I ran down to the canteen today to scarf a quick lunch in between lessons. (Scarfed it even quicker so that I could come back upstairs and write this!)
Generally in the canteen of the College of Music, there is a little knot of pre-college boys clustered around a guitar, strumming and singing Thai pop tunes. I don't know why the girls never do this.
Anyway, today they must have wanted a change of pace, because instead of the usual Thai songs, they were doing "Behind Blue Eyes."
Did I join in? You better believe it.
I think I was the only one who knew the words.
Maybe I should have requested "House of the Rising Sun."
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
the ballad of husband's class
Husband is teaching six classes. For those of you counting on your fingers and coming up with 18 hours, please remember that he's also got to do several hours of preparation for every hour in front of students, and also grade literally hundreds of pages of homework a week. It's a lot of work. Watching him struggle really makes me feel for K-12 teachers (yeah, that's you, Sister-In-Law and Aunt), who are in the classroom for so many hours every day.
Husband started the semester teaching five classes. The sixth was added during the third week. That's right, the third week. Husband happened to run into the head of academic affairs while walking through the building, and HOAA informed Husband that he'd be taking over a new class. (Moral of the story so far? Never Leave Your Office.) The class was to start that week.
Husband determined that a room for the class was available, and on the day of class he went down to the administration office to request that the stereo equipment in the room be unlocked for him. (This is standard in music schools in the U.S. too--musical instruments worth thousands of dollars, belonging to students (what are they thinking?) and the university are left lying around all over the place, but that $99.00 stereo the university bought at Best Buy? You need a top-level security clearance to access that, baby!)
No, Husband was told. We can't unlock that stereo cabinet for you because you can't teach in that room. Husband looked down at his master building schedule, which clearly showed his class in that room, and asked why. Well, it turns out that another teacher had asked to use the room during one of Husband's class hours. Apparently this other teacher has more clout than Husband, or else he bribed the schedule keepers, because his request apparently trumps Husband's CLASS.
Husband then asked the schedule keeper to assign him to another room. Any room. No such luck. Apparently EVERY SINGLE ROOM in the building is busy at the time of his class. Would he like to change the time? (Yeah, that's a good idea--change the time of a required class during the third week of the semester. That won't cause any problems for students.) Husband declined. Wasn't there someplace he could teach?
Finally a room was located. It's a tiny rehearsal room, usually used for jazz, with a huge drum set and many amps of various sizes in permanent residence. And a tightly locked stereo, of course.
The time for the class arrived. Husband stood outside the room he was originally assigned, hoping to corral his students and herd them towards the new room using only a minimum of rope. Time passed; no students appeared. A student not in the class came up to Husband and said to him, "Ajarn, I think those are your students." She led him to the edge of the courtyard, where he looked down . There, in fact, was a loose group of students waiting for him. He got their attention and motioned them up; he determined that they were, in fact, waiting for his class; he led them to the new room and taught the class. Without the stereo, though, as no one had come to unlock it.
At the end of class, Husband assigned some homework. (He does like to give homework.) This was met with confusion. One of the students said, "Ajarn, we cannot come to class next week." Husband said, "All of you?" They nodded. Apparently the entire class (and a lot of other studnets too) is going to be absent for at least one day for a university activity. This is not unusual; our students are always missing school to perform in concerts, to go abroad for competitions, to attend master classes, and for other reasons never fully explained. What was unusual was what followed this announcement.
The students asked Husband to reschedule the class! Yeah, what the office people suggested in the first place. So Husband finds a time when they can all make it. This time may or may not be available in their schedules, as I've found out--the Thai way of saying "I can't make it at that time" without offending a teacher is to say "Yes, it's OK" and then just not show up; apparently if they were to say "no" to a teacher, the teacher would lose face, and the teacher/student relationship is important enough that disrupting it by causing a teacher to lose face is worse than confusing your farang teacher by not showing up when you said you would. But we'll see.
Husband went back to the office to find a room for the new time. You guessed it--no rooms available. He's going to teach the next class session in his office (not big enough for a class--they're going to have to sit on top of each other), then revert back to the old time after one class at the new time.
While in the office, he asked, "By the way, why were my students waiting for me on the ground floor?"
Are you ready for this?
The room outside which the students were waiting had ALREADY BEEN RESERVED ON HUSBAND'S BEHALF AFTER THE ORIGINAL CLASSROOM WAS GIVEN AWAY. He doesn't have to teach in the jazz rehearsal room. He never had to teach in the jazz rehearsal room. The office staff knew this when he was searching for a classroom. They thought it was important enough to tell the students, but neither when he originally came in, nor when they helped him find the jazz rehearsal room, did they think it was important enough to tell the teacher!
I saw Husband immediately after this conversation, and all he could say was, "Beer."
Husband started the semester teaching five classes. The sixth was added during the third week. That's right, the third week. Husband happened to run into the head of academic affairs while walking through the building, and HOAA informed Husband that he'd be taking over a new class. (Moral of the story so far? Never Leave Your Office.) The class was to start that week.
