Let's Make a Robot

I hear it every day.  My classroom sits between the two Korean co-English teacher's classrooms.  To the right, children are belting out...

             Bah bah black sheep, have you any wool?

             Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.

             One for the master, one for the dame,

             And one for the little boy who lives down the lane.

To the left…

             Let’s make a robot

             Let’s make a robot

             Ok, ok, ooooookkkkk.

             Let’s make a robot

             Let’s make a robot

             Ok, ok, oooookkkkkk

I must seem like a painfully boring teacher to my students.  I teach them things like…

             Excuse me, where is the bus station?

             It is two blocks away.  First, walk straight to the end of the block.

             Turn right at the corner.  Walk two more blocks.

             The bus station will be in front of you.

                          …or

             Yesterday was Wednesday, July 6, 2011.

             Today is Thursday,July 7, 2011.

             Tomorrow will be Friday, July 8, 2011.

                         …or

             I need one ticket to Seoul.  What time does the train leave?

My favorite travel writer, Bill Bryson, while sitting in a cafe in Belgium, put it this way...

...but hardly anyone in Wallonia (southern, French-speaking Belgium) speaks

English.  I began to regret that I didn't understand French well enough to

eavesdrop.  I took three years of French in school, but learned next to nothing.

The trouble was that the textbooks were so amazingly useless.  They were always

written by somebody clearly out of touch with the Francophile world -- Professor

Marvis Frisbee of the Highway 68 State Teachers College at Windsock, North

Dakota, or something -- and at no point did they intersect with the real world.  They

never told you any of the things you would need to know in France -- how to engage

a bidet, deal with a toilet matron, or kneecap a line-jumper.  They were always

tediously preoccupied with classroom activities: hanging up coats in the cloakroom,

cleaning the blackboard, opening the window, shutting the window, setting

out the day's lessons.  Even in the seventh grade I could see that this sort of

thing would be of limited utility in the years ahead.  How often on a visit to France

do you need to tell someone you want to clean the blackboard?  How frequently

do you wish to say: "It is winter.  Soon it will be spring."  In my experience,

people know this already.

from Neither Here Nor There: Travels in Europe

Maybe I'm just a little too critical.  The children are, of course, learning useful things.  Pronunciation.  Tone.  Vocabulary.  Show tunes.  I used to wonder why taxi drivers would sing the theme songs to the Lion King and Alladin as they carted us off across town to do our shopping.  I thought he was trying to impress me, and be rewarded with a gracious tip.

...or maybe Disney is implementing a new marketing scheme in rural Korea.  Sneaky.

Foreign Film Friday

a foreign film review by Chris White

I DO (PRETE-MOI TA MAIN)

Directed by Eric Lartigau

Romantic comedies.

Love ‘em, or hate ‘em, most of us have been wooed by a tale of cutes falling in love on screen. No matter how far-fetched the premise, how dumb the dialogue, or how predictable the plot, most of us have fallen for a romcom.

I DO (or, “How to Get Married and Stay Single”) is a guilty pleasure to enjoy without shame. It is a smart, well-written, well-made comedy. It’s populated with terrific characters and plausible complications that keep you guessing.

Luis (Alain Chabat) is the little brother in a family of older, domineering women. He has been unsuccessful in securing a wife. This fact is fine with him, but not with his mother and sisters who constantly nag him to find a nice woman and settle down.

With the help of a friend, he hatches a plan. He will meet and become engaged to the fetching Emma (Charlotte Gainsbourg). And she will dramatically leave him at the altar, thus indelibly breaking his heart. This trauma, he feels, will quiet the nags for once and for all.

But it won’t work out that way, of course. You can probably guess how it will end…still, what a charming ride.

2006 \\ Color \\ 90 min.
Studio Canal
COUNTRY OF ORIGIN: France

English Island

Ninja practice

Chillin'

Birthday party

Pyeongchang 2018

DURBAN, South Africa (AP)—The victory margin was massive and the message loud and clear: Persistence paid off for South Korea in its third consecutive bid for the Winter Olympics.

After two stinging defeats in a decade of trying, the South Korean city of Pyeongchang finally won its Olympic prize Wednesday, burying two European rivals in a landslide vote for the 2018 Winter Games and bringing them back to the lucrative Asian market.

