19. This novel is out of sight better than that novel.

20. Apples better than pears.

-Moon

I don't have a mantra, and am somewhat wary of people who do. I can't imagine having one phrase upon which I quietly (or not so much) chant or mutter through all the events of my life. Sounds restricting, no? One all-encompassing phrase? I don't think I could. At the same time, I envy them. I assume qualities about them, qualities that I lack myself: that they more diligently practice what I fail to. In my mind, not only do they possess an admirable amount of focus and self-discipline, they have also managed to simplify their interests so as to capitalize on what they love the most.

(If you're tempted at this point, or any point in skimming through this post, to offer up your mantra in the comment section, please make sure first that it's a good one; this may well be the internet, but I can still read what you're saying.)

I believe a lot of things, and dwell on them as often as I can in the course of my days. Subsequently, I love and am troubled by many things. It's harrowing to feel, however, that the most I do is think about such things to myself and act like a normal human being otherwise. And many people have expressed concern that I think too much, which I never really understood. Perhaps if I had a mantra to delineate my every response, they wouldn't worry about me so much. Perhaps if I had a mantra upon which to delineate my every response, then my worrying would be suppressed. Perhaps, instead, I should be faithful. I'm trying.

One of questions I asked my Intermediate students this week is What do you wish you could change? As they consider this, I like to expand the question to How would you change your life? and How should the world be different? I realize these questions are, for many reasons, somewhat unfair to ask, but teaching has to be fun somehow, sometimes, doesn't it? (I'm just kidding; teaching is already always fun.) I ask these questions not only to allow them to demonstrate various tenses and key phrases we practiced in class, but to allow them to talk about something that they care about. Perhaps they'll share their mantras, and briefly forget the anxiety and restrictions of learning a new language. Perhaps they will want to share what they dwell on only when they're alone and would love to talk about, am suppressed to talk about, but are so busy acting like normal human beings.

When can a professor be angry at students?

The students' answer, invariably, is never. "A professor doesn't have to angry at students." over and over again on the first unit quiz. And so, I'm trying. It's mid-term week at Kosin, which is really illogical if you think about it; why subject the students to examinations in all of their classes in the same week? Why, it makes them tough! Adam, Elijah, Ashley and I have schedules full of conducting interviews with our students and my question is: if a student comes in from the weekend, shaking from nerves and the crippling anxiety to perform and produce good grades and can't utter a complete sentence (in their case, from practicing their answers to the list of example questions provided the week before)... if all of this, and they admit that they did not study, or studied for ten minutes, do you get angry and promptly kick them out of the office? Do you laugh quietly, nod your head, and watch them squirm through an uncomfortable four minutes?

Question: How are you?

Answer: ... ...

Question: Nervous?

Answer: ... (nods head)

Q: Did you study?

A: ... ... (shakes head)

What I'm saying is, if you have the sheet of questions beforehand, you have absolutely no excuse to falter. (I'd go so far as to say you have no excuse to lose any points.) There's a space that Adam and I have provided before the exam to calm the students down and quell any debilitating nerves (hopefully), but again: if the student is unable to glance back into our eyes and speak at an audible volume at the end of the semester, who can say that they should pass the class?

I remember a professor begging our class to actually read all of the assigned material, to think through our individual response and struggle with the content. His concession to this outrageous request was that reading questions/prompts were not assigned. Oh, do you remember? I remember complaining to several of you of this--that the professor felt he actually had to ask his students to do the reading for the class.

Party Down has taught me many things--one of which is that you can't really be good at something you don't care about. This is fine. I don't think every Korean student really needs to learn English, as much as I love the language. (Perhaps they do, if what I'm being told is correct; that any college-grad needs English qualifications to even hope for a "good job.") I teach four Global English classes, which are for non-English majors to fulfill Kosin's mandate for English immersion, or exposure at the very least. It's been made clear by an amount of students in each class that they don't care. I think that's OK. They're old enough to think through their decisions, but not caring means accepting that a bad grade will be administered, maybe a failing grade, if one doesn't practice the language. The gall of these kids, I tell you. But back the question: When can a professor be angry at students?

