pingu

Husband and I have become hopelessly addicted to Pingu cartoons. (See his Wikipedia entry below; also note that Wikipedia has devoted an entire category to "Fictional Penguins." Not sure what to make of that.)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pingu

Pingu is a Claymation penguin who lives in an igloo with his parents, who seem to be constantly ironing. Given that none of the penguins wear clothes, WHAT ARE THEY IRONING?

The main lessons to be learned from the (many, many) episodes of Pingu that we've recently watched on VCD seem to be:

• Penguins LOVE popcorn. Really love it.
  
• When penguins are eating popcorn, it sticks to their faces for some reason.
• Seals and penguins can be friends.
• Fish is not just food. It's currency. It can also be put in your pocket. (Wait, back up, POCKETS? They're not wearing clothes!)
• Friends are for making fun of.

Also, having recently discovered Pingu, we find that our friends (especially the Japanese ones) have known about him all along. I guess we're just late to the party.

that depends on what your definition of "useless" is

0, 6, 16. The combination to my locker in seventh grade.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377, 610, 987, 1597 . . . The Fibonacci series.

40, 42, 44, 46, 48, 50, 52, 54, 56, 58, 60, 63, 66, 69, 72, 76, 80, 84, 88, 92, 96, 100, 104, 108, 112, 116, 120, 126, 132, 138, 144, 152, 160, 168, 176, 184, 192, 200, 208. The numbers on the dial of a standard metronome.

much better than prose

Another gorgeous picture taken by Husband.

This is a temple in a really big public park that's 3 km from our apartment. (No, I'm not a magical expert on the metric system--there's a convenient road sign that tells me this information.)

Also in the park: an enormous Buddha statue, many carefully arranged gardens with walking paths, ponds and creeks where there are boat races, and lots of people hanging out and having a good time.

file under "mistakes i'll never make again"

Husband and I are having a problem with our visas. We recently took a short holiday to Singapore during the time that the university was closed, and that was the start of the trouble.

We have (ok, HAD) single-entry visas. That means we could legally live in Thailand for one year, but we could not leave and re-enter the country without a re-entry permit. Before we went to Singapore we talked to one of the university staff whose job it is to keep all of us farang in the country, and she told us that we had to go to a particular office in the airport for a re-entry permit.

Now comes the part where the experienced travelers among you will roll your eyes at the wetness of our backs.

We thought that a re-entry permit was something you worried about, well, when you re-entered the country. We had visas clearly showing we were legal residents of Thailand, we had the extra little passport photos we would need for the re-entry visa, so we went on our merry way thinking all was well.

Not so.

What our university staffer didn't tell us (and I'm still not sure whether she thought this was too obvious to bear mentioning, or if it was some kind of linguistic problem) was that the re-entry permit must be obtained BEFORE leaving Thailand. We got back from our holiday and our visas were cancelled. All we had were the 30 days allowed to Americans visiting Thailand without visas.

We hurried back to our university staffer and told her what had happened. She couldn't believe we had "forgotten" to get our re-entry permits. (We didn't forget at all--we dutifully went to the office upon our return, only to be told that it was too late.) She told us, though, that she could take care of the problem. We were going to have to go to the immigration office in Bangkok and pay for another extended visa, and all would be well. This was nearly a month ago.

Today, with three days left on our thirty-day stay, we went to the immigration office with our university staffer. She took our passports and a big stack of paperwork, and told us to wait in the waiting area. She came back less than ten minutes later and said, "You have a problem." Apparently we can't get another visa from inside Thailand. We've got to leave the country again and re-apply for the original (three-month) visas we had when we first came here. Then, after those three months are up, we'll have to get another year-long extension.

Our university staffer explained that she had never been in this situation before--no farang teacher had ever "forgotten" to get the re-entry permit before, and she didn't know that it was such a problem! So there we were, with three days to leave the country. She told us our best option was to go to the Thai embassy in either Vientiane or Singapore, where we could re-apply for visas. We decided Singapore was far preferable, both because we've been there and are at least a little familiar with it, and because neither of us has any notion of Lao, and from all reports Vientiane is even less Westernized than Bangkok. We didn't relish the idea of wandering around Vientiane in a mad rush after a 9-hour bus ride.

