Thursday, June 30, 2005
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
JOURNAL: Countdown to Lift-Off
I am officially leaving for Seoul on July 3rd. Gosh, that's not very far away.... I will be flying United; hopefully, there is no more cause for a strike before I get on the plane. The very helpful and sweet lady I have been working with commented that it was very difficult to get a flight for that time of day (noon), and that she wasn't quite sure why. I thoughtfully informed her that there was a large national holiday and that all of the U.S.A. will be trying to fly out. It is a direct flight, but I'm sure some Korean ex-pats will be trying to take advantage of free vacation days to visit loved ones. Of course, the real trick will be to get to SFO before 8am.
I am entering this change with my eyes wide open and my ears perked. There are so many accounts out there about bad experiences in hakwons (private English institutes), though, and I would be a fool not to take them into account. About 10 years ago, the embassy issued a warning against hakwons. I found very few positive reviews, and people have been through some horrible experiences. As I began reading these accounts, however, it occured to me that there was a pattern in many cases. First of all, several of the complaints from English teachers were written in poor English with poor spelling. Now, we all (myself included) have some leeway when documenting on the Internet, but some of these teachers seemed to be pushing the envelope a bit in regards to proper grammar. Secondly, it became obvious that there was a definate element of culture shock at work. Many of the teachers didn't understand the Confucian hierarchy system, which, upon seeing some of the things going on, began to click inside my head. Hakwons are businesses, not schools, and the director is boss and virtually unapproachable. There needs to be a certain element of flexibility whenever working outside one's comfort zone (arrggh, I just used a cliche!). Thirdly, many of the horror stories were, in fact, completely legitimate, and shame on the schools that broke contracts, regulations, and spoken promises! Having said that, I can't honestly say it is any different in the United States (Governor Schwartznegger, take note). I am entering this strange new world with a generous helping of fear, a modicum of trepidation, and a whole barrel of excitement. My purpose is to find an adventure; I could have played it safe in Europe or China, but that wouldn't have been as fun, now would it?
I trust, tentatively at least, the recruiter I have been working with; my gut instinct (usually trustworthy) from the start was that they are honest and have our (the teachers) best interests at heart. They are an American-registered agency (the owners are Korean-American), and seem to be on top of things. Still, I get nervous when certain issues came up, the latest being the school's need for my original diploma to register with the Seoul Metropolitan Board of Education; I figure, if they accidentally-on-purpose "lose" it, I can always get another from my alma mater. Anyway, I googled this government agency, and found out it was, indeed, legit. Moreover, it is one of the few government support groups if a foreigner (me) has a dispute with the school.
As for the school, there have been a few minor problems listed on a forum(and one major), but, as I understand it, they have hired a sort of "cultural liasion" to help deal with what gets lost in translation, so to speak. The school has not been officially or unofficially blacklisted, so I guess that is good. The sorts of complaints about the school listed, I have decided, I can live with. They pay on time and accurately, which most other schools do not "remember" to do.
I think I am just going to have to get over my natural American distrust of people. Seoul is a pretty safe city (except, perversely, around the American military base). I know that I will stick out pretty drastically, being dark blonde, blue-eyed, and less-than-svelte, but I have had 29 years to get used to that; I am not sure if I am up to the idea of the public baths, however. As far as safety, in one of the cultural guides I read, the writer suggested not to panic if, on a crowded bus, a seated person grabs your bag (if you are standing) and holds onto it for you during your journey; he is meaning to be helpful, not a thief. Hmmm....That will take some flexibility on my part.
I am entering this change with my eyes wide open and my ears perked. There are so many accounts out there about bad experiences in hakwons (private English institutes), though, and I would be a fool not to take them into account. About 10 years ago, the embassy issued a warning against hakwons. I found very few positive reviews, and people have been through some horrible experiences. As I began reading these accounts, however, it occured to me that there was a pattern in many cases. First of all, several of the complaints from English teachers were written in poor English with poor spelling. Now, we all (myself included) have some leeway when documenting on the Internet, but some of these teachers seemed to be pushing the envelope a bit in regards to proper grammar. Secondly, it became obvious that there was a definate element of culture shock at work. Many of the teachers didn't understand the Confucian hierarchy system, which, upon seeing some of the things going on, began to click inside my head. Hakwons are businesses, not schools, and the director is boss and virtually unapproachable. There needs to be a certain element of flexibility whenever working outside one's comfort zone (arrggh, I just used a cliche!). Thirdly, many of the horror stories were, in fact, completely legitimate, and shame on the schools that broke contracts, regulations, and spoken promises! Having said that, I can't honestly say it is any different in the United States (Governor Schwartznegger, take note). I am entering this strange new world with a generous helping of fear, a modicum of trepidation, and a whole barrel of excitement. My purpose is to find an adventure; I could have played it safe in Europe or China, but that wouldn't have been as fun, now would it?
I trust, tentatively at least, the recruiter I have been working with; my gut instinct (usually trustworthy) from the start was that they are honest and have our (the teachers) best interests at heart. They are an American-registered agency (the owners are Korean-American), and seem to be on top of things. Still, I get nervous when certain issues came up, the latest being the school's need for my original diploma to register with the Seoul Metropolitan Board of Education; I figure, if they accidentally-on-purpose "lose" it, I can always get another from my alma mater. Anyway, I googled this government agency, and found out it was, indeed, legit. Moreover, it is one of the few government support groups if a foreigner (me) has a dispute with the school.
