WELL, I wouldn't say FAVORITE. I wouldn't say healthy, or usual or rational or at all adivsed by any nutritionist. BUT, it is what I eat. I guess I set myself up for it too. When I moved into my second homestay I was able to make more choices about what I consumed. They asked for a list of foods ahead of time and since I was a vegetarian they were really curious to learn about it. We made an initial trip to Costco and I was told to go crazy and pack the cart with everything that I would eat. Ravioli made it into the cart! And it has made it onto my plate ever since. I only made one more trip with my host family to the magical land where foreign food is somewhat accessible and since I picked out Ravioli the second time as well it pretty much solidified it as a staple food in my Korean diet.
At first, I cooked the ravioli because my host mom was unfamiliar with how to make it but she watched and took diligent notes and was soon whipping them out like a pro. It tastes really good and so I enthusiastically praised her cooking and how delicious they turned out. THAT is probably how the ravioli is endind up on my breakfast plate. First, she cooked it every night of the week and I was eating at home...resulting in me going out more frequently because even though I do love the taste of ravioli, I do not love it every day of the week. Then, it seems like there was a lot of ravioli and only a few times that I was available to eat it for dinner...so it moved on to being an afterschool snack. THEN, the day finally came when it appeared at the breakfast table. Luckily, that is also the time that the giant bag from costco was exhausted and now I was back to a variety of food for breakfast (and dinner).
The phenomenon of my dear host mother giving the in access what I say that I like is also evident in her keeping a stock of roasted almonds on hand! (which is great because I can eat them whenever I want) and the also a pancake like sweet treat that has melted sugar and crushed peanuts on the inside (tastes AWESOME). I had one for snack, praised it, and then eat it for two consecutive days for afterschool snack and breakfast. :) The thing about living with a host family is that even though there are certain things that get to be pretty comfortable (seeing host family memebers in their underwear) telling them you would like to eat something else is not on the table. (get it?) So for the next 4 days (because I know we have a fresh batch of ravioli) I am undoing another button on my pants and consuming ravioli as breakfast, snack and possibly even dinner.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Model Behavior in EDEN
It was a friend’s last night in Korea so we headed off to Seoul on the long 4 hour train and arrived looking for some adventure.
Well, we went to the Ritz and got to experience something different. MODELS. Yes, the club that cost 30,000 to get into stayed true to it’s pricy form. It was packed with great looking Koreans and international models.
First we spotted a girl dancing wildly near a mirror and frowned upon her wayward ways. She did not have a drink in hand, but she was certainly getting a buzz from somewhere. Then, the real fun began, we made some friends, got shots poured into our mouth on the dance floor and were basically having a great time rocking out. Here is the thing, I enjoy a good time at club getting my groove on and I surround myself with people who also know how to balance having a good time while also staying in control. This night I was (for some reason) surprised to learn that not everyone can strike this balance and this is the story of one of the girls…
She was found by a Brazillian model and I guess found is not quite the right word for it, because all the Brazillian model saw was a hand on the floor peaking out from one of the bathroom stalls. I was standing in line for the bathroom behind the Brazillian model and she pointed out the hand to me and Security was in the girls bathroom immediately. They tried knocking on the door with no avail. Then the two guards pried the door open to reveal a passed out model in an ocean of her own puke that had saturated her dress and was drying crisply on her long curly hair. They tried to wake her and were looking around at the now large posse of models who were starring down at her to figure out which groups of friends she belonged to. However, sadly, no one would claim her. They all mumbled- not from my agency, or I’ve never seen her, she must be new and the most heartwrenching one- maybe she is 15. WHAT? The story continues…she had passed out while on the toilet and the men looked around for some girl to pull up her underwear. Again, none of the models offered to help and my friend was left to do the necessary yet unpleasant duty to making this passed out girl decent…while trying to hoover above the puked on floor that she was still sprawled out in. (I was in the bathroom while this took place) The next thing was even more disturbing…the security guards, still hesitant to touch her asked someone to check her pulse!!! WHAT THE F! This poor girl, with clearly no good friends, was on something that made her pass out mid-toilet break and now I was responsible for seeing if she was still alive???? Well, ok. So I checked her pulse by first lifting the heavy veil that was created from the puke and hair combo and feeling on her neck. There was indeed a pulse and so I gave the security guards the all OK! sign. Now with her not exposing genitalia and confirmed alive status the security guards felt it ok to pick her up and carry her out, as they did I questioned them with “hospital?” because it looked like she may need a little medical intervention. They did not reply and just carried her out. The restroom was abuzz for a few minutes after she left, but quickly my conversation with the models turned to whether or not I was a model (oh ladies, please! Do you see me passing out in toilets?) and then when that idea was shot down they asked me if I was an extra for the Olympics? (what the fuck were they smoking…I mean…thanks?) I wish the story ended there and I could assume happily that the girl got the help that she needed. Unfortunately this is not so, as I was leaving the club at 5 am I saw a lump on a couch near the entrance to the club near the coat rack…it was the same girl, still passed out, as if the club owners just expected whoever was responsible for her to grab her as they got their checked purses from the club lockers. Um, hello! When was the last time they checked her pulse? Oh Yeah, that would be me 3 hours ago….
