I really expected a lot from this school because it's part of a well-known chain and is run very professionally. The kids are all very smart and have to test to get into this school. However, the actual job is not about teaching but about pleasing the parents, including putting students in classes way above their level where they can't understand the material and can't learn anything, and flat-out lying to parents in meetings and on report cards about how well their children do in class.
It's not that I have any difficutly in finding a way to write total B.S. about the kids with my degree in BS (aka PR), but I find the practice absolutely disgusting and morally reprehensible. I feel really guilty over having to do this. I even have to do the pre-k students' work for them so the parents see it's being done correctly because the children are incapable of performing at the level of their textbooks. And what do kids learn when I do the assignments for them?
I don't know what to do. These practices are not uncommon in private schools; I'm just amazed at seeing them in one with such an upstanding reputation. Let me know if you have any advice or suggestions for dealing with a job that violates your personal ethics.
I'm so stressed out over the long hours (9 a.m. to 7:30 p.m.) and these things required of me, to say nothing of having migraines 3 days a week because nearly everyone in Korea smokes nor of being called fat more times in one week than in 23 years. How come public school teachers are allowed to hit the children and I'm not?
Monday, March 29, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Balkan Bonanza
Fundraiser event @ Club FF in Hongdae, 3/26/10, to buy instruments for Romani children. I'm usually more of a photo person, but I was on a video kick for this event.
(Instead of happily offering free publicity for all these very talented artists, I'm not posting ANY names because some performers are griping about their public performance being public.)
(Instead of happily offering free publicity for all these very talented artists, I'm not posting ANY names because some performers are griping about their public performance being public.)
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Bubi bubi
Korean advertising is awesome. I often find myself thinking, "I don't know what they're selling, but I want it," while watching commercials with sexy dancing girls for everything from digital cameras to ramyun to soju. This is not one of those.
Seriously, wtf is this?
Seriously, wtf is this?
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Shopping!
Talya took me shopping at Dongdaemun for my first time. It was super fun. My favorite was a little jewelry shop where I made out with a necklace, a bracelet, and 4 pairs of earrings for 3,500 won. Winna! I also got a super cute skirt for work and will be returning for more whenever I actually get paid.
The loot:
Admirable!
The loot:
Admirable!
Poetry in my soul
Inspired by missing the St. Patrick's Day Festival in Seoul to spend 9 hours of my Saturday at work (and also by my time here). For the record, I have not embellished.
"Korea Is..."
The stink of garbage cluttering every street of every neighborhood from the most affluent to plywood lean-tos on dirt and rubbish lots, and the warm, wet, choking sewage carried on the breeze.
The acrid smoke of cigarettes burning your eyes, filling your nose, and clinging to your plate of food (which, by the way, should be the least of your worries considering there are no health codes) in many restaurants and cafes, especially in buildings and bathrooms lined with "No Smoking" signs.
A robot drone population in black and black, 4-inch heels, tights, and short skirts for every season with the diversity of two hairstyles: pin straight and half-permed.
Tinny-pitched teenagers joyfully delivering pre-packaged, mass-produced, hyper-saccharin, farcically sexualized songs and dance punctuated by the hawk and spit of old men, young men, and women desecrating the street.
Don't look down because there's spittle enough to disgust even a crude, snuff-chewing churl, but watch your step lest you disturb any number of the myriad vomit puddles dotting the sidewalk, the subway station, and the train itself.
It's gray skies, gray high-rises, bridges, and cities, gray days without end. I thought I saw a smidgen of blue sky once, peeking from between gray clouds, but I couldn't be sure through the perpetual gray haze of pollution.
More than a jostle in a crowd, it's a forceful check in an empty hall because you dared stand where ajosshi intended to walk, and more often it's violent shoves from a 4-foot 8-inch, hunched over ajumma with a "Fuck you" attitude, sharp elbows, and a fierce jab, unexpectedly spry in navigating public transit despite a crooked shuffle in the open.
It's vinegar and brine on your tongue, tempered with fire and garlic if you can take it. Lacking finesse, creativity, and skill in preparation, the cuisine wants for any and every taste except intensity.
Or it's plain: white rice with every meal, morning, noon, and night.
The only outstanding offering is a smorgasbord of mouth-watering international sensations.
The hot, humid, sour fetor of rotten cabbage rotting in bowels and spewing forth from the mouths of 50 other people on the subway crashing against you, drowning in it, inescapable.
Image over substance. Who cares if a child cannot comprehend a single word from her teacher's mouth if moving her to an advanced class looks good on the record, reflects well on the school, and appeases the parents with perceived academic growth? Nobody.
It's no reason to live but to win.
Did you know payment of blood money is not only legal but encouraged and accepted as the norm in place of justice as recourse?