As for the school, there have been a few minor problems listed on a forum(and one major), but, as I understand it, they have hired a sort of "cultural liasion" to help deal with what gets lost in translation, so to speak. The school has not been officially or unofficially blacklisted, so I guess that is good. The sorts of complaints about the school listed, I have decided, I can live with. They pay on time and accurately, which most other schools do not "remember" to do.
I think I am just going to have to get over my natural American distrust of people. Seoul is a pretty safe city (except, perversely, around the American military base). I know that I will stick out pretty drastically, being dark blonde, blue-eyed, and less-than-svelte, but I have had 29 years to get used to that; I am not sure if I am up to the idea of the public baths, however. As far as safety, in one of the cultural guides I read, the writer suggested not to panic if, on a crowded bus, a seated person grabs your bag (if you are standing) and holds onto it for you during your journey; he is meaning to be helpful, not a thief. Hmmm....That will take some flexibility on my part.
Friday, June 17, 2005
PHOTO: Our Lady Number 2
See "Our Lady" yet? Notice the face, shoulders, and praying hands in the figure?
JOURNAL: Half-Baked In San Francisco
On Tuesday, I took one of my vacation days to obtain my E2 Visa from the Korean Consulate in San Francisco. As I hate driving in "the City," I took BART from Freemont to Powell Street, and exited at Hallidie Plaza. On Monday night (the server was down earlier), I had finally gotten through to the MUNI website to find out which bus route to take to Clay Street (where the Korean Consulate is located), and then discovered that the website was a "work-in-progress." I typed my coordinates three times, and got different routes each time; this did not inspire confidence in the MUNI system or their website, so I decided to ask directions at the Tourist Kiosk in Hallidie Plaza. An older gentleman handed me a map with rather blurry bus routes marked, and gave me reasonably clear directions, but cautioned me that the part of the city on the map that I was going to was a different scale than the rest of the "tourist" section of the map (Embassy row not being a particularly hot tourist area). I thanked the gentleman, and then went on my way.
I bought a cup of coffee on the way to the escalator. I was wearing white and light green, but by the time I got to the top of the escalator, I was wearing white and light green with interesting brown tie-dye spots. As I proceeded to the consulate, I encountered gale-force wind off the Bay, and suddenly realized why the locals wore hair clips. It does not do to dress to impress in San Francisco when one is fashionably attracted to foodstuff and wind.
I was very touched at how friendly the natives were to the tourists (I am not technically a tourist, as I know parts of the city quite well, and live only 30 miles away). A very young German couple boarded the bus, but did not have correct change, only large bills. An elderly Chines lady was sitting in the front seat, and it became clear that she did this habitually. She took out a large rool of $1.00 bills, peeled off the correct change, and proceeded to gently but firmly scold the young couple for their lack of foresight, much like a chattering grandmother would. I doubt they understood all that she said, as her English was poor and the couple did not speak English well, but her tone certainly implied that the couple was foolish and should know better. They stood there with heads bowed and feet scuffling the floor, listening quietly to their lecture. It was all well-intended, but the couple certainly had a story to tell when they returned to Germany I imagine!
I got off, and went to the Consulate. There was no one in line, so I went right up to the counter. The process went smoothly until the agent told me they only accepted cash (not on their website!); I had to leave my passport, go down the hill to the ATM, hike back up, and go back to the counter. A young lady then asked me to come out as I handed the bills to the agent, and asked me politely but firmly to sign in. I was rather embarrased, as I hadn't seen the sign-in log. I finally got everything straight, and was told to come back in 4 1/2 hours to pick up my visa.
The Presidio was a short bus ride away, so I decided to go and try to dig up some information on the Phillipine-American war. To my dismay, all the buildings were closed for renovation. The bookshop and officers club was open, however. I ate at the hippy-style cafe, browsed around, bought a proper map, then left. I began walking randomly, and found myself under Hwy. 101. I consulted my map, and saw that the Golden Gate Bridge was not far away. I looked up from my map, and mentally slapped myself in the head; the Bridge was right in front of me. I meandered along the promenade, passing a marine life sanctuary, Crissy Field, and some other buildings, all closed. The day was warm, clear, and beautiful, but I knew in the back of my head that it was not a good day to have forgotten sunscreen. As I approached Fort Point (directly under the bridge), I saw some very optimistic surfers waiting in the water on a calm Bay. Eventually, a few half-hearted waves did appear, but I wasn't sure it was worth the wait myself.
Fort Point and the bridge trail were also closed, so I began to head back. My back was to the Bay, so I was very startled when I turned around again. I am not sure what made me turn back to the water, but when I did, I almost fell into the Bay. A huge and silent carrier barge was gliding silently, but loomingly, past the bridge. On the side was marked, in large letters, "HYUNDAI." I instinctively knew that the carrier had probably come directly from South Korea; this was definately some kind of sign. I fired off camera shots madly, recognizing the artistic merit of such a photo (see above). I did not actually see it go under the bridge, only the aftermath as it eventually passed Alcatraz Island, presumably to the Port of Oakland.