Husband determined that a room for the class was available, and on the day of class he went down to the administration office to request that the stereo equipment in the room be unlocked for him. (This is standard in music schools in the U.S. too--musical instruments worth thousands of dollars, belonging to students (what are they thinking?) and the university are left lying around all over the place, but that $99.00 stereo the university bought at Best Buy? You need a top-level security clearance to access that, baby!)
No, Husband was told. We can't unlock that stereo cabinet for you because you can't teach in that room. Husband looked down at his master building schedule, which clearly showed his class in that room, and asked why. Well, it turns out that another teacher had asked to use the room during one of Husband's class hours. Apparently this other teacher has more clout than Husband, or else he bribed the schedule keepers, because his request apparently trumps Husband's CLASS.
Husband then asked the schedule keeper to assign him to another room. Any room. No such luck. Apparently EVERY SINGLE ROOM in the building is busy at the time of his class. Would he like to change the time? (Yeah, that's a good idea--change the time of a required class during the third week of the semester. That won't cause any problems for students.) Husband declined. Wasn't there someplace he could teach?
Finally a room was located. It's a tiny rehearsal room, usually used for jazz, with a huge drum set and many amps of various sizes in permanent residence. And a tightly locked stereo, of course.
The time for the class arrived. Husband stood outside the room he was originally assigned, hoping to corral his students and herd them towards the new room using only a minimum of rope. Time passed; no students appeared. A student not in the class came up to Husband and said to him, "Ajarn, I think those are your students." She led him to the edge of the courtyard, where he looked down . There, in fact, was a loose group of students waiting for him. He got their attention and motioned them up; he determined that they were, in fact, waiting for his class; he led them to the new room and taught the class. Without the stereo, though, as no one had come to unlock it.
At the end of class, Husband assigned some homework. (He does like to give homework.) This was met with confusion. One of the students said, "Ajarn, we cannot come to class next week." Husband said, "All of you?" They nodded. Apparently the entire class (and a lot of other studnets too) is going to be absent for at least one day for a university activity. This is not unusual; our students are always missing school to perform in concerts, to go abroad for competitions, to attend master classes, and for other reasons never fully explained. What was unusual was what followed this announcement.
The students asked Husband to reschedule the class! Yeah, what the office people suggested in the first place. So Husband finds a time when they can all make it. This time may or may not be available in their schedules, as I've found out--the Thai way of saying "I can't make it at that time" without offending a teacher is to say "Yes, it's OK" and then just not show up; apparently if they were to say "no" to a teacher, the teacher would lose face, and the teacher/student relationship is important enough that disrupting it by causing a teacher to lose face is worse than confusing your farang teacher by not showing up when you said you would. But we'll see.
Husband went back to the office to find a room for the new time. You guessed it--no rooms available. He's going to teach the next class session in his office (not big enough for a class--they're going to have to sit on top of each other), then revert back to the old time after one class at the new time.
While in the office, he asked, "By the way, why were my students waiting for me on the ground floor?"
Are you ready for this?
The room outside which the students were waiting had ALREADY BEEN RESERVED ON HUSBAND'S BEHALF AFTER THE ORIGINAL CLASSROOM WAS GIVEN AWAY. He doesn't have to teach in the jazz rehearsal room. He never had to teach in the jazz rehearsal room. The office staff knew this when he was searching for a classroom. They thought it was important enough to tell the students, but neither when he originally came in, nor when they helped him find the jazz rehearsal room, did they think it was important enough to tell the teacher!
I saw Husband immediately after this conversation, and all he could say was, "Beer."
more farang
I've been reading this blog and thought I'd share it with the masses.
Farang Stephanie in Thailand
(So that's what a blogroll is for!)
Farang Stephanie in Thailand
(So that's what a blogroll is for!)
Sunday, June 25, 2006
blog spelled backwards is golb
Vocabulary words:
- Blog (1). n. Etymology: contraction of "weblog." A journal, epistle, commentary, or other serial document, publicly posted on the Internets.
- Blog (2). v. To maintain or update a blog.
- Blogger. n. One who blogs.
- Blogosphere. n. The community of blogs and bloggers, best exemplified by bloggers whose blogs attract many comments from other bloggers.
- Blogroll. n. A list of links found in a sidebar to many blogs, leading to other blogs that the blogger finds interesting. This blog does not contain a blogroll because this blogger is afraid of the letters "HTML."
- HTML. Abbreviation. (For what, now? Surely not "Hold the mayo, Larry?") What I would have to learn about if I wanted to create a blogroll, thus more thoroughly entering the blogosphere.
- Internets, the. n. Etymology: Didn't the President say this or something? Sarcastic, self-conscious, and completely passe way of referring to the blogosphere and other online activities.
- Meme. n. Etymology: Fr. "meme" (means "same") or Eng. "me, me" (means "me, me"). A blog entry, usually in the form of a list (e.g. "Ten Things I Never Eat for Breakfast" or "Twenty-seven Reasons Not to Interrupt Me During Buffy the Vampire Slayer") and usually revealing personal details about the blogger. Memes are passed around the blogosphere from blog to blog; the possible French origin of the word highlights the fact that many bloggers use the same memes, while the possible English origin highlights the nature of the content of most memes.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
staying in shape
Whoever said
"Those who can, do.