So we told our university staffer that Singapore sounded better, and she got on the phone with the Thai embassy. Problem: this is Friday. Embassies aren't open on weekends. Monday is Chinese New Year, which is a national holiday in Singapore. That means the soonest we could even apply for the new visa would be Tuesday, which would mean coming home on Thursday, which would mean my missing two REALLY important concerts (one of student performances and one of my own performances). So that was out.

Well, it turns out we did have one other option: a ten-day extension on our 30 days, giving us a little breathing room and legal status until February 9. We said, "Sign us up!" So we are going to Singapore but not immediately. We're going to have to miss 3 days of work, which for Husband means finding subs for 4 classes, and for me means rescheduling 15 lessons. And it is going to cost us.

I guess it's a lesson learned--we'll certainly never make the mistake again of assuming that a re-entry permit can wait till re-entry.

"you should see me dressed up in my uniform"

At the university there are three levels of students: pre-college, undergraduate, and graduate. The pre-college and undergraduate students all wear uniforms. At first I was taken aback by what seemed like a homogenous sea of white shirts and black skirts or pants, but it didn't take me long to start to see the subtle changes the students make to try to individualize their uniforms.

The pre-college students have less leeway for personal expression than the undergaduates: their appearance is mandated from haircut to shoes. The boys wear short-sleeved shirts and black knee-length shorts, with black canvas sneakers. The girls wear shirts with big puffed sleeves and pleated skirts that fall just below the knee, with pleather Mary Janes. But it seems to be a badge of honor among the boys to wear uniform shoes with as many gaping holes as possible, and to slide them on only halfway so that they are standing on what should be behind their heels. The girls, although they comply with the big white or black bows that tie their ponytails, seem to be competing for the messiest, shaggiest ponytail that includes the smallest amount of hair. They have their bangs cut thick and shaggy, layered all the way down the sides of their faces, so that the only hair that makes it into the teeny ponytail with the huge bow is the hair from the very backs of their heads.

The undergraduates have a little more freedom. The male students wear white button-down shirts and black trousers with black shoes, and the females wear the same type of shirts with black skirts. Haircuts, shoes, and accessories are up to them. In what I can only imagine is a mild form of hazing, first-semester freshmen of both sexes are also required to wear black ties. Everyone must wear a brown suede belt, which is a little superfluous for the girls because their skirts don't have belt loops. In addition, most of them are so thin that even with the belt buckled on the tightest loop it hangs on their hips like a Hula hoop.

Having satisfied these requirements, the students are able to make any modifications they want to. That means that there is a wide range of, for instance, skirt lengths. On the one end of the fashion spectrum are the very conservative girls (including Muslims in headscarves), wearing floor-length skirts and long sleeves. Somewhere in the middle you'll find knee-length skirts, beat-up sneakers, and short-sleeved shirts. On the other end are miniskirts with slits up the thigh, high-heeled sandals, and shirts so tight that the buttons strain to the extent that bare skin is visible between them.

But the girls aren't the only ones who like to individualize their uniforms. However, while they can be placed on a spectrum according to the amount of skin they show, the boys' spectrum runs more to shagginess. On the one end are the former or current soldiers, who wear spotlessly shined shoes, bright white shirts that fit them, and pressed slacks. They also tend to have conservative haircuts. In the middle are the untucked-shirt and baggy-pants crew, encompassing a large proportion of the student population. Then there are the "rebels," who craftily substitute black jeans for slacks and let their hair grow shaggy and wild. Some of the freshmen, with their combed-forward haircuts and their thin black ties, look like George Harrison circa 1965.

All this to say, vive la difference.

and those would be what, exactly?

There is a song that is currently getting a lot of play on the pop music radio stations here. I hear it in taxicabs, in shops, and today while I was getting a haircut. The singer, or rather shouter, of this song definitely sounds American. During the course of the song she details her considerable physical charms and punctuates the litany of self-praise with phrases like "you spendin' all you money on me."