I stopped at the Warming Hut for a cup of iced tea, and was told that the trail WAS open (just not to tourists was her implication), and to ignore the signs. I could catch a bus at the top of the Golden Gate Bridge. Mentally groaning at the thought of trudging two miles back to the Presidio, I decided, with some trepidation, to climb the steep trail up the cliffside. Actually, it wasn't that strenuous. I passed volunteers replanting native shrubbery (hence the "closed" signs), and found a few other "scofflaws" on the trail. There were some sort of brick doors leading directly into the hill; there were signs saying to stay clear of them, though. There was even a short tunnel under a hill that the trail passed through. I got to the bus depot (running into the ubiquitous Japanese tourists with their cameras at the lookout point), and eventually, after some confusion, caught the correct bus.
I got back to the embassy area about an hour to early, so I killed time in the marvelous "Books, Inc." I can spend hours in independent bookstores if left to my own devices. By this time, however, my feet were killing me, so I sat in Peet's Coffee until it was time.
I got back to the Consulate, signed in (ha, I remembered!), and was told to go to the waiting room. Other people soon began to accumulate, and we decided as a group, after out pick-up appointment time had well-passed, to go up to the agent again. One girl was already up there, and was turned away, so we waited another five minutes. This time, a very friendly middle-aged Korean American took the bull by the horns, and approached the agent. He spoke to him politely in Korean, and the agent rather harshly responded. The man came out of the room with a startled expression, and I asked him what the agent had said. The agent had said, "Go away!"
We all tramped back to the waiting room, and, no sooner had we gotten seated, the loudspeaker called us to pick up our visas!
On my way out, I stopped in the bathroom, rather startlingly decorated in hot pink, and beheld my reflection in the mirror. I think it would be fair to say I had better avoid crustacean-serving restaraunts for a few days. The pink decor did not help my complexion any either. I tidied up as best I could, but my longish hair was hopelessly tangled.
On my ride home, I reflected on my day, and how friendly everyone was. Random strangers greeted me on the street like old friends. Tourists asked me for directions (this always happens wherever I go; I must look like I know where I am going), and one even offered me a ride to the bus depot. I declined, being a sophisticated urban, but the offer was appreciated. I also spoke to a very friendly middle-aged couple from Ohio, and swapped stories of Midwestern winters for a few minutes. I truly appreciate a city that is so very friendly and open to tourists; it is highly unusual.
When I got home, I went immediately for the Solarcaine. I was so badly burned on one side that tiny blisters emerged on my shoulder. My skin is still smarting pretty badly after three days. My face is fading to a nice tan, but my nose is still glowing-hot. I bought sun screen the very next day, and will keep it in my car from now on.
I bought a cup of coffee on the way to the escalator. I was wearing white and light green, but by the time I got to the top of the escalator, I was wearing white and light green with interesting brown tie-dye spots. As I proceeded to the consulate, I encountered gale-force wind off the Bay, and suddenly realized why the locals wore hair clips. It does not do to dress to impress in San Francisco when one is fashionably attracted to foodstuff and wind.
I was very touched at how friendly the natives were to the tourists (I am not technically a tourist, as I know parts of the city quite well, and live only 30 miles away). A very young German couple boarded the bus, but did not have correct change, only large bills. An elderly Chines lady was sitting in the front seat, and it became clear that she did this habitually. She took out a large rool of $1.00 bills, peeled off the correct change, and proceeded to gently but firmly scold the young couple for their lack of foresight, much like a chattering grandmother would. I doubt they understood all that she said, as her English was poor and the couple did not speak English well, but her tone certainly implied that the couple was foolish and should know better. They stood there with heads bowed and feet scuffling the floor, listening quietly to their lecture. It was all well-intended, but the couple certainly had a story to tell when they returned to Germany I imagine!
I got off, and went to the Consulate. There was no one in line, so I went right up to the counter. The process went smoothly until the agent told me they only accepted cash (not on their website!); I had to leave my passport, go down the hill to the ATM, hike back up, and go back to the counter. A young lady then asked me to come out as I handed the bills to the agent, and asked me politely but firmly to sign in. I was rather embarrased, as I hadn't seen the sign-in log. I finally got everything straight, and was told to come back in 4 1/2 hours to pick up my visa.
The Presidio was a short bus ride away, so I decided to go and try to dig up some information on the Phillipine-American war. To my dismay, all the buildings were closed for renovation. The bookshop and officers club was open, however. I ate at the hippy-style cafe, browsed around, bought a proper map, then left. I began walking randomly, and found myself under Hwy. 101. I consulted my map, and saw that the Golden Gate Bridge was not far away. I looked up from my map, and mentally slapped myself in the head; the Bridge was right in front of me. I meandered along the promenade, passing a marine life sanctuary, Crissy Field, and some other buildings, all closed. The day was warm, clear, and beautiful, but I knew in the back of my head that it was not a good day to have forgotten sunscreen. As I approached Fort Point (directly under the bridge), I saw some very optimistic surfers waiting in the water on a calm Bay. Eventually, a few half-hearted waves did appear, but I wasn't sure it was worth the wait myself.
Fort Point and the bridge trail were also closed, so I began to head back. My back was to the Bay, so I was very startled when I turned around again. I am not sure what made me turn back to the water, but when I did, I almost fell into the Bay. A huge and silent carrier barge was gliding silently, but loomingly, past the bridge. On the side was marked, in large letters, "HYUNDAI." I instinctively knew that the carrier had probably come directly from South Korea; this was definately some kind of sign. I fired off camera shots madly, recognizing the artistic merit of such a photo (see above). I did not actually see it go under the bridge, only the aftermath as it eventually passed Alcatraz Island, presumably to the Port of Oakland.
