BODY WARS: The Disappointment

I get to start from scratch again.

I was doing very well on my exercise program, but then a "series of unfortunate events" scuttled my fitness efforts for awhile.

EVENT 1: I hurt a very important target muscle - my trapezius muscle on the right side, to be exact. I was doing a simple rowing exercise, and suddenly lost my grip on one side. The other side of the weight machine jerked forward, taking my surprised arm with it. The pain did not set in until the next day. I ended up taking seven days to recover. Man, that thing hurts when it "goes out!"

EVENT 2: I went back to my regular work-out routine the following Wednesday. As I trudged away on the treadmill of doom, I began to suddenly feel lightheaded. Instead of stopping, however, like a normal person would, I kept going. Then I began to black out. I caught myself just in time as my knees buckled. I dragged myself to the locker room and sat with my head between my knees. One of the side effects of my medication is a general inability to sweat properly, so I attributed the incident to overheating (we were still having a late season heatwave, with temps around 95). I decided to start fresh on the following Monday.

EVENT 3: Wouldn't you know it, I had a serious gastroparesis flare-up over the weekend. Although these incidents are becoming more rare, they are still horrible to go through. I basically had to go on a liquid diet for five days, causing general weakness, malnutrition, and the peculiar desire to curl up in the fetal position on the bathroom floor for a few days. Whatever triggered this, I have no idea.

Exercise (heck, even breathing) in this condition is pretty much near impossible. Think of a closed soda bottle as being your stomach. Now, start shaking up that soda bottle, but leave the cap on. That is gastroparesis. The stomach does its thing, churning and breaking down food, but it does it too slowly. Food is going to go UP if it can't go down...

In my case, the gastroparesis tests showed I am doing my digesting job at a fairly normal speed, but then the food gets "stuck" near the exit point of my stomach. Basically, the system of valves is not working properly. It does not appear to be a mechanical problem, but more an electrical/nerve problem; I am being treated for the nerve problem with a very low dose of the antidepressant Nortryptiline.

I went back to my routine workout, but began "seeing stars" again. I tried to restart my cardio during the next two weeks. I varied my speed and incline, but I had pretty much the same results. And I had yet another flare up last week. This time, I have taken the entire week off; hopefully, a complete body rest will work things out.

The bloating that accompanies gastroparesis is back - this is great fun when clothes shopping, as I can range anything from a size 12 to a size 16, depending on how bloated I am on that day. I hope to start fresh next week again, but it all depends on how well my stomach does this weekend.

My diet is back to heavy carbs until my flare ups cease-and-desist. Carbs, whether we like them or not, are the baseline on which we depend for energy to survive. Still, I would rather not see anymore pasta bowls, oatmeal, soup, or egg-and-toast meals for a very long time!

ON THE POSITIVE SIDE: I have not regained any of the lost weight!:)

BODY WARS: Progress Report from Weeks 2-3

Well, I gained one pound back. Sigh.

This is probably due to me trying to figure out how to eat out and still follow the gastroparesis guidelines without busting a gut with too many carbs. My work schedule forces me to eat out at least twice a week - no easy feat for someone with a very restricted diet to begin with. According to most nutritionists, a good diet should fall within these parameters:

Carbohydrates: 45%-65% of your diet
Fat 20%-35% of your diet
Protein 10% to 35% of your diet

My carbohydrates tend to range from 50%-65% by default. I have managed to lower my carbs closer to 50%, but my fat intake has gone up to the 30% range. Oddly enough, the extra fat hasn't hurt my stomach "as much as it is supposed to," but it definitely isn't helping my diet. In order to get the extra protein the doctor says I need, I have to eat more meat, and even lean meat has fat in it. Ditto for soy products. Don't get me started on the dairy problem; let's just say I have always been a bit lactose-intolerant. I don't think I am going to win this one. I did not tolerate meat products very well to begin with - no juicy steaks for me!

I have started weight training again; this has had both positive and negative results. The positive is that, as far as weight and reps are concerned, I have been able to pick up where I left off FIVE YEARS AGO in the computer system at the YMCA. Yea! The bad news is I have had to reduce my days at the gym from 4 days to 3 days a week. My body aches constantly, and my bum knee is getting too "chatty" with my other knee - now both of them hurt! I tried reducing my weight levels, but then I did no real work because the weights were too light for me.

The Fitlinxx computer system hooked up to the weight machines has bells and whistles to nag you about form, speed, and full reps, which can be both annoying and helpful at the same time (it is controlled by sensors embedded in the weight equipment). I really hate the noise that goes with "You have reached the top of your range!!!!!" Doo-be-doo-DA--da DA! I keep expecting the baseball organ music to chime in....So I block the noise with my earphones.

Yes, I go to the Y. I used to go to a regular gym and work with a trainer out in Milpitas, but my scheduled tutoring appointments are located across Silicon Valley in Cupertino. The 24 Hour Fitness nearest to me (the only gym near my house, in fact) is full of very scary lurkers and weirdos. I prefer to go to the Y, where even the old ladies are comfortable; I time my workouts to coincide with their mass geriatric appearances in the late morning so I don't feel like such a blubber butt. I also try to finish my workouts before the beefy "cut" San Jose Firefighters arrive wearing their adorable dark blue muscle Ts with the names of their units emblazoned across their backs; I also avoid the skinny-Asian-girl wave that seems to accompany the firefighters' arrival (hmmmm....coincidence?). I know I can't compete.

The Day the Space Shuttle Blew Up

We were late.

The other fourth grade teacher had set up the television in the classroom next door, but we had not yet filed into her classroom to watch the launch. In spite of what current naysayers claim about public apathy towards the NASA space program, to us, it was going to be a day of excitement. Our Weekly Reader had always been chock full of articles about space exploration, and we had done an extensive unit the year before on the nine planets. I had read everything I could about the "Teacher in Space" program; 321 Contact had run a small spread about Christa McAuliffe in its science-for-children magazine, and there had been numerous interviews with the aspiring space teacher in the local media.

Mrs. M. lined us up in a row and ordered us to get ready to leave. It was an unusually cold morning in central California, so we bundled up carefully to go outside to get to the other teacher's classroom. Then, something strange happened.

Mrs. H., the teacher who had the television, left her class unattended for a moment, and raced up the external stairs to our classroom. She pulled Mrs. M. aside and spoke to her a low voice. Mrs. M. looked stunned, and sank down behind her desk. We stood at the door, ready to launch and very confused.

Finally, the much-shaken teacher spoke one simple sentence, "The Challenger blew up."

Immediately from the back of the room, an unmistakably male-child voice piped up, "AWESOME!"

The teacher glared at the miscreant (a special education student, if I remember correctly), then ordered us to hurry out the door.

The new media played the footage over and over again as we watched the events unfold; we watched the trail of debris streak across the sky, over and over again. We listened intently as the reporters gave a play-by-play of the events surrounding the shuttle launch and failure. Oddly enough, no one seemed overly traumatized by the disaster. Being children, we never even considered the implications of the space disaster. I privately wondered what happened to the teacher who had gone up in space; I would ask my mother later about what happened to her.

Our teacher brought us back to our classroom and tried valiantly to set up a television set, but ultimately failed in her technical endeavors; the best she could do was a snowy, grainy picture on the set, and we quickly lost interest in trying to make out what was happening. Classroom life went on.