I give you the refrain of this song, verbatim:

My hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump.
My lovely lady lumps.

it was a hootenanny, part 2

During dinner the entertainment started. The first thing that we saw was one of our own colleagues, a teacher at the university, performing classical Thai dance. It was amazing. He was dressed in one of the very fancy Ramakien costumes. I'm not sure which one (the only one I recognize for sure is Hanuman) but I'm pretty sure he wasn't one of the bad guys because his face wasn't green.

Next were some group dance numbers performed by the office support staff. They were very entertaining as well, if not as skilled as the previous performer.

After that it was time for a game. The woman in charge of things started calling people up to the stage by name. It was mostly Thai people, of course, but I was called and so were two other farang teachers. We didn't know what we were in for so we looked a little nervous, I think. Somehow we managed to gain an understanding of what we were supposed to do, which was this:

Form a circle with everyone else. While the music is playing, walk clockwise. If possible, dance or walk in an otherwise entertaining manner. When the music stops, the announcer calls out a number. Everyone must form groups of that number of people and drop to the floor. Those who don't find groups or whose groups contain the wrong number of people are "out." Lather, rinse, repeat until there is one winner remaining.

The first number called was 2. Easy: I got together with my fellow farang. Then we had 3. Also easy. Next was 10. Do you know how hard it is to form orderly groups of 10? Maybe it's only hard for me. But somehow I found myself in a successful group. I made it through several more rounds--I suspect that the Thai teachers were "helping" me a little. I didn't win, but Husband had a great time watching me scurry around the stage.

After the game there was more dancing. This time it was time for the "fashion show," which consisted entirely of male faculty and staff dressed in drag. They were wearing the brightest colors and the most ludicrous fake breasts possible. One guy, in a midriff top and a grass skirt, had painted some Thai characters on his stomach which I'm told translated to "2 months very pregnant." I had heard about cross-dressing New Year traditions, but I don't know what (if anything) these kinds of things are supposed to mean. I was pretty surprised to see my colleagues in their muumuus and their crazy makeup, dancing up a storm. I guess it's comparable to someone who doesn't celebrate Halloween going to their first Halloween party--which happened here this past year, when some of the other Americans decided to throw a party and invited colleagues from all over the world.

Between each activity or dance, some gifts were exchanged. I'm not sure who got our gift, but we got some really cute coffee cups and saucers. They're in the shape of Asian-style teacups, and they have various English sayings on them. The smaller ones say "Small coffee" and "Some like it hot," and the larger ones say "Medium coffee" and "Cafe framboise." Adorable and WAY better than the crappy gift we bought. We asked what sort of thing we should bring, but all we could wring out of anyone was "bring any kind of gift" and a reiteration of the minimum number of baht we should spend. Oh well, I guess we'll know better for next year.

it was a hootenanny, part 1

Friday night was the university's faculty/staff New Year party. I'd been told by some colleagues who have been here a few years that it is an event not to be missed, so Husband and I dutifully brought our gift for the gift exchange (turns out we were supposed to bring two gifts--who knew? yet another thing to do right next time), dressed in "colorful clothes" as specified on the informational memo, and arrived...an hour and a half too early.

The informational memo about this party is the most detailed piece of correspondence I've ever received from the university. The schedule was blocked out in half-hour increments beginning at 5:00pm and continuing through 11:00pm. Well, we didn't fall off the pomelo truck yesterday, so we knew better than to show up at 5 sharp. Since our fearless leader, the dean of the college, was scheduled to make a speech at 5:30, we figured he'd actually start speaking around 6 and that by showing up at 5:20 we'd be in plenty of time for the 5:00 activity. Smart, no?

No, as it turns out.

We arrived at 5:20 (20 minutes late, for those of you keeping score) and found workers setting up tables, 5 or 6 office assistants looking cheerful and handing out door prizes, and NO ONE ELSE. Yes, we were the first to arrive. By 6:30 some people had started to trickle in and the party started. It bore no resemblance to the detailed schedule we were given. One day we'll learn. (There was no speech by the dean at all.)