I stopped at the Warming Hut for a cup of iced tea, and was told that the trail WAS open (just not to tourists was her implication), and to ignore the signs. I could catch a bus at the top of the Golden Gate Bridge. Mentally groaning at the thought of trudging two miles back to the Presidio, I decided, with some trepidation, to climb the steep trail up the cliffside. Actually, it wasn't that strenuous. I passed volunteers replanting native shrubbery (hence the "closed" signs), and found a few other "scofflaws" on the trail. There were some sort of brick doors leading directly into the hill; there were signs saying to stay clear of them, though. There was even a short tunnel under a hill that the trail passed through. I got to the bus depot (running into the ubiquitous Japanese tourists with their cameras at the lookout point), and eventually, after some confusion, caught the correct bus.
I got back to the embassy area about an hour to early, so I killed time in the marvelous "Books, Inc." I can spend hours in independent bookstores if left to my own devices. By this time, however, my feet were killing me, so I sat in Peet's Coffee until it was time.
I got back to the Consulate, signed in (ha, I remembered!), and was told to go to the waiting room. Other people soon began to accumulate, and we decided as a group, after out pick-up appointment time had well-passed, to go up to the agent again. One girl was already up there, and was turned away, so we waited another five minutes. This time, a very friendly middle-aged Korean American took the bull by the horns, and approached the agent. He spoke to him politely in Korean, and the agent rather harshly responded. The man came out of the room with a startled expression, and I asked him what the agent had said. The agent had said, "Go away!"
We all tramped back to the waiting room, and, no sooner had we gotten seated, the loudspeaker called us to pick up our visas!
On my way out, I stopped in the bathroom, rather startlingly decorated in hot pink, and beheld my reflection in the mirror. I think it would be fair to say I had better avoid crustacean-serving restaraunts for a few days. The pink decor did not help my complexion any either. I tidied up as best I could, but my longish hair was hopelessly tangled.
On my ride home, I reflected on my day, and how friendly everyone was. Random strangers greeted me on the street like old friends. Tourists asked me for directions (this always happens wherever I go; I must look like I know where I am going), and one even offered me a ride to the bus depot. I declined, being a sophisticated urban, but the offer was appreciated. I also spoke to a very friendly middle-aged couple from Ohio, and swapped stories of Midwestern winters for a few minutes. I truly appreciate a city that is so very friendly and open to tourists; it is highly unusual.
When I got home, I went immediately for the Solarcaine. I was so badly burned on one side that tiny blisters emerged on my shoulder. My skin is still smarting pretty badly after three days. My face is fading to a nice tan, but my nose is still glowing-hot. I bought sun screen the very next day, and will keep it in my car from now on.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
JOURNAL: The Witch of Fox Point
I'm back; I have been very busy, but will be able to update more consistently now, I hope.
As I was walking through the thick woods at Los Trancos Regional Park, I had a sudden flashback to a rather spooky house I had visited many years ago as a young adult (not that I am exactly ancient now!). I must have been in my late teens/early twenties when my then-boyfriend convinced me to make a trip to the "Witch of Fox Point's House" one Halloween. I had visited the house before with my father, and had noted it's eccentric sculputres, but did not immediately link this to the "witch" story. Perhaps a bit more explanation is needed before I continue my story.
The wealthy suburbs of Milwaukee are comprised of rather pretentious, but well landscaped mansion blocks of houses. Well-groomed people walk well-groomed pets, and overdressed children play frantically, if less than enthusiastically, under the watchful eyes of their trophy-wife mothers. There is a certain artificial charm to these suburbs, but, one feels, also a dreary sameness and conformity to an ideal of what should be the life of the wealthy, rather than what is. I often wondered what went on behind the closed doors; when a nonconformist, but well-bred person such as myself encountered such people, I often sensed a certain emptiness and deep depression. People would often strike out at me socially through the dreaded "shunning"; I was present, but didn't exist. I often wondered what frightened these noveau riche families into complacent conformity. In one of these neighborhoods on Lake Michigan (Sheboygan) one non-conformist DID live out her life, but in quiet seclusion and aparent contentment.
My boyfriend at the time was from one of the up-and-coming families from that area; not quite rich, but definately upper-middle class. Like many people in the area, he was materialistic, lived largely, and rather narrowly focused on how to acquire "more stuff." One of his favorite activities was to drive through Sheboygan and gawk at the mega-houses on Lake Drive. He also knew people who lived there, and on this particular Halloween night, decided to use this acquaintanceship to get close to the Witch of Fox Point's house. The police patrol the area rather stringently (don't want the "wrong" folks around), but mercifully did not see us. His friend, as it turned out, had moved out of the area.
The house is set back from the road and surrounded by a tall hurricane fence. It is well shaded by large droopy trees, and has its own piece of Lake Michigan shore. There are masses and masses of rather groteque, but strangely compelling, sculptures dotting the yard. Human faces grin and animalistic forms rise up out of the landscape in startling ways. At night, these concrete humanoid statues appear to glow in the moonlight, no doubt adding to the "witches" legend. There is one larger-than-life grinning face atop a small torso that is really quite arresting; there is also a grinning dinosaur (for lack of a better description) rearing up fiercely. The sculptures complement the landscape in an odd sort of way; to move them off the property, as some art-haters have suggested (see commentary below), would cause them to lose some of their charm.
