One of the reasons I started this blog is that people, people about whom I care a lot, want to know about my life in Thailand. They ask me, "What's it like?" "How do you like it?" and other variants of those questions. And invariably, my response is, "It's hot."
What is it about that question that makes my brain freeze up? I honestly can't think of anything to say. Here I am, to all appearances living this exotic expat lifestyle, full of lizards in the house and cheerful, picturesque Foreign Scenes, and I can't think of a damned thing to say about it.
During our trip back home this past spring, I sat mutely through more than one dinner, knowing full well that the people I was with were expecting me to honor them with witty anecdotes about my globetrotting life. And there I sat, mind blank, not knowing where to begin.
On the blog, though, I don't have this problem. I can think about things in advance, carefully extract the Entertaining from the Mundane (or at least that's what I'm aiming for), and present a groomed and vetted version of my life to my adoring readership.
Does this create another problem? Am I Disneyfying my own life, doing the equivalent of excising the nastier bits from "Cinderella" (I'm thinking of the stepsisters' mutilation) for the entertainment of those who won't know the difference?
Yeah, kinda.
But I like it this way--I get to present myself exactly as I choose to, which is a luxury I don't get in Real Life. I get to skip the awkwardness of Small Talk and get right to the Good Part. I get to inflict my (perhaps mistaken) conviction that overuse of capital letters is Somehow Endearing on all who choose to read this blog.
You'll just have to trust that I'm leaving out the Boring Parts.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Friday, July 28, 2006
let sleeping dogs lie
Thailand is full of dogs. On the street, on the sidewalk, in elevators, everywhere you look.
There are several families of strays that live in our town; I say "families" because I think they're all related. They're medium-sized dogs, short-haired, and they're almost all the same golden-brown color. We've gotten to recognize several of the dogs that hang out near our condo and near the College of Music.
The condo dog can usually be found sleeping somewhere near our building; poor, furry creatures that can't sweat are understandably lethargic during the day. Sometimes, though, this dog gets adventurous, and sleeps right in the street, or else gets up and trots into the elevator for a ride up and down. I've ridden in the elevator with the dog, but I've never seen it walking around any floor of the building other than the ground floor, so I have to assume it rides up and down, then gets back off at the ground floor. During the "cool season" last year, someone (I have to suspect a student) got this dog to sit still (not a difficult task) long enough to slip an orange T-shirt over its head and front paws. Because, you know, the frigid "cool season" temperatures (and we're talking lows of 75 degrees Fahrenheit here) can be dangerous for dogs with only a thin layer of fur.
The College of Music dogs sometimes sleep on the rickety bridge over the canal that runs in front of the building (yeah, we have a moat). They'll lazily lift their heads as we pass, but no more effort than that seems to be required to acknowledge people they know. At mealtime, though, these dogs spring into action. They saunter into the canteen area and go from table to table, tongues hanging out, tails wagging, trying hard to give the impression of incipient starvation. "Feed me! Feed me! No one ever feeds me! I know you're eating! That looks so good! I never get to eat anything that good! Oh, won't you please feed me?" You can see it in their eyes. But their eyes are lying eyes--these dogs are nothing if not well-fed. They get scraps from people's lunches, scraps from the kitchens of the little food stalls, scraps from the trash, and probably lots of other things too.
There are many other dogs in town; I've often wished I had a camera with me as I bicycle to work, so that I can take a photo of each sleeping dog I pass on the side of the road. There are usually at least 5 or 6, and sometimes more like 10 or 12. They get more active at night, when it's cooler, and sometimes I get a little nervous. I've never seen one attack a person, but they do roam around in packs, and they fight each other at night. Call me skittish, but if I'm walking home in the dark and there are 3 or 4 dogs following me, I sometimes get a little concerned.
There are several families of strays that live in our town; I say "families" because I think they're all related. They're medium-sized dogs, short-haired, and they're almost all the same golden-brown color. We've gotten to recognize several of the dogs that hang out near our condo and near the College of Music.
The condo dog can usually be found sleeping somewhere near our building; poor, furry creatures that can't sweat are understandably lethargic during the day. Sometimes, though, this dog gets adventurous, and sleeps right in the street, or else gets up and trots into the elevator for a ride up and down. I've ridden in the elevator with the dog, but I've never seen it walking around any floor of the building other than the ground floor, so I have to assume it rides up and down, then gets back off at the ground floor. During the "cool season" last year, someone (I have to suspect a student) got this dog to sit still (not a difficult task) long enough to slip an orange T-shirt over its head and front paws. Because, you know, the frigid "cool season" temperatures (and we're talking lows of 75 degrees Fahrenheit here) can be dangerous for dogs with only a thin layer of fur.
