Caveat: rain water is feeled kindly

I might as well do another test of this posting-via-email problem. This is the trashcan nearest my desk at work. I just recently happened to notice that it features profoundly fractured English. It is so truly horrible that it becomes a kind of poetry.

2014-10-01 19.29.03-1.jpg

The rain day is a beautiful.
Rain water is feeled kindly.
The umbrella is
unfolded toward sky.
If it is stopped,
rainbow will raise out of cloud.

[daily log: walking 5 km]

Caveat: Technical Blahblah

I've been having some annoying technical issues with the ability to post via email to my blog, which I use fairly often as a short-cut when I want to post pictures I've taken on my phone directly to the blog, as the process of copying the files from phone to computer is more laborious than just composing a blog entry on the phone and sending the whole package as an email.

So on Sunday I took a picture of my lego monkey and emailed it, and it didn't appear and it didn't appear and it didn't appear. So Monday morning I realized it was missing and posted it the hard way, copying the picture from my phone and uploading it. Then, lo and behold, the emailed version appeared today, at 7 AM. I have opened a help-ticket with my blog host, and I'm leaving the duplicate blog posts for now while they (maybe) troubleshoot the issue. I'll clean up that and the test-post later, I guess. Meanwhile, that's what's going on, and why my blog is looking a bit scattered. 

[daily log: walking, 5.5 km]

Caveat: Lego Monkey Got Lego Banana

I have a largish lego alligator at work. I have blogged about it before. Today I was at the Homeplus store and I saw a similarly-scaled lego monkey. Now, my regular plastic alligators have an ongoing relationship with my stuffed monkeys (this makes for engaging EFL conversation with 10 year olds, trust me). So, the idea of getting a companion legomonkey for my legogator was impossible to resist. I bought and assembled the lego monkey. He was furnished with a legotoucan and a legobanana. Go figure.

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Caveat: let us celebrate the stupidity of our endurance

A NOT SO GOOD NIGHT IN THE SAN PEDRO OF THE WORLD

it's unlikely that a decent poem is in me
tonight
and I understand that this is strictly my
problem
and of no interest to you
that I sit here listening to a man playing
a piano on the radio
and it's bad piano, both the playing and
the composition
and again, this is of no interest to you
as one of my cats,
a beautiful white with strange markings,
sleeps in the bathroom.

I have no idea what would be of
interest to you
but I doubt that you would be of
interest to me, so don't get
superior.
in fact, come to think of it, you can
kiss my ass.

I continue to listen to the piano.
this will not be a memorable night in my
life
or yours.

let us celebrate the stupidity of our 
endurance.

– Charles Bukowski (German-American poet, 1920-1994)

Caveat: Lego Monkey Got Lego Banana

LegomonkeyI have a largish lego alligator at work. I have blogged about it before. Today I was at the Homeplus store and I saw a similarly-scaled lego monkey. Now, my regular plastic alligators have an ongoing relationship with my stuffed monkeys (this makes for engaging EFL conversation with 10 year olds, trust me). So, the idea of getting a companion legomonkey for my legogator was impossible to resist. I bought and assembled the lego monkey. He was provisioned with a legotoucan companion and a cyborg-looking legobanana. Go figure.

[daily log: walking, 1 km]

Caveat: 눈치게임 bis

It has been a long time since I played 눈치게임 with students in a class, but last night with my Honors kids (TOEFL-style elementary, our most advanced elementary kids) I was in a magnanimous mood and with 15 minutes left in class I told them we could play a game. After several proposals that I shot down as "boring" (they always suggest hangman, but that is just boring to me), I remembered overhearing some other student mention the 눈치game and so I suggested it.

I don't know why I don't play this more often as a reward for good classes – I have rarely seen kids have so much fun with such a ridiculously simple game. It's just a sort of psych-out exercise, but the kids really enjoy it (I wrote a detailed explanation of the game in 2012). When one student has gotten too far ahead, other kids will diliberately stand up simultaneously as the winning kid, to drag down that person's score. There are all kinds of implications regarding cooperation versus competition, I guess. I wonder how computers would do it? Would they do best being random, or is there some point where there is more advantage?

[daily log: walking, xx km]

 

Caveat: 아직?

When I was walking home last night I had an unexpect occurance. I walked by someone walking the other direction along Jungangno, and we recognized each other. She was one of the nurses from my stay at the cancer hospital last year. She was one of the nurses who spoke to me exclusively in Korean, and she rattled off a number of questiosn and comments, but I really wasn't understanding very well. She said (in Korean, and I only got the gist of it, not the exact phrasing), "Well. Your Korean still hasn't improved, has it."

I just nodded meekly, and I said, "아직" [ajik = yes, still]. I've been getting a lot of negative feedback about my Korean lately – at least that's my perception. My spirits about learning the language are lower than their usual low level.