Well, my boyfriend began to tell the tale of the "Witch of Fox Point" as he had heard it from his friends. The old lady who lived in seclusion on the property had been a debutante from a rich lawyer's family, and had married the love of her life; in due time, she had also had a child by him as well. One clear moonlit night, the husband and his small child had decided to go out on Lake Michigan in a small boat for a cruise. No one knows what happened next, but the husband and child never returned. Some speculated that he had left his wife, others speculated that they had drowned. The woman slowly but steadily went mad and began making the sculptures of children to replace the one that she had lost. She was also said to wait in the moonlight on the beach for her lost husband and child to come home.
As my friend told his story, we cautiously peeked through the fence from the car. Disembodied faces of concrete leered back at us, and the sound of Lake Michigan's gentle waves echoed through the landscape. I felt, at the time, a great nostalgia for something indefinable. The feeling did not leave me for a long time, even after we drove away. I dearly wanted to meet the old woman, and hear her story from her own lips. I never got the chance.
Mary Nohl's story isn't nearly as romantic as it was told to me, but it is a remarkable one in it's own right. Ms. Nohl studied art at the Art Institute of Chicago, but chose to create her sculptures in a whimsical folk style. She never married; I like to think that the scultpures were her children. She taught art for several years, and then, with a comfortable inheritence, settled into the beach house in Fox Point. By all accounts, she lived frugally and quietly. An interview with her in the late seventies reveals a fiery and independent spirit, and a woman much amused by her "witch" reputation. "Vandals and hooligans" often played vicious pranks, such as setting small fires and stealing her sculptures. At one point, Ms. Nohl spelled out the word "BOO" with pebbles in concrete on her doorstep. She also chained down the sculptures. She passed away in December of 2002, and left the house to a non-profit group, as well as over 11 million dollars to charities and art funds (all of this information can be accessed through the sites below).
Now, the house is on the endangered Historical Landmarks list; a certain group of residents do not care to have their pseudo-gated community mentality disturbed by commoners (or, heaven-forbid, artists!). It will be interesting to see how the brewing "war" plays out. I sincerely hope that someone out there steps up and defends the estate and work of this remarkable artist. It kills me to think that her house might be moved, or even razed. Thinking members of the community will appreciate the acknowledgement of their beautiful piece of lakeshore; fortunately, the majority of the residents do recognize the value of having a unique piece of architecture in their neighborhood.
A good link to other links on Mary Nohl is:
nesaddictions.com/nohl01.htm
Photos of the house:
http://www.interestingideas.com/roadside/wisc/nohl/nohl1.htm
http://www.agilitynut.com/h/nohl.html
The museum "war":
http://www.knowledgeplex.org/news/76054.html?p=1
http://www.kohlerfoundation.org/new_NohlSite.html
As I was walking through the thick woods at Los Trancos Regional Park, I had a sudden flashback to a rather spooky house I had visited many years ago as a young adult (not that I am exactly ancient now!). I must have been in my late teens/early twenties when my then-boyfriend convinced me to make a trip to the "Witch of Fox Point's House" one Halloween. I had visited the house before with my father, and had noted it's eccentric sculputres, but did not immediately link this to the "witch" story. Perhaps a bit more explanation is needed before I continue my story.
The wealthy suburbs of Milwaukee are comprised of rather pretentious, but well landscaped mansion blocks of houses. Well-groomed people walk well-groomed pets, and overdressed children play frantically, if less than enthusiastically, under the watchful eyes of their trophy-wife mothers. There is a certain artificial charm to these suburbs, but, one feels, also a dreary sameness and conformity to an ideal of what should be the life of the wealthy, rather than what is. I often wondered what went on behind the closed doors; when a nonconformist, but well-bred person such as myself encountered such people, I often sensed a certain emptiness and deep depression. People would often strike out at me socially through the dreaded "shunning"; I was present, but didn't exist. I often wondered what frightened these noveau riche families into complacent conformity. In one of these neighborhoods on Lake Michigan (Sheboygan) one non-conformist DID live out her life, but in quiet seclusion and aparent contentment.
My boyfriend at the time was from one of the up-and-coming families from that area; not quite rich, but definately upper-middle class. Like many people in the area, he was materialistic, lived largely, and rather narrowly focused on how to acquire "more stuff." One of his favorite activities was to drive through Sheboygan and gawk at the mega-houses on Lake Drive. He also knew people who lived there, and on this particular Halloween night, decided to use this acquaintanceship to get close to the Witch of Fox Point's house. The police patrol the area rather stringently (don't want the "wrong" folks around), but mercifully did not see us. His friend, as it turned out, had moved out of the area.
The house is set back from the road and surrounded by a tall hurricane fence. It is well shaded by large droopy trees, and has its own piece of Lake Michigan shore. There are masses and masses of rather groteque, but strangely compelling, sculptures dotting the yard. Human faces grin and animalistic forms rise up out of the landscape in startling ways. At night, these concrete humanoid statues appear to glow in the moonlight, no doubt adding to the "witches" legend. There is one larger-than-life grinning face atop a small torso that is really quite arresting; there is also a grinning dinosaur (for lack of a better description) rearing up fiercely. The sculptures complement the landscape in an odd sort of way; to move them off the property, as some art-haters have suggested (see commentary below), would cause them to lose some of their charm.