Those who can't, teach."
never tried to teach clarinet lessons to students with whom they didn't have a common language. Some of my younger students also have only the most tenuous grasp on reading printed music.
In the U.S., I could explain practice techniques. Describe phrasing and stylistic points. Talk at my students till their eyes glazed over.
Here, I've got to put my money where my mouthpiece is. If there's something I want to hear, or a point I want to make, I've got to demonstrate it. This is not so hard with my young students, who are learning basic scales and working their way through the massive etude books that will teach them how to get along with their instruments. However, it also applies to my more advanced students, who are working on major concertos. Orchestral excerpts. Really, really tough music. And I've got to be able to pull out any passage of it on a moment's notice.
This job is making me a better player, and even when I fail spectacularly (as in studio class yesterday, when I made an appalling mess of a really tricky passage from Debussy in front of nine students) I am getting better at relaxing, at being consistent, and at not taking my bad self so seriously.
I'm a very preparation-oriented player. I've got a solo recital coming up in August, and I've been actively preparing for it for more than two months now. I programmed it in February. This is partly because I am not one of those blessed souls whose hands seem to know what to do without too much effort. I've got to drag my fingers through everything with painstaking care, and I'm insanely jealous of the many, many people for whom this just isn't a problem. Unfortunately my practicing, necessary though it is, also begins to seem a little idolatrous at times, and having to have the entire repertoire of my instrument literally at my fingertips at all times is teaching me that maybe that ironclad practice schedule isn't absolutely necessary for every single passage of every single piece I ever hope to play.
"Those who can, do.
Those who can't, teach."
never tried to teach clarinet lessons to students with whom they didn't have a common language. Some of my younger students also have only the most tenuous grasp on reading printed music.
In the U.S., I could explain practice techniques. Describe phrasing and stylistic points. Talk at my students till their eyes glazed over.
Here, I've got to put my money where my mouthpiece is. If there's something I want to hear, or a point I want to make, I've got to demonstrate it. This is not so hard with my young students, who are learning basic scales and working their way through the massive etude books that will teach them how to get along with their instruments. However, it also applies to my more advanced students, who are working on major concertos. Orchestral excerpts. Really, really tough music. And I've got to be able to pull out any passage of it on a moment's notice.
This job is making me a better player, and even when I fail spectacularly (as in studio class yesterday, when I made an appalling mess of a really tricky passage from Debussy in front of nine students) I am getting better at relaxing, at being consistent, and at not taking my bad self so seriously.
I'm a very preparation-oriented player. I've got a solo recital coming up in August, and I've been actively preparing for it for more than two months now. I programmed it in February. This is partly because I am not one of those blessed souls whose hands seem to know what to do without too much effort. I've got to drag my fingers through everything with painstaking care, and I'm insanely jealous of the many, many people for whom this just isn't a problem. Unfortunately my practicing, necessary though it is, also begins to seem a little idolatrous at times, and having to have the entire repertoire of my instrument literally at my fingertips at all times is teaching me that maybe that ironclad practice schedule isn't absolutely necessary for every single passage of every single piece I ever hope to play.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
winter and Romanticism
This week we were treated to a performance of Die Winterreise (Schubert's monumental song cycle) by Colleague. For the uninitiated, a song cycle is what a concept album would have been if it was recorded 200 years ago. Die Winterreise means "the winter journey," and it consists of 24 short songs based on a related cycle of poems by the German poet Wilhelm Mueller. There is a lot of snow and ice imagery, and the poems are meant to be understood on at least two levels: a literal journey that the narrator takes through a winter landscape, and the metaphorical winter of his soul as he mourns his lost love and (what else, in a Romantic poem?) Descends Slowly But Inexorably Into Madness. There's a third level of meaning too, as I learned by reading the program notes: the political winter of the Reign of Terror in France and, later, the tyranny of Napoleon, following the "springtime" hope of "Liberte! Egalite! Fraternite!" In other words, whatever close reading you give them, these poems are about D-E-A-T-H.
Musing on this as Colleague was singing, I began to wonder if the students were getting anything out of the concert at all. First of all, many of them have never seen ice that wasn't in a drink. Can they conceive of being cold for months on end? Can they put the images together like we do? Bare winter trees, bleak snow-covered plains, dark shutters rattling in the freezing wind...these are images we cold-climate people take for granted. They're even a little hackneyed. And then there's the French Revolution! These students have never heard of World War I, for heaven's sake!
But luckily for the students (and the rest of us) Schubert really was a master of his craft, and the songs are beautiful and moving even without any textual points of reference at all. Just in case they were trying to find some, though, Colleague provided extensive program notes in English, which one of his students translated into Thai and read aloud. Some highlights:
Regarding the third song:
"The poet stumbles on through the winter landscape, with the hot tears turning to ice on his cheeks. How remarkable, he thinks, that the winter's cold can freeze the tears, rather than the heat of his passionate regret."
