a-ha moment

Every so often when you're learning a new subject, you hit those times when you realize you already know more than you thought. Like when you're playing the guitar and realize an E chord is simply an A minor one string up. Or when you learn how electron patterns repeat throughout the periodic table.

In Korean, it's pretty freaking cool when you start reading Hangul efficiently enough that you realize how much of at least the commercial signage is based off English words. Hence, I suddenly can order an "orenjee ju-suh," catch a "boos-uh," watch "tel-lebeejon," wear a "suweto," use a "compyooto," tell people I'm not from "Kae-na-da."

Just like in Spanish, bunches of English words have been appropriated and squashed into native sounds (Koreanized) ... you just have to know what to look and listen for. Often, it's mostly absent "R's" and an "-uh" or "-ee" sound attached to the end of a word. (In fact, I'm quickly picking up the nickname "Mahshy.") It all gives me an even deeper appreciation for English-language learners who by and large have no such quick fixes. I will never be fluent in Korean, but I think I just jumped a lightyear toward that goal by simply learning how to recognize words from my own language.

TPR 101

Today was the day I've been waiting for. After a week of unyielding rain, the skies had at least temporarily plugged up and left the city in a temperate haze. Okay, so maybe not quite the perfect conditions for trying out my newest Korean small talk: "Nashiga chosumnida" ("Nice weather"). But tomorrow could very well be back to steaming or more rain ... so my next shot could be in April - heck if I wasn't going to bust it out.

Pay attention class, this is an example of education giant James Asher's Total Physical Response theory (basically that language should be learned in physical, real-world scenarios) in action:

It starts at breakfast, when I "Nashiga chosumnida" the attendant. Then the maid washing the windows on the way out of the hotel. I "Nashiga chosumnida" the bus driver (whose English is improving a lot more quickly than my Korean), and the linguistic-major Romanians within earshot giggle. The lunch ladies. I make a special "Nashiga chosumnida" outing during break, delivering the day's weather report to a handful of shops near the college.

Nashiga nashiga nashiga. Asher's got nothing on me. Bring it on, baby - I'll "Nashiga chosumnida" this whole country before the rain returns.

And in good Korean fashion, they all smile and nod, more or less amused with the crazy American who's suddenly decided to turn meteorologist.

Or at least that's what I think they're smiling at ...

Funny, no one seems to be returning with the "Yes, that's right" statement on my recording ... don't they know the script? Am I in the right country? ... Hmm. Better pocket this one for now until I can hit a dictionary or talk to someone to get a translation ...

And upon further investigation, it appears that I have in fact been telling everyone something to the effect of "You good pigeon." Or perhaps "Your sister's grandson well."

Friggin' Asher.

Oh well, it's supposed to rain tomorrow.

stamps and hand cramps

The world's roads are lined in paper.

I am in the middle of killing a small forest to convince my country, my host country, two sets of employers, my grad school, my bank and my property managers that no, I am not an drug dealer or communist spy, and yes, my plan is a flawless one. The first bits I'm fairly certain on, at least.

Hollywood keeps promising an era where one iris scan and a few keystrokes will give you access to anywhere you're authorized, but I'm telling ya, people, we are far from that day. This is still a world of fuzzy faxes and nonstandard passport photos. Oh well, at least the countries I'm dealing with this time have straightforward procedures, if not exactly simple ones. And if something goes wrong, I suppose I could always try that whole "look into my eyes" thing at customs.

And then there's the decidedly disconcerting feeling of signing your life away on papers that look like a muddy-footed robin tromped on them. Don't worry - the hangul (Korean script) is only in logos or accompanied by English translations - but it's still downright bizarre to think this garbledy-gook actually means something. The first time someone sent me an e-mail with hangul terms, I burst out laughing. It was as if someone had said, quite earnestly, "Oh you have to try awjvoeksoflkf... and the poekjvoek is really great but skip the slkdfov ... oh and don't miss the fjowebvo with lots of rejobiejof." Except weirder, because they're symbols that I can't even sound out yet, so they don't seem like words at all. (One of the actual quotes: "I want to recommend that you have to have korea food such as 삽겹살, 불고 기, 김치, 비빔밥.")

Anyway, the journey of a thousand miles begins with one dead tree, so I better get back to it.