Saturday, August 16, 2008
an outsider's view
I've never been much of a religious person, calling myself agnostic and feeling anxious when people start talking about any one of the many faiths out there, but something more than beauty exists within the churches here. I think it's the sheer age of them, the musty scent of ancient stone and decaying wood mixing in with the holy incense, the aged and barely visible life-size paintings of forlorn women holding sleeping babies in their faded and tattered frocks, the bowed benches that have supported generation upon generation of worshipers, and the stillness of it all combined. The silence that emanates from the stones, the paintings, the benches - all older than any living thing - is captivating. It's overpowering. I was walking through the city on a particularly hot day and was getting tired of the sun beating on my shoulders and the wind pressing grit into my sweat, so as I approached one of the Orthodox churches, I decided to go in. Churches have always had a cooling affect on me. I climbed the steps and walked through the doorway, a gust of old but pleasant smelling air brushed away the grit and calmed my shoulders down. A woman sat at a kiosk in the front room, selling various religious items, but was too busy reading a book to notice my entrance. I slipped through another doorway and into the main part of the church and walked straight out into the middle, relishing the fact that I had an arena of faith all to myself and breathing in the centuries of lives that had passed through the very same sliver of space. I turned around in a circle, taking in all those faded ladies carrying all those tired babies and, instead of wondering who they were, I pictured their creation, hundreds of years ago, on the walls before me. The silent space comes to life as people on precariously placed ladders carefully take trays of paint from a helper down below, gently dip their brushes in and let them soak up the proper amount of color, and then, as they bite their lower lips in concentration, they give their Saints the gift of sight. As the ladders and their occupants fade and the vividness of their paint disintegrates, I look up. He's there, staring down at me, much larger than life. I hadn't noticed him when I walked in, but I should have known he'd be there. He's always there. High up in the top of the tallest dome, bathed in golden sunlight and untouchable by anything. I nod at him slightly, as if to say "well, of course it's you". If he's as wonderful as they all say, he'll forgive me and my decision to disagree. A ray of light is illuminating bits of dust floating in the air just below his gaze, giving him a holographic and even more distant appearance. I can't picture the person who made this painting. It's too high up and too old to fathom its creation. I stare. He stares back. It could go on forever like this and at that moment, it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. The two of us just staring at eachother, observing, questioning, the church silently aging around us, the stones eventually crumble, the paintings dissolve, the benches deteriorate until nothing is left but a silent, inquisitive stare. Forever. After an unknown amount of time, a cough and some movement comes from the doorway and my head automatically snaps towards it, breaking what I thought was permanent. The lady who had been reading when I entered was shuffling and sniffing through my arena, flipping through some papers in her hand and taking no notice of me, still posed beneath the highest dome. It's work to her, it's her life. By the time she reaches the back of the church, I am shading my eyes from the sun and thinking about ice cream.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
the good, the bad, and the dirty
While I was working at the G-Lab, I had a colleague from India and occasionally I'd hear Indian coming from his office as he spoke with his wife or family on the phone, but I never really thought too much about how he could also speak English. I never really thought about how cool it was that a person from a foreign country could speak my language and how much work must have gone into learning it and how difficult it is, even when you've got the basics down, to really understand a language that is not your original. Nearly nobody in America gets excited when a foreigner can speak English. It's almost expected of them and, if anything, they're looked down upon if they can't communicate well.
Now I work in a biodiversity department with people who communicate with me in English, but when I do try to speak in Romanian (or Hungarian), they are overjoyed. They find it simply amazing that I'm trying to learn Romanian and it makes me sad that if they were to visit America, rarely a second thought would go towards the fact that they can speak English fluently, and yet they discuss and congratulate me on my vocabulary that any 2 year old could beat.
About a month before I moved out of my apartment in Reno, my kitchen sink would backup and overflow every time the upstairs neighbors ran their dishwasher. After this happened 10 or so times (I'm always hopeful that plumbing problems will just magically dissolve), I called my landlord and the next day a plumber showed up. He spent about two hours there setting up his equipment, tinkering with the sink, running up and down the stairs because it involved both my apartment and the apartment above, and cleaning up after his work. When he left, not only did the sink drain properly, but it had been cleaned of all the gunk that had accumulated from the neighbors' previous dishwashing session. Plus, he smiled, shook my hand and said thank you when he left.