The College of Music dogs sometimes sleep on the rickety bridge over the canal that runs in front of the building (yeah, we have a moat). They'll lazily lift their heads as we pass, but no more effort than that seems to be required to acknowledge people they know. At mealtime, though, these dogs spring into action. They saunter into the canteen area and go from table to table, tongues hanging out, tails wagging, trying hard to give the impression of incipient starvation. "Feed me! Feed me! No one ever feeds me! I know you're eating! That looks so good! I never get to eat anything that good! Oh, won't you please feed me?" You can see it in their eyes. But their eyes are lying eyes--these dogs are nothing if not well-fed. They get scraps from people's lunches, scraps from the kitchens of the little food stalls, scraps from the trash, and probably lots of other things too.
There are many other dogs in town; I've often wished I had a camera with me as I bicycle to work, so that I can take a photo of each sleeping dog I pass on the side of the road. There are usually at least 5 or 6, and sometimes more like 10 or 12. They get more active at night, when it's cooler, and sometimes I get a little nervous. I've never seen one attack a person, but they do roam around in packs, and they fight each other at night. Call me skittish, but if I'm walking home in the dark and there are 3 or 4 dogs following me, I sometimes get a little concerned.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
the whole roethke shebang
The Waking
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
i learn by going where i have to go
I'm not a huge fan of Theodore Roethke, but I've always liked that poem ("The Waking," quoted in the title of my post).
Now, no one would ever mistake me for a person with a sense of direction. I have to be told how to get to places I've been visiting since I was a child. I quickly lose touch with the cardinal directions if the sun isn't in a particularly helpful position...and if I'm inside? Forget it. If I was a lab rat, I'd starve before I ever found the cheese at the end of the maze.
But I have always tried to improve. I take Brother's advice and try to draw a map in my head. I pay attention to landmarks. I rehearse directions in my head: "Left at the gas station. Right at the market." Routes that I travel often gradually become less mysterious.
In Thailand, I have given up. I don't even try anymore to figure out where I am or where I'm going. This is because the roads are constructed in such a way as to make navigation much more difficult.
Outside of the central part of Bangkok, there are very few intersections. Instead, whenever two roads meet, there is a system of entrances and exits. The idea is ostensibly to keep traffic moving at all times, using merges and uber-cloverleafs instead of traffic lights to keep collisions from occurring. It's complicated by the fact that most roads are divided, so if you're trying to get to a place on the right side of the road, you've got to make a U-turn. This is done via a U-turn bridge: you exit the main road on the left, make a sweeping turn to the right, crossing over above the road, and wind up on the other side of the road. In addition, main roads have several divisions: the three or four left-hands lanes are for local traffic, and are only intermittently accessible from the three or four right-hand lanes, which are the equivalent of "express lanes" in the U.S. Generally there is also an elevated roadway with even more limited access. All of these different roadways are accessed via the same tangle of ramps that allow right and left turns. The interchanges are works of art.
Someday I'll have to figure out how to take a truly expository picture of the interchange that leads into our town.
I do not learn by going where I have to go.
Now, no one would ever mistake me for a person with a sense of direction. I have to be told how to get to places I've been visiting since I was a child. I quickly lose touch with the cardinal directions if the sun isn't in a particularly helpful position...and if I'm inside? Forget it. If I was a lab rat, I'd starve before I ever found the cheese at the end of the maze.
But I have always tried to improve. I take Brother's advice and try to draw a map in my head. I pay attention to landmarks. I rehearse directions in my head: "Left at the gas station. Right at the market." Routes that I travel often gradually become less mysterious.
In Thailand, I have given up. I don't even try anymore to figure out where I am or where I'm going. This is because the roads are constructed in such a way as to make navigation much more difficult.
Outside of the central part of Bangkok, there are very few intersections. Instead, whenever two roads meet, there is a system of entrances and exits. The idea is ostensibly to keep traffic moving at all times, using merges and uber-cloverleafs instead of traffic lights to keep collisions from occurring. It's complicated by the fact that most roads are divided, so if you're trying to get to a place on the right side of the road, you've got to make a U-turn. This is done via a U-turn bridge: you exit the main road on the left, make a sweeping turn to the right, crossing over above the road, and wind up on the other side of the road. In addition, main roads have several divisions: the three or four left-hands lanes are for local traffic, and are only intermittently accessible from the three or four right-hand lanes, which are the equivalent of "express lanes" in the U.S. Generally there is also an elevated roadway with even more limited access. All of these different roadways are accessed via the same tangle of ramps that allow right and left turns. The interchanges are works of art.