[daily log: walking, 5 km]

Caveat: The Temple Of Not Doing Anything

At work the other day, I was defending my deep-held belief that work should not be taken home. Rather than take work home, I always prefer to stay late or come early. When I take work home, I end up not getting it done anyway, but it sits there and makes me feel guilty.

I declared, boldly, that my apartment was a "temple of not doing anything." This struck me as somehow profound or useful as a sort of shorthand for some philosophy or way-of-life. So here I will memorialize the concept.

[daily log: walking 5.5 km]

Caveat: Lo pasa echao panza arriba mirando dar güelta el sol

383
Fabricaremos un toldo,
como lo hacen tantos otros,
con unos cueros de potro,
que sea sala y sea cocina.
¡Tal vez no falte una china
que se apiade de nosotros!

384
Allá no hay que trabajar,
vive uno como un señor;
de cuando en cuando un malón,
y si de él sale con vida,
lo pasa echao panza arriba
mirando dar güelta el sol

 - Éstas son dos estrofas del poema muy largo "El Gaucho Martín Fierro" del poeta argentino José Hernández (1834-1886), que consta el poema que en cierto término ha definido a la nación y la cultura gauchescas. Es un castellano algo difícil de entender, porque incluye muchas representaciones fonéticas de la pronunciación rústico del gaucho platense. Hace mucho que me ocupo de la temática gauchesca, pero en algún momento fue algo que me atraía mucho, hasta que fue uno de varios posibles temas para mi tesis del doctorado, aunque no él que al fin seleccioné. Recientemente busqué y encontré los textos del poema gratis en línea, y he decidido descargarlo y leerlo de nuevo.

Caveat: Rats Play the Market

I ran across this utterly fascinating book excerpt on the marginalrevolution blog:

One project is Michael Marcovici’s Rat Trader. The book describes the training of laboratory rats to trade in foreign exchange and commodity futures markets. Marcovici says the rats “outperformed some of the world’s leading human fund managers.” The rats were trained to press a red or green button to give buy or sell signals, after listening to ticker tape movements represented as sounds. If they called the market right they were fed, if they called it wrong they got a small electric shock. Male and female rats performed equally well. The second generation of rattraders, cross-bred from the best performers in the first generation, appeared to have even better performance, although this is a preliminary result, according to the text. Marcovici’s plan, he writes, is to breed enough of them to set up a hedge fund.

I think this bespeaks the utterly rational nature of the market. Humans are irrational. Rats are just doing what they're trained to do, and their feelings (except the avoidance of electric shock or the reward or food) don't play a role.

[daily log: walking, 6.5 km]

Caveat: Abstract?

I spent some time watching this video. I like it, and it's interesting, in a Koyaanasqatsi kind of way, but I'm not sure if "abstract" really is what it is? But if not abstract, what is it? It seems very concrete, in fact – it's all "really there" as is inevitable if you're making a film, right? The camera is capturing something real. Perhaps only the ritual is abstract… 

Circle of Abstract Ritual from Jeff Frost on Vimeo.

[daily log: walking, 5 km]

Caveat: Tromp

I went on a walk today, but rather than tromp around my haunts in Ilsan I took the subway to Seoul and spent money at a bookstore too. I bought a fat history book about postwar Korea to maybe read.

Downtown Seoul was crowded, some kind of special event, I’m not sure what. I took a picture that showed the old-new contrast well I think.

[daily log: walking, 4.5 km]

seoul_old_new.jpg

Caveat: The Knight Gipa

There is a poem I ran across some time ago, called Changiparangga (찬기파랑가), which I liked but I didn't want to post it simply in translation – which is the form I encountered. I wanted to post the original.

But… the poem is 1300 years old. It was written by a Korean, but in Classical Chinese – as poems in that era were typically written. I know absolutely nothing about Classical Chinese, and I am not conversant in the discourses of Korean philology, either. So representing an "original" of this poem is a fraught proposition at best. Nevertheless, the text below seems to be the "original" (원문) in circulation. The "transcriptions" provided on Korean websites already are too opaque for me to make heads or tails of – they use obsolete Korean "jamo" characters to represent the Chinese sounds, and these aren't even unicode, but are instead gifs (picture files) that are being posted. I don't feel comfortable borrowing those when I don't even understand them. So there is no hangul transcription for this, and I couldn't find anything that looked like an "authoritative" modern Koreanization of the poem (which would be in the vein of a modernization of something like Beowulf in English literature). 

The original:

찬기파랑가 – 讚耆婆郞歌

咽嗚爾處米
露曉邪隱月羅理
白雲音逐干浮去隱安支下
沙是八陵隱汀理也中
耆郞矣兒史是史藪邪
逸烏川理叱磧惡希
郞也持以支如賜烏隱
心未際叱肹逐內良齊
阿耶栢史叱枝次高支好
雪是毛冬乃乎尸花判也

The translation that I originally found appealing:

The moon that pushes her way
Through the thickets of clouds,
Is she not pursuing
The white clouds?