At the end of the day, I went out to stand in line to be picked up as usual. The principal stood by the construction cones that marked the traffic lanes as she usually did, calling student names through the electronic megaphone (a device much in favor with yard teachers in the 1980s). I watched for and waited eagerly for my mother's familiar, Kermit-green station wagon, but my name was never called. Two or three students were still waiting with me after all the children had left, but even they were finally called out to their respective cars.

I stood out on the black-top pavement silently fuming, alone and confused.

Mrs. W., the principal, came over and gently took me by the arm. We walked to the office together, and the secretary looked up at us, stunned. Then, she smiled.

"Your mother just called us. You will have to wait in the office for awhile."

"Well, where is she?" I whined.

The principal and the secretary whispered a bit, then turned back towards me.

"Your mother is with Mrs. G. Mrs. G. is having her baby today."

My face brightened. "My mom is her birthing coach," I told them, proudly.

The two administrators looked a bit flummoxed by my reply, but quickly recovered.

"You may sit in the office until your mother comes."

I sulkily plopped down on the office chairs. I was really annoyed for two reasons - first, that my mother was late, and second, that the administrators thought I shouldn't know about birthing coaches. It had always irritated me, especially in childhood, when people assumed I was stupid. Actually, I had known the "facts of life" since third grade, when a wonderful documentary called "The Miracle of Life" had aired on PBS. My mother and I had watched it together and engaged in several fascinating conversations about the scientific reality behind where babies came from and just how they got out of their mother's bellies. I have never felt awkward about discussing the facts of life, and for that, I can thank my mother.

Scenes from the end of the film flashed through my mind as I sat there, wondering how Mrs. G. was doing. I couldn't imagine Mrs. G. doing what the mother in the film had done, especially as the film ended with a rather graphic birth scene (God bless the mother who agreed to let the cameras in on the "business" end of birth).

I then thought about the teacher in space. Visions of Jetson-like ejection seats filled my imagination, but I knew, in my heart of hearts, that she hadn't survived. How would they find the bodies? I wondered. I knew the shuttle had pieces had probably landed in the ocean due to the softly continued play-by-play commentary of the shuttle disaster on the office radio. What was she thinking when she fell into the sea?

At five-thirty, my mother finally came and picked me up. Even the principal had left.

"Mrs. G. had a C section. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby's neck twice, so they had to get her out."

"Ohhh." I paused. "Did you know the space shuttle blew up?"

"Yes."

We were silent on the way home. My mother's face looked drawn and tired.

"The baby is too early, " Mom commented.

I wondered if Mrs. G. had seen the shuttle explode while she was waiting for the baby. She had.

"They are calling the baby Laura. She is a very tiny preemie. We will have to find special clothes for her."

I thought about this for a moment.

"Well, she can wear my Cabbage Patch Kids' clothes." I had just gotten a Preemie Cabbage Patch Kid.

No one spoke for the rest of the journey home.

This last weekend, I went to a wedding reception for the "baby." As I watched her standing next to her sweet and loving new husband, the events of the explosion kept sneaking through my mind. How amazing is it that life left this earth on the same day that life began on this earth? The baby struggled very hard at first, to live, but she ultimately won the battle. She grew into a bright little girl and a beautiful young lady.

I was a little saddened also, watching her cut the cake with her new groom. The unwelcome thought that the baby I once held in my arms will join her life with another before I do - if I ever do - gave me pause for an excruciating sense of loss. My arms ached- a reminder that my biological clock will start winding down shortly, no doubt- but only for that moment. There are moments when life seems to pass us by; we become spectators of our own circumstances and never really get a chance to live as we would have chosen.

But she has. Her life was not always easy, but she survived. I sincerely wish her and her groom the greatest blessings on their happiness. May they value each and every day that they are given together in life and love.

BODY WARS: Progress Report from Week 1

I have just completed my first week of diet and exercise training. I learned a few things in the process, which I would like to share with my minuscule, but faithful audience:

1. The gastroparesis dietary restrictions are HELL when you are trying to lose weight.

After consulting my doctor, I have gradually been increasing protein and limiting carbs to 50-60% of my diet. I am experimenting with tofu and soy milk to increase my protein intake, as meat products can sometimes cause great discomfort for me. Even before gastroparesis, I was not a big meat eater, so this is no real stretch. I will also be eating at least one "peanut butter popsicle" (peanut butter on a spoon - one of my mother's greatest "jokes" to get us kids to eat healthy) a day to avoid the carb trap associated with bread products. I am still trying to make 1400-1600 calories a day, which can be a bit challenging at times.

2. The running program I have set for myself seems to be doing OK. I did notice that I tend to run on the sides of my feet; it is quite involuntary, and I can't seem to correct it. My right knee joint has also been complaining a bit much, so I may have to go back to wearing a brace.

3. I have lost TWO pounds this week...I think. Our bathroom scale is a bit temperamental, so it could be as little as ONE pound.

Happy eating!

BODY WARS: A Big Mystery?

I saw my GI Specialist at Stanford today, and we discussed diet. The reason I am gaining weight seems to be a more complex issue than I thought.

Problem 1: Too many carbs. The problem with the gastroparesis restricted diet is it tends to be high in carbs. Those of us who suffer from this disorder cannot process fiber or fat very well (if at all, in some cases). This excludes pretty much every vegetable unless it is pureed or cooked to death (baby food, anyone?). I can tolerate some raw fruits (watermelon, berries, grapes in moderation), but so far, most raw vegetables reduce me to a vomitous puddle on the floor...except I absolutely refuse to vomit. The problem with cooked vegetables is...I hate 'em!

Solution: Replace carbs with protein. I will be adding more protein through using tofu and Boca Burgers, which are generally well-tolerated by functional (meaning, fairly well-controlled) gastroparesis patients. I just switched to soy milk yesterday, but it still sometimes upsets my stomach.

The doctor also suggested Jenny Craig meals, with modifications.

Problem 2: Nortriptyline. This is the name of the medication which is helping me face eating every day; it was part of a medical trial (the NORIG study), and it happened to help me a great deal. The medication belongs to the second-generation antidepressant class, but the very low dose I am taking does not register as helpful for depression; instead, it works on the nervous system that controls digestion (which, oddly enough, works with the same chemistry as the brain). Unfortunately, one of the big side effects is WEIGHT GAIN. Bingo!

Solution: None, really. If my weight continues to mysteriously skyrocket, I will have to go on another medication...and the other medications tend to have even weirder side effects and are not always effective.

Problem 3: My cardio workout is practically useless for weight loss. I knew this going in, so I am more interested in increasing my stamina in order to run a 5k. I feel so bad, however, for those heavy middle age ladies who come to the gym, run like mad, and then go home expecting to have lost weight. It doesn't work that way, but I think this is a more "recent" finding (although I have known this for years through experience).

Side Note: I personally think stationary bikes are completely useless in particular; you seem to expend a lot of energy on a monotonous task and then have nothing to show for it. This is why I prefer treadmills and elliptical machines - at least you feel like you are getting somewhere. I also love playing with the settings and speed. I have discovered that the speed marked as JOG, for example, is actually RUN for me because I have such short little Dachshund legs! The speed marked as WALK is way too slow for me. In fact, no one I know walks that slowly.

Solution: Weight training. The good doctor suggested I try weight training again. This is just what I wanted to hear. I love weight training and I sorely missed it. Because of my extremely poor coordination, I have to stick to weight machines - you don't want to see what happens with me and free weights! I will also likely take some kind of group exercise class just for fun.

I will post my results of Week 1 by next Monday.

