Dear Maren

I don't have a kid, so I don't have a camera, so I don't take pictures, so my graduate school experience is not documented in photos, and I don't have Steve here to take them for me, which is the only reason I have any pictures from Taiwan, which is old news, which is why I don't have new news, which is why I haven't updated my blog, which is why no one likes me, which is why I don't have a girl friend, which is why I'm not married, which is why I don't have a kid.

But I went to a wedding in D.C. last weekend and Becky was there and Becky has a camera (but not a kid--go figure) and Becky has friends and Becky wanted me to take pictures of her with her friends and Becky gave me her camera and I took a picture of me.

So here is a new picture of me so you don't have to look at old pictures of me so you can think I'm "an OK guy" so you can hook me up with your friends so I can get a girl friend so I can get married so I can have a kid so I can finally get a camera.

THE END

What's on your refrigerator?

BexLiz Creations (posted first on Becky's blog. re-posted here for purposes of necessary redundancy . . . then again, is my face ever redundant? apparently not.)

Bex and Liz sent me a care package for my first week of grad school. This was inside, accompanied by other goodies. Still struggling to acculturate myself to a new town, new house, new people, new life, new me? Not anymore; not with this thing staring back at me every morning from my refrigerator.

The CHronicles of Riddick

Have you seen this thing? This gem of all cinematic gems?

Reasons you should compromise your intelligence by viewing:

1) Vin Diesel
2) "There'll be one speed--mine. If you can't keep up, don't step up. You'll just die."

3) "What was that? You don't care if you live or die? ... Well, maybe I do. KEEP MOVING!"

4) Vin Diesel

5) "Me? I'm just passing through."

6) "I'll kill you with my tea cup."

7) Vin Diesel

8) When Vin dumps a canteen of water on his head to protect himself from scorching flames.

9) The steam coming off his head after coming out of the flames.

10) Vin Diesel

*

To Jared, to every bad-movie-night we had, to every dose of this mind-altering narcotic, to all the brain cells I lost in the process, and to our sponsors Vin Diesel and Ice Cube (xXx), thank you.

Steve's phone works again. For those of you interested in a sequel, that's it. I could hear Steve on the phone yesterday more clearly than when we used to live in the same room. So in case you were afraid to call him after reading my previous post, fear no more.

Hi steve .... what?

"Hey Steve, I can't understand you."
"Oh, weel I grrrt thrrris nrrrrrew pho...kurrr."
"No you didn't. You got weesled by some phone salesman. That ain't no new phone."
"No, I said-krrrr, I berrrrrt it'sssss the crack-k-k-k-k in the pho sssss."
"Like I said Steve, I can't understand a word. And that sounds nothing like what you said the first time."
"Hey, marrbe youkrr earses are messssst ooop!"
"Easy Steve. My ears aren't messed. Your phone's what's messed. And if you start turning on me, I'm going to think you's messed too."
"Grrrrrrr!"
"Is that a dog? I didn't know you had a dog."
"I don't have a rrufff. Hey Joe, remember rugrrrk do krrruchchch straggrrl?"
"Sure."

Pretty soon I just gave up trying to understand and started rotating through generic response A B and C to keep the conversation going as smoothly as possible.

"Joe, grphsed to foojellfff."
"Yeah."
"Ikcruchrr tosnoxxf"
"Uhuh."
"Riggle mic smiggle bigs."
"Exactly. Well, good talking to you, got to go."

This is the same courtesy Steve showed me on the back of a scooter in Taiwan. I'm sure he didn't hear a word I said with the wind catching each one and flipping it inside out before it got back to him. But I always left with the fuzzy feeling of having just had a very agreeable conversation.

Hopefully Steve went to get his phone fixed after our chat. Or at least to chew the company out until they promised him all sorts of technical compensation. I'm rooting for you, Steve. It would never do for the most technically savvy guy of our Berhan outfit to be stuck with a phone that transforms him into Chewbacca.