The dinner was in ten courses. TEN. Here is what was brought to our table (served family style):

• Dumplings, sausages, and cashews for appetizers.
• An extremely viscous soup made with what the Thai people described as "pork skin it is fried."
• A whole fish, fried and covered with a mildly spicy ginger sauce.
• What must have been an entire roasted duck (it was cut up, so it was hard to tell just how much of a duck we were eating).
• A Thai-style salad containing shrimp, squid, oysters, and the usual dressing (but not nearly as spicy as usual).
• Another whole fish, this one steamed and covered with a soy-based sauce.
• Fried rice.
• Tom yum goong--spicy lemon grass soup with shrimp.
  
• Dessert #1: a plate containing sticky rice and some sort of thing made of taro.
• Dessert #2: assorted fruits with chili sugar.

You'll note that we ate pig, fish, duck, shrimp, squid, oysters, another fish, some more shrimp, and whatever kind of ground up animal was in the dumplings and sausage (probably pork). The only non-meat-based dishes were the rice and the dessert, and there were no vegetables at all. This is typical Thai food, I've found. Lots of meat and rice, amazing sauces with plenty of things like lemon grass, chilis, ginger, and cilantro, but nothing at all that an American would think of as a vegetable.

yes! they're getting the idea

So apparently the performance of Beethoven 5 went well. I think my students finally get the idea that if they are worried about something or need help with something, they should ask me.
Why, just today a student knocked on my door to ask for some help with his band music, a full five minutes before his rehearsal! That's planning ahead, I tell you.

In the past their approach has been to wait for me to bring it up, which is a losing proposition since I generally don't know the problem exists. My predecessor was much more involved with my students' musical lives than I am--he played in their ensembles, including the school ensembles. It didn't do much for him as an authority figure, but it did mean no one ever had to ask him for help--he heard them in every rehearsal and was able to help them out on the spot.

Just another piece of evidence showing that I am not him.

creative uses for fruits and vegetables

It's a flower arrangement. It's a fruit basket.

piquet

Husband and I have recently learned how to play piquet. We like to play cards but unfortunately our favorite game (pinochle) isn't really suited for two players, and we don't know anyone here whose idea of a good time is hanging out and playing cards. Imagine that--our friends prefer the Bangkok nightlife to our apartment!

What is "nightlife" anyway? Is it going to a bar and sitting, or is there more to it? I've never understood. I like going out to eat, I like going to concerts, I like movies and shopping. All of these things can be done at night. But somehow I don't think this is really what is meant by "nightlife."

Anyhoooo,

We have been playing a lot of rummy. When we started to get sick of it I went online (sweet, sweet Internet) to try to find some new 2-player card games to try. After a couple of attempts at games we didn't particularly fancy, I found a web page that said something like "...and there are still some people who remember how to play piquet."

Intrigued, I looked it up. What a fun game! Card counting, arcane terminology, endless strategizing for very little apparent gain, a truly baroque method of keeping score. What's not to like?

I am devoted to spreading the piquet love. I am also hoping that someone who really knows how to play (as in, has learned how to play by experience instead of solely by reading a web page) will come across this post and leave me some tips in the comments thread so that I can end Husband's reign of terror.

Some fun piquet lingo:

• Elder Hand: the non-dealer
• Younger Hand: the dealer
• Carte Blanche: a hand of cards containing no jacks, queens, or kings
• Point: the largest number of cards in one's hand in a single suit (seven diamonds would be "point of seven)
• Repiquet: a bonus received for scoring 30 points before your opponent scores any, before any tricks have been played
• Piquet: a bonus received for scoring 30 points before your opponent scores any, including tricks
• The Cards: ten points awarded to the player who takes the most tricks
• Capot: forty points awarded to a player who takes all of the tricks; cancels piquet
• Crossing the Rubicon: what you say when your score passes 100 points

I don't know why but all of this arcana really appeals to me. The workings of the game are elegantly, needlessly complex. Everything must happen in a particular order. Scores can snowball: there are all sorts of bonuses that work out to being extra points just for being in the lead, and/or penalties just for being behind. Evidently this is because British gentlemen used to bet large sums of money on games of piquet, and the (also complicated) method of betting depended not only on winning or losing, but on the actual scores at various points in the game and at the end.