Two days ago, as I was getting ready to leave my apartment for an English club meeting, a man knocked on my door and, from what I understood (I understand so little), told me that he was going to cover my door so he could paint around it. That's fine, I said, I'm leaving in five minutes. Two minutes later there was another knock on the door and a different man told me, in English, that I needed to cover my door so they could paint around it. I need to cover it? I said. But I don't have anything to cover it with. Well, he said, neither do we. And that was that. They both went back to painting around the already covered doors upstairs and I left for the English club feeling surprisingly frustrated. I need to cover it? I don't even want them to paint it and I need to cover it and I have nothing, no plastic sheeting, no old sheets, nothing to cover it with. I asked the people at the club where I could buy something that would do the trick and one of them suggested newspaper. That's a great idea, I said, remembering the stack of 5 or so newspapers my tutor gave me sitting under the sink. After returning home at 10pm, I spent the next hour covering my door with Romanian newspapers and I haven't seen the painters or a drop of paint since.
Now that I think about it, when the first man was telling me, in Romanian, that I needed to cover the door, I didn't really listen to what he was saying, I just assumed that he would cover it. Growing up in the birthplace of friendly and thorough customer service has not helped me much here and I still find it disconcerting to walk into an adorable touristy boutique, of the likes you'd find in San Francisco, and be greeted by an annoyed "Spuneti" or "Tesik", which basically means "What do you want?", followed by a never ending stare of impatience as you wander around the store, feeling more and more nervous and finding the store less and less appealing. Oddly enough, I've found that the crummiest looking places generally house the most pleasant clerks, and the more chic and fashionable shops have the rudest. Maybe it's hip to be unpleasant. I guess that could be said about many stores in the US, too. Remember my "SEVEN bags" incident a while back? No? I sure do.
Speaking of bags, in the fall of last year, I participated in a Truckee River clean-up event where we walked along 4 kilometers of the Truckee and picked up every little bit of trash that we could find. There were about 7 of us and we collected 11 bags of trash. As we searched, the main items retrieved were little gum wrappers, cigarette butts, an occasional beer can, and a very rare glass or plastic bottle. The bottles almost felt like a lucky find, like something to be proud of. There were maybe 9 or 10 of those.
I spent the first part of today participating in an Olt river clean up event that was hosted by a couple of environmental NGOs from Bucharest. They arranged the supplies, the logistics, the 20 students who helped out, and the food that was donated. They even gave us free t-shirts and hats. We walked about 5 kilometers of the river and collected close to 50 bags, which were filled mainly with glass and plastic bottles. And dirty diapers. The gum wrappers and cigarette butts were overlooked. Actually, I picked up a few still burning butts that a couple of volunteers threw on the ground. With time. It'll change with time and the cigarette butts will become the hunted while the bottles become the lucky finds, the rare little trophies of a job well done.
The efficiency and effectiveness of today's clean up was quite impressive and it's great that Romania is able to clean itself up. Again, why am I here?
ps - The backpacking/eco-center rebuild trip has been just about my favorite event of the summer so far. We spent three days hiking and relaxing and three days working hard and building. And by building, I mean moving very large and very heavy lincoln logs from one side of the river and up the hill to the other side of the river and down the hill. The logs magically fit together to make a house, but we didn't get to see the finished product because we had to leave before the roof or floor were completed. Oh well, maybe next time. Pictures from the week will probably be posted some time in the next two weeks, if I post at my current picture posting pace. There are new ones up, by the way. From a coupla months ago. Tomorrow morning I am meeting with someone who runs a local craft work shop. I might get to take some classes and learn something traditional, which'd be cool. Maybe that's why I'm here.
Now I work in a biodiversity department with people who communicate with me in English, but when I do try to speak in Romanian (or Hungarian), they are overjoyed. They find it simply amazing that I'm trying to learn Romanian and it makes me sad that if they were to visit America, rarely a second thought would go towards the fact that they can speak English fluently, and yet they discuss and congratulate me on my vocabulary that any 2 year old could beat.