Regarding the fifth song:
"He still seems to hear the promise of peace. Is it the peace of the grave? Draw your own conclusions."
Regarding the ninth song:
"All rivers run to the sea, all mortal woe to the grave."
Regarding the eleventh song:
"His dream was of green fields and bird song, but the cock's crow wakened him to the reality of cold and darkness, and the cawing of ravens."
Regarding the twelfth song:
"I drag my way along my lonely road, totally ignored, even as I pass through bright, joyful life."
Regarding the thirteenth song:
"The poet hears a post-horn, and his heart leaps. Why, he wonders. There can be no mail for him."
Regarding the fourteenth song:
"...forcing him to recognize how long it still is before he can expect the peace of death."
Regarding the fifteenth song:
"Are you planning on making a meal of my carcass? It won't be much longer now--so show me an example of loyalty to the grave."
Regarding the sixteenth song:
"As the wind plays with [the last leaf clinging to the tree], I tremble with fear, and, when it falls, I too, collapse on the grave of my hopes."
Regarding the twentieth song:
"I see one signpost in particular, pointing to the road from which no traveler returns."
Regarding the twenty-third song:
"I saw three suns in the sky, and watched fixedly. Ah, you are not my suns--shine on other people. Yes, I too had three suns, but now two have set. Oh, that the third would set too!"
Regarding the twenty-fourth and last song:
"All ignore him, apart from the village dogs, who growl at him."
Musing on this as Colleague was singing, I began to wonder if the students were getting anything out of the concert at all. First of all, many of them have never seen ice that wasn't in a drink. Can they conceive of being cold for months on end? Can they put the images together like we do? Bare winter trees, bleak snow-covered plains, dark shutters rattling in the freezing wind...these are images we cold-climate people take for granted. They're even a little hackneyed. And then there's the French Revolution! These students have never heard of World War I, for heaven's sake!
But luckily for the students (and the rest of us) Schubert really was a master of his craft, and the songs are beautiful and moving even without any textual points of reference at all. Just in case they were trying to find some, though, Colleague provided extensive program notes in English, which one of his students translated into Thai and read aloud. Some highlights:
Regarding the third song:
"The poet stumbles on through the winter landscape, with the hot tears turning to ice on his cheeks. How remarkable, he thinks, that the winter's cold can freeze the tears, rather than the heat of his passionate regret."
Regarding the fifth song:
"He still seems to hear the promise of peace. Is it the peace of the grave? Draw your own conclusions."
Regarding the ninth song:
"All rivers run to the sea, all mortal woe to the grave."
Regarding the eleventh song:
"His dream was of green fields and bird song, but the cock's crow wakened him to the reality of cold and darkness, and the cawing of ravens."
Regarding the twelfth song:
"I drag my way along my lonely road, totally ignored, even as I pass through bright, joyful life."
Regarding the thirteenth song:
"The poet hears a post-horn, and his heart leaps. Why, he wonders. There can be no mail for him."
Regarding the fourteenth song:
"...forcing him to recognize how long it still is before he can expect the peace of death."
Regarding the fifteenth song:
"Are you planning on making a meal of my carcass? It won't be much longer now--so show me an example of loyalty to the grave."
Regarding the sixteenth song:
"As the wind plays with [the last leaf clinging to the tree], I tremble with fear, and, when it falls, I too, collapse on the grave of my hopes."
Regarding the twentieth song:
"I see one signpost in particular, pointing to the road from which no traveler returns."
Regarding the twenty-third song:
"I saw three suns in the sky, and watched fixedly. Ah, you are not my suns--shine on other people. Yes, I too had three suns, but now two have set. Oh, that the third would set too!"
Regarding the twenty-fourth and last song:
"All ignore him, apart from the village dogs, who growl at him."
knitters smarter than me
I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm related to many people who will think these pictures are really, really cool. Go ahead, click on them. You know you want to.
Knit Theory
Orientable Knit Surfaces
For persnickety folk: The objects in the first article are actually crochet. The authors decided, for some reason, to title it with the word "knit." Pretty cool nonetheless.
And from the "Orientable Knit Surfaces" page, be sure to click on the links for "Nonorientable Surfaces," "Mobius Bands," and "Klein Bottles."
Knit Theory
Orientable Knit Surfaces
For persnickety folk: The objects in the first article are actually crochet. The authors decided, for some reason, to title it with the word "knit." Pretty cool nonetheless.
And from the "Orientable Knit Surfaces" page, be sure to click on the links for "Nonorientable Surfaces," "Mobius Bands," and "Klein Bottles."
four years of bliss
Last week Husband and I celebrated our fourth anniversary. What's the traditional gift for the fourth anniversary, you ask?
We didn't know either, so we looked it up. According to one website, it's APPLIANCES. Now, if that ain't romantic, I don't know what is!
This is the cake Husband bought. I think the turtles are us. (And no, those aren't maraschino cherries. They're some gelatinous substance not found in nature, molded into the shape of a cherry. Imitation maraschino cherries.)