Someday I'll have to figure out how to take a truly expository picture of the interchange that leads into our town.
I do not learn by going where I have to go.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
what, you mean you've never heard of chen yi?
Chen Yi is the composer on whose music I wrote my not-a-dissertation-thank-you-very-much.
She's a Chinese-American composer who has won many awards and received many important commissions. I won't list them here because you can check out her website and see them for yourself. Her music is very interesting to me (obviously); in the 1980s she was part of the Chinese New Wave (the first generation of composers to emerge from the People's Republic of China after the Cultural Revolution), and like the other composers in that group she doesn't feel constricted by the boundaries of different musical traditions. (STOP READING NOW IF YOU THINK MUSICAL ANALYSIS IS BORING.) She writes music that combines Western modernism (and by "modernism" I mean a free approach to dissonance, a rhythmic sensibility that is post-Stravinsky, and an interest in extended instrumental technique, in a nutshell--this is lowercase modernism, not uppercase Modernism) with certain elements of Chinese traditional music (and by this I mean programmatic works based on Chinese ideas, instrumental effects intended to imitate the sounds of traditional instruments, and the occasional use of Chinese sources for pitch and rhythmic materials--nothing so overt as the harmonization of a folk song).
(YOU CAN START READING AGAIN.)
While I was researching and writing, I corresponded with her by email but I'd never met her. So when I heard she was going to be in Bangkok I was very excited--after all, you don't spend a year of your life learning about someone, without you get curious about what they're like in person. In addition, it was another of those small-world moments that are so common in the world of academic music (maybe a future blog entry should trace some of the improbable connections I've encountered):
One of her doctoral students at the University of Missouri, Kansas City, is Thai. He's a part-time faculty member at a university in Bangkok--since the Thai academic calendar is so different from the Western one, he can come back here in the summer and spend almost a whole semester teaching before returning to the U.S. in September. The university where he teaches is holding a small composition festival, and he thought, what better opportunity to bring his teacher to meet his students? So here she is.
And there I went.
Husband and I were able to make an appointment to meet with her in between the official events of the conference (lectures and concerts, punctuated by frequent and mandatory snacks), and she was nice enough to spend several hours with us. I'm so glad I met her.
She's a Chinese-American composer who has won many awards and received many important commissions. I won't list them here because you can check out her website and see them for yourself. Her music is very interesting to me (obviously); in the 1980s she was part of the Chinese New Wave (the first generation of composers to emerge from the People's Republic of China after the Cultural Revolution), and like the other composers in that group she doesn't feel constricted by the boundaries of different musical traditions. (STOP READING NOW IF YOU THINK MUSICAL ANALYSIS IS BORING.) She writes music that combines Western modernism (and by "modernism" I mean a free approach to dissonance, a rhythmic sensibility that is post-Stravinsky, and an interest in extended instrumental technique, in a nutshell--this is lowercase modernism, not uppercase Modernism) with certain elements of Chinese traditional music (and by this I mean programmatic works based on Chinese ideas, instrumental effects intended to imitate the sounds of traditional instruments, and the occasional use of Chinese sources for pitch and rhythmic materials--nothing so overt as the harmonization of a folk song).
(YOU CAN START READING AGAIN.)
While I was researching and writing, I corresponded with her by email but I'd never met her. So when I heard she was going to be in Bangkok I was very excited--after all, you don't spend a year of your life learning about someone, without you get curious about what they're like in person. In addition, it was another of those small-world moments that are so common in the world of academic music (maybe a future blog entry should trace some of the improbable connections I've encountered):
One of her doctoral students at the University of Missouri, Kansas City, is Thai. He's a part-time faculty member at a university in Bangkok--since the Thai academic calendar is so different from the Western one, he can come back here in the summer and spend almost a whole semester teaching before returning to the U.S. in September. The university where he teaches is holding a small composition festival, and he thought, what better opportunity to bring his teacher to meet his students? So here she is.
And there I went.
Husband and I were able to make an appointment to meet with her in between the official events of the conference (lectures and concerts, punctuated by frequent and mandatory snacks), and she was nice enough to spend several hours with us. I'm so glad I met her.
down came the rain and washed the spider out
Our apartment overlooks the football field of a private high school. This is our view when it's sunny and when it's raining.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
the recital loometh
and the blog languisheth.