About a month before I moved out of my apartment in Reno, my kitchen sink would backup and overflow every time the upstairs neighbors ran their dishwasher. After this happened 10 or so times (I'm always hopeful that plumbing problems will just magically dissolve), I called my landlord and the next day a plumber showed up. He spent about two hours there setting up his equipment, tinkering with the sink, running up and down the stairs because it involved both my apartment and the apartment above, and cleaning up after his work. When he left, not only did the sink drain properly, but it had been cleaned of all the gunk that had accumulated from the neighbors' previous dishwashing session. Plus, he smiled, shook my hand and said thank you when he left.
Two days ago, as I was getting ready to leave my apartment for an English club meeting, a man knocked on my door and, from what I understood (I understand so little), told me that he was going to cover my door so he could paint around it. That's fine, I said, I'm leaving in five minutes. Two minutes later there was another knock on the door and a different man told me, in English, that I needed to cover my door so they could paint around it. I need to cover it? I said. But I don't have anything to cover it with. Well, he said, neither do we. And that was that. They both went back to painting around the already covered doors upstairs and I left for the English club feeling surprisingly frustrated. I need to cover it? I don't even want them to paint it and I need to cover it and I have nothing, no plastic sheeting, no old sheets, nothing to cover it with. I asked the people at the club where I could buy something that would do the trick and one of them suggested newspaper. That's a great idea, I said, remembering the stack of 5 or so newspapers my tutor gave me sitting under the sink. After returning home at 10pm, I spent the next hour covering my door with Romanian newspapers and I haven't seen the painters or a drop of paint since.
Now that I think about it, when the first man was telling me, in Romanian, that I needed to cover the door, I didn't really listen to what he was saying, I just assumed that he would cover it. Growing up in the birthplace of friendly and thorough customer service has not helped me much here and I still find it disconcerting to walk into an adorable touristy boutique, of the likes you'd find in San Francisco, and be greeted by an annoyed "Spuneti" or "Tesik", which basically means "What do you want?", followed by a never ending stare of impatience as you wander around the store, feeling more and more nervous and finding the store less and less appealing. Oddly enough, I've found that the crummiest looking places generally house the most pleasant clerks, and the more chic and fashionable shops have the rudest. Maybe it's hip to be unpleasant. I guess that could be said about many stores in the US, too. Remember my "SEVEN bags" incident a while back? No? I sure do.
Speaking of bags, in the fall of last year, I participated in a Truckee River clean-up event where we walked along 4 kilometers of the Truckee and picked up every little bit of trash that we could find. There were about 7 of us and we collected 11 bags of trash. As we searched, the main items retrieved were little gum wrappers, cigarette butts, an occasional beer can, and a very rare glass or plastic bottle. The bottles almost felt like a lucky find, like something to be proud of. There were maybe 9 or 10 of those.
I spent the first part of today participating in an Olt river clean up event that was hosted by a couple of environmental NGOs from Bucharest. They arranged the supplies, the logistics, the 20 students who helped out, and the food that was donated. They even gave us free t-shirts and hats. We walked about 5 kilometers of the river and collected close to 50 bags, which were filled mainly with glass and plastic bottles. And dirty diapers. The gum wrappers and cigarette butts were overlooked. Actually, I picked up a few still burning butts that a couple of volunteers threw on the ground. With time. It'll change with time and the cigarette butts will become the hunted while the bottles become the lucky finds, the rare little trophies of a job well done.
The efficiency and effectiveness of today's clean up was quite impressive and it's great that Romania is able to clean itself up. Again, why am I here?
ps - The backpacking/eco-center rebuild trip has been just about my favorite event of the summer so far. We spent three days hiking and relaxing and three days working hard and building. And by building, I mean moving very large and very heavy lincoln logs from one side of the river and up the hill to the other side of the river and down the hill. The logs magically fit together to make a house, but we didn't get to see the finished product because we had to leave before the roof or floor were completed. Oh well, maybe next time. Pictures from the week will probably be posted some time in the next two weeks, if I post at my current picture posting pace. There are new ones up, by the way. From a coupla months ago. Tomorrow morning I am meeting with someone who runs a local craft work shop. I might get to take some classes and learn something traditional, which'd be cool. Maybe that's why I'm here.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Two, please
1. I'm getting ready for a semi-backpacking slash eco-center rebuilding trip and I FINALLY get the chance to use the backpack I won for what it's meant for - backpacking. Not storage. I've never really gone backpacking and, although this is a lighter version of backpacking than the typical out in the woods and carry everything journey, I'm still a little nervous. I just tried the stuffed pack on and it's heavy...oh well, I can survive anything for 6 days, right? Right.