JOURNAL: How NOT to Be Sexy

I suffer from a relatively rare gastrointestinal disorder known as idiopathic gastroparesis. Gastroparesis is exactly what it sounds like - a paralyzed stomach. It is "idiopathic" because the doctors can only guess at the cause; in my case, it appears I picked up a stomach virus in Korea that attacked the nervous system in my gastrointenstinal tract. As a result, I suffer daily from morning nausea, occasional vomiting, postprandium fullness (feeling full after a couple of bites), and, ahem, lower gastrointestinal distress. It is not a fun or sexy disorder, and there are times I sincerely wish to die from the pain. Oh, and I make a great after dinner companion - let 'er rip!

Usually, the symptoms dissipate after about two years, but they didn't in my case. Instead, I enrolled myself in a clinical trial at Stanford University. The Stanford trial worked in my case, and my symptoms are under control, if not eliminated completely. In fact, I have been feeling tolerably well the past couple of months. Of course, finding full-time work in an economic depression is another story.

So, where did the fun begin? This could probably have all been prevented if the almighty rural university I worked for in Hwaseong-si had heeded my request for human-grade housing - you know, functional plumbing, standard electricity, a location NOT next to a run-down dog meat farm that smells like dog shit, or the red light district that smells like booze, vomit, and stale sex most of the time (they "air out" the establishments once a week). You know its bad housing when even the college student who moved your furniture in for you calls it a shit-hole. But I digress.

Now, I find myself on the horns of a new dilemma. Most people with gastroparesis LOSE weight drastically. At my low point, when I was subsisting on saltines and yogurt, I weighed 147 pounds. I am 5'2". Yes, I lost a pretty measly 20 pounds, even when I was literally starving to death (and losing my hair, by the way). As soon as I began to eat almost-normal portions, and I do mean almost-normal portions, I shot up to 174 pounds, 8 pounds heavier than I started! How does that work?

It is a GOOD day when I can intake 1500 calories; my average is 1300-1400. According to my calorie calculator, I should be maintaining weight at the very least, not gaining weight. There is absolutely nowhere where I can change my diet; I am severely restricted to low fat and low fiber, which means a high amount of easily digested carbohydrates. Unfortunately, carbs have always been my mortal enemy; I was brought up to eat healthy food (not much processed food or fast food appeals to me even now). I allow myself one doughnut a week as a treat, but that's it!

The fact is, however, I AM STILL FAT! I have joined the YMCA, and I will be hitting the treadmill three times a week in addition to my twice a day, 3o minute brisk walk. I am also looking into a few group exercise classes (shudder shudder). I am, quite honestly, at my wits end. The truth is, I have NEVER had an easy time losing weight. Back when I was rich (hah!), I worked with a personal trainer twice a week. Over the course of a year, I lost a mere ten pounds, but I did gain quite a bit in muscle mass! The trainer kept insisting I was straying from my diet (I wasn't), and we went around in circles for quite some time about it. I finally gave up.

SO, here are my current stats:

WEEK 1:
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 174 (yikes!)
Size: 12-16 (!), depending on what

I figure I need to lose 36-40 pounds to look proportionate; I think the BMI calculator is a bit off in my case, as I am a big-boned, big-chested, and abysmally short Viking lass (from both sides of the family).

Korean Dramas 101: What to Expect

Note: All video clips below are linked from Youtube. No infringement of any kind is intended.

So, what should you expect if you decide to try watching a Korean drama?

Within my last blog on the subject, I presented a breakdown of the four main genres of Korean dramas. Here are some of the positives and negatives about Korean dramas in general:

PLOTS

The Good: Korean dramas are usually very strong with developing characters, navigating the complexities of family bonds, and working through realistic behaviors in any given situation (ie. Korean drama characters typically do what a person with their particular personality type would do). Some of the camera conventions, such as lingering on a character's body language or face for long periods of time, can in fact strongly enhance viewers' understanding of motivation, emotion, and consequences. The plots also take time to develop, which makes for a more interesting viewing.

The Bad: Korean dramas are not usually very strong on original or thought-provoking plots. You will not typically see plots dealing with profound or complicated social issues, for example. You will see complicated love triangles, scheming relatives, and odd subplots. This tendency is mainly due to the remnants of Confucianism in Korean culture, which values hierarchy and knowing your place in the world.

The Ugly: Korean dramas are not usually written to their conclusion ahead of time, with all the disorganization that this may imply. In order to find out if a drama is good, one typically has to view at least the first four episodes, as sometimes even the writer doesn't quite know what the story is going to be about yet. This also means that Korean dramas contain a lot of "filler" episodes, random (and sometimes misplaced) slapstick comedy moments, and, if the drama is particularly poorly written, lots and lots of flashbacks accompanied by bad K-pop songs.

ACTORS

The Good: Korea has produced some fantastic actors lately. Most Korean entertainers do not limit themselves to one style of entertainment - many actors, in fact, easily transition between singing, modeling, and acting; this tendency allows for extreme flexibility in what the entertainer is capable of doing. A good example of this kind of actor is an entertainer known as "Rain," who has appeared in Korean dramas (romantic comedy and melodrama), Korean movies, and American movies (Ninja Assassin). The Korean-style of acting feels very Method-based (think Brando and Depp) rather than polished. This actually works in Korean dramas very well, most of the time, allowing viewers to engage more fully into the emotional story taking place. Tears are real, laughter is deep, and chemistry is genuine.

The Bad: The fact that Korean actors are also entertainers can also work against them. Some singers really should stay on the stage rather than try to act. Enough said.

The Ugly: Two words - military service. The solid acting careers of leading men is often derailed by the mandatory two year military service all Korean males must face. Some actors recover, such as Seo Ji-Seop, but others are never heard from again. Female actors are held to very high moral standards, and any misstep in an actress's personal life can be personally and professionally devastating.

CONVENTIONS

The Korean sense of humor, at least in Korean dramas, tends towards slapstick and toilet humor. Fortunately, most of the actors in these dramas seem to be gifted with perfect comic timing, which can make for a very entertaining evening. What may be more difficult for American audiences to stomach is the national obsession with toilet humor. Whereas in American films, restrooms are sacred, Korean entertainment makes use of bathrooms as a natural, and mostly humorous, place to have a conversation. Men have conversations (and the occasional - ahem - staring contest) while standing at urinals, women have conversations in toilet stalls or family bathrooms, and poop is always funny.

Here is a classic and hilarious example:

Bathroom Scene, EP. 9 (from My Lovely Samsoon)

On the flip side, tragedy and pathos in Korean dramas always ensures plenty of tears and hysteria in certain scenes. American audiences may be overwhelmed by this convention at first; we are not used to seeing people truly "lose it" or bawl their heads off, except perhaps in some wacky independent feature films. Having lived in Korea, I can say with some confidence that generally speaking, when someone loses it, THEY LOSE IT, earning Koreans the rather apt title of "the Italians of the East":

AP Footage of Korean Parliament Brawl 2009

Finally, viewers may be surprised at the lack of sexual content in television. Aside from being a sad commentary on our own society, this is mainly due to the conservative nature of Korean audiences. Adultery, lust, and one night stands may be alluded to, but most Korean dramas prefer not to "pollute the air" with unnecessary displays of passion. Sex scenes, when they occur, tactfully fade away from the action at hand and focus on windows, doors, or a light in the house going off. Kissing scenes are, by-and-large, chaste, and the anticipation of "the kiss" can actually be quite sweet and well worth the waiting:

"Kiss Me" Montage from Youtube

Enjoy the show!