When I was living in the U.S., I performed a lot. I had a "job" (nothing that pays as little as this did deserves to be called a job without the quotation marks) in an orchestra, a chamber ensemble that played fairly often, and I had been living in one place long enough that I was on most of the concert organizers' radar for various ad-hoc kinds of gigs. I was doing solo recitals also, of course, but they weren't my sole performing outlet.
Here, on the other hand, I don't have an orchestra, I don't have a chamber group, and I have yet to be called for a single gig. This situation has allowed me to program two truly massive recitals so far, and I'm planning a third for November. It has also allowed me to reach an unprecedented level of preparation freakout. T minus three weeks and counting. This really isn't healthy.
When I was living in the U.S., I performed a lot. I had a "job" (nothing that pays as little as this did deserves to be called a job without the quotation marks) in an orchestra, a chamber ensemble that played fairly often, and I had been living in one place long enough that I was on most of the concert organizers' radar for various ad-hoc kinds of gigs. I was doing solo recitals also, of course, but they weren't my sole performing outlet.
Here, on the other hand, I don't have an orchestra, I don't have a chamber group, and I have yet to be called for a single gig. This situation has allowed me to program two truly massive recitals so far, and I'm planning a third for November. It has also allowed me to reach an unprecedented level of preparation freakout. T minus three weeks and counting. This really isn't healthy.
Friday, July 14, 2006
because i need it for my photosynthesis
I have a package of mints in my purse. The other day I fished it out and ate a mint, and I noticed something on the front of the package that I hadn't seen before:
a little red circle, similar to the writing on the fronts of cereal boxes that says "Fortified with vitamins and iron!" or something. But this one, on my mints, said "With chlorophyll."
Really?
Why?
Husband and I were intrigued. We went to the internet (source of instant gratification and easy, nonrigorous research) and were soon rewarded with this information:
Chlorophyll is sold in liquid form in health food and alternative medicine stores. You take it by the spoonful. It's recommended as a treatment for halitosis (which I suppose explains its presence in the mints), constipation, fibromyalgia, and cancer (!).
a little red circle, similar to the writing on the fronts of cereal boxes that says "Fortified with vitamins and iron!" or something. But this one, on my mints, said "With chlorophyll."
Really?
Why?
Husband and I were intrigued. We went to the internet (source of instant gratification and easy, nonrigorous research) and were soon rewarded with this information:
Chlorophyll is sold in liquid form in health food and alternative medicine stores. You take it by the spoonful. It's recommended as a treatment for halitosis (which I suppose explains its presence in the mints), constipation, fibromyalgia, and cancer (!).
Monday, July 10, 2006
hey there little red riding hood
Another object knitted by me. I made this in excited anticipation of a trip we planned to take to...a place much colder than Bangkok. Now it looks like the trip is off, much to my dismay, but I've still got the hat.
It occurs to me that if anyone reading this blog doesn't already know me, they'd assume I'm a lot older than I am based on the songs I tend to reference.
Knitting details, for those who care:
- Pattern is here (from knitty again).
- Knitted with #8 needles (#9 is called for in the pattern) in a nameless red acrylic I found in Chinatown.
- The cords are not knitted but braided. I didn't like the look of the 2 stitches in stockinette stitch, and I considered I-cord until I realized that would involve buying some (expensive, hard to find) dpns (I don't have any larger than #4), so I took the easy way out and threaded four long strands of yarn through the first row of knitting, then braided them together with the yarn tail (9 strands total in the braid on each side).
- I added a garter stitch border.
- I added one extra increase and four extra rows worked even; not sure if this makes it bigger than the pattern calls for, or just compensates for the smaller needles.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
like my new look?
Old site template, with green color scheme and thin strip of text running down the center?
New site template, with orange color scheme and wider text area?
Couldn't care less?
Wish I would just learn HTML already and make me a custom template like everybody else?
Maikaojai wants to know.
New site template, with orange color scheme and wider text area?
Couldn't care less?
Wish I would just learn HTML already and make me a custom template like everybody else?
Maikaojai wants to know.
eating my words
"Definitely bigger than a breadbox. Not that I have a breadbox. Who keeps bread in a box?"
Faithful readers will recognize that.
Well, yesterday I bought a breadbox. It's true.
Husband likes to bake bread, and we have been trying to find a good way to keep it: leaving it out all night made the bread stale (and sometimes bug-covered....yeccch). Keeping it in a Ziploc bag made it soggy (and sometimes moldy....yeccch). We started thinking, "If only we had some kind of box!"
