Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Oh...
And Happy Anniversary to Mom and Steve! And Happy Belated 1st Birthday to my nephew, Tyler. I was really bummed to miss that one. :(
Market "Pail"out?
This whole market bailout stuff looks pretty scary. Biggest fall in history? I must admit, I do not understand the stock market at all, and even as I read the article on CNN.com, my mind pretty much refuses to acknowledge phrases like "bailout proposal" and "rescue package" and it makes me feel like an idiot. Although - speaking of "rescue packages", shout-outs to Chrissy and Mrs. Davis for some pretty awesome packages! Chrissy, I am eating that honey like it's nobody's business (straight down the hatch, baby!) and I've already soaked up all my celebrity gossip from those US Weekly and People magazines; and Mrs. Davis, my students are going to be so grateful for all of those school supplies.
In any case, I hope everyone is well and that your "assets" are "secure", or something. I propose that everyone in the world get a dollar for nice compliments and 5 dollars for nice deeds. Not only would the world be a better place, the rich people would be the right people. Is anyone else with me here, or do I just sound like a stupid idiot with absolutely no knowledge of how money works outside of my own paltry savings account?
Oh, and I also like that they were calling the proposal a "market bailout" - for some reason it reminds me of that song "There's a hole in the bucket, Dear Liza, Dear Liza". I have NO idea why (synonym for bucket is pail, and that rhymes with bail?), but I still think it's relevant. I mean, Liza is America, right? And she's waiting for Dear Henry to help her fix it, but Dear Henry gave up on this country a long time ago, moved to Japan and works as a business consultant. And now Liza isn't worried about with what shall she fix it, because there's nobody there to even help! And now we're trying to replace Dear Henry, so we freak out and pick people like Sarah Palin (I mean, really, where did she come from? She is NO Henry!) I'm not supposed to get political on this blog, so I'll stop there, but I think you see where I'm going with this. There's a huge, freaking hole in America's bucket and only one man has the ears and teeth big enough to fix it. (Hint, hint) Let's get with it and fix that hole! (How did this metaphor get so out of control?? I have to go before it gets any crazier. My apologies.)
In any case, I hope everyone is well and that your "assets" are "secure", or something. I propose that everyone in the world get a dollar for nice compliments and 5 dollars for nice deeds. Not only would the world be a better place, the rich people would be the right people. Is anyone else with me here, or do I just sound like a stupid idiot with absolutely no knowledge of how money works outside of my own paltry savings account?
Oh, and I also like that they were calling the proposal a "market bailout" - for some reason it reminds me of that song "There's a hole in the bucket, Dear Liza, Dear Liza". I have NO idea why (synonym for bucket is pail, and that rhymes with bail?), but I still think it's relevant. I mean, Liza is America, right? And she's waiting for Dear Henry to help her fix it, but Dear Henry gave up on this country a long time ago, moved to Japan and works as a business consultant. And now Liza isn't worried about with what shall she fix it, because there's nobody there to even help! And now we're trying to replace Dear Henry, so we freak out and pick people like Sarah Palin (I mean, really, where did she come from? She is NO Henry!) I'm not supposed to get political on this blog, so I'll stop there, but I think you see where I'm going with this. There's a huge, freaking hole in America's bucket and only one man has the ears and teeth big enough to fix it. (Hint, hint) Let's get with it and fix that hole! (How did this metaphor get so out of control?? I have to go before it gets any crazier. My apologies.)
Sunday, September 21, 2008
"This is (not) my world"
It’s been almost four months since I’ve been in Moldova, and as of today exactly one month since I’ve been in my permanent site. Things, for the most part, have been going pretty well. In fact, things have been going so well with my students that the 12th graders at the school, invited me to a little get together they have every Friday night. I was so content that my students had responded so well to me that they invited me out with them and I was also ecstatic that I actually had weekend plans. I mean, I had somewhere to be on a Friday night!
Up to this point, I think I’ve had a positive student response from all of the classes I teach, except for the two 10th grade classes where there are some pretty interesting personalities. In one 10th grade class, I have a group of girls who just giggle the whole time and never even try to speak in complete sentences. Well, the joke was on them this past week, when I gave them grades for their performance. At least now they know that giggles get you Ds.