2. I have lived here in Sfantu Gheorghe for just shy of three months and today I realized there is a way from my apartment to the outdoor market, where I go at least once a week, that takes only 15 minutes instead of 30. One little left turn and surprise! It's right there. Three months. I've been walking twice the necessary distance for three months, thinking the whole time I knew what I was doing. This is where I'd deserve a "you didn't know that?"
2. I have lived here in Sfantu Gheorghe for just shy of three months and today I realized there is a way from my apartment to the outdoor market, where I go at least once a week, that takes only 15 minutes instead of 30. One little left turn and surprise! It's right there. Three months. I've been walking twice the necessary distance for three months, thinking the whole time I knew what I was doing. This is where I'd deserve a "you didn't know that?"
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
one, please
Please forgive me, but I have something I'd like to spew forth unto this blog and it has very little to do with Peace Corps or Romania. It has to do with interacting with people and how I often suck at it, but so do other people. One thing I have tried very hard to do ever since high school has been to appreciate what a person knows instead of questioning and focusing on what they do not know. For whatever reason, people often find it invigorating to discover that they know something somebody else does not, which is fine, but then they feel the need to rub their little one-up in the unknowing person's face. One of my least favorite questions on the planet is "you didn't know that?" (topped only by "a table for just one?").
Sample conversation:
Person A: "I took the LSATs this afternoon, man was that rough."
Person B: "The LSATs? What are the LSATs?"
Person A: "It's like the GREs, but for law students...you didn't know that?"
From this point, there are only two responses Person B can logically give: 1. No, I did not know that. That is why I asked; and 2. Actually, I knew that, just messing with ya. Or they can attempt to ignore the condescending question and move on to another topic or, if their pride is strongly intact, they can continue asking questions about the LSATs, but are probably less motivated to inquire as fully as they'd like. It's unnecessary and it stops the flow of conversation.
Sample conversation without condescending question:
Person A: "I took the LSATs this afternoon, man was that rough."
Person B: "The LSATs? What are the LSATs?"
Person A: "It's like the GREs, but for law students."
Person B: "Interesting, I didn't realize they had a separate test. Did you have to study?"
Person A: "Yeah, alot. It was a tough test, but if I make it into law school, it'll be worth it."
Person B: "Cool...what kind of law do you want to study?"
And the conversation continues, pleasantly, while the two sip hot chocolate with the sun slowly setting in the background.
My main beef with the question is that it implies the questionee is suddenly inferior to the questioner simply because they don't know the same information. Nobody knows the same information, that's what's so awesome about this world. I know alot about cookies. I'd love to share that information with you and it's totally cool if you know nothing about cookies. Actually, I think it's more fun that way. You know alot about German Shepherds and I certainly wouldn't mind hearing a good German Shepherd story or two, especially if you don't think it's odd that I know nothing about the breed, other than its obvious country of origin. Conversation is supposed to be about information exchange, right? Then where did that aggravating question come from and why is it so commonly used? The only answer I can come up with is to subtly one-up somebody. It's subtle because making a person admit to their own lack of knowledge is a little less obvious than telling them "I can not believe you do not know this", and maybe it makes them feel like they've just gained a touch more power in this power-hungry world without openly hurting any feelings. Wrong. I'm not going to pretend that I've never asked it. I clearly remember working in a cookie shop, talking about music with another employee, mentioning Miles Davis, and being so shocked that she had never heard of Miles Davis that I let a variation of the damn question slip. "You don't know who Miles Davis is?" She handled it well, a simple "no", and the conversation moved on, but I remember feeling awful afterward. Maybe the conversation could have led to a new musical discovery for her, but instead I simply made her feel dumb and, like I mentioned, this is something I've worked on since highschool because I am very familiar with how stupid that question makes me feel. I don't want to do that to others, even if they could care less.