The ESL Camp (July-Aug. 2007)

Note: This is a rough draft; I will be continuously editing this entry, so don't be surprised if things change!

After only three days back on solid food, I found myself back at work, staring down a group of rowdy fifth grade boys and sixth grade girls at the University's mandatory "ESL Summer Camp." The camp would run for three very solid weeks.

Although I was in poor physical condition and had very little energy due to my mystery illness, I decided that I was not going to let this camp get the better of me. It was my last scheduled teaching activity before I moved back to Seoul, and I genuinely wanted my students to enjoy their learning. The fact that I was already set to move onto a better job in Seoul also made it easier for me to really let loose (damn the conventions) and let the students enjoy their time in my class.

These ESL camps are not quite what we, as Americans, consider to be a "camp-like" experience. In fact, the only thing "camp" (meaning 'fun') about these institutions is that the kids sleep over, usually in the university dorms, eat questionable cafeteria food, and engage in team-sport activities. They do get some fun time on Fridays, which are designated field trip days, but the rest of the time is spent in classes and "educational activities." Even the more "fun" activities, such as song, drama, and game show contests, are considered serious competitive activities. The pressure is always on these students to perform, perform, perform, like well-trained monkeys at competing for a single banana.

And then there is the teacher vs. camp counselor dynamic. Imagine, if you will, a group of dignified (at least, when sober) college professors, ranging from their late twenties into their early forties - tweedy suit jackets, matronly dresses, somber expressions, etc. Now, imagine the same group of professors wearing flip-flops, shorts, and t-shirts. Enter the camp counselors. The average camp counselor is about 18 years old, and he or she has been likely culled from the above-mentioned professors' ESL classes. If the student happened to have failed the basic ESL Freshman class...no worries! The camp counselor may even find himself or herself assigned to the very professor who failed him or her the previous semester. In the world of the ESL camp, the counselors are given unprecedented power over the children; the professor-cum-English instructor has no jurisdiction whatsoever over what the students do outside of the classroom. A certain power struggle is bound to ensue. And it does.

All of that notwithstanding, there are some positives, as there is in any situation, with the right attitude. Textbooks for the classes are pretty much chosen at whim without regard to level, but this is actually a GOOD thing. When you give a beginning English class a high-intermediate textbook, naturally the class has no clue what they are reading or talking about. This gives the instructor much leeway in "interpretation" of the so-called lesson being taught. Typically, this means the instructor has to "fill in" the blanks with his or her own activities. I chose to have students use the practically useless dialogues as acting skits. With difficult reading passages, I acted out the dialogue and fired simplified questions about what the kids had just seen. I did my best to make the activities as pain-free as possible, and as a class, we did have a good time most days.

One day during the second week of the camp, a junior high group was giving me particular grief. Instead of getting angry, I decided to stage my own revolt against convention. I brought out two "Twister" boards and a spinner and let the students have at it. We were able to cover "left," "right," body parts, and colors in less that 15 minutes. The kids loved it, and it became a "reward for good behavior" boon when the class acted appropriately on any given day. The camp counselor said nothing; I heard later that "my actions had been reported" to the camp director, however! I also taught a different group (8th grade) the "Head and Shoulders Knees and Toes" song, complete with gestures. That backfired on me, I'm afraid; their camp counselor decided it was a good punishment song when the class got too rowdy.

One of the biggest challenges of these summer camps, however, is that the teacher spends mealtimes in the cafeteria with the students. This proved to be a big problem for me, as I had just started eating solid food again. When going through the cafeteria line, I would only take a scoop of rice and some soup; I was taught never to waste food as a child, but this is apparently not taught in rural Korea. The camp director and his assistant noticed my meager eating habits because the kids began to comment on my skimpy meals. One student even bluntly commented,"how can teacher be so fat" since I was not eating very much. Finally, the camp assistant (co-chair of the ESL department) asked me point blank why I was not eating with the children. I patiently explained to her that I had been very ill and had no appetite, so I wasn't taking more food than I could eat. She seemed to take this as some sort of insult to Korean food. She furthermore accused me of "setting a bad example" for the children by not eating what they ate. The point was left hanging, but every time I stood in line, I could feel her eagle-eyes assessing my food portions.

Her silent criticism annoyed me at first, but I came to understand her point-of-view after a few days of observation. I came to realize that the real reason she was angry at me was because I had refused, in no uncertain terms, to accept a renewal of my teaching contract; I had had enough of the nefarious activities associated with the University, and to tell the truth, was ready to fly on back to civilized Seoul like a bat out of hell by the time she had taken over the position. She had been hired shortly after a financial scandal had rocked our small department, so she had inherited a real mess from the previous position-holder. She was also a female administrator at a male-dominated university, which is no easy position to be in rural Korea by any stretch of the imagination. Upon further reflection, I discovered that I actually secretly admired her. I still do.

So I compromised. I began to take small helpings of everything on offer, even the fish, which caused me to become nauseous every time I saw it (the fish in Korea is served whole, complete with eyeballs) or smelled its rancid odor. I became quite proficient at pushing food around on my tray to make it look like I had eaten more than I had; rice, soup, and occasionally some bits of meat were the only things I ever actually ate. I suddenly began to understand how a person with a closet eating disorder might feel, although I was also perfectly aware that I would have vomited if I had tried to eat anything else. My appetite never did fully recover after my illness, although the significance of this escaped me for several months thereafter.

My only intentional rebellion against the university surfaced during the Human Jeopardy tournament. Human Jeopardy is actually quite a fun activity when it is not taken too seriously. A hybrid between Jeopardy and Tic-Tac-Toe, Human Jeopardy consists of five columns of clues, one column per category. As in regular Jeopardy, the clues are ranged from top to bottom by difficulty, the bottom row being the most difficult. Here is the human twist: If a teammate gets a clue correct, they go and sit on the spot occupied by the clue. The other teams then try to strategically block each others progress towards an entire row (up-and-down, diagonal, or vertical). Just like in Tic-Tac-Toe, the first team to get a full row wins the game.

Each instructor was instructed to create their own category, give a lesson with notes about the selected category, and create the clues for their own category. The teachers would then rotate around the camp, teaching their topic to one class each evening. The students would then study the worksheets and the information given until the test day. On the night of the competition, each teacher would MC their own category. The unwritten rule was that the category had to be something purely educational and, one might say, esoteric - for example, US Presidents, Canada, Mountains of the World...you get the idea. I decided to shake it up a bit.

Keeping in mind the average age of my students, I created the category "Gross Guts." In order to give the students a little taste of American summer camp fun, I decided to do my unit on the digestive system. I gave a general description of the mechanics of the digestive system as an opener (with diagrams), then launched into a discussion of the main causes of burping and farting. To exhibit the mechanics of burping, I talked about the histories and mysteries of pizza burps. I then gave a fart demo with a generally biologically accurate blown up balloon. The real kick, however, was the competition. I pitted boys against girls, and taught the class what every grade school child in America knows - the armpit fart and the skin-suck-and-blow fart. I also taught interested students how to swallow air for the most effective burps. Oh, did I mention that this "class" was scheduled right before the children were supposed to go to bed? The camp counselors were not particularly amused, but they were, I noticed, very attentive to the lesson!