It's trickier than it seems--to say that adverbs give more detail regarding how or why something is done (and add an -ly to the end) isn't easy, but the students practice persistently. And then I come across this gem:

I really don't like my sister, because she treats me sillily sometimes.

Hmm. Darn.

More:

I hate to eat pumpkin gruel because I ate it in childhood but I brought up it. (vomit) -K

You really hate bugs--kind of like spiders, moths, grigs because they're crawly. -Peach

My friends hate me so much because I'm more beautiful than they. -Esther

My boyfriend dislikes taller people than himself. Because he has a lot of greed for height. -Hani

Hahahahahah!

This post is a reprise, or a "That's what he said," of Elijah's a few days ago. Except for the drunken fight, everybody seemed to be in good spirits. And who wouldn't be?

--Blogspot is terrible for viewing images. Click for more better.

A lot of foreigner jerks take their table at a cafe for hours and hours to watch people and sip their much-too-expensive coffee (who do they think is impressed?) and--this is the good part--occasionally scribble something in a notebook with a thoughtful look molded on their faces. Even if I confidently spit out a few Korean phrases in a timbre that has been described "like a voice actor's" every once in a while, make no mistake: I am one of those foreigner jerks. And the coffee usually really is very expensive.

There are no binding rules in the journal(s). A dry exchange with interesting rhythm, a description of something or someone intriguing, or--most often--a prompt that may or may not be expanded and explore further if revisited.

And then you read something on the internet and wonder how to proceed because this jerk basically already did it, and did it better than you would have. The persistence and anger is equivalent to hating the new Christopher Nolan movie because you basically had that same idea a few years ago whenever. (Hahaha.)

Dispatches from Adjunct Faculty at a Large State University. (McSweeney's)

"One reason we're funny is, we keep tryin' and tryin', meeting infrequently for just an hour at a time, to profess something of value to a diverse and often large audience, who may not have had enough interest in the subject to look into it on their own, and who, over the previous 12 to 16 years of their educational lives, may have developed an antipathy to schedules, textbooks, the English language, teachers who remind them of their plumber fathers, and the screech of chalk on slate." --Oronte Churm

So without shame, I spake: I will be wise, and just, and free, and mild, if in me lies such power, for I grow weary to behold the selfish and the strong still tyrannise without reproach or check. I then controuled my tears, my heart grew calm, and I was meek and bold.

Percy Bysshe Shelley from the dedication to Laon and Cythna.

I wrote this on the board today in my Intermediate English Conversation class--my most advanced class because the unit in the book that we would have covered today was in regards to what we want to do, how we want to be different. My most confident students, the outspoken ones, the ones that have lived abroad, asked me, "Why are we doing this? It's too hard. I can't think through this." and I felt at home, struggling through a passage from literature class. "You wrote spake instead of spoke... and you spelled controlled wrong."

And then we explored what was there: why the quotation begins with so, and what it means to respond; what it means to be just, and mild; what powers lie within our own selves, and when they are revealed; when and why we grow weary; who the selfish and strong are, and what they are tasked to do; that controlling tears means to stop crying and be at peace in conviction. Perhaps this passage was too difficult, but we worked through it as a class and within groups and as a class again, and struggling to understand is not exactly discouraged in a classroom.

And we talked about tyranny, and its many forms, and how we respond to it. How, then, do we respond to goodness and beauty?

Larger themes, sure, than "If I had ______, then I would/could _______ ." but I thought, every once in a while, that I should allow the conversation to wander towards something not incessant and benign. I don't really mean this. My primary argument for putting my students through the a glimpse of the glory that is Mr. Shelley was that I firmly believe good teachers show why they love what they're teaching, and why it's worth toiling through.