Here is a link that explains the game in detail; I set out to do that in this post, but stopped both because I'd be doing nothing but cribbing from this site, and also because boy, are there a lot of rules, and why should I type them when someone else has already?

http://www.pagat.com/notrump/piquet.html

meet stephanie

Stephanie is the gecko who lives in my bathroom. She likes to hide from us, either under the shelves that hold our shampoo and other shower supplies, or in the shadow of the giant squeegee we use to dry the bathroom floor after our showers. Sometimes, though, I catch her out in the open. She tries to flee and to remain unobtrusive at the same time: she runs like hell for about four inches (no mean distance for a lizard of her stature), then pauses in absolute stillness for a second or two before making another short dash. Eventually she reaches the relative comfort of one of her favored hiding places, where she presumably waits for the giant intruder to leave so that she can continue stalking her prey.

While the notion that my bathroom evidently contains enough bugs to support a gecko for an extended period of time does concern me a little, I am comforted by the fact that Stephanie is there too. On patrol. I like to think she has a particular taste for the mosquitoes that carry dengue fever and Japanese encephalitis.

the magic of fiber optics

What a fascinating modern age we live in.

Daytime street vendors in Bangkok sell pineapple slices on sticks. They sell shoes, purses, and holy amulets.

Nighttime street vendors, especially around the Little Arabia area for some reason, sell bright shiny lights.

I have to admit that, as jaded as I've become about the phenomenon of shopping from the sidewalk, I can't help but stop and take a look at the light-up stuff. I haven't bought any of these things, which is probably good--it frees up both money and shelf space for the all-important acquisition of reading material.

churchill, a colonist? bah!

Last night I was browsing in a Bangkok used-book store for something meeting the following criteria:

• in English.
• never before read by me.
• likely to take more than 2 hours to read.
• not by Stephen King, James Patterson, or Mary Higgins Clark.
• yeah, that's pretty much it.

I didn't find anything. But I did overhear this informative conversation:

Guy With Unidentifiable European Accent: You know, America is a very young country. It's a baby.

His Bored Thai Girlfriend: Really?

GWUEA: Yes, it's a baby. A baby.

HBTG: Mmm.

GWUEA: Do you know what Winston Churchill said when Pearl Harbor was bombed?

HBTG: Mmm?

GWUEA: He said 'The war is over.' Do you know who Churchill was?

HBTG: Uh-uh.

GWUEA: He was a very important American general in the war. A very important general. And he said 'The war is over.' That's what he said. 'The war is over.' Do you know why he said it?

HBTG: Mmm.

This is where I sort of lost the thread of it. I was trying to decide if I'd misheard him, so I missed what I think was the keystone of the lecture: why, in fact, the war was over, and what it all had to do with the fact that America is a baby.

I picked it up again here (maybe I didn't miss that much after all).

GWUEA: Winston Churchill was a very important American general. And he said 'The war is over.'

HBTG: Mmm.

GWUEA: That's what he said. Churchill. The important American general.

At this point I couldn't listen to anymore so I rounded up Husband and we made motions to leave. On the way out Husband couldn't resist making this comment to a very surprised GWUEA:

"Next time, before you start quoting American history, please read a couple of American history books."

i'm going for the hat trick

Three consecutive posts.

I'd better watch myself; my reader (hi Mom) might get the idea that my thoughts are disjointed and disorganized. Horrors.

Several posts ago I mentioned that I am now reading a book about the Khmer Rouge. Generally I expect that as I learn more about a subject, I begin to understand it. Not so with this one. The more I learn about these people, the more confounded I become.

How could they have believed that building a dam without the input of an engineer was a good idea?

How could they have believed that millions of miserable people working to produce very little rice was better than far fewer people working to produce considerably more rice?

And the million-dollar question, of course: how can a person decide that another person deserves to die? How can a person decide that thousands of other people deserve to die? I can't even comprehend the reality, which was MILLIONS. One fourth of the population of Cambodia was murdered by the Khmer Rouge. One fourth of the population.