Now. I am not writing this to make every person out there who has ever asked "you didn't know that?" feel bad about themselves or that I'd criticize and secretly dislike them simply because they say it. It's an automatic response for many people when somebody doesn't know something, more like a filler than a cheap shot, but it still gets my goat every time I hear it. Then again people don't view conversation the same way I do. I think I dwell on it a little too much, hence the table for one.
Sample conversation:
Person A: "I took the LSATs this afternoon, man was that rough."
Person B: "The LSATs? What are the LSATs?"
Person A: "It's like the GREs, but for law students...you didn't know that?"
From this point, there are only two responses Person B can logically give: 1. No, I did not know that. That is why I asked; and 2. Actually, I knew that, just messing with ya. Or they can attempt to ignore the condescending question and move on to another topic or, if their pride is strongly intact, they can continue asking questions about the LSATs, but are probably less motivated to inquire as fully as they'd like. It's unnecessary and it stops the flow of conversation.
Sample conversation without condescending question:
Person A: "I took the LSATs this afternoon, man was that rough."
Person B: "The LSATs? What are the LSATs?"
Person A: "It's like the GREs, but for law students."
Person B: "Interesting, I didn't realize they had a separate test. Did you have to study?"
Person A: "Yeah, alot. It was a tough test, but if I make it into law school, it'll be worth it."
Person B: "Cool...what kind of law do you want to study?"
And the conversation continues, pleasantly, while the two sip hot chocolate with the sun slowly setting in the background.
My main beef with the question is that it implies the questionee is suddenly inferior to the questioner simply because they don't know the same information. Nobody knows the same information, that's what's so awesome about this world. I know alot about cookies. I'd love to share that information with you and it's totally cool if you know nothing about cookies. Actually, I think it's more fun that way. You know alot about German Shepherds and I certainly wouldn't mind hearing a good German Shepherd story or two, especially if you don't think it's odd that I know nothing about the breed, other than its obvious country of origin. Conversation is supposed to be about information exchange, right? Then where did that aggravating question come from and why is it so commonly used? The only answer I can come up with is to subtly one-up somebody. It's subtle because making a person admit to their own lack of knowledge is a little less obvious than telling them "I can not believe you do not know this", and maybe it makes them feel like they've just gained a touch more power in this power-hungry world without openly hurting any feelings. Wrong. I'm not going to pretend that I've never asked it. I clearly remember working in a cookie shop, talking about music with another employee, mentioning Miles Davis, and being so shocked that she had never heard of Miles Davis that I let a variation of the damn question slip. "You don't know who Miles Davis is?" She handled it well, a simple "no", and the conversation moved on, but I remember feeling awful afterward. Maybe the conversation could have led to a new musical discovery for her, but instead I simply made her feel dumb and, like I mentioned, this is something I've worked on since highschool because I am very familiar with how stupid that question makes me feel. I don't want to do that to others, even if they could care less.
Now. I am not writing this to make every person out there who has ever asked "you didn't know that?" feel bad about themselves or that I'd criticize and secretly dislike them simply because they say it. It's an automatic response for many people when somebody doesn't know something, more like a filler than a cheap shot, but it still gets my goat every time I hear it. Then again people don't view conversation the same way I do. I think I dwell on it a little too much, hence the table for one.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Hokey!
I'm finding it surprisingly enjoyable to work with kids. Enjoyable because it's fulfilling. I could make maps of every nature reserve on the planet and not influence one person out there, but with kids, I actually get some sense of accomplishment, and some sort of happiness I don't think I've experienced before, even as a latch key leader. I think that's because of two things: 1. I am older and see things differently than I did as a self-conscious 17 year old and 2. The kids here nab up every little creative tid bit you offer them and simply run with it. All you need to do is say "write a poem about nature", hand them a pencil and a piece of paper, and watch a poem unfold itself. They crave active, creative thinking like nothing I've seen. In school, they are lectured to and treated, from what I've heard, like sub-humans who need nothing more than bread, water, and 50 pages of reading to survive on. Not all, of course. My Romanian tutor teaches English and I can tell she is different than the majority of teachers, which is hopefully a sign that things will slowly change. But after a semester of being yelled at and read to, what kid wouldn't love to do the hokey pokey? Or draw their own super hero? Or come up with their own theme song? Things that were generally met by groans of annoyance from the kids I worked with at Latch Key. "Do we have to?" they would ask, instead of my new favorite "how many colors can we use?" All of them. Use them all. They're your colors and you can do whatever you want with them...followed by a smile of satisfaction and a burst of imagination across an empty sheet. Perfect.