My homeroom students acquitted themselves very well in the various camp constitutions, although they did not win any prizes. The highlight of the competitions was when I gave Jack, the class troublemaker, the lead in "Doorbumble's Magic Goose," our entry in the drama competition. I figured if he was busy memorizing lines, he would stay out of trouble. I kept my class clowns busy with court jester activities. As it so happened, Jack took to his part like magic, and he did manage to avoid trouble for at least a week - so did the class clowns. At the end of camp, when we were saying our goodbyes, Jack shyly passed me a note thanking me for the best camp ever (which I still have), then burst into uncontrollable tears. He could not be consoled at all, but instead clung to me with a sort of stoic desperation that I had never, and still have never, seen in any child before.

I really felt sorry for Jack. Had I just made things worse for him? This was a clearly intelligent and charismatic kid who did not get along well with his submissive Korean classmates. Through no fault of his own, he simply did not fit in. Because he had always been in trouble, no one had apparently bothered to see what this child could actually do. Of all my students, Jack's English improved the most dramatically, especially after the drama. Having given him the opportunity to shine, I now wondered if he would ever get an opportunity to show his talents again. Maybe he would have been better off not knowing he had ability. The harsh reality is that Jack was the son of economically challenged parents from a rural school district with limited resources. If he had been born in Seoul, he might have had a chance, but out in the agricultural community, his chances were pretty slim.

With these disquieting thoughts in the back of my mind, I returned to my apartment, exhausted. I slept through the entire weekend following the camp. Monday would begin a new adventure.

TEACHING JOURNAL: How to Kill Julius Caesar

Well, as expected, Julius Caesar went over like a fart in church, as far as my students were concerned, but they did learn something.

EDUCATIONAL RANT FOLLOWS:

I really have to question why the state of California deems one of Shakespeare's most boring plays to be of educational value. There is very little action in the play; the most interesting action is the stabbing of Caesar 33 times, as well as a multitude of apparently weakly motivated suicides at the end - "Here, good servant, hold my sword while I run into it and die!" In fact, not once, but twice does Shakespeare use this method to dispatch the conspirators. And other suicides follow. There is an interesting monologue or two in the play, but any of the monologues could be studied out of context (i.e. in an English anthology) without subjecting the average high school student to the monotony of a highly political and "chatty" play.

I find plays such as Othello and Taming of the Shrew far more relevant to today's youth than a political play about a dead Roman tyrant. Othello touches on the highly politically correct politics of race, introduces a fascinatingly psychopathic villain, and sends the audience on a deliciously ironic wild goose chase centering on a missing handkerchief. The plot twists and twists, like a good episode of Criminal Minds (though perhaps the comparison should be made vice versa), and the ending does not read as ridiculous or overwrought like the ending of Julius Caesar. Othello offers competing themes of jealously, hubris, rage, and power all vying for our attention. Taming of the Shrew, which, incidentally, has been made and remade into several popular teen comedies, deals with the universal humor of male vs. female politics. The double entendres ("What? With my tongue in your tail?) are still relevant; the struggle between man and woman is universal, and the lead characters are engaging, if not exactly "good role models." But no, Julius Caesar it is. Sigh.

P.S. I HATED Julius Caesar in high school, and the whole experience turned me off (and, I suspect, several of my classmates) to Shakespeare until well into my college years (for whatever reason, we never studied Romeo and Juliet).

EXEUNT EDUCATION RANT.

As I really struggled with the idea of subjecting my students to this play, I had to think quickly on my feet and cobble together a lesson plan. As our theme for the whole class is "The Human Condition," I decided to focus on humanity's attitude towards power and control, at least, as it is manifested in the play. We spent one day discussing the "Friends, Romans, and countrymen" speech given by Anthony upon the funeral of Caesar as an example of rhetorical parallelism (i.e. repeating certain phrases and patterns of speech to keep an audiences attention - a kind of "power" good orators have). We spent another day discussing why we should care about the state of politics, and what kind of power "we the people" have. We spent the final day discussing the Cassius-Brutus argument about corruption in politics.

I then assigned an essay with the simple (haha!) question: Does power corrupt, as popular wisdom would have us believe? Defend your answer with examples from our last two readings (Julius Caesar, Lord of the Flies).

To my surprise, the students came through with their essays, at least on one level. My students produced fairly lucid arguments for and against corrupting power. The problem was that the quotes they chose from the play were random, and I do mean random, and not necessarily relevant to the discussion at hand; one student did not even quote the play or novel at all, but gave an an otherwise articulate argument about the nature of power.

Note to self: We need to "review" - or, as I suspect, learn for the first time - how to write a literary analysis essay.

EDUCATIONAL RANT FOLLOWS:

What are they teaching these students? I am beginning to suspect that nothing is being taught about how to use various rhetorical styles (ex. a personal narrative vs. a literary analysis essay) or use more sophisticated writing tools. I went to a private academic high school that taught all of these techniques, but from what I have seen, nothing seems to be happening here. Because I tutor these students, I often see the notes and assignment sheets given to them by their teachers. All of them are good, solid, and academic assignments, but then I find out that the teacher has done NOTHING in class to prepare their students to tackle these assignments. For example, almost all assignments require MLA format, but no teacher ever tells the student what MLA means, or where to find the format and/or citation machines online; this scenario has happened on many occasions, by the way.

I used to find myself constantly having to teach MLA to my college students from the ground up; now, at least, I know why.

EXEUNT ALL.

Yak Guts

First Impressions

I see them everyday as I walk the twenty minutes to my place of work. They both work for one of the many restaurants in my neighborhood. Their main purpose is to act as an informal posse of traffic cops; when the restaurant gets busy, they direct the flow of traffic on our narrow little street. Past the butcher shop, across the street from the gargantuan Methodist church, and next to the greasy fried chicken kiosk, they stand guard. The older one is usually deposited between the traditional Korean restaurant and the chicken joint; he occasionally tries to hawk up business for the Korean restaurant during the slower times but can best be described as apathetic in his efforts. He also possesses the unique talent of being able to sleep standing up; as I am passing him one day, I cautiously peer under his broad sandal hat, and I discover that he is fast asleep. The younger one acts as an informal bouncer, but also runs out on food deliveries. I have seen him vrrrroooooom!ing about the neighborhood on one of the "scooter terrors" that roam Seoul's sidewalks in search of fresh pedestrian prey. I refer to the two men as simply “the restaurant guys.”

The younger restaurant guy speaks passable English, and always greets me or waves when he sees me; he asks me a new question each time I see him. I have noticed that he reads extensively during the restaurant’s downtime. He is frightfully skinny, but he has a very pleasant and good-natured face. He is not at all handsome, but his physical appearance reflects a certain joy in life that American men of a similar age appear to lack. He appears to be in his mid-to-late twenties. I decide that he was once a child with a sunny disposition. He is also rather bold for a sober Korean; most Korean men appear to be afraid of waegooks, especially the women, and will not even approach them…at least, not without being solidly fortified by soju. This young man makes eye contact and smiles when he sees me. He is not afraid of me, nor is he particularly flirtatious; he is likely simply curious about the random white girl who has suddenly appeared in the small villa apartments above the flooring company next door to his restaurant. The older man is more reserved; he does not make eye contact, but he does smile and wave on occasion. Later on, when it gets colder, he will offer me free hot coffee on frigid winter mornings.