Speaking of cell phones, I finally got one. It's this shiny blue thing that does everything including shave my face and pop popcorn. There's no way of actually discovering all the gimmicks on it, but I enjoy new surprises every day. Besides breaking up ear plaque still lingering from my trip to Thailand, it also plays an Asian jingle whenever I'm feeling nostalgic for Taiwan, vibrates in my hand when I need a hand massage, and tucks me in at night after telling me I'm OK and people like me. I think it's alive. Kind of like Herold Crick's wrist watch in Stranger than Fiction. But I can't get it to palm-read or tell my fortune, so it does have limitations. If you want my number, call somebody you think cool enough to have it. Steve's one. But if you call him, don't complain if you can't tell what language he's speaking, let alone hear the number right.

Constructing a new template, not a new blog

Out with the old and in with the new.
But not completely out.
Remember the old. Prune it. Bring in new seeds,
Though these will need pruning soon enough.
Then do it again.

It wouldn't do well to forget Asia. Especially since it will be present in my studies (my Russian program will focus on Russian-Chinese relations). But I can't continue writing more chapters in a finished book, like epilogues good only for pampering the past. So I'm changing the book cover. It's a new book, set in the same binding with the first for consumer convenience. So go ahead, buy the set. Feel them the same, see them separate.

good bye's and clean up

no longer in the virgin cheeks club

minus the media

I don't actually have a camera. I'm going to stop pretending I do. Steve gets credit for 99% of all media posted to this blog. The other 1% divides up 11 ways, the breakdown of which I don't care to specify. But if you're ever wondering why some of my posts do not carry weight, it's because words mean nothing. Pictures and video clips mean everything. And sometimes I'm too lazy to ask Steve for a picture. My sincere apologies go out to all your overly stimulated senses. Mine too, actually. I skim blogs the same way and get all depressed when after skimming I discover the only way to get any entertainment out of it is to read the words. It's the same reason kids don't want a story book void of pictures. It becomes a chore or task. Chores are what your mom makes you do before you can go outside and play. Tasks are what your teacher assigns you at the end of each class. You want neither. And by golly you sure won't do it if it's anybody else besides mom and teacher. So when you skim a blog looking for media to jump start your desire to read, and you find nothing, it better be a darn good friend or relative's blog or that engine ain't starting. Because if it does, you're sure not doing it for kicks and giggles--you know your hide's gonna get it if you don't read. And then, maybe then do you start reading. And if you're lucky, very lucky, it's worth the read and you stop reserving 9/10ths of your brain to plan out what you're going to do for entertainment once you've finished your chores. That said, 10 points to anyone who reads this. And I'll know if you're faking it because I'll ask you how many pull-ups my dad can do--something I'll swear I included in the post.

Class Profile

So they hand me this form to fill out. There's always a form to fill out. This one says ELE Class Profile. As if there's a way to map out the dysfunction and chaos of this evening kindergarten class. But hey, there's a form to be considered. The new teach needs to think he/she has a reference guide to successful teaching before he/she discovers he/she was very much mistaken.

Classroom Management

1. Seating Chart: What? You want these kids to sit down? Not going to happen.

2. Discipline System:
Behavior Record: Sure, this class holds a record. Not the one you want.
Punishments: Capital
Rewards: Less than Capital

Suggestions, Special Needs, and Encouragement

Suggestions: Go back to America
Special Needs: You must have some if you want to teach this class
Encouragement: Guns are illegal in Taiwan. These kids won't have them.
(Discouragement: Guns are illegal in Taiwan. You won't have one.)

What BMCs and CCs can your students use without relying on a model?

1. "I'm sitting nicely." (Which they're not)
2. "Today is Sunday." (Which it never is. "Class is Monday to Friday kids. Sit down James, and stop choking Louie. Then again, keep choking Louie. That way he'll stop choking Frank for a minute.")