This happened in the 1970s. The human race had managed to put people on the moon. Smallpox was being eradicated (or had been already--I'm a little fuzzy on the chronology of that).

And yet some people still thought it was OK to knock MILLIONS of their countrymen on the head.

I don't think I'll ever understand that.

yawn

Is there anything more boring than listening to someone else's old grad school stories?

Mine, of course, are fascinating and witty.

chanukah harry?

Another mall holiday decoration.

Yes, it appears to be a Santa.

Yes, he's dressed in blue. Which is why I, with my unequalled powers of deduction, have determined that he is, in fact, Chanukah Harry. In Thailand.

Yes, he is definitely rappelling from the base of the giant blue electric Christmas tree to...points unknown.

The New Year festivities are still in full swing, which means that the decorations are all still up. I really thought they were mostly for the King's birthday and only incidentally for Christmas, but it turns out it was all about the New Year all along.

2006, Year of the Dog, 2549: whatever you call it, all of Thailand is REALLY happy it's here.

Husband pointed out that with Rosh Hashanah only a few months after the Thai New Year, one could conceivably go on celebrating the New Year almost continuously.

vienna and phnom penh

One of my students is getting ready to perform in Beethoven's Fifth Symphony for the first time. He clearly feels this is a momentous event in his musical career. Perhaps it is. He is very excited and very nervous, and I spent a lot of time today helping him with the part.

I wonder a lot here about context. Could my student find Germany on a map? Does he know where Vienna is, and about Beethoven's ambivalence towards Napoleon? Does any of this matter, if he is pressing the right buttons at the right times? I know from experience that asking them to connect pieces of music to European or American historical events is a losing proposition--they don't study that in school! I always try to provide myself with as much context as possible when I'm learning a new piece, but I wonder if I'm not deluding myself. Is everything I need in the score?

I'm reading a book about the history of the Khmer Rouge, and I've got no context for the story besides the (meager) knowledge I have about American involvement in Vietnam. The book is fascinating and scary, and yet I wonder how much more powerful it would feel for someone who had holes for all of its pegs, so to speak. And I wonder if a person able to put this story into context would be able to see farther into the author's mind: logical fallacies, factual errors, original insights, and so forth. For me, I've got to take almost all of what she writes at face value because I've just got no basis for understanding the issues more deeply.

I have to think that context does matter, in music just as much as in Cambodian history. Otherwise, why bother going to music school and studying with a master teacher? Why not just treat the score like a blueprint, reproducing the composer's marks? There's something we call style (or, if you're so inclined, performance practice). When I've thought about it a little more I may attempt a definition, but for now I'll content myself with the certainty that performance practice, style, or musical intelligence is rooted in knowledge.

wat

Because Husband and I are both (STILL) getting over our colds, this seems like a good time to point out that in Thai, a tonal language, the same word can mean "temple" or "to have a cold," depending on the inflection used. I'd much rather be at a temple than coughing, so here are some pictures from the Buddhist temples we've seen.

The pictures were taken by Husband. In my opinion he takes excellent photos--the thing he is trying to get a picture of is always actually present in the picture, it's focused and presented in a good light. My pictures, on the other hand, would generally be improved by forgetting to remove the lens cap. Oh, for the days of lens caps, film, and the Fotomat. I suppose those things are going the way of the LP and the Commodore 64.

sweetened condensed milk

Because I couldn't have a post about coffee without also describing its natural companion. The yang to coffee's yin. The omega to its alpha. The Shirley to its Laverne.

What are Thai people drinking at these coffee shops, if not cups of coffee? They're drinking various dessertlike concoctions made with espresso and sweetened condensed milk.

Sweetened condensed milk. Practically the national food. At the grocery store there are shelves and shelves of it. Brand after brand, cans stacked to the ceiling. You can't buy a dessert from a street vendor that isn't drizzled with it, straight from the can, opened with a nail. Hot coffee, iced tea, blended fruit smoothies: none are complete without that syrupy nectar, either mixed in to give the whole thing an opaque sugary homogeneity, or lurking at the bottom like a depth charge.