But it is sweltering summer now, endlessly humid, and hopelessly hot. Korean women tend towards the more formal end of fashion; skirts and capped-sleeve cotton blouses are more often the choice for summer attire than shorts and a T-shirt. I have discovered that this is an absolute practicality as well as a cultural preference; I begin to wear cotton A-line skirts rather than khaki slacks to work and discover that skirts provide built-in air conditioning from the damp summer heat…

Yak Guts

I have a very bad summer cold. After two days of suffering with a mind-numbing fever and a deep racking cough, I emerge from my apartment, fully-armed with my Korean phrasebook. I am determined to find a pharmacy. I notice that the older restaurant guy is standing at attention by the entrance of the traditional Korean restaurant, and I purposefully stroll over to his post. I thumb madly through my translation dictionary, searching for the word for “pharmacy.” I find it, but it is written in Han-gul (Korean). I am still new at reading Korean script, but I am getting more proficient daily.

“Yak Guts?” I weakly quiery.

He looks at me as if I am speaking in Swahili.

“Eh?” He blinks his droopy eyes.

I consult my phrasebook again. Ah! “K” sound, not “T” sound.

“Ah! Yak Guks?” I try again.

He stares at me blankly.

“YAK GUK,” I state firmly.

“EH? Ahhh, yak GUK!” His face momentarily brightens.

He points to the left, then gestures a turn at the corner and a right cross at the next...street…I think. I carefully mimic his motions, and affirm, “Yak guk.”

He stops, shakes his head firmly, and says, “Wain-juk!”

I stare at him, confused.

He points to the left. I point to the left, and stare at him with a furrowed brow.

“Yak guk?”

“A-ni-o! WAIN-JUK.”

He again points very emphatically towards the left.

I stare at him stupidly. Are their two pharmacies on the same block? I wonder. Ah! Maybe he is telling me the pharmacy’s name: The Wain-juk Pharmacy!

“Yak guk?” I squeak out again, and point to the left.

“A-NI-O….WAIN-JUK, O-RAN-JUK!!!” he shouts impatiently, and wildly motions first towards the left side of the street, then towards the right side of the street. Close to tears from frustration, delirium, and general physical weakness, I shuffle off in the general direction that he has indicated. I am in no mood to deal with Grumpy Old Men.

“ORANJUK, ORANJUK!!!” he shouts after me, pantomiming that I need to cross the street. I turn the corner at the end of the block, and I immediately spot the pharmacy; I still have no idea as to what he is trying to tell me.

Mercifully, the pharmacist speaks English. I return home, and gulp down my hard-won cough medicine. It is faintly licorice-flavored, and not unpleasant at all. I also down an entire bottle of water for good measure.

Four hours later, I wake up, and I am ravenously hungry. I am also completely out of food, as I have stayed in bed all weekend and not done any grocery shopping. I reluctantly drag my aching body out of my air-conditioned apartment. McDonalds is only a short walk away…

The restaurant sentinels are both on guard tonight, and the older one waves at me. I am determined not to acknowledge the Old Yeller, but he speaks to me first.

“Yak-guk! Wain-juk! Oran-juk! Hahaha….!”

I still do not understand what the hell he is saying, but in the interest of international relations, I smile and nod politely. He points to the center of his head, taps it several times, and then points back to me.

I scowl at him, and begin to turn away. He touches my arm, and points to his head again, and makes a very alarming sound vaguely resembling the birth pangs of a constipated elephant.

“Apayo?”

Ah, “yo” is a verb ending. I know that. Suddenly, I understand.

I point to my nose and chest, and make coughing and gagging gestures. He understands.

I smile and continue on my journey.

When I return, he is still standing at his post, and the younger man has joined him. I wave cautiously, and as I cross the street, they both approach me. The younger man points at my greasy McDonalds bag and giggles like an adolescent schoolgirl. He snatches the bag from me, opens it, and pretends to swoon as the smell of stale French fried wafts through the steamy air.

The older man clicks his tongue at me, shakes his head, and points to his appointed restaurant.

“JOOK,” he states firmly.

Another ‘juk?’ Oh no...

He then inquires about my cold.

"Ho-su-pee-tal?"

Apparently he knows a few English words.

“No. Two…days… no….eat.” I show him “two” with my fingers, touch my lips, and cross my arms in front of my chest in a big “X.” I feel like a one-woman freak show.

He tsks again, then offers me a stool to sit on. I decline politely.

“What, is, your, name?” I ask, slowly and clearly.

He looks both alarmed and puzzled at the question, but the delivery boy saves the day. He says something rapid-fire in Korean to the older man, and they both laugh.

“Ah! Seo.” He ghostwrites the Korean characters of his name with his finger on his palm and shows it to me.

The younger man introduces himself as “Choi.”

“Miss? Missee?” Seo points to the third finger on his left hand.

“Miss.” I smile broadly, wave my naked ring finger, and patiently brace myself for the next question. Here it comes…

“Ay- gee?”

Koreans always ask marital status and age upon first meeting a stranger, so I am not completely unprepared for the bluntness of this question.

“Twenty-nine.” The demure maiden looks down in mock shame.

“I firty-seven,” says Choi. It takes a moment to register - he's thirty-seven. Up close now, I notice a few deep grooves around his mouth. I also notice he is not as emaciated as he first appears; he has a nice, pleasant, lean, and slightly muscular build, but the odor of stale cigarettes also lingers in his clothes. I later learn that he was once a competitive martial artist.

Seo points at Choi, makes a dismissive face, and then points to himself.

“Pretty!” he chortles.

"How old are you?" I ask, turning the tables.

"Pretty!" He repeats, and vamps for his close-up.

"Pretty?” I make a face.

“Fritty!” He carefully spits out his “F.”

“Fifty?” I inquire, starting to comprehend.

"FRITTY!" he barks, mildly annoyed.

I then realize that Seo is very like a Midwesterner encountering a foreigner with an accent for the first time - he just repeats his words louder and louder.

"Forty," Choi chimes in helpfully.

I stare Seo up and down critically, and shake my head sorrowfully, "Ah! Too bad! Too old!"

Choi roars at his friend's stunned expression and thwacks him on the back several times. Seo cracks a big, yellow grin, displaying uneven, ragged teeth. Quite a charming smile, when it came down to it.

Feeling vindicated, I chuckle, wave broadly, and scoot off to my apartment with my much-scorned McLooty.

Choi and Seo, Oct. 31, 2005

TEACHING JOURNAL: Critical Thinking 101

One of the greatest complaints I hear from other teachers about Asian immigrant students is that they have limited to non-existent critical thinking skills. This is primarily due to the Asian style of teaching by rote and repetition (aka "drill and kill") rather than comprehension and analysis. This style of education should not be completely dismissed by Western style teachers, however - it is one of the many reasons why the Asian nations leave Western nations far behind in the dust when it comes to mathematics and scientific principles. The problem with this kind of education lies in the sectors requiring more innovation (scientific discovery) and problem solving (engineering), rather than cold, hard facts. Some economists have gone so far as to suggest that Asian workers will never be profound innovators, but will instead continue to rely on darn good imitation technology for economic growth.

This summer, I have begun teaching an English Literature class for incoming high school sophomores. We are required to finish one novel a week, so the pressure is quite intensive. The novels range from the classics (Tess of the D'Urbervilles) to modern fiction (The Kite Runner). The ongoing theme for our class is "The Human Condition." Although I had no say in which novels were assigned, I did find this theme to be a consistent, as the novel choices literally take the readers around the world and through space and time. The stress on international stories and writers (thank you, California political correctness!) is actually not a bad thing for developing critical thinking, I have found; it forces the readers to try and understand radically different viewpoints and character backgrounds, including political situations and alternative lifestyles.

