Rant. Not *entirely* safe for work.

Huuuuuu, have I got a temper on me. (Cue my family deadpanning a "You don't say?")

So, first of all, camp. In January I'm going to have to lead a four-day camp twice. We'll be using the same camp both times, so I just have 16 hours of lessons to plan. I was told that I should pick a theme, and prepare fun activities for the kids to do. Now, silly Lauren, I assumed that being given almost no direction or guidance meant that I had pretty broad freedom to plan what I wanted, with the normal expectations regarding cost, safety and appropriateness.

*Excuse me while I go laugh hysterically for a bit. And I'm using the original definition of hysteria there. (Well, not the one about women being sexually unfulfilled, I guess, but the "emotionally unhinged" one.)*

Ok, I'm back. As it turns out, there were all sorts of expectations on camp! Like, really incredibly detailed wants and expectations. Which I was supposed to know psychically! Now, for one thing, my idea of "fun educational activities" is apparently totally off. Because, in my mind, both of those descriptors are valid. Here, though, I'm apparently expected to just preside over absolute chaos, as the students (fifth and sixth graders!) finger paint, make sandwiches on their desks, and play with balloons.

Those aren't me being snide. Those are real things that I apparently should have planned for these adolescents.

I planned a Eurorail themed camp with cross-curricular activities. The plan is to make passports and then "travel" to different countries. In Hungary we'll do paper art, in Sweden we'll learn about the Aurora Borealis, in Spain we'll make tapas, and so on. I was pretty darn pleased with what I created. I thought it was educational, interesting, mostly fun. I was excited to teach it and I thought the kids would like it, too.

Here's the thing. I don't buy into the whole "learning should be super fun all the time" educational concept. I think learning should be interesting, compelling, rewarding... and often fun, sure. But the sad fact of life is that life is not super happy fun times all the time. Life is waiting in line, buying the boring healthy cereal, staring at your horrible work computer as it takes three minutes to complete a google search, and so on. So yeah, sorry kids, but sometimes you have to sit through three minutes of boring exposition so that you can have the context to justify spending an hour-and-a-half building castles and then staging battles. I think the trade-off is pretty fair, but apparently those kids are going to just slit their wrists from the boredom of taking a second to consider whether a square is stronger than a circle and why.

And here's the other thing. If what was wanted was a totally fun camp totally lacking in any sort of pedagogical justification, I could have planned that camp. I would have rolled my eyes, but I would have planned it because I'm used to just doing what I'm told after this many years abroad. But don't tell me that I can do whatever I want, and that it should be nicely educational, and then expect balloon volleyball. I have a damned degree in this stuff, and you never let me use it, so don't tease me with that carrot and then replace the carrot with disorganized, non-contextualized finger painting.

Ok. So that's camp. Why don't you go get a nice cup of tea?

Then there is my landlady. Who is totally spying on me, because she has sent me messages stating exactly how often and, much more creepily, at what hours certain people are in my flat. With those messages has come the statement that she knows that Americans have more flexible morality, but that I'm in Korea now, and that I would do well to pay attention to Korean standards of morality. (She also flipped out because I lent a chair to my neighbor. Which, I mean, I paid a freaking enormous security deposit, so if the chair gets damaged, take it out of that.)

So I'm fairly certain that she's been coming into my flat without warning or permission. Which is totally not allowed, even here. At the very least, she is watching the CCTV for me like a hawk.

Regardless, she is not my mother, nor my priest. So what I do (quietly and in a nondisruptive fashion) in my own apartment is none of her business. I could have ten people in here having orgies, and as long as we don't disturb the neighbors or break the furniture, she can go suck it. So, yes, there is one gentleman caller over here somewhat often now. If that makes her so angry, and if she cares so much about some misguided morality, then she shouldn't rent to foreigners! Problem solved! In the meantime, I'll go about having my sweet and non-scandalous relationship, and please leave me alone, crazy witch.

I'm willing to bet so much money that she hasn't said a word to my male Korean neighbor who watches really loud porn and masturbates loudly at all random hours of the day and night. I despise the foreigner/female double standard so much.

One last thing. I promise.

My coworkers are forcing me to teach singing. Not to use songs to teach vocabulary or do exercises, but just to spend one forty-minute lesson learning a single Christmas pop song. As one friend figured out, that's going to be, at a conservative estimate, 220 minutes of Mariah Carey. Nobody should have to live through that. I explained that I wasn't comfortable teaching singing, and maybe they could lead the lesson, or we could watch a movie, but no. Nope. They want me to do it. And it has to be singing, and it has to be pop Christmas music, not even proper carols.

I have not asked to not do a single thing all school year. You'd think the one time I do that request would be honored, but you'd be mistaken.

I'm so angry today. It's beautiful outside. The snow is falling in big flakes that flock the trees. But even that can't cheer me up.