In my other 10th grade class, I’ve got some real smarties, but then there are a couple of guys who sit in the back and stare out the window all period. That’s also my biggest class, so management is a struggle enough already, and on top of that I can’t speak Romanian well enough to say something substantial enough that they could understand that might potentially turn their attitudes around. One of these boys, we’ll call him Dumitru, is about 6’4”, with huge muscles and one of those chic mullet haircuts that are all the rage in Moldova right now. He reminds me a lot of my brother (sans mullet haircut and raging temper), which is one reason why I have tried so hard to engage him in class.
So, giggling girls and Dumitru aside, I’ve got a good control over all the classes that I teach. As of right now, the 12th grade classes are my favorite, which is another reason why I was so pumped when some of them invited me to their get-together. So apparently, one of my 12th graders’ parents owns an eating venue that you can rent out and every weekend, he and his friends go and drink beer and eat Lay’s potato chips and these little Russian crouton like snacks called “Flint” that you can get in flavors from sour cream to caviar and salmon. So there I was, sitting at a table with about ten 18 year olds, trying so hard to understand what they were saying, drinking beer and struggling to avoid caviar-seasoned salad toppers, which, if ingested, would likely trigger an allergic reaction.
Now, I know what some of you are thinking – why the hell were you drinking beers with your 18-year-old students? Well, let’s first remember that things are different here than in America. For one, the drinking age here is, like, 2 years old. Secondly, my 12th graders are pretty mature and don’t binge drink or act like the high school drunks that are so common in America (probably because they’ve been drinking since they were two). And lastly, these kids are the closest people to my age in my village. Everyone in their 20s and early 30s works abroad in Russia, Italy or Ireland (among other countries) because they cannot make enough money in Moldova to support themselves, let alone their families, which is obviously a whole other blog post waiting to happen. For now though, let us focus and get back to the situation at hand.
So, here I am socializing with my students. It’s going well. In fact, they’ve just asked me to be a coach for them for the “Odyssey of the Mind” tournament that happens every year in Moldova. I say “of course” and they continue to describe the competition and their hopes for this year. Then, some male students who are part of a little singing troupe here in my village start singing Moldovan folk songs together around the table – what a special moment! First of all, they’re super talented and all the students are watching them so sincerely, so maturely. Some of these students will be married by the end of next year and the wifely roles that some of the girls have already learned becomes apparent when they band together to clean the tables in no time flat once we finish with our party – and then the boys stack the chairs back on the table. It makes me embarrassed to know that to this day when my family all gets together, my sister, brother and I still argue over who gets to clear the table, wash the dishes or put the dishes in the dishwasher after dinner.
So, it’s time to go. I ask where the “veceu” (toilet) is, and one of my students walks me through another room, to a door, which opens to the outside. He tells me that he’ll wait right inside so I don’t get locked out. “Um, OK,” I say, trying to navigate the pitch-black darkness hoping not to pee on a stray dog or, you know, my shoe. After my “al-fresco” potty break, I come back inside and the students ask if I want to go dancing at the disco. “No thanks,” I say in Romanian, knowing that no good can come from that. In addition to the 12th graders, all of the high school students populate the disco on the weekend, and if I were to go, I would be the oldest person there by a minimum of 5 years. They ask again nicely, and in my head I somehow rationalize that it will be okay if I just go and don’t dance (which, if you know me, will be hard since I’ve been known to bust a move every now and then.)
Off we go. We walk the 100 feet it takes to get to the “Casa de Cultura”, which houses the “disco” where everyone stands “in line” to pay a “cover”. Apparently, I am a “VIP” (read: that American) and don’t have to pay, so I enter “the club” and stand to the side as the rest of my 12th graders enter. (I’m hoping that the excessive use of quotation marks gives you a better idea what this “disco” was actually like.)
First thoughts: “So, here I am.” (Scanning room.) “Yup! Am definitely oldest person here. And, yes probably 85% of the people here are in one of my classes.”
Now I stand in a small circle where some of my 12th graders dance and some don’t. I don’t. In fact, I am more concerned with the fact that the place is decorated with black lights and as a result, everyone can see all the lint that covers my fleece jacket. But on the flip side: my shoelaces are like, totally glowing in the dark!
After the half-hour ode to 50 Cent and Russian pop icons a couple of Moldovan folk songs play, like an intermission to globalization. I actually really like Moldovan folk dancing because a) people of all ages know how to do it; b) it’s the happiest I have ever seen Moldovans in large groups (although, they don’t smile while doing this either); and c) it’s incredibly easy – you just hold hands, do a simple step touch rotating combination and keep your upper body absolutely stiff. In fact, it seems that this has turned into another moment for me. The circle is bigger and a lot of my students are in it and smiling at me saying that I am doing a great job at their dance. I see so many of my great students, and as my bubble grows bigger and bigger with contentment, out of the corner of my eye, standing outside the circle with his arms crossed, I see Dumitru, and boy does he looks ready to pop it.