There are two native-born students (male) and two fairly recent immigrant students (female) in my small group, and the differences in critical thinking abilities so far is subtle, though definitely present. We just finished reading Lord of the Flies. I myself had not read it since high school; I remember learning to HATE the book through too much close reading, so I was determined to focus on themes and archetypes, rather than reading comprehension and random plot points. Accordingly, each class period, we breezed through the required course multiple-choice questions (most of which were esoteric and/or downright silly) and focused instead on discussion and inquiry into motives and themes. I gave a fifteen minute lecture on the Nature vs. Nurture debate, and asked the students at the end of the week to write a literary analysis of Lord of the Flies and whether the events, characters, etc. of the novel support one side or the other particularly.

I have found that, in general, my native Korean students are very reluctant to open up and challenge an argument (or each other), especially if one classmate is perceived to be the class genius or teacher's pet. As I have only fours students, I instead focused on each individual student justifying each answer or opinion expressed. No one was allowed to repeat anything another student had said, and I got some very interesting answers as a result. I do not necessarily think that dead silence is a bad thing, by the way; it shows that the student is thinking.

As for the essays I received, well, it's clear that no one has been taught how to correctly format a reading-analysis essay (spawning this week's writing class focus!). That said, there were some attempts at real critical thinking. We still need to focus on, well, focusing our topics and using concrete examples, but I was impressed with the amount of thought that was put in to the actual content. That said, I also found a lot of my original "lecture language" fired back at me a bit too obediently; I would like to see more thought put into the issues that I and the other students raised, such as the nature of evil in Lord of the Flies. I suspect that this will come with time as we get deeper into discussion about "The Human Condition."

This week, we will be studying Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.

The Vacation (June 2007)

Disclaimer: The following story is a work of creative non-fiction. All of the events are as true as I remember them to be, but some creative license has been allowed as pertaining to the timeline, people involved, and some conversations. Names and certain minor details have been changed or disguised to protect privacy.

Hong Kong? Tokyo. Maybe. Ah - Mongolia by horse trek. Tibet. The more exotic, the better. Get me out of here!

I cautiously sipped my coffee as I screened through the vast internet of possibilities. My stomach had been grumbly all night, and the coffee wasn't helping. This vacation was long overdue. What to do with two and a half weeks of vacation?

Urghhhh. The coffee fought back. OK, maybe the coffee was a bad idea, all things considered. I put on my sandals, and went out the door.

Byeongjeom has never offered much in the way of entertainment for non-hookers or young people, but, as I reasoned it, it was better than staying indoors. I strolled under the public bathroom (which most people might call a freeway overpass), past all of the anmas (low-class brothels), and through the veritable gauntlet of boshintang joints (boiled dog meat - for virility). I noticed that one of the anmas has its doors open in broad daylight. I peered inside. The small room is divided by cheerfully-patterned curtained alcoves, much like a hospital room might be divided "for privacy." Must be airing the place out, I thought to myself. The green-haired hostess saw me staring, so I hurried past.

I stopped at the Family Mart on the corner to buy milk. For some reason, the thought of drinking milk seemed mildly repulsive at that moment, but I needed it for my cereal in the morning. I purchased the milk, queasily trying not to think about its taste or smell. My energy and enthusiasm for shopping suddenly evaporating, I returned to my apartment. I turned on the A/C, and lay down on my bed.

Five hours later, I woke up. I had missed lunch completely, but somehow I wasn't hungry. In fact, my stomach felt very queer. I pulled a package of mandu (vegetable and pork filled dumplings) and put on a pot of water. When it was boiling nicely, I added the mandu. I ate about four pieces of boiled mandu when the queer feeling in my stomach finally evolved into full-blown nausea.

I am a person who would rather die than throw up - to me, it is a matter of dignity and self-respect. To vomit means to lose the battle; I was this way as a child, and I will be this way until I die. Send me a sinus infection, pneumonia, a head cold, or any other annoying disease you want - I can take it. But mess with my stomach, and I am knocked to the ground.

I held it in for as long as I could, but it would not be denied. Sweat poured into my eyes as I grimly held on to my dignity. Then, my abdomen began cramping. Food poisoning? I wondered, as I dashed to the bathroom. Both the cramping and heaving were uncontrollable; I did not know whether to sit or crouch over the rim of the toilet. Somehow, I managed to avoid making a mess. After it was over, I lay curled up like a fetus on the floor, my arms wrapped firmly around my stomach. I had never been so miserable in my life.

For three more days, green bile continued to spew out of my body in any and every way it could. I did not eat, but I did keep myself hydrated as much as possible. Each day I trudged down to the Family Mart to buy a 2 liter bottle of Pocari Sweat (a sports drink), and I forced myself to drink at least one bottle a day. I had learned this trick from a bout with bronchitis; neither the local doctor or his nurse had been unable to find a usable vein to give me liquids through an I.V. (a genetic inheritance from my mother), so he had prescribed two full bottles of Gatorade per day to keep me from getting too dehydrated.

On the third day of illness, I decided it was time to see my doctor. I hailed a taxi, and spent the next half hour in agony as the taxi driver hit every pothole, and there are many, on the way to Bongdam-eup.

I sat in the waiting room for about five minutes before the waves of nausea became uncontrollable. Just as the doctor came out to call my name, I held up a cautionary hand, grimaced, and dashed for the squatter bathroom down the hall just outside the clinic (which had no toilet).

If there is anything more miserable than vomiting over a Korean squatter toilet, I don't know what it is. A squatter is basically a porcelain-lined hole in the ground, and if one doesn't quite have the knack for squatting while doing his or her business, one can end up with quite a nasty dunk into everyone else's filth. Given the state of this rural squatter, it was clear that cleanliness was NOT next to Godliness in this particular building, at least as far as bathrooms were concerned.

After the waves of green slime subsided, I returned to the doctor's office.

"Oh, you look bad, " the perky nurse tcchhed sympathetically as she escorted me in.

Dr. H. was one of the few English-speaking doctors in Hwaseong-si, and he had a very mild-mannered demeanor that instantly put his patients at ease; nothing seemed to ruffle him. He seemed a little puzzled over the green bile issue, and never quite gave me a firm diagnosis except to say it was probably not food poisoning. As a precaution, he prescribed a round of antibiotics, and asked me to check in with him often until my symptoms improved.

For the next two weeks, I periodically returned to the doctor's clinic. Sometimes I just checked in, but occasionally, he gave me an IV of fluids as well. My symptoms gradually improved, but I never quite fully recovered. Whatever "it" was had gotten a hold on my system and did not want to let it go.

Three days before I was scheduled to work full-time at our university's summer camp, I began to eat limited amounts of solid food. I had ceased the vomiting and diarrhea, but my stomach seemed to retain a sense of unease.

As it turned out, this was all part of the calm before the storm.

TEACHING JOURNAL: Generation 1.5 Students

It is both my pleasure and privilege to be currently working with several Generation 1.5 students in my classes and one-on-one tutoring sessions. I will be journaling my experiences this summer in order to bring attention to "silent demographic" that has been creeping into American public schools and causing some consternation among teachers. Having worked both locally and abroad in the ESL/ELD and mainstream English composition industries, I will also be working "aloud" (in written format) on creating some sort of teacher-training methodology for teachers who encounter this special group of students.