Olleh!
"Korea Is..."
The stink of garbage cluttering every street of every neighborhood from the most affluent to plywood lean-tos on dirt and rubbish lots, and the warm, wet, choking sewage carried on the breeze.
The acrid smoke of cigarettes burning your eyes, filling your nose, and clinging to your plate of food (which, by the way, should be the least of your worries considering there are no health codes) in many restaurants and cafes, especially in buildings and bathrooms lined with "No Smoking" signs.
A robot drone population in black and black, 4-inch heels, tights, and short skirts for every season with the diversity of two hairstyles: pin straight and half-permed.
Tinny-pitched teenagers joyfully delivering pre-packaged, mass-produced, hyper-saccharin, farcically sexualized songs and dance punctuated by the hawk and spit of old men, young men, and women desecrating the street.
Don't look down because there's spittle enough to disgust even a crude, snuff-chewing churl, but watch your step lest you disturb any number of the myriad vomit puddles dotting the sidewalk, the subway station, and the train itself.
It's gray skies, gray high-rises, bridges, and cities, gray days without end. I thought I saw a smidgen of blue sky once, peeking from between gray clouds, but I couldn't be sure through the perpetual gray haze of pollution.
More than a jostle in a crowd, it's a forceful check in an empty hall because you dared stand where ajosshi intended to walk, and more often it's violent shoves from a 4-foot 8-inch, hunched over ajumma with a "Fuck you" attitude, sharp elbows, and a fierce jab, unexpectedly spry in navigating public transit despite a crooked shuffle in the open.
It's vinegar and brine on your tongue, tempered with fire and garlic if you can take it. Lacking finesse, creativity, and skill in preparation, the cuisine wants for any and every taste except intensity.
Or it's plain: white rice with every meal, morning, noon, and night.
The only outstanding offering is a smorgasbord of mouth-watering international sensations.
The hot, humid, sour fetor of rotten cabbage rotting in bowels and spewing forth from the mouths of 50 other people on the subway crashing against you, drowning in it, inescapable.
Image over substance. Who cares if a child cannot comprehend a single word from her teacher's mouth if moving her to an advanced class looks good on the record, reflects well on the school, and appeases the parents with perceived academic growth? Nobody.
It's no reason to live but to win.
Did you know payment of blood money is not only legal but encouraged and accepted as the norm in place of justice as recourse?
Olleh!
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Miscellany
~Yesterday I finished my last day of training at the new job and will start teaching next week. Highlights include a pre-k student named Princess, a middle school boy named Joy, and a pre-k student getting a handful of boob on my second day. I thought she was going for my hair (which a lot of them do and I don't mind), but now I know better and will watch her hands in the future. Funny how only the girls ever go for my chest. Has anyone else ever had this problem?
~Last night I went for pizza with the other foreign teacher from Texas (Houston) and a new Korean teacher. They've been teaching one another new words, and the word of the day was "진짜?" (Really?) Surprisingly useful, one can use it in response to nearly any statement. In getting to know one another, we certainly ensured its overuse.
~This is my third migraine this week. :0(
~I counted 4 puddles of vomit within a 20 meter radius on my way home tonight.
~I had to get up at 6:30 this morning to be at work by 8 a.m. ON A SATURDAY to attend a workshop until 4 p.m. though we didn't get back until after 5. While I was not taking notes about how to read a syllabus, I was compelled to compose a scathing piece of poetry about Korea that I'm looking forward to editing and posting tomorrow.
~I saw a bumper sticker on a car today that read "I am KOREAN." "진짜?" I thought, but I don't think there's such a thing as sarcasm, so the joke is really only funny to me. I've been told Korean humor is limited to slapstick and poop, and I've seen nothing to the contrary on TV and in advertising.
~Last night I went for pizza with the other foreign teacher from Texas (Houston) and a new Korean teacher. They've been teaching one another new words, and the word of the day was "진짜?" (Really?) Surprisingly useful, one can use it in response to nearly any statement. In getting to know one another, we certainly ensured its overuse.
~This is my third migraine this week. :0(
~I counted 4 puddles of vomit within a 20 meter radius on my way home tonight.
~I had to get up at 6:30 this morning to be at work by 8 a.m. ON A SATURDAY to attend a workshop until 4 p.m. though we didn't get back until after 5. While I was not taking notes about how to read a syllabus, I was compelled to compose a scathing piece of poetry about Korea that I'm looking forward to editing and posting tomorrow.
~I saw a bumper sticker on a car today that read "I am KOREAN." "진짜?" I thought, but I don't think there's such a thing as sarcasm, so the joke is really only funny to me. I've been told Korean humor is limited to slapstick and poop, and I've seen nothing to the contrary on TV and in advertising.
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