English Zone Blues

Korea's national English program is absolutely a point of contention with teachers here. Many agree with President Lee Myung bak that English is a tool the Korean people can use to gain a foothold in the international discussion. On the flip side, many teachers feel that asking students to learn a language they, or their parents, may feel indifferent to is arbitrary, inefficient, and unfortunate. I've asked scores of teachers how they feel on the issue, and so far their responses have been more or less down the middle. However, there is one issue all English teachers summarily resent: English Zones.

Koreans love the right gear in all pursuits, and the teaching of English is no different. If you're going to do something, you should be sure you're doing it with the best, flashiest accoutrements. Thus, education ministries across Korea are giving schools thousands of dollars to create what they call English Zones. These are basically room-sized diagrams of situations that would require English - the airport, a restaurant, a supermarket, a hotel. Once hired by schools, private companies will come in, make two rooms into one, and completely redesign these once-humble classrooms into gaudy, wholly artificial play sets that are supposed to promote English. I've always felt they just promote role-playing, but maybe that's the idea. Anyway, the English teachers (read: Korean English teachers) of Ulsan are up in arms because their ministry has asked them, and them alone to organize the entire construction of their school's English Zone.

These are people (mostly women) who went to college for education. They don't know anything about organizing a faux supermarket, and nor should they. My poor co-teacher, Sun Jung, has been stressed for months over the project. She routinely meets with contractors and building companies and basically gets talked at. Now, she's a total pro. I have no doubt she can pull this off. But still, it should never have been her responsibility in the first place. But, these English Zones are a really interesting microcosm for the whole English program here.

There's no precedent in Korea for how to organize a national curriculum of this nature. So how do things go forward? People make decisions based on educated guesses and/or assumptions. But here's the problem: individual teachers have no avenue to lodge a complaint/criticism if they feel something is not working. Korea's hierarchical ways reign supereme in all aspects of society, and the education world is no different. And now these English Zones have created a community of anxious, overworked teachers who feel consumed by a project they neither understand, or necessarily agree with. Furthermore, nothing will change unless, by chance, the suits basking in the ministries just happen to feel that a change must be necessary. Until then, Korean English teachers will dutifully teach as they're told to, even if they know better.

Though I don't want it to seem as if I'm complaining. I know my tone is critical, but I know even less about the zones than Sun Jung does. Maybe studies have been done that prove their efficacy. I don't know. I also don't want it to seem as if I'm knocking Korea's hierarchical ways. Confucianism, which is essentially the moral and social code of Korea, is built on fixed hierarchical relationships. These relationships will never disappear in Korean society. Everyone seems to accept that, so I can as well. It just gets back to that idea I harp on all the time: not better or worse, just different.

Hey remember that... before the recession? Pt. 10

This man, while still very attractive sans shirt, actually made earnest attempts at real acting. I still like him either way, but I'm just saying... Regardless, nothing he does from now to eternity could detract from the sheer mastery that is David Wooderson. Times were simple. Life was good.

Absence of negatives

awkwardfamilyphotos.com... you're welcome.

Jerry Douglas - medley

I mention Jerry Douglas in the below post, and it occurs to me that some, if not most, of you have no idea who he is. This video should do all the explaining. He is probably one of the most brilliant musicians I've ever come across. Many, including Alison Krauss, go as far as calling him the greatest dobro play "the world has ever known." I've certainly not heard better.

Let's head up to Uke in the booth

So I recently recieved a Ukulele and I basically can't keep my hands off it. Today I walked the full 15 minutes from school clutching it and playing different chord progressions. Some people smiled, some frowned, and some took their shirts off. Ok, that was only me. Not really. Anyway, I can tell I'm about to learn dozens of songs on this thing, and my fascination only seems to be growing. I stumbled across this guy Jake Shimabukuro who I understand is something like the Jerry Douglas of the ukulele, and while he's pretty clearly a goober, his playing is damn fine. Enjoy.

A Night out with the Co-workers

Korean school staffs take many lunch/dinner trips out. Some are paid by the principle, and some are split by one of the teachers at the table. Koreans don't go dutch. It's just not their style. Usually, in my experience, the person who makes the most money will foot the bill. Thankfully most lunches or dinners out will be at a barbecue joint, and the costs will never get too crazy.

The consumption of soju, on the other hand, does tend to get a bit crazy, especially at the dinners. Many foreign teachers will tell you that you haven't really communed with your school staff here unless you've hit the 'soj' with them at dinner. It's an awesome experience for the most part. People's lips get a bit looser, you'll hear English from people you had no idea spoke it, and merriment will genuinely be had by all. But don't assume that the fun ends with the bill, it almost never does.