I have reprinted part of an article I wrote for The Examiner last year below to offer one definition of a Generation 1.5 student below.

A Generation 1.5 student:

• was born in a non-English speaking country.
• immigrated to the United States as a young tween or teenager (age 12 and up)
• usually has studied for three or more years in the United States or another English-speaking country
• frequently speaks two or more languages fluently
• does not speak English at home with their parents (although they may speak English, or language hybrids - such as Spanglish or Konglish - with their siblings)
• may (or may not) get placed in ELD classes in high school or college, although they may exhibit some ESL- like difficulties, particularly with written language
• do not have formal training in academic English (reading and writing) or American history
• are usually oral or auditory learners
  

More information on the challenges facing Generation 1.5 students (and part two of my Examiner commentary) can be found here.

Korean Drama 101

Korean dramas ("K dramas") hold a special place among Asian entertainment aficionados - they often have high production values, engaging (if somewhat conventional) plots, and a wide demographic appeal.  Playing a major part in the hallyu wave from Korea, K-dramas have become popular throughout Asia, the United States, and even South America.

Korean dramas typically run 16 episodes, but can run much longer if a series becomes popular enough (such as PRINCESS HOURS) or shorter if the series is a bomb. There are seldom second seasons (with the exception of some of the historical dramas), but that seems to be changing lately; talks are in the works for a second season of 2004's romantic comedy hit FULL HOUSE, for example. The longer mini-series format of most Korean dramas allows for more complex plot and character development than usually present on most American television.

Korean dramas can be roughly classified into four distinct thematic categories:

Romantic Comedy:  Lighthearted and playful, Korean romantic comedies offer viewers a golden opportunity to leave their brains at the door. There is almost always a comic love triangle, an oddball character or two, and a happy ending. The target for these dramas is usually teenagers and young adults, although older viewers might also get a kick out of the goofy hijinks of the characters. Popular examples of this genre are: FULL HOUSE, MY GIRL, and YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL.

Comedy Drama: Perhaps the most popular drama genre from the new wave of Korean exports is the comedy drama format. Comedy dramas are more serious in tone than romantic comedies (albeit, not by much), although they still include some of the plot devices present in romantic comedies. Korean comedy dramas are typically geared towards older teens and adults, as some of the themes may be a bit inappropriate (by Korean standards, anyway) for younger watchers. Several of the more popular comedy dramas have a definite edge to them, and deal with themes such as infidelity, difficult family circumstances, unexpected pregnancies, and lately, homosexuality. Popular titles include: COFFEE PRINCE, PALACE/PRINCESS HOURS, MY LOVELY SAMSOON, and BOYS BEFORE FLOWERS.

Melodrama: Although not as popular as they once were, certain Korean melodramas offer viewers something often lacking in modern American television - catharsis. In fact, some Korean melodramas offer enough tragedy and mischance for several Greek plays.  Some popular themes are star-crossed lovers, broken family relationships, illness, and just plain bad luck. The melodrama format appears to be fading out a bit lately internationally, but there have been a few Korean melodramas that have become popular due to strong writing and strong acting. Popular titles include: WINTER SONATA, SAD LOVE STORY, and EAST OF EDEN.

Historical Drama: Although not as popular internationally as the other genres, historical dramas have a wide following among older audiences in both Korea and Asia. In fact, a local San Francisco Bay Area channel offers Korean historical dramas dubbed and subtitled in Chinese. Many Koreans have "lost" their history due to various foreign invasions in the 20th century, so historical dramas are quite popular in certain circles. Of late, there has been more of a focus on the end of the Joseon Era (i.e. when Korea lost its monarchy to the Japanese) in dramas, although earlier periods are still explored. Popular titles include: THE JEWEL IN THE PALACE, JEJOONGWON, and CHUNO (THE SLAVE HUNTERS).

JOURNAL: What is this Blog About?

What is this blog about? Well, I don't exactly know yet. I am a person who has always been compelled to write about the world as I see it. One of the reasons I restarted my blog is to create an intellectual outlet for my otherwise dull academic life. Don't get me wrong, I love teaching ESL and tutoring English composition, but it is, let's face it, sometimes a bit repetitive. Just an observation.I am also "underemployed" at the moment (sigh) which means that I do not get many opportunities to interact with "like minds." Due to the abysmal economy, I have not been able to even find an adjunct position at any local community college; hopefully the latest round of applications will produce fruit!

Here are some things I think I will cover:

PROJECT 1: Asian Entertainment

Over the coming weeks, I will be posting and reviewing the good, the bad, and the ugly of Asian entertaiment, especially the art forms that are most popular internationally, such as Korean dramas, Japanese anime, and Japanese manga. I will also be discussing key issues with Asian entertainment in general as it applies to American viewers. Although there are tons of fan websites devoted to the topic, critical reviews are not always posted or "appreciated" by other fans.

I am even toying with doing some academic-style criticism of tropes and value systems (so as not to lose my touch!). Here are some (tentative) ideas:

1. The "hero" cycle in BLEACH (Japanese anime) with references to Joseph Campbell
2. Wicked mothers, with special reference to BOYS BEFORE FLOWERS (K-drama)
3. Vampires and adolescence in VAMPIRE KNIGHT (Japanese manga)

Feel free to comment or suggest ideas!

PROJECT 2: The Journey to Idiopathic Gastroparesis

For the benefit of those who followed my Korea blog, I will take my readers through the final three months of my stay in Korea - the end of my journey, as well as the beginning of a horrific, but strangely compelling disease. There IS humor in my new journey -without my sense of humor, I would probably be dead now - but there is also a cautionary tale for anyone planning to work in Korea.


PROJECT 3: Teaching Journal

I work in the San Francisco Bay area with a special demographic of middle and high school students labeled as "Generation 1.5" students. These are students whose language abilities are too high for ESL, but not quite adequate for academic English. When appropriate, I will be journaling my experiences in tutoring and teaching this group.

JOURNAL: A New Journey

It has been three years since I last blogged. Due mainly to the "interesting" accommodations (and village) I endured during a year working at a slightly unethical Korean university, I developed critical health issues that could have ended my life journey completely. Instead, it is my world journey that has indefinitely been put on hold, but that in and of itself has become a new journey.

One of the common personal narrative prompts I assign to the students whom I tutor is "Describe a turning point in your life." My students are young (middle to high school aged), and many of them have yet to seriously consider this issue of their life journey. Most students cite their experiences transitioning from Korean school culture to American school culture - a big change in any child's life, to be sure.

As adults, however, it becomes more challenging to mark the points where our journey changes course. One journey ends, and another begins, right? Or do we walk on the edges of parallel journeys? As adults, we tend to categorize our experience into boxes: LOVE LIFE, FAMILY, CAREER, FRIENDS, BELIEFS, ETHICS, etc. These boxes, however do not actually exist. A journey instead comprises of several "trips" that intersect and weave together into long stretches of time and space. They cannot be separated into convenient categories of experience.


My journey of late has been more desert than oasis, but I have learned something - endurance. You never knows how strong you are until you have had everything important in your life taken away. Lovers, careers, friends...POOF! All gone in a blink. What is left to live for? On the surface - nothing. Dig deeper, though, and you will find that if you just KEEP MOVING, you will learn to endure. In the desert, it is best to run over the hot sand so that you do not get burned. If you run far enough, you will make it to the next oasis, but you need to keep running, even if you are "running on empty."

My current journey began during the summer of 2007.