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
the bureaucracy has expanded to meet the needs of the expanding bureaucracy
Today I had to pop over to the U.S. Embassy to pick up my new passport. ("Popping over to the embassy" involves a two-hour bus ride, a half-hour train ride, and a ten-to-fifteen-minute walk.)
I got up extra early so that I could take care of this in the morning and be back to teach lessons this afternoon. Somehow I made it back on time.
Just wanted to take a few moments to share some of the highlights of my visa-getting, passport-renewing, work-permit-obtaining experiences here in Thailand.
Avid readers will recall The Incident last February. No need to go into detail about that again, I think.
But the last time we ewnt with our intrepid office staffer for a visa renewal (this time with a gaggle or herd of other farang teachers), there was almost another Incident. We got to the visa office, paid up, and sat down for the waiting. I've always wondered why we have to be there in the first place--once we've handed over our money, our role consists entirely of waiting. We don't sign anything, we don't fill anything out, we don't even appear at the counter. We just wait. But I digress.
We were waiting (and doing it admirably, if I do say so myself) when our university staff member came to us in a bit of a panic. Panic and visa office are just not a good combination, you know? Anyway, apparently they changed the rules on her since the last time she was there. She had to run around the neighborhood looking for a place that would let her receive a fax (because God forbid she could actually do this at the visa office), and then she called the university and asked her officemates to fax her lots and lots of extra documents.
We waited. Eventually the extra documents (what were they, anyway? Dental records? My Permanent Record from elementary school?) resulted in one-year visa extensions for all. Yippee.
And then there's the American embassy.
The U.S. Embassy in Bangkok is located on Wireless Road. Supposedly Wireless Road is so named because at some time in the vanished past it was totally free of power lines. That day is long gone. Before arriving at the U.S. Embassy, one must walk by the embassies of Bulgaria, New Zealand, and the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. Each of these is, like the U.S. Embassy, a forbidding compound surrounded by a high brick wall and lots of pointy metal spikes. However, the U.S. Embassy stands apart from these others in the chaos outside it. There is generally a long line of nervous-looking people who are trying to get visas into the U.S., and also a smaller, less line-like group of bewildered-looking U.S. citizens.
Why are we bewildered? Well, there's a big sign on the wall that says U.S. citizens don't have to wait in line. So we walk to the door, which is shut and guarded. A guard tells us. "You have to wait." We look at the line; we start to walk to the end of it. The same person says, "You don't have to wait in line." We turn back towards the door. You guessed it; "You have to wait." So...we wait, but not in line? That seems to be the gist of it. Hence the loosely formed mob of confused, sweaty Americans.
Eventually we are allowed in (before the nervous-looking visa seekers--I guess this is what is meant by not waiting). We show our passports. Our bags are searched. Our mobile phones are confiscated. With the mobile phones, we must leave an alternative I.D. We follow the signs to "American Citizen Services." This is a tiny room containing a few chairs, lots of blank forms, and two service windows.
Here's how to get your passport renewed.
You show up, fill out the correct form, and get in line. Why are you filling out the form here in the office instead of at home, having downloaded it from the website? Why, because the link marked "Passport Renewal Form" doesn't work, of course! But, as it turns out, that's immaterial--there's no form for passport renewal. You just go ahead and fill out the form for passport application. But wait, there's a long form and a short form--fill out this preliminary questionnaire to determine which one you need! Now, remember, This Form Must Be Filled Out Completely Or Your Application Will Be Rejected. Check out this item: "Address to which you'd like your passport mailed." Hmm. Didn't the website say they wouldn't mail the passport? That you had to come back to the embassy to pick it up? You look up, momentarily puzzled, and notice a great big sign on the wall: "Passports will not be mailed." So, this mailing address they're asking for: is that just a hypothetical question? You ponder for a moment on the "you'd like" part of the question. Maybe this is a "How can we serve you better" kind of moment--the US Passport Service must genuinely care about each and every citizen, to insert a question about our preferences into this kind of questionnaire, no?
Anyway, after filling out the form, you get in line for the service counter. Once you've been seen, you sit down and wait for the clerk (the same one who's dealing with the people who are still in line) to go into the back and perform some kind of voodoo with your paperwork, then call your name again. You return to the counter, where your paperwork is returned to you, and are directed to wait in line at another counter. After waiting in this line and paying for your renewal, you go back to the first room and wait again, where you return the paperwork (yes, the same paperwork) to the clerk (yes, the first clerk) and are told to come back in two weeks to pick up your new passport. Oh, that's two weeks, not counting U.S. holidays, Thai holidays, or the last Friday of the month. Check your calendar!
Still worried about that form, and whether it's Filled Out Completely? Sorry, the clerks at the embassy can't help you. They just take your money. You've got to wait until you come back in two weeks to find out if the Passport Service has accepted your application.
I got up extra early so that I could take care of this in the morning and be back to teach lessons this afternoon. Somehow I made it back on time.
Just wanted to take a few moments to share some of the highlights of my visa-getting, passport-renewing, work-permit-obtaining experiences here in Thailand.