Well, my boyfriend began to tell the tale of the "Witch of Fox Point" as he had heard it from his friends. The old lady who lived in seclusion on the property had been a debutante from a rich lawyer's family, and had married the love of her life; in due time, she had also had a child by him as well. One clear moonlit night, the husband and his small child had decided to go out on Lake Michigan in a small boat for a cruise. No one knows what happened next, but the husband and child never returned. Some speculated that he had left his wife, others speculated that they had drowned. The woman slowly but steadily went mad and began making the sculptures of children to replace the one that she had lost. She was also said to wait in the moonlight on the beach for her lost husband and child to come home.
As my friend told his story, we cautiously peeked through the fence from the car. Disembodied faces of concrete leered back at us, and the sound of Lake Michigan's gentle waves echoed through the landscape. I felt, at the time, a great nostalgia for something indefinable. The feeling did not leave me for a long time, even after we drove away. I dearly wanted to meet the old woman, and hear her story from her own lips. I never got the chance.
Mary Nohl's story isn't nearly as romantic as it was told to me, but it is a remarkable one in it's own right. Ms. Nohl studied art at the Art Institute of Chicago, but chose to create her sculptures in a whimsical folk style. She never married; I like to think that the scultpures were her children. She taught art for several years, and then, with a comfortable inheritence, settled into the beach house in Fox Point. By all accounts, she lived frugally and quietly. An interview with her in the late seventies reveals a fiery and independent spirit, and a woman much amused by her "witch" reputation. "Vandals and hooligans" often played vicious pranks, such as setting small fires and stealing her sculptures. At one point, Ms. Nohl spelled out the word "BOO" with pebbles in concrete on her doorstep. She also chained down the sculptures. She passed away in December of 2002, and left the house to a non-profit group, as well as over 11 million dollars to charities and art funds (all of this information can be accessed through the sites below).
Now, the house is on the endangered Historical Landmarks list; a certain group of residents do not care to have their pseudo-gated community mentality disturbed by commoners (or, heaven-forbid, artists!). It will be interesting to see how the brewing "war" plays out. I sincerely hope that someone out there steps up and defends the estate and work of this remarkable artist. It kills me to think that her house might be moved, or even razed. Thinking members of the community will appreciate the acknowledgement of their beautiful piece of lakeshore; fortunately, the majority of the residents do recognize the value of having a unique piece of architecture in their neighborhood.
A good link to other links on Mary Nohl is:
nesaddictions.com/nohl01.htm
Photos of the house:
http://www.interestingideas.com/roadside/wisc/nohl/nohl1.htm
http://www.agilitynut.com/h/nohl.html
The museum "war":
http://www.knowledgeplex.org/news/76054.html?p=1
http://www.kohlerfoundation.org/new_NohlSite.html
Monday, June 13, 2005
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
ARTICLE: "Half U.S. suffers mentally"
Hmmm.....maybe that is because:
Computers with modems take so bloody long to download photos.....
Or rush hour traffic.....
Or unnecessary waits in phone lines....
Or high school seniors chomping at the bit to get out the door...
Or being blockaded by black tape, bureaucratically speaking...
My leave date for Seoul has now been moved to July fifteenth, which leaves me unemployed for a month, and sans paycheck for two. I do not like being at a financial disadvantage like this AT ALL. I guess I will have to just pray, cross my fingers, and hope it all works out, because I sure can't cover more than one month of my bills (college does that to you) without a paycheck. Water out of a rock (for those of you Biblical scholars) is much needed. For those agnostics out there, you can't bleed a turnip.
Appropo of nothing: check out "Alicia's Story" at http://www.sfgate.com/alicia
It is a very moving story.
Random Quote of the Day:
"Pretty soon, " he said, "we'll have a syndrome for short, fat Irish guys with a Boston accent, and I'll be mentally ill."
Dr. Paul McHugh, professor of psychiatry at Johns Hopkins University
qtd. in San Jose Mercury News, page 9A, June 6, 2005
Computers with modems take so bloody long to download photos.....
Or rush hour traffic.....
Or unnecessary waits in phone lines....
Or high school seniors chomping at the bit to get out the door...
Or being blockaded by black tape, bureaucratically speaking...
My leave date for Seoul has now been moved to July fifteenth, which leaves me unemployed for a month, and sans paycheck for two. I do not like being at a financial disadvantage like this AT ALL. I guess I will have to just pray, cross my fingers, and hope it all works out, because I sure can't cover more than one month of my bills (college does that to you) without a paycheck. Water out of a rock (for those of you Biblical scholars) is much needed. For those agnostics out there, you can't bleed a turnip.
Appropo of nothing: check out "Alicia's Story" at http://www.sfgate.com/alicia
It is a very moving story.
Random Quote of the Day:
"Pretty soon, " he said, "we'll have a syndrome for short, fat Irish guys with a Boston accent, and I'll be mentally ill."
Dr. Paul McHugh, professor of psychiatry at Johns Hopkins University
qtd. in San Jose Mercury News, page 9A, June 6, 2005
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
ENTRY: Watching and Waiting....
The school year is winding down here, and I am more than ready to leave and get on with life. I have been watching world events, especially the happenings on the Korean Penninsula....I refuse to be intimidated by the threat of war; things are not exactly stable here either, although some people like to bury their heads in the sand (or in rather personal orifices).