Faithful readers will recognize that.
Well, yesterday I bought a breadbox. It's true.
Husband likes to bake bread, and we have been trying to find a good way to keep it: leaving it out all night made the bread stale (and sometimes bug-covered....yeccch). Keeping it in a Ziploc bag made it soggy (and sometimes moldy....yeccch). We started thinking, "If only we had some kind of box!"
Saturday, July 08, 2006
the jane austen of the seven seas
Since I mentioned Patrick O'Brian in my previous post, I feel the need to explain.
Did you see Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World a few years back? You remember, Russell Crowe in an for-some-reason-always-unbuttoned shirt, pretending he's not Australian. Paul Bettany looking scruffy and wearing tiny eyeglasses. Guys in tights, oh, sorry, breeches. Poignant scene with young blond amputee.
Well, it was based on a book. A book I was aware of, but hadn't read. When I was working in a bookstore years ago, one of my jobs was to shelve the new shipments of books that came into the store. I loved this part--browsing, perusing, and alphabetizing book after book after book. It took me longer than anyone else because I always stopped to read the back covers, but my manager didn't mind because it meant I could talk intelligently about most of what the customers were buying. And whenever I got assigned to "Fiction" (Yes! So much better than "Sports" or, worse, "Computers") there would always be a copy or two of Master and Commander to replace what had been sold, as well as the other books in what was evidently a very long and very popular series.
So when the movie came out, I recognized the title. I liked the movie well enough to go out and buy a used copy of the book to read on the plane on the way to Thailand. Much to my surprise, the book was nothing like the movie! The movie was (VERY loosely) based on the tenth volume of the series, titled The Far Side of the World, but for some reason the filmmakers decided to use the title of the first book.
Anyway, the book was fabulous. Dry, subtle humor that had me laughing out loud. (Husband doesn't think the passages I can't help but read aloud to him are all that funny.) Carefully drawn characters. A maniacal obsession with historical detail. Obscure, archaic jargon. An old-fashioned structure--it began at the beginning and ended at the end, unlike so many modern novels that present their stories in jumpy, movie-scene-sized segments that can't stay in one place (lousy TV and Faulkner, paving the way for no-attention-span novels!). When I asked Husband to send me some things, I requested some necessities I'd forgotten to pack...and the next book in the series.
He sent the next two, and about a week later I was ready for number 4. When he arrived in Thailand he brought the fourth and fifth books, which I devoured, and when Mom came to visit a few months later she brought me 6-9. When we visited the U.S. a few months ago I picked up used copies of the tenth-sixteenth books, and I've already read each of those...twice. (Yeah. I have a problem. Mango and sticky rice has nothing on this obsession.)
Anyway, reviewers are always comparing O'Brian to Jane Austen, whom I'd never read, though I've seen all those film adaptations of her novels starring people like Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman. I've since started reading Austen, and I've got to say that the comparison is very apt. O'Brian is more modern in his approach, of course, and he's willing to discuss topics that Austen never would have touched, but the language and style are really very similar, and the dialogue could often have been overheard at the same supper party.
Did you see Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World a few years back? You remember, Russell Crowe in an for-some-reason-always-unbuttoned shirt, pretending he's not Australian. Paul Bettany looking scruffy and wearing tiny eyeglasses. Guys in tights, oh, sorry, breeches. Poignant scene with young blond amputee.
Well, it was based on a book. A book I was aware of, but hadn't read. When I was working in a bookstore years ago, one of my jobs was to shelve the new shipments of books that came into the store. I loved this part--browsing, perusing, and alphabetizing book after book after book. It took me longer than anyone else because I always stopped to read the back covers, but my manager didn't mind because it meant I could talk intelligently about most of what the customers were buying. And whenever I got assigned to "Fiction" (Yes! So much better than "Sports" or, worse, "Computers") there would always be a copy or two of Master and Commander to replace what had been sold, as well as the other books in what was evidently a very long and very popular series.
So when the movie came out, I recognized the title. I liked the movie well enough to go out and buy a used copy of the book to read on the plane on the way to Thailand. Much to my surprise, the book was nothing like the movie! The movie was (VERY loosely) based on the tenth volume of the series, titled The Far Side of the World, but for some reason the filmmakers decided to use the title of the first book.
Anyway, the book was fabulous. Dry, subtle humor that had me laughing out loud. (Husband doesn't think the passages I can't help but read aloud to him are all that funny.) Carefully drawn characters. A maniacal obsession with historical detail. Obscure, archaic jargon. An old-fashioned structure--it began at the beginning and ended at the end, unlike so many modern novels that present their stories in jumpy, movie-scene-sized segments that can't stay in one place (lousy TV and Faulkner, paving the way for no-attention-span novels!). When I asked Husband to send me some things, I requested some necessities I'd forgotten to pack...and the next book in the series.