Avid readers will recall The Incident last February. No need to go into detail about that again, I think.
But the last time we ewnt with our intrepid office staffer for a visa renewal (this time with a gaggle or herd of other farang teachers), there was almost another Incident. We got to the visa office, paid up, and sat down for the waiting. I've always wondered why we have to be there in the first place--once we've handed over our money, our role consists entirely of waiting. We don't sign anything, we don't fill anything out, we don't even appear at the counter. We just wait. But I digress.
We were waiting (and doing it admirably, if I do say so myself) when our university staff member came to us in a bit of a panic. Panic and visa office are just not a good combination, you know? Anyway, apparently they changed the rules on her since the last time she was there. She had to run around the neighborhood looking for a place that would let her receive a fax (because God forbid she could actually do this at the visa office), and then she called the university and asked her officemates to fax her lots and lots of extra documents.
We waited. Eventually the extra documents (what were they, anyway? Dental records? My Permanent Record from elementary school?) resulted in one-year visa extensions for all. Yippee.
And then there's the American embassy.
The U.S. Embassy in Bangkok is located on Wireless Road. Supposedly Wireless Road is so named because at some time in the vanished past it was totally free of power lines. That day is long gone. Before arriving at the U.S. Embassy, one must walk by the embassies of Bulgaria, New Zealand, and the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. Each of these is, like the U.S. Embassy, a forbidding compound surrounded by a high brick wall and lots of pointy metal spikes. However, the U.S. Embassy stands apart from these others in the chaos outside it. There is generally a long line of nervous-looking people who are trying to get visas into the U.S., and also a smaller, less line-like group of bewildered-looking U.S. citizens.
Why are we bewildered? Well, there's a big sign on the wall that says U.S. citizens don't have to wait in line. So we walk to the door, which is shut and guarded. A guard tells us. "You have to wait." We look at the line; we start to walk to the end of it. The same person says, "You don't have to wait in line." We turn back towards the door. You guessed it; "You have to wait." So...we wait, but not in line? That seems to be the gist of it. Hence the loosely formed mob of confused, sweaty Americans.
Eventually we are allowed in (before the nervous-looking visa seekers--I guess this is what is meant by not waiting). We show our passports. Our bags are searched. Our mobile phones are confiscated. With the mobile phones, we must leave an alternative I.D. We follow the signs to "American Citizen Services." This is a tiny room containing a few chairs, lots of blank forms, and two service windows.
Here's how to get your passport renewed.
You show up, fill out the correct form, and get in line. Why are you filling out the form here in the office instead of at home, having downloaded it from the website? Why, because the link marked "Passport Renewal Form" doesn't work, of course! But, as it turns out, that's immaterial--there's no form for passport renewal. You just go ahead and fill out the form for passport application. But wait, there's a long form and a short form--fill out this preliminary questionnaire to determine which one you need! Now, remember, This Form Must Be Filled Out Completely Or Your Application Will Be Rejected. Check out this item: "Address to which you'd like your passport mailed." Hmm. Didn't the website say they wouldn't mail the passport? That you had to come back to the embassy to pick it up? You look up, momentarily puzzled, and notice a great big sign on the wall: "Passports will not be mailed." So, this mailing address they're asking for: is that just a hypothetical question? You ponder for a moment on the "you'd like" part of the question. Maybe this is a "How can we serve you better" kind of moment--the US Passport Service must genuinely care about each and every citizen, to insert a question about our preferences into this kind of questionnaire, no?
Anyway, after filling out the form, you get in line for the service counter. Once you've been seen, you sit down and wait for the clerk (the same one who's dealing with the people who are still in line) to go into the back and perform some kind of voodoo with your paperwork, then call your name again. You return to the counter, where your paperwork is returned to you, and are directed to wait in line at another counter. After waiting in this line and paying for your renewal, you go back to the first room and wait again, where you return the paperwork (yes, the same paperwork) to the clerk (yes, the first clerk) and are told to come back in two weeks to pick up your new passport. Oh, that's two weeks, not counting U.S. holidays, Thai holidays, or the last Friday of the month. Check your calendar!
Still worried about that form, and whether it's Filled Out Completely? Sorry, the clerks at the embassy can't help you. They just take your money. You've got to wait until you come back in two weeks to find out if the Passport Service has accepted your application.
Monday, June 19, 2006
chick drinks and dude drinks
Waiters and waitresses in Thailand seem to have definite opinions about the appropriateness of beverage orders. These opinions are based on gender.
Last year, Husband and I joined many of our colleagues for an American style Thanksgiving dinner at a fancy hotel in Bangkok. Engaged Colleagues Who Are Getting Married This Week both ordered Shirley Temples; Husband and I each ordered red wine. The waitress brought all four drinks at once. Without asking or hesitating, she set the wine in front of the men and the Shirley Temples in front of the women.
Evidently a Shirley Temple is a chick drink. Or maybe wine is a dude drink.