I am stockpiling deodorant, shampoo, and other products because I am not sure what to expect. Every message board screams BRING DEODORANT; maybe I can scalp the excess for a fat profit. When I lived in London, I know a girl who did just that with Bounce. The washing machines in the dorm had the interesting side-effect of making your clothes stand up stiff enough to salute you; they also changed to muted greys over time (so that is why no one wears strong colors in London...). One day, I made the mistake of using liquid soap, and came in the laundry room to discover I had incited the Revenge of Bubbles. I only used a teaspoon full to "aid" the dry, London soap; imagine if I had used a full dose...
I am not in the mood to write much now, so I'll stop.
I am stockpiling deodorant, shampoo, and other products because I am not sure what to expect. Every message board screams BRING DEODORANT; maybe I can scalp the excess for a fat profit. When I lived in London, I know a girl who did just that with Bounce. The washing machines in the dorm had the interesting side-effect of making your clothes stand up stiff enough to salute you; they also changed to muted greys over time (so that is why no one wears strong colors in London...). One day, I made the mistake of using liquid soap, and came in the laundry room to discover I had incited the Revenge of Bubbles. I only used a teaspoon full to "aid" the dry, London soap; imagine if I had used a full dose...
I am not in the mood to write much now, so I'll stop.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
JOURNAL: Five Things I will NOT Miss About California
5. Driving. You take your life in your own hands when you leave your driveway. When I had my old beater of a car, I was rear ended FIVE TIMES (in parking lots)! My biggest pet peeve is SUV drivers who park in the "small car" or "compact car" spaces, leaving no room for actual compact cars (like mine); even worse, they take up two spaces by double-parking. In California, turn signals are merely an optional formality, and the steering wheel is a rest for one's cell phone.
4. Indifferent customer service. I was hung up on by a man at the DMV who was less than fluent in English; he became frustrated with me because he didn't understand what I wanted. Sales clerks generally ignore you until you speak up. About the only place that is friendly around here is Starbucks; they get my business hands-down.
3. The Governator. Eight hundred teachers and faculty in my residential district received pink slips (some were later retracted due to the outcry) in a district already overburdened with too many students, too little faculty, and too little resources; this was in response to budget cuts prompted by the Governator. He has also reneged on other educational promises, forcing the Teachers Union to protest. The Governator was recently seen, trailed by a camera crew, in white pants filling potholes as a publicity stunt (girly-man work?). California is his playground, but the sandbox is becoming filled with turds.
2. Government agencies run like third world countries. I just received a letter stating that, since I had done some independant tutoring, I am now a business-owner, and owe the City of San Jose $150.00 for a business license. I made very little money at this, so I investigated further. It turns out that I do not owe the City money becuase it is a mistake; I do, however, have to pay $17 for them to do paperwork to correct their own mistake. Hmmmmm....Sounds like baksheesh to me (bribery)....$17 to avoid a fine for not having a buisness license for a little tutoring? Which leads to my Number 1 Peeve.....
1. The California DMV. There will be a three part series on my ordeal posted later; my story is way too common around here. To sum up....1) My plates for a new vehicle were a year late due to a clerical error; the lady looked like she had an epiphany when I sugugested that she cross-reference my driver's license address with the address on the car registration. 2) I turned in paperwork four times regarding the trade of my old beat-up car to the dealership, and yet they put a hold on my registration for the new vehicle (although I still paid it) because no one ever got the paperwork. On one occasion, I even hand delivered it! I also got the dealership involved. This also took a year. 3) Upon fighting an unjust (and still "un-understood") ticket, I ended up paying more in fees than if I had just admitted guilt for something I never did; in effect, lying under oath. I still don't know what the ticket is for... We are not in a third-world country, folks...
4. Indifferent customer service. I was hung up on by a man at the DMV who was less than fluent in English; he became frustrated with me because he didn't understand what I wanted. Sales clerks generally ignore you until you speak up. About the only place that is friendly around here is Starbucks; they get my business hands-down.
3. The Governator. Eight hundred teachers and faculty in my residential district received pink slips (some were later retracted due to the outcry) in a district already overburdened with too many students, too little faculty, and too little resources; this was in response to budget cuts prompted by the Governator. He has also reneged on other educational promises, forcing the Teachers Union to protest. The Governator was recently seen, trailed by a camera crew, in white pants filling potholes as a publicity stunt (girly-man work?). California is his playground, but the sandbox is becoming filled with turds.
2. Government agencies run like third world countries. I just received a letter stating that, since I had done some independant tutoring, I am now a business-owner, and owe the City of San Jose $150.00 for a business license. I made very little money at this, so I investigated further. It turns out that I do not owe the City money becuase it is a mistake; I do, however, have to pay $17 for them to do paperwork to correct their own mistake. Hmmmmm....Sounds like baksheesh to me (bribery)....$17 to avoid a fine for not having a buisness license for a little tutoring? Which leads to my Number 1 Peeve.....