It took me a little while to figure this out, and I drank more than one God-awful sweet, creamy drink while swearing under my breath. Thai people's love for it notwithstanding, I find sweetened condensed milk to be even worse than the non-sweetened, non-condensed kind, which is to say intolerable.

Even so, I do appreciate the passion with which so many people here consume it.

coffee, sweet coffee

Because it's the morning and I'm enjoying some, here's a post about coffee.

Coffee isn't a very popular drink in Thailand. You'll find coffee shops, especially in the more Westernized parts of Bangkok, but what you often won't be able to get there is a FREAKING CUP OF COFFEE!! By this I mean brewed coffee like we drink by the gallon in America.

If you order "hot coffee" in Thailand you're likely to get an Americano (espresso and water, for the uninitiated). Which isn't bad, despite its humble ingredients. And because everything here is made to look pretty if at all possible, you're likely to get something that looks like the photo above: an Americano with a tiny cup of alphabet crackers and a shot glass of tea, all served on a tiny tray with a demitasse spoon for all your stirring needs. This charms my socks off. It almost makes up for the fact that an Americano, despite its obvious virtues, is NOT A CUP OF COFFEE.

back to school

Today was the first day back to class after our impromptu holiday. As expected, I had a couple of no-shows and a couple of underprepared lessons. Slightly less expected was the cancellation of my rehearsal. I'm getting a little concerned about that--we've got our first performance in only a few weeks, and everyone just keeps getting busier and leaving less time open for rehearsals. Oh well, mai bpen rai, right? It will be as good as we can make it.

My students gave me lots of presents today. The New Year is a big gift-giving time in Thailand, which is good since they celebrate it three times a year. There's the Western New Year on January 1, the Chinese Lunar New Year, and the Thai New Year in April. The Thai calendar has rolled over, I think, to 2549. I'm not at all sure if I was supposed to get presents for my students, for the office staff, for my boss, or for anyone. I suppose this is one of those times when I can hide behind the stupid foreigner stereotype.

One of the nasty nicknames Thais have for foreigners translates to "bird-shit foreigner," so whenever I fear that I've screwed up somehow I try to console myself with the notion that I haven't actually disappointed anyone; I've merely lived down to their expectations. Actually I think that's probably worse in the grand scheme of things.

singapore

Things You Can Do in Singapore but Not in Thailand, or, How I Spent My Christmas Vacation.

1. Drink the tap water.
2. Have a conversation in English with everyone you meet.
3. Breathe. (OK, it's only Bangkok that is so polluted, not the rest of Thailand.)
4. Pay way too much for drinks.
5. Have your eyebrows threaded. (It's a method of hair removal.)
6. See the world's largest man-made waterfall.
7. Watch the very worst of American TV (The Swan, America's Next Top Model).
8. See a church, a synagogue, a mosque, a Hindu temple, and a Buddhist temple. All in the same neighborhood.
9. Ponder the nature of a twenty-first century post-colonial industrialized society over a bottle of white wine, while gazing at a nineteenth-century British hotel that stands next to a glass-and-steel officelike building that is actually a mosque, itself wedged between several modern shopping malls.
10. Eat salad. A lot of salad.

Things You Can Do in Thailand but Not in Singapore, or, The Rest of My Life.

1. Eat dinner for 20 baht.
2. Explore the wide, wonderful world of unidentifiable meat products on sticks.
3. Exchange smiles with everyone you meet.
4. Estimate boys' ages by the length and color of their school uniform pants.
5. Buy a new wardrobe, shop for groceries, have dinner, see a movie, go bowling, get your hair done, have a massage, have your eyes examined, listen to live jazz, play video games, shop for major appliances and furniture, upgrade your cell phone, and more. In the same mall. (Come to think of it, maybe you can do this in Singapore. It would just cost more.)
6. Randomly encounter elephants while walking down the street.
7. Hire one person to drive you around town in his tuk-tuk, then pilot you through the canals in his very small boat.
8. Command respect with the sentence, "Bpen ajarn son dontree." ("I am a music teacher.")
9. Locate temples and spirit houses by the smell of jasmine.
10. Listen to people speak with real reverence for their monarch.