Read the rest of the story at Yahoo! Sports

Book sample 2b

...15 Korean kindergarten children burst into your classroom.  No kindergarten or

English co-teacher to be found.  Immediately, the children commence swinging from

anything they can secure a grip on.  Your classroom resembles a monkey cage at the

local petting zoo, full of hungry, irritable primates.  By some stroke of luck, you manage

to get everyone in a seat and somewhat hold their attention.  You begin to recite the

alphabet when you notice a little boy in the back of the classroom, preoccupied to say

the least.  You stroll casually to the back, trying your best not to alert everyone to

 the problem,and conclude that the blood covering the lower half of his face is the

 culprit.  Now, for the record, you don't care in the least when one of these

 little hemorrhoids is bleeding, but you reason with yourself that if he's determined

 to bleed, it would be better that he do it outside of your classroom.  So you lead him out,

 at arms length of course, to the office where another teacher inquires of the

 aforementioned blood.You should have guessed: he was picking his nose too vigorously.

You return to the classroom to find the remaining children huddled around the

 trash can.  One boy is digging furiously with tears in his little eyes.  You peer in to see what

he's looking for, but see nothing but crumpled paper.  You look again, praying you find

something significant so order can be restored (relatively speaking).  Nothing.  Suddenly

he spies it...a magnet.  Nothing special.  As generic as they come.  But it's his, the one 

he came to class with, and all is well again.  Until you spot two boys in the back of the room,

laughing hysterically.  Boy A is standing behind Boy B.  Boy A has his finger extended

and is poking, nay, jabbing it into Boy B's...ass.  Seriously.  And by the sound

of things, this activity is the most fun either of them has had in a very long time.  You take

another handful of your already thinning hair and pull it out...for the third time today.

Dr. H. Douglas Brown, professor of TESOL at San Francisco State University, author of multiple textbooks, and widely accepted as an authority on the subject, states that "short attention spans come into play when children have to deal with material that to them is useless, boring, or too difficult."  It would necessarily make sense to put me in a classroom with 15 Korean kindergarten children with no interpreter.  The moment Dr. Brown refers to above, at which the children are confronted with material that to them is useless, boring, or too difficult, coincidentally is the same moment I open my mouth.  The children were apparently expected to hear my English, sense and accept the lifelong importance of acquiring the language, mull over future international business dealings, and process the connection with their own language.  I might as well have been teaching the lesson with a series of rhythmically ordered farts.  It would have all sounded the same.

And so naturally, any gathering of competent persons would come to the same conclusion: what could drive a man to such a place?  What awful circumstances would push him to flee his native country, his home of 29 years, for a life of such disorder and absurdity?  I'm glad you asked.

I like BIG butts

One thing, among many, that a foreigner in a new setting must come to terms with is the fact that travel is a solitary experience.  Sure, you may walk the Great Wall with your wife.  Or lounge on the southern coast of Taiwan with a crowd of tourists.  But at its heart, travel is about leaving.  Going away.  Not so much on a holiday, but just going.

      Deep in the jeans she's wearin', I'm hooked and I can't stop starin'

Languages are different.  Cultures are strange.  Stares.  Smells.  People.  It’s all foreign.  Odd.  Unknown.

      Oh baby, I wanna get with ya, and take yo' picture

The traveler soon learns he must become a skilled thespian on the local stage where he finds himself…if he hopes to eat, that is.  For words are no longer a means of communication.  At least not for you.  The rest of them, all of those people staring at you, they can speak…to each other.  But you, you are different.  Your words have no meaning.

      My homeboys tried to warn me, but that butt you got makes me so horny

Here, you are the odd ball. You have the handicap.  You are the guy that needs special accommodations.  Because, well, you can’t speak.  Your thoughts, needs, questions, etc.  You’re like a helpless infant who craps his diaper.  All you can do is cry and hope someone comes to the rescue.

      I just can't help myself, I'm actin' like an animal

What do you want? 

A hotel?  Pretend you’re sleeping.  Or showering.

Food?  Pretend you have a fork in your hand.  Chew something.  Or nothing.

Toilet?  Pretend to pee.  Or make “noises” and point to your backside.

      I wanna get you home and uuugh, double up, uuugh uuugh

This is the adventure of travel.  It’s fun…at times.  Other times…not so much. 

      I want 'em real thick and juicy, so find that juicy double

Despite the frustrations we’ve experienced, the simple objects we can’t seem to buy at Homeplus, the bus station we can’t find or ask directions to, the overall confusion, etc. etc. etc., I would contend that there exists no greater drawback to being unable to communicate than when something is so funny that you can’t help but pee on yourself, but you can’t explain it to anyone.  You laugh like a maniac, you see the irony in it all, you can’t believe the situation you find yourself in…but you must necessarily keep it all to yourself.  It’s almost painful.