In case you haven't done the hokey pokey in a while:
You put your right hand in
You put your right hand out
You put your right hand in
And you shake it all about.
You do the hokey pokey
And you turn yourself around
That's what it's all about.
Best when completed with a couple little kids around. Since that's what it's all about.
In case you haven't done the hokey pokey in a while:
You put your right hand in
You put your right hand out
You put your right hand in
And you shake it all about.
You do the hokey pokey
And you turn yourself around
That's what it's all about.
Best when completed with a couple little kids around. Since that's what it's all about.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
photos
New photos are up on my flickr site, if you're interested. I also created a photo map and wasted way too much time fiddling around with it. Internet is such a time suck, but I'm a big fan of maps, so oh well. This is the first weekend in well over a month that I'm staying at site and it feels a bit weird...I kinda feel like I can't enjoy the moments of "not much to do". More on that later, I'm super tired. Good night and happy belated 4th!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Boink!
New design! I like green. And trees. And plants and stuff.
I decided to forgo the password idea for this blog. It turns out I can't really password protect it, but would have to invite via email every person who wants to read it and that's not my style. I like the idea of people I've never met reading this thing and I wouldn't want to make strangers send me their email address so I can invite them. It's a blog, if you're feeling offended by it, please either contact me or stop reading it. Gata.
I don't wanna jump the gun, but I got very excited today when I spoke to my Romanian tutor, who is on maternity leave from teaching English (they get two years of maternity leave here - two years!), about the possibility of starting up a drama/English club at her school. If there's one thing I truly miss from high school, other than friends, it's the drama club. One of the best ways to form strong camaraderie with others is through being on a stage with them, in front of hundreds of onlookers, whom you can not see because ridiculously bright spotlights are shining right into your retinas, dressed up as a bunny, and singing badly out of tune while dancing slightly off beat of everyone else. At least that was my experience. Good times. Seriously, despite the oddly harsh teacher, I loved every minute of my drama years and have always wanted to get involved in it again. Maybe this'll be my chance. Anybody know of any good Halloween-themed plays, as that'll be about the time for our first production :)
Gotta go bake cookies. My hopes are to make at least two batches for vineri, patru iulie, to share with my colleagues in honor of the great country I'm observing from afar. Speaking of which, it's quite embarrassing when your new Romanian friends know more about the history of your country than you do. I met some new people last night and they went into a big discussion about several of the past presidents and what they contributed to the country and who was good, who was bad, etc etc. Stuff that makes me snore. Sorry, but it does. I can not help it and I know many people out there are suddenly wishing I'd password protected this blog and not invited them. I have tried so many times to get interested in politics and read about what all the past presidents did for this country because I know it's important stuff and I hate being in situations where people are talking about something that I know nothing about, but I'm asleep by page ten. And about ten minutes into this conversation, I started noticing how lovely the park looked and how cute all the kids running around were and wondering which tree a nearby dog was going to pee on, and not listening to what my new friends were rather passionately discussing. They're from Romania, we're sitting in Romania, and they're debating my country and its past presidents and I have NOTHING to add. Shameful? This is something I've thought alot about...forcing yourself to memorize material and be interested in a subject because others deem it as necessary, basic knowledge to know. Should I really be embarrassed by the fact that I cannot list off all the presidents, or even half of them, and their parties, and that I don't care if you or your grandfather can? Somehow I managed to get through high school and college without knowing the names of any of the Supreme Court Justices and my question is: is that sad on my part or sad on my schooling's part? Or both? I seriously lie awake at night thinking about this and wondering if I'm a bad and ignorant American. I try to stay up to date on current political happenings. I vote. I caucus (even though I still don't fully understand the process). But I will never be able to dive into a conversation about Theodore Roosevelt and Richard Nixon and Abe Lincoln and how awesome and/or horrible they were and feel even remotely confident in what I'm saying. Never. Sure, I could do some research and write a ten page paper about it, which I've done in the past, but does any of that info stick? Nope. Because I write the paper, get my A (or B...), and never think about it again until I'm surrounded by people who are discussing something I wrote about five years ago, and can remember nothing of. Yes, it's a very important part of history and who we as a nation are, I know, and I'm very glad there are people out there who are quite interested in it and have the ability to read about it and actually retain the information. They'll have all the conversations for me while I take a walk in the park and smile at the dogs and hope that people don't hate me for my incurable ignorance.