1. The California DMV. There will be a three part series on my ordeal posted later; my story is way too common around here. To sum up....1) My plates for a new vehicle were a year late due to a clerical error; the lady looked like she had an epiphany when I sugugested that she cross-reference my driver's license address with the address on the car registration. 2) I turned in paperwork four times regarding the trade of my old beat-up car to the dealership, and yet they put a hold on my registration for the new vehicle (although I still paid it) because no one ever got the paperwork. On one occasion, I even hand delivered it! I also got the dealership involved. This also took a year. 3) Upon fighting an unjust (and still "un-understood") ticket, I ended up paying more in fees than if I had just admitted guilt for something I never did; in effect, lying under oath. I still don't know what the ticket is for... We are not in a third-world country, folks...
Saturday, June 04, 2005
JOURNAL: Five Things I Will Miss About California - A Test Entry
I leave for Seoul in about two weeks, so my first few postings will be about other ecclectic matters.
Following is a list of "Five Things I Will Miss About California."
5. Clean, sweet, and fresh produce. Nowhere else in the United States have I ever experienced the succulent, large, and delectible fruits and vegetables you can find here. There are frequently farmworkers on the street corners who drive up from Watsonville (the community where I grew up) selling strawberries the size of your fist in reasonably inexpensive flats. The fruit never needs sugar, and is always in the prime of ripeness. Yummy!
4. The sheltered valley. I live about a quarter mile from the gently rolling east foothills of Silicon Valley. I am always inspired when I look up at the hills; in the winter, they are emerald green, and in the spring and summer, they fade to a multi-faceted golden brown. Wildflowers appear all year round. The best part about the valley is, though it is an urban center, there are pockets of quiet nature all over the place, and the Santa Cruz Mountians about 20 minutes away. It is still easy to find nature.
3. The diversity. Silicon Valley is home to almost every nationality, creed, and religion on earth. There is a beautiful Buddhist temple just down the road from me; a rather incongruous but breathtaking sight amongst the functional utility buildings and residential areas. There are opportunities for all sorts of foods, festivals, and events. I love the constant and peaceful interactions of cultures in our valley; although there are sometimes "incidents," they are usually solved without much blood spilled!
2. The old orchard on the hill on Piedmont Road. I pass by it every day on my drive to work (thus bypassing the parking lot on the freeway) and it always somehow lifts my spirits. I often see people getting out of their cars and taking pictures of this lovely landmark. Sadly, I have discovered that this old orchard on the hill is to be sacrificed to another McMansion project; these rather boring large houses on the hill suck all the life out of the green belt surrounding our cities (if you are going to build a mansion, for God's sake, let it be unique and not detrimental to the landscape).
1. The Weather. Summer is a bit toasty and dry, but deliciously cool in the evening. Winter is rainy and grey, but the hills turn green and lush, as well as the other plants and flowers. A visitor would do well to visist during the winter. Best of all, there is NO SNOW; I appreciate this, having spent winters in Wisconsin holed up for six months out of the year in weather so cold that your nosehairs freeze! Spring is brief, and rather muddy, but the wildflowers come out. Fall is also brief; the trees do their leaf show only for a couple of weeks. The diverse immigrants in the Silicon Valley have also brought various interesting plant species with them; there is always something blooming or producing at various times of the year. The downside is the extended allergy season, but it is well worth it.
Following is a list of "Five Things I Will Miss About California."
5. Clean, sweet, and fresh produce. Nowhere else in the United States have I ever experienced the succulent, large, and delectible fruits and vegetables you can find here. There are frequently farmworkers on the street corners who drive up from Watsonville (the community where I grew up) selling strawberries the size of your fist in reasonably inexpensive flats. The fruit never needs sugar, and is always in the prime of ripeness. Yummy!
4. The sheltered valley. I live about a quarter mile from the gently rolling east foothills of Silicon Valley. I am always inspired when I look up at the hills; in the winter, they are emerald green, and in the spring and summer, they fade to a multi-faceted golden brown. Wildflowers appear all year round. The best part about the valley is, though it is an urban center, there are pockets of quiet nature all over the place, and the Santa Cruz Mountians about 20 minutes away. It is still easy to find nature.
3. The diversity. Silicon Valley is home to almost every nationality, creed, and religion on earth. There is a beautiful Buddhist temple just down the road from me; a rather incongruous but breathtaking sight amongst the functional utility buildings and residential areas. There are opportunities for all sorts of foods, festivals, and events. I love the constant and peaceful interactions of cultures in our valley; although there are sometimes "incidents," they are usually solved without much blood spilled!
2. The old orchard on the hill on Piedmont Road. I pass by it every day on my drive to work (thus bypassing the parking lot on the freeway) and it always somehow lifts my spirits. I often see people getting out of their cars and taking pictures of this lovely landmark. Sadly, I have discovered that this old orchard on the hill is to be sacrificed to another McMansion project; these rather boring large houses on the hill suck all the life out of the green belt surrounding our cities (if you are going to build a mansion, for God's sake, let it be unique and not detrimental to the landscape).
1. The Weather. Summer is a bit toasty and dry, but deliciously cool in the evening. Winter is rainy and grey, but the hills turn green and lush, as well as the other plants and flowers. A visitor would do well to visist during the winter. Best of all, there is NO SNOW; I appreciate this, having spent winters in Wisconsin holed up for six months out of the year in weather so cold that your nosehairs freeze! Spring is brief, and rather muddy, but the wildflowers come out. Fall is also brief; the trees do their leaf show only for a couple of weeks. The diverse immigrants in the Silicon Valley have also brought various interesting plant species with them; there is always something blooming or producing at various times of the year. The downside is the extended allergy season, but it is well worth it.
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