The song ends, and Dumitru approaches and – I can’t believe it. He’s holding out his arm? Oh! He wants to shake my hand! Fantastic! I of course oblige, and then he whispers something in my ear in Romanian –something I don’t understand, which is par for the course around here. As I try to form something significant out of the 3 words he said that I actually understood, I start to think, “Man, this kid’s got a pretty strong grip.” Then like a slap in the face I suddenly get it: not only is Dumitru not letting go of my hand, he’s trying to break it.
I squirm a bit and ask him to please let go of my hand – in English. This is a kid who pays no attention in my class and has likely never paid attention in any English class, so my polite plea probably has the same effect as it would had I given it in Farsi. At some point, the handshake becomes a headlock, but one of those bully headlocks where it might look to others like we’re just old macho friends. And, finally, something I understand is slurred into my ear: “Aici e lumea mea!” – “This is my world!”
All of a sudden, two of my 12th grade students come rushing towards us, obviously seeing that I’m half the size of Dumitru, that he’s obviously had more than a couple of beers, and that we are, in fact, not having a conversation. They pull him off of me and begin to argue quickly in Romanian. In my imagination they’re saying, “Don’t touch Mike, he’s such a cool teacher and you need to respect him!” But they could very well be saying, “He weighs half of you and it wouldn’t be a fair fight,” which is probably more accurate.
Taking the hint about the whole "This is my world" comment, I realize that the best decision is probably to book it out of there. In a sense, Dumitru was right. That disco is in fact his world - along with all of the other kids between the ages of 15 and 18 in my village. I was clearly out of my element, knowing before I even entered that a scenario like this could very likely happen. However, this is clearly not what he meant by this comment. I am in his village, talking to his friends and teaching in his school. I understand where he's coming from. In fact, most of the time, I do feel like I am an outsider in a different world - which is likely how I will feel for the next two years. But, it will take a lot more than a headlock and veiled threats to get me out of here.
Hopefully in a year's time, Dumitru and I will be a success story - I will have successfully taught him to speak conversational English, something teachers never thought possible; and he will have warmed to me and taught me such much about Moldovan culture. This will likely not happen, but being driven by this hope serves two purposes: it keeps me positive for the future and it gives the whole night at the disco a purpose for happening.
So I will forge forward in the meantime, continuing to adjust and, perhaps more importantly, learning how to understand Romanian not only in regular tones, but in angry, whispered veiled threats as well.
Up to this point, I think I’ve had a positive student response from all of the classes I teach, except for the two 10th grade classes where there are some pretty interesting personalities. In one 10th grade class, I have a group of girls who just giggle the whole time and never even try to speak in complete sentences. Well, the joke was on them this past week, when I gave them grades for their performance. At least now they know that giggles get you Ds.
In my other 10th grade class, I’ve got some real smarties, but then there are a couple of guys who sit in the back and stare out the window all period. That’s also my biggest class, so management is a struggle enough already, and on top of that I can’t speak Romanian well enough to say something substantial enough that they could understand that might potentially turn their attitudes around. One of these boys, we’ll call him Dumitru, is about 6’4”, with huge muscles and one of those chic mullet haircuts that are all the rage in Moldova right now. He reminds me a lot of my brother (sans mullet haircut and raging temper), which is one reason why I have tried so hard to engage him in class.
So, giggling girls and Dumitru aside, I’ve got a good control over all the classes that I teach. As of right now, the 12th grade classes are my favorite, which is another reason why I was so pumped when some of them invited me to their get-together. So apparently, one of my 12th graders’ parents owns an eating venue that you can rent out and every weekend, he and his friends go and drink beer and eat Lay’s potato chips and these little Russian crouton like snacks called “Flint” that you can get in flavors from sour cream to caviar and salmon. So there I was, sitting at a table with about ten 18 year olds, trying so hard to understand what they were saying, drinking beer and struggling to avoid caviar-seasoned salad toppers, which, if ingested, would likely trigger an allergic reaction.