He sent the next two, and about a week later I was ready for number 4. When he arrived in Thailand he brought the fourth and fifth books, which I devoured, and when Mom came to visit a few months later she brought me 6-9. When we visited the U.S. a few months ago I picked up used copies of the tenth-sixteenth books, and I've already read each of those...twice. (Yeah. I have a problem. Mango and sticky rice has nothing on this obsession.)
Anyway, reviewers are always comparing O'Brian to Jane Austen, whom I'd never read, though I've seen all those film adaptations of her novels starring people like Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman. I've since started reading Austen, and I've got to say that the comparison is very apt. O'Brian is more modern in his approach, of course, and he's willing to discuss topics that Austen never would have touched, but the language and style are really very similar, and the dialogue could often have been overheard at the same supper party.
helloooo out there
I've been messing with my blogger profile a little bit. I like the search function. I can click on any of my interests and it will find for me the other bloggers who have listed the same interest. Lots of Tolkien fans on blogger; not too many clarinetists.
I was looking at first for parrot lovers--Husband is always up for a good parrot story, especially if it includes pictures, and I thought a good way to find parrot blogs for The Blogless Husband to read would be through my profile. Then I changed all of my "favorite books" entries to authors, as I'd seen other people do. I clicked on "Patrick O'Brian" (I've read SIXTEEN of the twenty books in his Aubrey/Maturin series, most of them twice. At what point should I enter a 12-step program?). How weird--the parrot lovers were overwhelmingly female, while the Patrick O'Brian readers were overwhelmingly male. What does this say about Husband and me? Probably nothing, but it's sort of funny and weird anyway.
Anyhoo, I'm always looking for interesting blogs to read, so I was hoping to find some interesting people who love parrots and/or Patrick O'Brian, but I was disappointed in my quest. Almost all of the matching profiles corresponded to blogs that either never got started, or petered out after a post or two. Phooey.
So, have I got too much time on my hands, or is this a worthwhile use of my Saturday morning? You be the judge.
I was looking at first for parrot lovers--Husband is always up for a good parrot story, especially if it includes pictures, and I thought a good way to find parrot blogs for The Blogless Husband to read would be through my profile. Then I changed all of my "favorite books" entries to authors, as I'd seen other people do. I clicked on "Patrick O'Brian" (I've read SIXTEEN of the twenty books in his Aubrey/Maturin series, most of them twice. At what point should I enter a 12-step program?). How weird--the parrot lovers were overwhelmingly female, while the Patrick O'Brian readers were overwhelmingly male. What does this say about Husband and me? Probably nothing, but it's sort of funny and weird anyway.
Anyhoo, I'm always looking for interesting blogs to read, so I was hoping to find some interesting people who love parrots and/or Patrick O'Brian, but I was disappointed in my quest. Almost all of the matching profiles corresponded to blogs that either never got started, or petered out after a post or two. Phooey.
So, have I got too much time on my hands, or is this a worthwhile use of my Saturday morning? You be the judge.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
i can't believe they pay me for this
From my recent posts, my faithful readers may have gotten the impression that I am not satisfied with my job. On the contrary, despite the administrative problems and the periodic lack of air conditioning, electricity, and running water, I really do love it. I get to do things I enjoy for a living, which is pretty special. Here's what I'm doing today:
6:15 alarm goes off
6:30 get out of bed
6:31 coffee
6:32-8:19 What, exactly, do I do for almost two hours? I'm not sure, but this is the interval between pouring my coffee and leaving the apartment.
8:20 get on bike
8:21-8:29 dodge traffic, puddles, pedestrians, and dogs
8:30 arrive in office
8:30-9:00 warm up for my rehearsal; check over next week's teaching schedule
9:00-10:45 rehearsal (a trio I've put together for my recital next month)
10:45-11:00 blogging, of course (and from here on out, we're going into the future, baby!)
11:00-12:00 paperwork: the program for the recital, the handout for next week's studio class, some boring admin things
12:00-12:30 teach a lesson
12:30-1:00 lunch
1:00-2:00 another lesson
2:00-3:00 the weekly student recital--this week it's put on by the Thai traditional music department
3:00-4:00 another lesson
4:00-5:00 another lesson
5:00-6:00 another lesson
6:00-7:00 another lesson
7:01 change into my "outside shoes"
7:02 leave the office
7:03-7:10 dodge traffic, puddles, pedestrians, and dogs
7:11 ask Husband, "What should we do about supper?"