Wow...off into the tangents. Too late now for cookies. Tomorrow. Two batches. And I'll do it to the tunes of Nina Simone.
I decided to forgo the password idea for this blog. It turns out I can't really password protect it, but would have to invite via email every person who wants to read it and that's not my style. I like the idea of people I've never met reading this thing and I wouldn't want to make strangers send me their email address so I can invite them. It's a blog, if you're feeling offended by it, please either contact me or stop reading it. Gata.
I don't wanna jump the gun, but I got very excited today when I spoke to my Romanian tutor, who is on maternity leave from teaching English (they get two years of maternity leave here - two years!), about the possibility of starting up a drama/English club at her school. If there's one thing I truly miss from high school, other than friends, it's the drama club. One of the best ways to form strong camaraderie with others is through being on a stage with them, in front of hundreds of onlookers, whom you can not see because ridiculously bright spotlights are shining right into your retinas, dressed up as a bunny, and singing badly out of tune while dancing slightly off beat of everyone else. At least that was my experience. Good times. Seriously, despite the oddly harsh teacher, I loved every minute of my drama years and have always wanted to get involved in it again. Maybe this'll be my chance. Anybody know of any good Halloween-themed plays, as that'll be about the time for our first production :)
Gotta go bake cookies. My hopes are to make at least two batches for vineri, patru iulie, to share with my colleagues in honor of the great country I'm observing from afar. Speaking of which, it's quite embarrassing when your new Romanian friends know more about the history of your country than you do. I met some new people last night and they went into a big discussion about several of the past presidents and what they contributed to the country and who was good, who was bad, etc etc. Stuff that makes me snore. Sorry, but it does. I can not help it and I know many people out there are suddenly wishing I'd password protected this blog and not invited them. I have tried so many times to get interested in politics and read about what all the past presidents did for this country because I know it's important stuff and I hate being in situations where people are talking about something that I know nothing about, but I'm asleep by page ten. And about ten minutes into this conversation, I started noticing how lovely the park looked and how cute all the kids running around were and wondering which tree a nearby dog was going to pee on, and not listening to what my new friends were rather passionately discussing. They're from Romania, we're sitting in Romania, and they're debating my country and its past presidents and I have NOTHING to add. Shameful? This is something I've thought alot about...forcing yourself to memorize material and be interested in a subject because others deem it as necessary, basic knowledge to know. Should I really be embarrassed by the fact that I cannot list off all the presidents, or even half of them, and their parties, and that I don't care if you or your grandfather can? Somehow I managed to get through high school and college without knowing the names of any of the Supreme Court Justices and my question is: is that sad on my part or sad on my schooling's part? Or both? I seriously lie awake at night thinking about this and wondering if I'm a bad and ignorant American. I try to stay up to date on current political happenings. I vote. I caucus (even though I still don't fully understand the process). But I will never be able to dive into a conversation about Theodore Roosevelt and Richard Nixon and Abe Lincoln and how awesome and/or horrible they were and feel even remotely confident in what I'm saying. Never. Sure, I could do some research and write a ten page paper about it, which I've done in the past, but does any of that info stick? Nope. Because I write the paper, get my A (or B...), and never think about it again until I'm surrounded by people who are discussing something I wrote about five years ago, and can remember nothing of. Yes, it's a very important part of history and who we as a nation are, I know, and I'm very glad there are people out there who are quite interested in it and have the ability to read about it and actually retain the information. They'll have all the conversations for me while I take a walk in the park and smile at the dogs and hope that people don't hate me for my incurable ignorance.
Wow...off into the tangents. Too late now for cookies. Tomorrow. Two batches. And I'll do it to the tunes of Nina Simone.
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