Husband really enjoys a vile Thai concoction called cha yen, which consists of a miniscule amount of iced tea (I'm convinced it's just food coloring) mixed with a pound of sugar and three gallons of sweetened condensed milk. He often orders this when we go to lunch at a particular cafe (several times a week). I generally have coffee, water or Coke. Two to three times a week for an entire year, the waitress has set the cha yen in front of me and my drink in front of Husband. Is cha yen a chick drink? Why? Are coffee, water, and Coke all dude drinks? Why?
Cultural anthropologists, I smell a research paper.
Last year, Husband and I joined many of our colleagues for an American style Thanksgiving dinner at a fancy hotel in Bangkok. Engaged Colleagues Who Are Getting Married This Week both ordered Shirley Temples; Husband and I each ordered red wine. The waitress brought all four drinks at once. Without asking or hesitating, she set the wine in front of the men and the Shirley Temples in front of the women.
Evidently a Shirley Temple is a chick drink. Or maybe wine is a dude drink.
Husband really enjoys a vile Thai concoction called cha yen, which consists of a miniscule amount of iced tea (I'm convinced it's just food coloring) mixed with a pound of sugar and three gallons of sweetened condensed milk. He often orders this when we go to lunch at a particular cafe (several times a week). I generally have coffee, water or Coke. Two to three times a week for an entire year, the waitress has set the cha yen in front of me and my drink in front of Husband. Is cha yen a chick drink? Why? Are coffee, water, and Coke all dude drinks? Why?
Cultural anthropologists, I smell a research paper.
elevator etiquette
Proper elevator deportment in Thailand can be summed up by a few simple rules.
1. No elevator can move with fewer than ten people inside. If you are standing in an elevator containing fewer than ten people, you must press the "Extend Open" button and wait for a few more of your friends to arrive.
2. If a full elevator stops at your floor, you must not decide whether or not there is room for you until the door begins to close. When this happens, you must leap into the elevator.
3. Never, ever stand in the middle. No matter how many people are already in the elevator, and no matter how crowded the perimeter already is, you must find a space there.
4. If you are standing closest to the buttons, you are the de facto elevator operator. When the elevator stops, you must immediately press the "Open" button and hold it until everyone has exited. At this point, you can either press "Extend Open" (if fewer than ten people remain in the elevator) or "Close" (if there is already an elevator quorum). Note that after pressing "Close," you may choose immediately to start pounding on "Open" because through the closing door, you thought you saw your friend looking like maybe she would want to get on an elevator sometime this week.
5. The de facto elevator operator is also responsible for floor selection. No one else may press the buttons.
6. Don't stand near the buttons if you're not ready for this responsibility.
7. Of course there is room!
8. If the elevator is overloaded, the people standing near the door must each step in and out of the elevator in turn. The de facto elevator operator holds the "Open" button during this procedure; when he or she is satisfied with the configuration, he or she switches to "Close." The people stepping in and out have no control over the situation.
1. No elevator can move with fewer than ten people inside. If you are standing in an elevator containing fewer than ten people, you must press the "Extend Open" button and wait for a few more of your friends to arrive.
2. If a full elevator stops at your floor, you must not decide whether or not there is room for you until the door begins to close. When this happens, you must leap into the elevator.
3. Never, ever stand in the middle. No matter how many people are already in the elevator, and no matter how crowded the perimeter already is, you must find a space there.
4. If you are standing closest to the buttons, you are the de facto elevator operator. When the elevator stops, you must immediately press the "Open" button and hold it until everyone has exited. At this point, you can either press "Extend Open" (if fewer than ten people remain in the elevator) or "Close" (if there is already an elevator quorum). Note that after pressing "Close," you may choose immediately to start pounding on "Open" because through the closing door, you thought you saw your friend looking like maybe she would want to get on an elevator sometime this week.
5. The de facto elevator operator is also responsible for floor selection. No one else may press the buttons.
6. Don't stand near the buttons if you're not ready for this responsibility.
7. Of course there is room!
8. If the elevator is overloaded, the people standing near the door must each step in and out of the elevator in turn. The de facto elevator operator holds the "Open" button during this procedure; when he or she is satisfied with the configuration, he or she switches to "Close." The people stepping in and out have no control over the situation.
Friday, June 16, 2006
complainy lists
Things that are leaking in my apartment:
1. The toilet.
2. The other toilet.
3. The kitchen sink.
4. The sprayer for the kitchen sink.
5. The water cooler.
Things that are broken at the university:
1. The air conditioning.
2. The running water (not really broken, just entirely absent).
3. The window in my office.
Things the cafe didn't have today:
1. The lunch Husband ordered.
2. The drink Husband ordered.
3. The second drink Husband ordered.
4. The third drink Husband ordered.
5. Soap in the bathroom.
1. The toilet.
2. The other toilet.
3. The kitchen sink.
4. The sprayer for the kitchen sink.
5. The water cooler.
Things that are broken at the university:
1. The air conditioning.
2. The running water (not really broken, just entirely absent).
3. The window in my office.
Things the cafe didn't have today:
1. The lunch Husband ordered.
2. The drink Husband ordered.
3. The second drink Husband ordered.
4. The third drink Husband ordered.
5. Soap in the bathroom.
lookit, lookit! look what i did!