7:12 reply, "Yeah, I don't know either. But I sure am hungry."
7:13-8:00 somehow, we solve this thorny problem
8:00-10:30 another block of time in which I'm not really sure what it is I do
10:31 head hits the pillow
10:32 zzzzzzzzzzzzz
6:15 alarm goes off
6:30 get out of bed
6:31 coffee
6:32-8:19 What, exactly, do I do for almost two hours? I'm not sure, but this is the interval between pouring my coffee and leaving the apartment.
8:20 get on bike
8:21-8:29 dodge traffic, puddles, pedestrians, and dogs
8:30 arrive in office
8:30-9:00 warm up for my rehearsal; check over next week's teaching schedule
9:00-10:45 rehearsal (a trio I've put together for my recital next month)
10:45-11:00 blogging, of course (and from here on out, we're going into the future, baby!)
11:00-12:00 paperwork: the program for the recital, the handout for next week's studio class, some boring admin things
12:00-12:30 teach a lesson
12:30-1:00 lunch
1:00-2:00 another lesson
2:00-3:00 the weekly student recital--this week it's put on by the Thai traditional music department
3:00-4:00 another lesson
4:00-5:00 another lesson
5:00-6:00 another lesson
6:00-7:00 another lesson
7:01 change into my "outside shoes"
7:02 leave the office
7:03-7:10 dodge traffic, puddles, pedestrians, and dogs
7:11 ask Husband, "What should we do about supper?"
7:12 reply, "Yeah, I don't know either. But I sure am hungry."
7:13-8:00 somehow, we solve this thorny problem
8:00-10:30 another block of time in which I'm not really sure what it is I do
10:31 head hits the pillow
10:32 zzzzzzzzzzzzz
Monday, July 03, 2006
from the vault
Shortly after I arrived in Thailand, I performed in an orchestra concert that included a lot of exposed solos for me. It went well, and all of my students were in the audience to scope out the new teacher.
After the concert, I was approached by one of my students, who couldn't speak English at all at the time (he's conversant now). Before he got comfortable speaking English, he would often ask his bilingual friends how to say "Hello" or "How are you" so that he could greet me in the hallway or before his lesson. This time he came up and said, "Teacher, you are very beautiful."
I was a little taken aback--I'm not used to this kind of compliment, especially from a student. I smiled and thanked him in Thai, but was still feeling just a bit confused.
Until I looked beyond him.
Three or four of his buddies were standing in a little group, barely able to contain their laughter. They were turning red, punching each other, and giggling like crazy. Could it be that they were having a little fun with their monoglot friend?
I wonder what my student really wanted to tell me.
I wonder if they ever told him what he did tell me.
Poor guy.
After the concert, I was approached by one of my students, who couldn't speak English at all at the time (he's conversant now). Before he got comfortable speaking English, he would often ask his bilingual friends how to say "Hello" or "How are you" so that he could greet me in the hallway or before his lesson. This time he came up and said, "Teacher, you are very beautiful."
I was a little taken aback--I'm not used to this kind of compliment, especially from a student. I smiled and thanked him in Thai, but was still feeling just a bit confused.
Until I looked beyond him.
Three or four of his buddies were standing in a little group, barely able to contain their laughter. They were turning red, punching each other, and giggling like crazy. Could it be that they were having a little fun with their monoglot friend?
I wonder what my student really wanted to tell me.
I wonder if they ever told him what he did tell me.
Poor guy.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
just in case you were wondering...
...what I look like, I've decided to come out of hiding. This is me. The real maikaojai.
Photo by Husband, as always. This was taken several months ago, when I was feeling sick.
money, it's a gas
I promise, this isn't entirely a self-indulgent whine about how little money I have, how much I deserve, and how much the university should pay me. It's a set of observations; the whininess is unintentional and I apologize for all whining that made it past the self-pity sensor (censor).
Avid readers will recall that Husband and I indulged in the purchase of a washing machine a few months back. We now luxuriate in the doing of our own laundry. Our clothes are in much better shape, and we don't have to walk all around creation with bags of laundry. However, since buying the washing machine, our electric bills have quadrupled. Yes. Quadrupled. We're now paying more for electricity than we ever did in the United States. Even discounting the initial cost of the washing machine and the cost of the detergent and fabric softener, it's costing us TEN TIMES AS MUCH per month to do our own laundry as it was to hire it out.