Now this event did not deter me from partying like I usually do, because the way that I usually party ends with me heading out with all my clothes on and my wits intact, even if it happens that I leave the club at 6am. Clearly this is a sign of my oblivion but I thought that everyone partied with the same mindset as me, and just went home early. The models on the other hand continued to get wilder, in one instance a model was allowing one male model to play up her skirt while making out with another dude. In plain sight of everyone. Sickening. This was the first time that I had partied with the beautiful people and most likely the last because their party lifestyle is grounds for a party divorce. Though some were really sweet when I was chatting with them I noticed 3 things about this particular subset of human beings: They are taller than me and have legs that come to my belly button, they all have really really long hair that is free of chemical dye, they are heartless attention whores. The end.
Well, we went to the Ritz and got to experience something different. MODELS. Yes, the club that cost 30,000 to get into stayed true to it’s pricy form. It was packed with great looking Koreans and international models.
First we spotted a girl dancing wildly near a mirror and frowned upon her wayward ways. She did not have a drink in hand, but she was certainly getting a buzz from somewhere. Then, the real fun began, we made some friends, got shots poured into our mouth on the dance floor and were basically having a great time rocking out. Here is the thing, I enjoy a good time at club getting my groove on and I surround myself with people who also know how to balance having a good time while also staying in control. This night I was (for some reason) surprised to learn that not everyone can strike this balance and this is the story of one of the girls…
She was found by a Brazillian model and I guess found is not quite the right word for it, because all the Brazillian model saw was a hand on the floor peaking out from one of the bathroom stalls. I was standing in line for the bathroom behind the Brazillian model and she pointed out the hand to me and Security was in the girls bathroom immediately. They tried knocking on the door with no avail. Then the two guards pried the door open to reveal a passed out model in an ocean of her own puke that had saturated her dress and was drying crisply on her long curly hair. They tried to wake her and were looking around at the now large posse of models who were starring down at her to figure out which groups of friends she belonged to. However, sadly, no one would claim her. They all mumbled- not from my agency, or I’ve never seen her, she must be new and the most heartwrenching one- maybe she is 15. WHAT? The story continues…she had passed out while on the toilet and the men looked around for some girl to pull up her underwear. Again, none of the models offered to help and my friend was left to do the necessary yet unpleasant duty to making this passed out girl decent…while trying to hoover above the puked on floor that she was still sprawled out in. (I was in the bathroom while this took place) The next thing was even more disturbing…the security guards, still hesitant to touch her asked someone to check her pulse!!! WHAT THE F! This poor girl, with clearly no good friends, was on something that made her pass out mid-toilet break and now I was responsible for seeing if she was still alive???? Well, ok. So I checked her pulse by first lifting the heavy veil that was created from the puke and hair combo and feeling on her neck. There was indeed a pulse and so I gave the security guards the all OK! sign. Now with her not exposing genitalia and confirmed alive status the security guards felt it ok to pick her up and carry her out, as they did I questioned them with “hospital?” because it looked like she may need a little medical intervention. They did not reply and just carried her out. The restroom was abuzz for a few minutes after she left, but quickly my conversation with the models turned to whether or not I was a model (oh ladies, please! Do you see me passing out in toilets?) and then when that idea was shot down they asked me if I was an extra for the Olympics? (what the fuck were they smoking…I mean…thanks?) I wish the story ended there and I could assume happily that the girl got the help that she needed. Unfortunately this is not so, as I was leaving the club at 5 am I saw a lump on a couch near the entrance to the club near the coat rack…it was the same girl, still passed out, as if the club owners just expected whoever was responsible for her to grab her as they got their checked purses from the club lockers. Um, hello! When was the last time they checked her pulse? Oh Yeah, that would be me 3 hours ago….