Now, I know what some of you are thinking – why the hell were you drinking beers with your 18-year-old students? Well, let’s first remember that things are different here than in America. For one, the drinking age here is, like, 2 years old. Secondly, my 12th graders are pretty mature and don’t binge drink or act like the high school drunks that are so common in America (probably because they’ve been drinking since they were two). And lastly, these kids are the closest people to my age in my village. Everyone in their 20s and early 30s works abroad in Russia, Italy or Ireland (among other countries) because they cannot make enough money in Moldova to support themselves, let alone their families, which is obviously a whole other blog post waiting to happen. For now though, let us focus and get back to the situation at hand.
So, here I am socializing with my students. It’s going well. In fact, they’ve just asked me to be a coach for them for the “Odyssey of the Mind” tournament that happens every year in Moldova. I say “of course” and they continue to describe the competition and their hopes for this year. Then, some male students who are part of a little singing troupe here in my village start singing Moldovan folk songs together around the table – what a special moment! First of all, they’re super talented and all the students are watching them so sincerely, so maturely. Some of these students will be married by the end of next year and the wifely roles that some of the girls have already learned becomes apparent when they band together to clean the tables in no time flat once we finish with our party – and then the boys stack the chairs back on the table. It makes me embarrassed to know that to this day when my family all gets together, my sister, brother and I still argue over who gets to clear the table, wash the dishes or put the dishes in the dishwasher after dinner.
So, it’s time to go. I ask where the “veceu” (toilet) is, and one of my students walks me through another room, to a door, which opens to the outside. He tells me that he’ll wait right inside so I don’t get locked out. “Um, OK,” I say, trying to navigate the pitch-black darkness hoping not to pee on a stray dog or, you know, my shoe. After my “al-fresco” potty break, I come back inside and the students ask if I want to go dancing at the disco. “No thanks,” I say in Romanian, knowing that no good can come from that. In addition to the 12th graders, all of the high school students populate the disco on the weekend, and if I were to go, I would be the oldest person there by a minimum of 5 years. They ask again nicely, and in my head I somehow rationalize that it will be okay if I just go and don’t dance (which, if you know me, will be hard since I’ve been known to bust a move every now and then.)
Off we go. We walk the 100 feet it takes to get to the “Casa de Cultura”, which houses the “disco” where everyone stands “in line” to pay a “cover”. Apparently, I am a “VIP” (read: that American) and don’t have to pay, so I enter “the club” and stand to the side as the rest of my 12th graders enter. (I’m hoping that the excessive use of quotation marks gives you a better idea what this “disco” was actually like.)
First thoughts: “So, here I am.” (Scanning room.) “Yup! Am definitely oldest person here. And, yes probably 85% of the people here are in one of my classes.”
Now I stand in a small circle where some of my 12th graders dance and some don’t. I don’t. In fact, I am more concerned with the fact that the place is decorated with black lights and as a result, everyone can see all the lint that covers my fleece jacket. But on the flip side: my shoelaces are like, totally glowing in the dark!
After the half-hour ode to 50 Cent and Russian pop icons a couple of Moldovan folk songs play, like an intermission to globalization. I actually really like Moldovan folk dancing because a) people of all ages know how to do it; b) it’s the happiest I have ever seen Moldovans in large groups (although, they don’t smile while doing this either); and c) it’s incredibly easy – you just hold hands, do a simple step touch rotating combination and keep your upper body absolutely stiff. In fact, it seems that this has turned into another moment for me. The circle is bigger and a lot of my students are in it and smiling at me saying that I am doing a great job at their dance. I see so many of my great students, and as my bubble grows bigger and bigger with contentment, out of the corner of my eye, standing outside the circle with his arms crossed, I see Dumitru, and boy does he looks ready to pop it.
The song ends, and Dumitru approaches and – I can’t believe it. He’s holding out his arm? Oh! He wants to shake my hand! Fantastic! I of course oblige, and then he whispers something in my ear in Romanian –something I don’t understand, which is par for the course around here. As I try to form something significant out of the 3 words he said that I actually understood, I start to think, “Man, this kid’s got a pretty strong grip.” Then like a slap in the face I suddenly get it: not only is Dumitru not letting go of my hand, he’s trying to break it.
I squirm a bit and ask him to please let go of my hand – in English. This is a kid who pays no attention in my class and has likely never paid attention in any English class, so my polite plea probably has the same effect as it would had I given it in Farsi. At some point, the handshake becomes a headlock, but one of those bully headlocks where it might look to others like we’re just old macho friends. And, finally, something I understand is slurred into my ear: “Aici e lumea mea!” – “This is my world!”