We have also been making an effort to prepare more of our own food. This is because I am a whiny, picky eater. We still eat a lot of local food, both in restaurants and as takeout, but I have reached the end of my tolerance for fried food that is covered with sugar. Thai food in the United States differs from Thai food in Thailand in three basic ways:
Thus, Husband and I have started to acquire kitchen materials and to shop for groceries at a fairly upscale grocery store in a nearby town. Again, this endeavor is much more costly than going for nightly takeout. A week of groceries (which yields 4-5 meals, plus essentials like coffee and snacks), including the outlay for the taxi ride home (because have you ever ridden a bus with eight plastic grocery bags? A thing that other people find to be perfectly possible; I, on the other hand, can't do it) comes to the equivalent cost of about ten takeout or restaurant dinners. Yep. Costs more to make our own food. And again, this is without considering the initial outlay for the oven, the pans, the kitchen utensils, and the kitchen sink.
What am I driving at? Supply and demand. Some resources in Thailand (like electricity, fresh vegetables, and coffee-for-spoiled-farang) are hard to come by, and therefore expensive. Labor, on the other hand, is dirt cheap. In America, service has to be paid for. One of the hallmarks of "having money" is having people to do things for you. Things you'd otherwise have to do yourself. A cook. A laundress. A housekeeper (which we could also have, for pocket change). A nanny. In Thailand, on the other hand, anything that can be done by a person is cheap. It's the things that will cost you. A total reversal.
*I'd like to accept the Oscar for "most first-person pronouns crammed into one sentence."
Avid readers will recall that Husband and I indulged in the purchase of a washing machine a few months back. We now luxuriate in the doing of our own laundry. Our clothes are in much better shape, and we don't have to walk all around creation with bags of laundry. However, since buying the washing machine, our electric bills have quadrupled. Yes. Quadrupled. We're now paying more for electricity than we ever did in the United States. Even discounting the initial cost of the washing machine and the cost of the detergent and fabric softener, it's costing us TEN TIMES AS MUCH per month to do our own laundry as it was to hire it out.
We have also been making an effort to prepare more of our own food. This is because I am a whiny, picky eater. We still eat a lot of local food, both in restaurants and as takeout, but I have reached the end of my tolerance for fried food that is covered with sugar. Thai food in the United States differs from Thai food in Thailand in three basic ways:
- In America, Thai food is generally considered to be fairly healthy (yes, I know about the coconut milk--but compared to, say, lard, it's not bad). It's stir-fried or simmered with a minimum of oil. In Thailand, though, the curries generally arrive with a quarter-inch of pure grease on top. I haven't been able to skim enough off to relieve the sensation that my food is sliding down a well-greased chute after the first few bites.
- In America, sugar is usually reserved for dessert and for those repulsive sweet-potato-and-marshmallow concoctions that some people eat at Thanksgiving. In Thailand, no dish is complete without a heaping spoonful of sugar. Stir-fries. Curries. Fried rice. Noodles. Soup. Everything is like candy.
- In America, Thai food resembles American-style Chinese in composition: small pieces of meat with large quantities of vegetables like baby corn, peapods, and cute exotic mushrooms. In Thailand, vegetables are not nearly so widely eaten. Many dishes consist of meat, sauce, and rice or noodles.
Thus, Husband and I have started to acquire kitchen materials and to shop for groceries at a fairly upscale grocery store in a nearby town. Again, this endeavor is much more costly than going for nightly takeout. A week of groceries (which yields 4-5 meals, plus essentials like coffee and snacks), including the outlay for the taxi ride home (because have you ever ridden a bus with eight plastic grocery bags? A thing that other people find to be perfectly possible; I, on the other hand, can't do it) comes to the equivalent cost of about ten takeout or restaurant dinners. Yep. Costs more to make our own food. And again, this is without considering the initial outlay for the oven, the pans, the kitchen utensils, and the kitchen sink.
What am I driving at? Supply and demand. Some resources in Thailand (like electricity, fresh vegetables, and coffee-for-spoiled-farang) are hard to come by, and therefore expensive. Labor, on the other hand, is dirt cheap. In America, service has to be paid for. One of the hallmarks of "having money" is having people to do things for you. Things you'd otherwise have to do yourself. A cook. A laundress. A housekeeper (which we could also have, for pocket change). A nanny. In Thailand, on the other hand, anything that can be done by a person is cheap. It's the things that will cost you. A total reversal.
*I'd like to accept the Oscar for "most first-person pronouns crammed into one sentence."
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