Now this event did not deter me from partying like I usually do, because the way that I usually party ends with me heading out with all my clothes on and my wits intact, even if it happens that I leave the club at 6am. Clearly this is a sign of my oblivion but I thought that everyone partied with the same mindset as me, and just went home early. The models on the other hand continued to get wilder, in one instance a model was allowing one male model to play up her skirt while making out with another dude. In plain sight of everyone. Sickening. This was the first time that I had partied with the beautiful people and most likely the last because their party lifestyle is grounds for a party divorce. Though some were really sweet when I was chatting with them I noticed 3 things about this particular subset of human beings: They are taller than me and have legs that come to my belly button, they all have really really long hair that is free of chemical dye, they are heartless attention whores. The end.
end of an era
Today was my last day with the 6th grade classes, and to be honest, it was pretty much the same as any other class. Why you ask? Don't your students love you? Don't they want to shower you with gifts and letters and take pictures of you? I have a way to answers that:
Yes, they do love me (Im pretty sure...) and I often feel their appreciation for my teaching/ saying words they cannot understand with animated gestures and then having them yell loudly during something I call a "game". But for those who are actually good at English, I am probably less of a novelty and more of just another face of just another foreigner who stays for a year and then leaves. If they are anything like my first homestay sister who had her first native speaker at age 4, I think by the time they hit 12 they must have had at least 8 different native speaker interactions/relationships. I think if I had that many English teachers come for one year and then leave I would eventually grow accustomed to that pattern and not really involve or invest myself as much in our relationship. I do think that some students are fonder or me than others, and this could be for a million reasons but I can sense that the ones who have had more exposure are also more aware of the ending to the relationship. Seeing it through their eyes I can imagine that it is not seen as a worthy way to spend time, investing in someone who will surely vanish in a few months time. I also think frequency has something to do with it. I can remember the bonds that I formed with my "homeroom" teachers when I was in 6th grade, those who saw me every day and taught me math or writing. And following my own logic, it is sad to say that I cannot even remember the name or face of a single art teacher I have ever had.
So as I say goodbye to my lovely 6th graders, who I still run into in the hallways...I think of myself less as a teacher who changed their perspective on English but more of a fresh face that is going away in my due time that simply delivered the same message that the teacher before me did not finish.
And I guess the second reason is that none of the students knew that it was our last class and when the Korean teacher translated what it means they were in an uproar. I had to give a whole class my autograph and another shouted out "Don't go to Africa" as I greeted them. Some students asked for my email and one asked for my phone number, proceeded to call me that day and tell me about the chicken he was eating.
Thus, I think the major difference between the goodbye of the last 6th grade class is this one is still coming back after summer break and I will be gone where as the first class was leaving me behind.
:)
Yes, they do love me (Im pretty sure...) and I often feel their appreciation for my teaching/ saying words they cannot understand with animated gestures and then having them yell loudly during something I call a "game". But for those who are actually good at English, I am probably less of a novelty and more of just another face of just another foreigner who stays for a year and then leaves. If they are anything like my first homestay sister who had her first native speaker at age 4, I think by the time they hit 12 they must have had at least 8 different native speaker interactions/relationships. I think if I had that many English teachers come for one year and then leave I would eventually grow accustomed to that pattern and not really involve or invest myself as much in our relationship. I do think that some students are fonder or me than others, and this could be for a million reasons but I can sense that the ones who have had more exposure are also more aware of the ending to the relationship. Seeing it through their eyes I can imagine that it is not seen as a worthy way to spend time, investing in someone who will surely vanish in a few months time. I also think frequency has something to do with it. I can remember the bonds that I formed with my "homeroom" teachers when I was in 6th grade, those who saw me every day and taught me math or writing. And following my own logic, it is sad to say that I cannot even remember the name or face of a single art teacher I have ever had.
So as I say goodbye to my lovely 6th graders, who I still run into in the hallways...I think of myself less as a teacher who changed their perspective on English but more of a fresh face that is going away in my due time that simply delivered the same message that the teacher before me did not finish.
And I guess the second reason is that none of the students knew that it was our last class and when the Korean teacher translated what it means they were in an uproar. I had to give a whole class my autograph and another shouted out "Don't go to Africa" as I greeted them. Some students asked for my email and one asked for my phone number, proceeded to call me that day and tell me about the chicken he was eating.
Thus, I think the major difference between the goodbye of the last 6th grade class is this one is still coming back after summer break and I will be gone where as the first class was leaving me behind.
:)
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