Koreans know how to keep things going late into the night, and that almost invariably means noraebong (singing room). Have I discussed noraebong yet on this blog? If I haven't then that's a true crime. In brief, Koreans love noraebongs just as much as they love soju. These are not karaoke bars per se. They are enclosed rooms where you take a group and indulge in some private karaoke, plus the lyrics are shown on a wall-sized tv screen instead of a dinky 12-inch. It's very intense. Sometimes it's fun, but it's one very Korean thing I feel will always remain theirs, and probably theirs alone.

Anyway, you'll almost always hit the noraebong post-dinner. Everyone will be soused, and in a perfect place to belt out their favorite meladramatic Korean ballad. The presence of a lone foreigner is exciting because we bring the English hits to the fore. This is one case where my pseudo-music snobbery really hurts me. I always feel as if I can't lower myself to ripping a top 40 ballad, which is ofcourse what everyone wants. Furthermore, I'm usually pretty in the dark about the melody from most of these tunes. So sue me, I've never really been a top 40 guy. But this is the worst ramble in the history of this blog.

People are drunk at the noraebong, and usually secrets get told and bold moves get made. For example, I was told about a staff crush at my last Mipo elementary noraebong run. I never capitalized, but I certainly would have never been told in any other situation. It's like the noraebong doubles as a sacred space where you can say or do anything and it will go unjudged. I could really think for hours about the social implications/symbolism of the noraebong in Korean culture.

This whole post came to be because I read a facebook status from my friend Kerry which perfectly described a typical night like this. So after long last, here it is...

Kerry Maher > Sam Kuntz: We drank many alcohols at dinner! I think the competition mode was still in play after the volleyball game (side note: these are always a solid reason to hit the dinner/norae scene). After the two schools split up after dinner, our principal and vice-principal "commanded" we go to singing room and I ended up drinking "love-shots" with the vice principal. After THAT, we went to a hof and two teachers who have been flirting for six months finally took the plunge and.......held hands. Everyone was so happy for them.

A Joy

The parents brought me a full bag of Frosted Mini Wheats, and I just had a very emotional time pouring my first bowl in nearly 8 months. Am I the first person ever to be on the verge of tears over a bowl of cereal?

You think you know

I had no school this past Monday and Tuesday, plus my parents were in town, so we took a nice long weekend on a far-flung island in the south sea. I had a lot to be excited about. Obviously my parents visit meant a lot to me, and I felt enormous pride in my role as a tour guide around this bizarre, albeit wondrous country. I had also never been to the southern islands. Any map of Korea will show you that pretty much the entire southern coast is lined with islands of various sizes, and living in a city gives you basically no clue as to how they are. While I couldn't have known what to expect, I had a sinking fear that the southern coast's supposed beauty was a guide book fiction, and that the trappings of modern Korea - love motels, barbecue joints, dingy hofs, family marts - had swept away any remaining bucolic wonder.

The southern sea is, in fact, very very beautiful. Of course you'll see the hofs and such here and there, but somehow tastefulness has held out in large extent. I needed the surprise, and my parents - who were fresh off a stay in Maui - needed to see that Korea could crank up the splendor after all. I had bitterly warned them that the whole country was too city-centered to breed any sort of worthwhile tourist attraction in its rural areas. This may be true in land, but is certainly not the case where we were. My shock was palpable, and absolutely necessary. My curiosity in Korea has been reinvigorated.

Our weekend provided me with tons of stories for my city crew, but one stands out as the most informative. My folks and I took down a great bottle of red wine in full view of an ocean sunset on our last night. It was cliche and lovely and all that bullshit, yea yea. Anyway, these two Korean boys - I assume they are brothers - burst through the deck doors and began chasing each other around our table. None of us really minded, and I saw it as a good chance for my parents to see that Korean kids are not always the hardened, worker drones they can sometimes be. Not long after their appearance, a Korean man who was clearly their father emerged and summoned them back in to join the family at dinner. I didn't expect much from him in the way of communication, just perhaps an awkward smile with a subtle, apologetic bow. Not the case. In crystal clear, unaccented English the man says, "Hey I'm really sorry for these kids. I hope they weren't a problem. I'm bringing them in right now." And all of a sudden we're on any other hotel patio in America's mid Atlantic region. We were taken aback and he knew it. It was an undeniably surreal moment.

But I learned something very valuable. My friends and I - really, me in particular - must make a much better effort to censor ourselves in public places. It's no secret that many of us have grown comfortable with the idea that nobody around here can follow our English at its natural cadence. Sure, many people you meet in Korea will probably know a manageable amount of English. But will they inevitably ask you to slow down if you speak at your comfortable converstation speed? Yes, absolutely. I always believed - though I was always loathe to admit it - that this gave me a degree of carte blanche in public conversation. That is a habit I will now break because of my experience with that man. In a crowded Ulsan bus I would have had no way of telling that he was any different from all the other middle aged dudes who know 10 English sentences. And god knows what I might have said in front of him. I will not let false assumptions about others' English ability allow me to further anyone's negative stereotypes about foreigners. My bus rides just became a lot more boring.