All of a sudden, two of my 12th grade students come rushing towards us, obviously seeing that I’m half the size of Dumitru, that he’s obviously had more than a couple of beers, and that we are, in fact, not having a conversation. They pull him off of me and begin to argue quickly in Romanian. In my imagination they’re saying, “Don’t touch Mike, he’s such a cool teacher and you need to respect him!” But they could very well be saying, “He weighs half of you and it wouldn’t be a fair fight,” which is probably more accurate.
Taking the hint about the whole "This is my world" comment, I realize that the best decision is probably to book it out of there. In a sense, Dumitru was right. That disco is in fact his world - along with all of the other kids between the ages of 15 and 18 in my village. I was clearly out of my element, knowing before I even entered that a scenario like this could very likely happen. However, this is clearly not what he meant by this comment. I am in his village, talking to his friends and teaching in his school. I understand where he's coming from. In fact, most of the time, I do feel like I am an outsider in a different world - which is likely how I will feel for the next two years. But, it will take a lot more than a headlock and veiled threats to get me out of here.
Hopefully in a year's time, Dumitru and I will be a success story - I will have successfully taught him to speak conversational English, something teachers never thought possible; and he will have warmed to me and taught me such much about Moldovan culture. This will likely not happen, but being driven by this hope serves two purposes: it keeps me positive for the future and it gives the whole night at the disco a purpose for happening.
So I will forge forward in the meantime, continuing to adjust and, perhaps more importantly, learning how to understand Romanian not only in regular tones, but in angry, whispered veiled threats as well.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
It's been a long time!
And I don't have too much to write for today. Unfortunately, my access to internet is limited to about a half hour every week in this little library that has 3 computers with internet access in my village. And updating your blog becomes less and less appealing when there are 14 year old girls who are pretending to use their cell phones, but instead are (not so) stealthily taking pictures of you and giggling in Romanian because they think you don't understand. Too bad for them, I understand most everything they say. Girls are silly.
Everything is great. It's freezing here already - wearing scarves and big coats, but it's still beautiful. Have started teaching and it's going well. Definitely living the village life. I pass by hens, sheep, and cows each day when I walk to work. And, there's a cow that's pretty much tied to a chain staked in the middle of the soccer stadium. It's funny, because every Sunday there are soccer (Europeans read "football") games there and usually it's the goalies who will lead the cow to one side of the field while their teammates practice.
I currently live in a room that is about 8 ft. x 8 ft. It's super small. My host family is very kind, but they are still pretty shy around me (and I them). Our water goes off about twice a week, so showers happen maybe twice a week, if lucky. But that's normal here. I'm eating a lot of potatoes, soup and goulash, and I have a feeling that these will be my main courses through winter time as well. I've already lost 20 pounds since being here, but to be here, I gained about 10 before coming here from all the pigging out I did in Seattle and California, so it's not too much of a loss. I look pretty normal.
Thanks to all of you who check periodically and leave comments, even though I am not nearly as consistent as I was with updating. I will try my hardest. Life without TV, internet, or running water (2 days out of the week) has been challening at times, but I surprisingly don't miss any of them too much. You just get used to your situation.
Well, that's all for now. Keep sending me emails to let me know you're still out there. Miss everyone!
Everything is great. It's freezing here already - wearing scarves and big coats, but it's still beautiful. Have started teaching and it's going well. Definitely living the village life. I pass by hens, sheep, and cows each day when I walk to work. And, there's a cow that's pretty much tied to a chain staked in the middle of the soccer stadium. It's funny, because every Sunday there are soccer (Europeans read "football") games there and usually it's the goalies who will lead the cow to one side of the field while their teammates practice.
I currently live in a room that is about 8 ft. x 8 ft. It's super small. My host family is very kind, but they are still pretty shy around me (and I them). Our water goes off about twice a week, so showers happen maybe twice a week, if lucky. But that's normal here. I'm eating a lot of potatoes, soup and goulash, and I have a feeling that these will be my main courses through winter time as well. I've already lost 20 pounds since being here, but to be here, I gained about 10 before coming here from all the pigging out I did in Seattle and California, so it's not too much of a loss. I look pretty normal.
Thanks to all of you who check periodically and leave comments, even though I am not nearly as consistent as I was with updating. I will try my hardest. Life without TV, internet, or running water (2 days out of the week) has been challening at times, but I surprisingly don't miss any of them too much. You just get used to your situation.
Well, that's all for now. Keep sending me emails to let me know you're still out there. Miss everyone!
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