it goes) Massachusetts.
Grandmother: Can you write that down for me?
Me: (writes down) See. Mass-a-chu-setts.
Grandmother: Is this in New York?
Me: No. It's 3 hours north of New York. Did my mother tell you my school was in New York? Because she's been there twice.
Grandmother: Yeah, she did. She went up to New York for your graduation.
Me: Well, Massachusetts is not New York. My school is an hour and a half west of Harvard.
Grandmother: I always thought Harvard was in Washington, D.C.
And all I could do was smile. Smile and take another bite out of the sliced watermelon that my grandmother so dutifully prepares for me. The K.O. smile that indicates that it's over and that no one will succeed, in either the understand or the explaining. I'll just have to live with the fact that my grandmother will never be able to say "Massachusetts" and let her believe that Amherst College is really in the Big Apple--a fact that my mom may already have been aware of.
The week is about to start anew, which means....another week of TOEFL and another week of combatting blank stares from young Korean adolescents.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
That place called home
CHS Class of '02
Leslie, Myself, and Michelle. I think every picture I have of them involves this couch at the Kogler house.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
This has got to stop
Or else I will be missing an eyebrow.
I looked in the mirror the other day to find that a portion of my right eyebrow was lacking in hairs, almost as if I had taken a piece of scotch tape, taped it to the corner of my brow and haphazardly ripped it off. But it's not a case of the phantom eyebrow that gradually disappears until I wake up to find a bare brow. I know why the hairs are missing...thus making it all the more pathetic that I haven't found any measures to stop it.
Everyone has his or her way of relieving stress: blowing air out, wringing hands, twisting hair. I rub my eyebrows. Rub them to satisfaction until the individual hairs land on my shirt. Sometimes I place one index finger on one brow and my thumb on the other and then slowly bring my fingers together and apart. Other times I put one index finger on each brow and lightly scratch as if there were mosquito bites beneath my brows. I don't know why I do it. It just happens; just like biting ones nails...only a little...cleaner. Kind of.
I don't know what would be worse. Having a single uni-brow traveling the length of my forehead or two half brows acting as the visible artifacts of my stress. Either way, my patchy brow has now become the symbol of all things bad that have happened here in Korea. As much as I would love to love my students and love to love my daily commute, it is hard. And I have the missing eyebrows to prove it!
The other day I was riding in a crowded subway, body parts mashed together and face in someone's hair (luckily, I happen to be above average in height, so I can usually escape the face in the armpits). Basically, within these close comforts, I have gotten to second base with every morning commuting Korean that rides the Number 2 line. It's quite satisfying if you think about it. I've been groped, squeezed, pushed, breathed on..and if I'm lucky, perspired on. But as I'm standing there holding my work bag and my gym bag, I slowly turn my head only to find in front of my eyes a mole. A mole with a hair. A long wiry hair seemingly growing from the mole as I look at it, almost begging for me to just pluck it out. It's probably a good thing I couldn't reach my eyebrow, otherwise I would have lawn-mowed it away in one clean swipe.
Despite my persistent complaints, I have plenty to be thankful for. I work with some amazing people. People that make me want to glue back those wasted eyebrows and erase any signs of my having complained for being in another country. One more month and my services here at this academy will be complete. One more week after that and I'll be back home in the United States. With a pair of luscious eyebrows.
I looked in the mirror the other day to find that a portion of my right eyebrow was lacking in hairs, almost as if I had taken a piece of scotch tape, taped it to the corner of my brow and haphazardly ripped it off. But it's not a case of the phantom eyebrow that gradually disappears until I wake up to find a bare brow. I know why the hairs are missing...thus making it all the more pathetic that I haven't found any measures to stop it.
Everyone has his or her way of relieving stress: blowing air out, wringing hands, twisting hair. I rub my eyebrows. Rub them to satisfaction until the individual hairs land on my shirt. Sometimes I place one index finger on one brow and my thumb on the other and then slowly bring my fingers together and apart. Other times I put one index finger on each brow and lightly scratch as if there were mosquito bites beneath my brows. I don't know why I do it. It just happens; just like biting ones nails...only a little...cleaner. Kind of.