     Mix-a-lot's in trouble, beggin' for a piece of that bubble

Like Field Day at Buseok Elementary School.  An outside company is hired to set up the event.  They decorate the field in front of the school with an international flag display.  They line the area with running lanes.  They judge the races.  Officiate the medal ceremony.  The principal has his own tent, under which he hosts various dignitaries.  All clad in suits, looking very important.  It’s a big day in the life of the school.

      'Cause I'm long, and I'm strong, and I'm down to get the friction on

But the best part of the day, the part that separates the spectacle from American Field Days (at least the yearly spring event at the elementary school where I attended) is the final chapter.  The culmination of the most celebrated day of the year for the children.  The Dance Party.

      If you wanna role in my Mercedes, then turn around, stick it out

I never saw it coming.  The children (kindergarten-6^th grade) were corralled into small groups, spread out across the field of play.  Suddenly, and much to my delight, that now (in)famous beat burst forth from the rented loud-speakers.  Sir Mix-a-lot was in the house.

      Dial 1-900-MIX-A-LOT and kick them nasty thoughts

The children (again, kindergarten-6^th grade) began to gyrate.  One at a time, on the cue of a whistle, they took turns “shakin’ what they’re mama gave ‘em” in the middle of each circle.  It was all very Soul Train-ish.  The highlight of the year for me. 

      So fellas, has your girlfriend got the butt?  Tell 'em to shake it, shake it

But the best part was that all of the adults smiled and laughed, completely clueless.  Teachers.  Principal.  Vice principal.  Parents.  Guests.  They tried to hide the fact that they were slyly moving to the rhythm.  The worst part is that I could never even begin to explain the lyrics, the message of the song, and why this was all so funny.

      My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hun


Wait.  What?

A thought...

May we never forget those that have gone on before us.  Who have laid the groundwork for the life we now live...

It was nine o'clock, cold, still raining, and the people of Naju had clearly seen very few

 foreigners.  I was stared at from every doorway.  People would nudge each other and

 point at me.  Girls would squeal and put the palms of their hands to their mouths, the

 classic expression of shy terror and bewilderment.  It was not a cruel or mocking

 curiosity: the people who saw me, and who had never seen such a lumbering and hairy

 creature before - a head taller than most Koreans, pale and ghostly skinned, and covered

 with primeval fur - were amazed.  They had seen such creatures on television; now here

 was a real live one, and in their town, too.

Simon Winchester

from Korea, A Walk Through the Land of Miracles

Book sample 2a

Call it a hunch.  Call it intuition.  Maybe some kind of creepy 6th sense.  Whatever it was, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the folks at Buseok Elementary School believed in me.  The privilege (burden) of educating the next generation of Koreans was placed on my shoulders.  Thousands of young minds were in my care.

Actually it was more like 53.  But still.

The first hint that my principal placed an inordinate amount of confidence in me as an English teacher was the sound of the door slamming shut behind me.  Except for the 14 sets of beady little eyes staring back, I was alone.  For the first time.  In a foreign country.  12,000 miles from home.  Alone.  To say I was shoved into the classroom kicking and screaming would not be far from the truth.

Not 24 hours ago my wife and I were fresh off an airplane and standing outside Incheon International Airport awaiting the director of the recruiting agency through whom I had secured employment for the following 12 months, and now we found ourselves in the middle of the countryside in the tiny rural farming community of Buseok.  This was my first time outside of the United States, and the swirl of Korean conversation around me caused a bit of light-headedness.  My burps were reminiscent of the fish, seaweed, and kimchi I was served for lunch only half an hour ago, and I was still not quite myself after the standard medical examination for foreign workers I had undergone that morning.  Blood was drawn.  Not my favorite activity, as this procedure generally causes me to squirm like an embarrassed school girl.

But the door to my classroom shut nonetheless.  (I could have sworn I heard a dead-bolt fasten from the outside.)  I was given simple instructions: Teach.  But...

What grade is this?

What do these students already know?

Is there a textbook?

What about a curriculum I'm to follow?

What time does class end?

Wasn't a co-teacher promised in my contract?

Is it too late to rethink this?

There exists a common misconception when it comes to foreign English teachers and their students.  It may seem painfully obvious, but never underestimate a Korean school teacher's ability to miss a small snippet of common sense, which is: I speak English...my students do not.  It would seem easy enough to understand.  But alas, it was not.  Because of this lapse in communication (I thought I made it abundantly clear in the interview process that I was an American, and as such we would have a bit of a language barrier) my days were spent dealing with alternating versions of the following scenario.  