I can't tell you how pleased I am with myself. I actually finished something!
This is Norton the Nautiloid (named by Husband), from a pattern I found at www.knitty.com
The designer suggests that the nautiloid can be knit in one evening while watching television. Not too far off--it only took me two months!
This is Norton the Nautiloid (named by Husband), from a pattern I found at www.knitty.com
The designer suggests that the nautiloid can be knit in one evening while watching television. Not too far off--it only took me two months!
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Friday, June 09, 2006
the rockets' red glare
I heard them before I saw them. Pops, booms, bangs. Since the party has definitely started (the 60th anniversary of the King's ascension to the throne), I suspected that there might be fireworks afoot. I headed out to the balcony, still hearing them, and started to look around. On most holidays, we can see distant fireworks displays from our balcony, but I've never seen anything like this.
All across the sky, far enough away that they were just above the horizon, at least six or seven different simultaneous fireworks displays. Everywhere I looked, they were going off. The entire horizon was lit up. As soon as one rocket faded, another would catch my eye in a different place. And on top of that, there was some truly spectacular lightning in the distance. It was amazing. This continued for a while, and then I got a real treat:
Avid readers will recall that the police station (source of the very loud public music) is directly across the street from our apartment. They've set up a big party area on their grounds, with a stage and a huge likeness of the King, not to mention the obligatory bright lights and loud music. After a stirring rendition of the King's anthem, they started on their own local fireworks display. I had the best seat in the house.
There are four more days and nights of partying ahead--I look forward to them.
All across the sky, far enough away that they were just above the horizon, at least six or seven different simultaneous fireworks displays. Everywhere I looked, they were going off. The entire horizon was lit up. As soon as one rocket faded, another would catch my eye in a different place. And on top of that, there was some truly spectacular lightning in the distance. It was amazing. This continued for a while, and then I got a real treat:
Avid readers will recall that the police station (source of the very loud public music) is directly across the street from our apartment. They've set up a big party area on their grounds, with a stage and a huge likeness of the King, not to mention the obligatory bright lights and loud music. After a stirring rendition of the King's anthem, they started on their own local fireworks display. I had the best seat in the house.
There are four more days and nights of partying ahead--I look forward to them.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
game on
School started up again on Monday. So far:
Classes have been cancelled for next Monday and Tuesday, in honor of the massive celebrations commemorating the 60th anniversary of the King's ascension to the throne.
Morning classes for this past Monday were cancelled due to an administrative error: no one told any of the academic departments that all freshmen were required to get their student ID cards Monday morning. The teachers showed up to class, but the students didn't.
I was informed that some of my students will be playing in the newly formed student orchestra.
Classes have been cancelled for this Friday, because the party will have already started (the King's 60th).
Husband was informed that he wouldn't be teaching a particular class he's been preparing for.
I was informed that my students will not be playing in the newly formed student orchestra.
There have been the usual number of people registered for the wrong courses, not registered for the right courses, or some combination thereof.
Husband was informed that he would be teaching that class after all.
Saddle up!
Classes have been cancelled for next Monday and Tuesday, in honor of the massive celebrations commemorating the 60th anniversary of the King's ascension to the throne.
Morning classes for this past Monday were cancelled due to an administrative error: no one told any of the academic departments that all freshmen were required to get their student ID cards Monday morning. The teachers showed up to class, but the students didn't.
I was informed that some of my students will be playing in the newly formed student orchestra.
Classes have been cancelled for this Friday, because the party will have already started (the King's 60th).
Husband was informed that he wouldn't be teaching a particular class he's been preparing for.
I was informed that my students will not be playing in the newly formed student orchestra.
There have been the usual number of people registered for the wrong courses, not registered for the right courses, or some combination thereof.
Husband was informed that he would be teaching that class after all.
Saddle up!
Saturday, June 03, 2006
things to ponder on the way to work
If I stand still in the rain, I get hit by all of the raindrops that fall in a certain spot.
If I ride my bicycle in the rain, I move through space and thus get hit by only a few raindrops in each spot.
If I ride slowly, I get hit by more raindrops in each spot; if I ride quickly, I cover more ground in the same amount of time and get hit by raindrops from more different spots.
Is there an optimum speed at which I can ride so as to get the least wet in a given amount of time? Is it drier to stand still for, say, a minute? Or to ride slowly for that same minute? Or to ride quickly?
This is, of course, discounting the effects of the water that's already on the ground and that goes shooting up my skirt as I ride through it.
If I ride my bicycle in the rain, I move through space and thus get hit by only a few raindrops in each spot.
If I ride slowly, I get hit by more raindrops in each spot; if I ride quickly, I cover more ground in the same amount of time and get hit by raindrops from more different spots.
Is there an optimum speed at which I can ride so as to get the least wet in a given amount of time? Is it drier to stand still for, say, a minute? Or to ride slowly for that same minute? Or to ride quickly?
This is, of course, discounting the effects of the water that's already on the ground and that goes shooting up my skirt as I ride through it.
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