I don't know what would be worse. Having a single uni-brow traveling the length of my forehead or two half brows acting as the visible artifacts of my stress. Either way, my patchy brow has now become the symbol of all things bad that have happened here in Korea. As much as I would love to love my students and love to love my daily commute, it is hard. And I have the missing eyebrows to prove it!
The other day I was riding in a crowded subway, body parts mashed together and face in someone's hair (luckily, I happen to be above average in height, so I can usually escape the face in the armpits). Basically, within these close comforts, I have gotten to second base with every morning commuting Korean that rides the Number 2 line. It's quite satisfying if you think about it. I've been groped, squeezed, pushed, breathed on..and if I'm lucky, perspired on. But as I'm standing there holding my work bag and my gym bag, I slowly turn my head only to find in front of my eyes a mole. A mole with a hair. A long wiry hair seemingly growing from the mole as I look at it, almost begging for me to just pluck it out. It's probably a good thing I couldn't reach my eyebrow, otherwise I would have lawn-mowed it away in one clean swipe.
Despite my persistent complaints, I have plenty to be thankful for. I work with some amazing people. People that make me want to glue back those wasted eyebrows and erase any signs of my having complained for being in another country. One more month and my services here at this academy will be complete. One more week after that and I'll be back home in the United States. With a pair of luscious eyebrows.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
I feel pretty
"It must be nice to be pretty like a girl."
Says my uncle.
Over dinner.
What am I supposed to say to that? "Thanks. I try really hard to keep my skin clean and legs smooth. It's tough but that's the price you have to pay to look beautiful, right?"
If anyone had said this to me in the United States, it would have given me reason to karate chop that person on the back of the neck. But here, it's a compliment from uncle who says that must make me really popular at my academy. As much as I would like to believe that my looks alone have kept my students returning to class day after day, I really hope they don't look at me and think "What a pretty girl. Coulda done Audrey Hepburn proud."
The Korean standards of beauty have been a source of entertainment, intrigue, and confusion for me these past four weeks. Men with perms and eyelid surgery. Women with...more perms and eyelid surgery. Men in tight clothes. Women in silly hats. Men in silly hats. It's not actually quite as jarring as I would have hoped, but it is quite a sight to see all these men standing naked in front of a vanity "bar" of sorts in the locker room blow drying, moisturizing, and post-work out re-accessorizing. And when I say "sight," I mean that I kind of feel sorry for these people who feel like they have to be a certain image every single second they are visible to the eyes of other Koreans. As much as I would like to raise my head in disdain at these pathetic, materialistic mutants of brand merchandizing, I too have now become more conscious of what I need and should wear to and from the gym.
But it's the price we all pay to be pretty, no? And evidently, being pretty means you're popular AND you have lots of money (as some of my students would put it).
Then a pretty lady I shall be.
I'm off to get some beauty rest for my upcoming week.
******
Thank you to my wonderful cohorts in karaoke this past Saturday. And thank you for having the good sense not to get plastered at a dinner with co-workers.
Says my uncle.
Over dinner.
What am I supposed to say to that? "Thanks. I try really hard to keep my skin clean and legs smooth. It's tough but that's the price you have to pay to look beautiful, right?"
If anyone had said this to me in the United States, it would have given me reason to karate chop that person on the back of the neck. But here, it's a compliment from uncle who says that must make me really popular at my academy. As much as I would like to believe that my looks alone have kept my students returning to class day after day, I really hope they don't look at me and think "What a pretty girl. Coulda done Audrey Hepburn proud."
The Korean standards of beauty have been a source of entertainment, intrigue, and confusion for me these past four weeks. Men with perms and eyelid surgery. Women with...more perms and eyelid surgery. Men in tight clothes. Women in silly hats. Men in silly hats. It's not actually quite as jarring as I would have hoped, but it is quite a sight to see all these men standing naked in front of a vanity "bar" of sorts in the locker room blow drying, moisturizing, and post-work out re-accessorizing. And when I say "sight," I mean that I kind of feel sorry for these people who feel like they have to be a certain image every single second they are visible to the eyes of other Koreans. As much as I would like to raise my head in disdain at these pathetic, materialistic mutants of brand merchandizing, I too have now become more conscious of what I need and should wear to and from the gym.