Imagine if you will...

Foreign Film Friday

a foreign film review by Chris White
________________


MY ARCHITECT: A SON'S JOURNEY


Written & Directed by Nathaniel Kahn

MY ARCHITECT is Nathaniel Kahn’s personal journey to forgiveness and reconciliation with his rogue father, one of the 20^th Century’s most brilliant architects.

 Kahn’s film moves along patiently, painstakingly…each frame filled with the grief of a son, mostly unknown to his father, searching desperately to know his dad and, ultimately, to love him. To “hug his buildings.”

 

There is no question that Louis I. Kahn’s work is fascinating, moving, powerful. And it is not really surprising to learn that he died poor and alone...that his life was filled with dysfunctional relationships, poor business decisions, and general self-absorption. It is the all-too-familiar “genius artist’s” tale.

 

But MY ARCHITECT works as meta-Biblical narrative…the lost son seeking his creator father…within his creation. Kahn’s tale resonates more deeply, and the peace he ultimately finds during this journey is more rewarding.

 

(The one-minute scene of Nathaniel Kahn roller-blading at his father’s ethereal Salk Institute courtyard, underscored by Neil Young and Stephen Stills’s “Long May You Run,” is pure cinema…rare for a documentary.)

 

Nathaniel Kahn’s film manages to celebrate his father’s work, damn his paternal failings, and restore his own sense of origin, of family in less than two hours. It is an amazing accomplishment.

2003 \\ Color \\ 116 min.

New Yorker Films

COUNTRIES OF PRODUCTION: Bangladesh, India, USA

Racial Profiling 2.0

“My friend in America says they are very dangerous.  You know.  They have guns.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this in Korea.

Several nights ago, Jessica and I went to dinner with the teachers and staff from my school.  At two separate times, from two separate people, I was asked the same question...

           Are you afraid of black people?

           In America, are they dangerous?

I wasn’t sure exactly how to answer the question.  I knew the answer, but I didn’t know how to say it.  The answer was a bit complex...so was the language barrier.  I started off simple...

           White people have guns.

           Black people have guns.

           White people can be dangerous.

           Black people can be dangerous.

From the nod of his head, I think he understood.  Easy enough.  But I wasn’t content to stop there.  I knew why my co-teachers had these ideas in their heads.  Living in a place like Yeongju, as well as most places in the country, Koreans do not see black people.  Occasionally.  But not often.  At all.  And when they do happen to see them, it isn’t for long.  Maybe just passing on the street.  Or eating in the same restaurant.

There are only a handful of black people in Yeongju.  They are all professional.  Teachers.  College educated.  Productive members of society like you and me. 

Why, then, do Koreans have such a negative and fearful view of black people?

I think the answer is more straightforward:  TV.

Where else do they experience black people with any regularity?  Certainly not in person.  But that raises another question.  A question that can't boast of being asked very much.  It's not as controversial as the other racial questions.  It doesn't make a good headline or TV rating.

Why are many...

(not all, of course.  I understand the danger of making a sweeping generalized statement.)

                            ...black people signing up to be portrayed in such a negative manner?

For example...

The gentleman who made this video in response to a political attack ad is exactly right in asserting that the "film-maker" has produced an inaccurate, offensive, racist, and sexist ad.  I agree completely.  But another question (equally as important, if not more important), is not being asked.

Why did the two "gang bangers" and the "stripper" agree to be in the ad?

Why did two black gentlemen agree to be portrayed as thugs and gang members?

Why did a white woman agree to be portrayed as a stripper?

At the 3:18 point in the response video, the question is asked...

"Why not put him (Pete Carroll) in the video?  You wanna call him a gangbanger?  But oooh no, they had to deliver a racist message...."

The maker of the ad can be correctly labeled as racist.  But he, and many others like him, could not continue to make such "films" if they do not have actors/actresses agreeing to star in them.  The two actors are never accused of delivering a racist message...only the man behind the video.  Would he be able to make such an ad if black actors refused to do so?

TV.          Movies.          Music.

Too many (not all, of course) actors/actresses are enabling racist film makers.

Too many (not all, of course) actors/actresses are providing racist film makers with characters who are gang bangers, strippers, thugs, stereotypical black people, etc.  

What would happen if black actors and actresses refused to play any role that portrayed them as such?

TV.          Movies.          Music.

These are the reasons many Koreans are fearful of black people.  It's all they have to base their ideas on.

Your thoughts are very much appreciated.