Indicate where next semester's teacher should begin teaching:

We've been working on such phrases as, "Stop choking me. Stop kicking me. Stop poking me in the eye." You can start teaching them things like, "I deserved it. It's my fault. He choked me because I was choking him first." Mostly though, you'll be the one learning new phrases. Such things as, "Danny, keep your pants on. James, take your hands off Tyson and go to the corner. Shalee and Shalene, that's only legal in Massachusetts and California. Hey, if you're going to spit, you're going to lick it up. Hey, get off me already. HEYYYYYYYYYYY! STOP YOUR HONKING!"

They're sweet. Have fun.

Kidnapped

And so it was that Sara kidnapped Joe and buried him deep in the jungle after dark, with nothing but an empty gas tank and a scooter attached to it. She thought it was fun. He thought it was "fun." Notice how differently you read the word "fun" from the way you read the word fun. The pause means everything.

"I love living on the edge," was followed by, "I thought the road would be turning away from the mountains by now," and, "Wow, would you look at that gas gauge!" and, "It doesn't really look like anyone lives out here, does it?" Everything being said was being said by Sara. And a good thing too. I go into survival mode when minutes are all I have before motor melt-down, and before my super sonic metabolizing tummy is stranded miles from food. And then if I let myself talk, I'm wasting precious energy.

The jungle doesn't offer too much by way of light either. Especially at night. In fact, it shrouds any that might have been, were the moon and stars visible. So pot holes and sharp bends in "the road less traveled" become unanticipated guests--the kind you don't invite on purpose, but who find out about the party anyway and come--the very characteristic that keeps them off the invitee list in the first place . We almost died 37 times that night. I counted. Not out loud, mind you. And who's idea was this anyway? Why did I go along with this? Once again, not out loud.

"Wow! What an adventure!" and then, "Gee, I've never seen the gas gauge so low!" Man Sara, could you just pick one? I have a hard time keeping track of what mood we're in when you go from excited to aghast so quickly. I'm focussed on the one: what our first move is when the engine stops and the head-lights go out. It's a good thing you're here telling me what an adventure we're having. Somehow I forget that part until I'm safely at the dinner table with a mound of edibles in front of me and a crowd of thrill seekers around me waiting on a good story. Yes, then it's an adventure. But now, it's survival.

And then the engine stopped. And the lights went out, and we had to use scooter parts as make-shift weapons to hunt food for the next three weeks. Not really, but unfortunately, there's nothing more exciting or dangerous about the story. The road eventually headed back out toward civilization like Sara predicted and within a few miles we saw a gas station. The only other thing remotely interesting about it was the three wrong turns I took within a five minutes span at the same intersection. I was still in survival mode, still thinking we were lost, so I couldn't recognize a thing and my internal compass kept changing it's mind every time I made a decision. Then Sara says she's known where we are for a half hour now and that she's "letting me figure it out" for fun. Oh wait, for "fun." Give me something strong. A beer with as much root in there as possible. How long have you known where we are, Sara? What kind of freakish double sided, slap job are you trying to pull here? Lure a trusting joe into the promised bliss of nighttime scooter riding, throw in the suggestion of a mountainous view point, and then pretend to get lost coming down the other side. It's your fault I had to change my drawers when I got home. See what I go through here? Oh, you think I'm your cute little brother? That I love getting tricked, poked, stuffed in laundry machines, and picked on by big lovable sister bear? Well, not this one. I'm letting you know right now, a storm's coming . . . a storm's coming.

had a birthday

I had a birthday.
They shouted.
They chanted my name,
brought down houses,
scattered little pieces of colored paper,
wrote me tributes,
made me cakes,
made me smiles.
And then they sang to me.

But then they weren't singing.
No more smiles were being made,
no more cakes,
no more words or colored paper.
The houses stood straight;
no shouting brought them down.
No chanting reached my ears.
Everyone was sleeping...

and I was sitting.
I was sitting and being 27
for the first time--
the stillness finally confirming it.

But "the tree was happy"
and so was the aging boy.
He was sitting and he was happy.
He had been given a birthday.