But it's the price we all pay to be pretty, no? And evidently, being pretty means you're popular AND you have lots of money (as some of my students would put it).
Then a pretty lady I shall be.
I'm off to get some beauty rest for my upcoming week.
******
Thank you to my wonderful cohorts in karaoke this past Saturday. And thank you for having the good sense not to get plastered at a dinner with co-workers.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
10 out of 10
Mary Roach. You have officially been bested.
Although your heart-wrenching rendition of Carol King's "I Feel the Earth Move" earned you a self-professed 8 out of 10 and the undying admiration of a handful of college students, the events from the previous night have out done your vocal eccentricities and forced hand motions. And if you can believe it, even your zipper-laden white pants.
Hoyah and co. made its trek out to Hongdae for the once-a-month "Club Night." As trashy and juvenile as that sounds, somehow everything is better when it involves an arm bracelet worthy of Six Flags and a free drink--all for approximately $15! The festivites began well before the taxi ride to Hongdae with gallons of soju from a watermelon. Cheers to Hae Jin on another year alive on this wonderful planet and to plans for greatness in the world of dentistry. A twenty minute cab ride later, we find ourselves at our first club, NB. I have no idea what that stands for nor do I have any idea how the letters "NB" relate to any type of dancing, hip-hop, or any good times in general. All I can say is that although the club was packed and the people weren't really dancing (rather just swaying from side to side to the beat of the music), a passable dance remix of "Best of My Love" by the Emotions immediately set the tone for what would be the best night out that 15 dollars could buy.
But how could a minute's worth of the Emotions trump the infamous hands-to-the-hip done so elegantly by Ms. Roach, you ask? The fun certainly did not end there. We stumbled into a random bar/club that played Chumbawumba, "Come on Eileen," and MMMBop. MMMBop! I would ask the rhetorical question, "Did somebody get the memo to play ultimate DP music?" but this time I am absolutely positive that there was no memo to be sent! It's as if this cheap adhesive bracelet that I paid $15 dollars for knew that I needed this music. Music that you could only shamelessly dance to drunk or alone in your bedroom. There will be many more fun times to be had at this joint. An 11 out of 10, perhaps? I don't even know if I can go there.
******
In other news, I witnessed my first Korean verbal cat-fight. On one side: woman with absurdly abrasive voice who had decided to park her car on my grandmother's lot. The other side: my grandmother. All I can say is that it...was...amazing. Screw MLK's "I have a dream" or JFKs...um...whatever it was called. Students should be required to study the rhetoric of cat-fights. Prospective thesis project anyone?
Although your heart-wrenching rendition of Carol King's "I Feel the Earth Move" earned you a self-professed 8 out of 10 and the undying admiration of a handful of college students, the events from the previous night have out done your vocal eccentricities and forced hand motions. And if you can believe it, even your zipper-laden white pants.
Hoyah and co. made its trek out to Hongdae for the once-a-month "Club Night." As trashy and juvenile as that sounds, somehow everything is better when it involves an arm bracelet worthy of Six Flags and a free drink--all for approximately $15! The festivites began well before the taxi ride to Hongdae with gallons of soju from a watermelon. Cheers to Hae Jin on another year alive on this wonderful planet and to plans for greatness in the world of dentistry. A twenty minute cab ride later, we find ourselves at our first club, NB. I have no idea what that stands for nor do I have any idea how the letters "NB" relate to any type of dancing, hip-hop, or any good times in general. All I can say is that although the club was packed and the people weren't really dancing (rather just swaying from side to side to the beat of the music), a passable dance remix of "Best of My Love" by the Emotions immediately set the tone for what would be the best night out that 15 dollars could buy.
But how could a minute's worth of the Emotions trump the infamous hands-to-the-hip done so elegantly by Ms. Roach, you ask? The fun certainly did not end there. We stumbled into a random bar/club that played
******
In other news, I witnessed my first Korean verbal cat-fight. On one side: woman with absurdly abrasive voice who had decided to park her car on my grandmother's lot. The other side: my grandmother. All I can say is that it...was...amazing. Screw MLK's "I have a dream" or JFKs...um...whatever it was called. Students should be required to study the rhetoric of cat-fights. Prospective thesis project anyone?
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