Knight Kip'a once stood by the water,
Reflecting his face in the Iro.
Henceforth I shall seek and gather
The depth of his mind among pebbles.

Knight, you are the towering pine
That scorns frost, ignores snow.
– Trans by Peter H. Lee

[daily log: walking, 5km]

Caveat: The $200 Argument

Well, I have bad news and good news.

The bad news is I had to pay a fine of $300 (₩300,000) to the immigration authorities, because I violated a rule that said I had to report a change-of-address within 14 days. In fact, it was 1 year and 14 days since my move. Heh. I sort of knew about this rule, in the abstract, but in the mess of having cancer last year, and the move (while Andrew and Hollye were here, who helped me move), and everything else… I just forgot about it, and Curt never thought about it… and so we never reported the address change.

The good news is that I did, in fact manage to renew my contract and visa for another year. It seems as if time has flown by very fast, this past year.

They originally wanted to charge a fine of $500 (and in fact they had legal discretion to fine me up to $1000 and/or deport me, according to some websites on Korean immigration rules). Curt, however, was with me, and he decided to argue with the immigration officer for 40 minutes (continuously, in his best school-teacher, Korean-Confucian-pedantic style), and this (maybe) got us the reduction of $200. Curt was very pleased with the result, and I have to admit that if I had been alone, I'd have simply paid the $500 without even trying to negotiate. This is a Korean vs US character thing, in part. In Korea, officers giving fines and fees seem to have a lot of discretion (this is a carry-over from the days when it was outright corruption – I don't actually think there is that much corruption now, but this capacity to negotiate the terms of minor legal infractions still seems universal in the culture).

Curt said, "Wow, 200,000 won for only 40 minutes work. It sure was tiring, though." Indeed, he'd worked up a sweat in the air-conditioned office with his passionate debating. One thing he conveyed to me, later, that I hadn't captured in overhearing the Korean, was that the immigration officer had said at one point, to Curt, "Why are you arguing this? – it's the foreigner who has to pay the fine." Curt subsequently harangued the officer about the idea that that was the kind of "pass-the-buck" attitude that caused so many social problems in Korea, and further, it was a little bit "anti-foreigner" (i.e. racist).

Well, thus it is. I will view the $300 as part of the cost of my cancer last year, since ultimately the fact that I never reported my change-of-address is best explained by the distraction of that illness.

SeollongtangjointPrior to the immigration office adventure, Curt and I had had lunch together, at a 설농탕 joint down the road from KarmaPlus a few blocks. Curt had said, "this is an old restaurant," drawing out the "old" to show emphasis.

I said, "Really? When did they build it?"

"Oh, 1998 I think," Curt answered. 

We talked about how I had come to Ilsan in 1991, when I was in Korea in the US Army, and how at that time, it had been mostly rice-fields and a decrepit neighborhood around the train station, rather than a city of half-a-million.

Ah, life in the 신도시 [sindosi = "new city"]. 

[daily log: walking, 6km]

Caveat: Free Scotland?

My friend asked me what I thought of the Scottish independence question being voted tomorrow, knowing my interest in things geopolitical as well as my libertarian tendencies.

I do not have a horse in this race. Nevertheless I am following it with curiosity. I suspect it could have a bad outcome, regardless of the actual vote result. I read in a blog which I forgot to bookmark that political unions, like marriages, have questions best left unasked, because once asked, the relationship can never be the same. British political union was always, essentially, part of London’s imperial project. That project is long dead, and the non-English parts of the home islands are geopolitical fossils – which is not to condemn, since all modern nation-states abound in such fossils.

If I were confident that London and Brussels were predisposed to accept any result with equanimity and generosity of spirit, I would support Scotland’s effort. I have no such confidence.

If this could go smoothly, other divorces will follow rapidly: Catalonia, Euzkadi, etc. Divorces rarely go well, however.

[daily log: walking, 5km]

Caveat: Eyes

In class, this evening, we were practicing one-minute-long TOEFL-style speaking questions. We listened to a passage where a teacher was lecturing about how we should read novels. It was age-appropriately simplistic: it was just saying they demand to be read linearly (to keep the storyline) and contrasting it with the way we read the web or a newspaper, or else they don't make sense. The speaking task it to attempt to summarize the lecture in a dozen sentences. 

After talking about it some, and after two other students did passable efforts, I got to a girl named Hansaem. I repeated the textbook question: "Using examples from the lecture, how should we read a novel?" Hansaem must have not been paying attention, and she disregarded the first part of the question prompt, too. 

She looked at me, as if she couldn't believe such a stupid question. "How to read a novel?" she asked, confirming the topic. I nodded.

"Eyes." she said. She was clearly finished with her speech.

[daily log: walking, 5.5 km]

Caveat: Stalked by the Goog for my Birthday

I received a number of birthday greetings from friends and family – mostly via email. I was pleased by that. However, one birthday greeting I received came from an unexpected quarter, and it struck me as creepy.

When I got to work and opened my chrome browser, the google-doodle was a birthday cake. "That's odd," I thought – I wondered why the google-doodle was a birthday cake. I hovered over the doodle, and lo and behold, it said "Happy Birthday, Jared!" 

829px_creepy

This was a personalized google-doodle – which means the goog used information in my profile, linked to the fact that at least at work I'm pretty lackadaisical about my privacy settings (it's work, after all, and I use google a lot to store my documents online and pre-write for my blog, etc.

Frankly, I don't understand why anyone would appreciate this. It's just a robot (essentially), saying "happy birthday" because it has that info in its database. I guess it serves as a useful reminder that the goog knows everything, now.

[daily log: walking, 5.5 km]

Caveat: Space Jesters from the Seventh Dimension



Last night I had a strange dream. All dreams are strange, but somehow this dream seemed stranger.

I was in a house that wouldn’t stay level. It was a run-down, wooden house in a rainy place – maybe Ketchikan, Alaska, or Craig, Alaska, where my uncle lives. It could have been Valdivia, in Chile, where I studied in 1994, which has a similar maritime temperate rainforest climate. The house would begin to tilt, slowly, and I would have to go out into the rain and put concrete blocks under one corner or another to prevent it from tilting further.

Inside the house, there was no furniture. There was sawdust in the corners, and the floorboards were badly spaced, so you could feel the cool air rising between the cracks. I had a roll-out set of blankets for the floor where I slept (a Korean-style bed – this is how I actually sleep). I had a little kerosene stove for cooking, but it was fidgety to control and all I had to cook was ramyeon (Korean ramen noodles) and a brass saucepan.

I was trying to hold hagwon class in this tilting house. It was going OK, except occasionally men on horses would gallop past the house in the rain, and the thundering of the horses’ hooves would tend to send the house tilting moreso than it did normally, forcing me to interrupt class so I could put more concrete blocks under the house. I tried to get the students to help, but they refused to go out into the rain.

There was a landlord, a grumpy old man, who would come by occasionally and yell if the house was too tilted. He’d tell me it was my responsibility to keep the house level. I didn’t really agree with that, but I also didn’t like trying to teach class in a tilted house, so I did my best to keep the house level.

I have a student name Chaewon – she is a student of mine at Karma. She is a diminutive girl in only second grade of elementary, and I worry about her a lot because she has a slightly unusual situation: she lived, until last Spring, with her parents in Abu Dhabi, where she attended an English-speaking kindergarten. As a result, she in fact knows English almost perfectly, but she somehow got behind on literacy, and she is basically unable to read or write in English. We’re trying to help her, but meanwhile she is mostly struggling with the fact she has to learn Korean now, because before she was only learning it from her parents. It’s a linguistic minefield for her, but, like most kids that age, she has the natural ability to adapt to it. She’ll end up fully bilingual if given the chance. She has a very forceful personality, and she tends not to use the correct honorifics in Korean with her elders (older peers or teachers) so all the Korean teachers complain that she is rude. I am certain it’s a linguistic issue, not a social maladaptation.

She was in the dream, and she came up to me and pulled on my sleeve as I struggled in the rain to push a concrete block under a corner of the titlting house. She said to me, “The space jesters from the seventh dimension are coming.”

I was alarmed, and turned around. Somehow, in the dream, I knew who these “space jesters” were and it was definitely bad news. Just then a group of the men on horses galloped past, splashing mud and making so much noise that further conversation was impossible. Chaewon was wide-eyed and fearful-looking.

I took her inside, and found all my other students were missing. My old friend Ken was sitting like a Buddha in the middle of the floor (this is not my recent coworker Ken, but an old college roommate of the same name, whom I haven’t seen in more than 20 years). I asked him if he’d seen any “space jesters.” He pointed to the wall. I looked closely, and there was a cartoon-style painting on cardstock pinned to the wall. Rainwater was oozing down the wall from a leak in the ceiling, making the characters seem to move and waver as the ink in the painting was diluted and blurred.

Chaewon pulled my sleeve, and I turned back. Ken was throwing my ramyeon out the window. I yelled, but he scrambled out after the packets he had thrown, and was gone.

Some student’s mother showed up, peering in the open door. She was holding a newspaper over her head, from the rain. She spoke to me in Korean and I didn’t understand.

I turned back to Chaewon, and she was disappearing into the painting on the wall. I woke up.

[daily log: walking, 2 km]