Alaskan Bulgarian

Turbo Happy Holidays

Due to the fact that most Greeks seem to have computers of their own, internet cafes are pretty rare around Athens, an otherwise beautiful city with wonderful non-Bulgarian architecture, delicious non-Bulgarian food, and friendly non-Bulgarian customer service. Bulgaria's terrific and all, but when someone working in a cafe asks you what you want to drink in English right off the bat, then smiles throughout the order, courteously brings you the drink, then says "thank you" when you pay, it makes you feel special almost. Especially coming out of Bulgaria where, for reasons that will be explained in next week's mega-post, we were yelled at--in Bulgarian--as soon as we got to the window to buy our bus tickets out of Bulgaria.

Basically, I don't have much time here but have a lot to tell. Expect a novella about the whole trip sometime around next Saturday or Sunday, but for now, I wish everybody a Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, and a thoroughly enjoyable New Year.

Santa's a Horo Dacing Giant

It was meant to be a surprise, and I think Santa's appearance did come as a surprise to most of the kids. I'm not sure what the age limit was for realizing the coincidence in "batko Robert" and "dyado Koleda" (Santa) being 6'7 guys with thick American accents, but a lot of the kids seemed to be believers, which was nice.

We came in, I gave a "ho ho ho" and said a few Merry Christmases, and then the kids had me sit down. They had their show all set up, it was pretty much the same show we had seen the night before, but it was a good time nonetheless. It started with a few little girls doing a Christmas tree pageant. They did a little ballet and took a bow.

Then came a singing group. The kid in plaid, front and center, really bought into the whole Santa Claus thing. He was attached to my hip the whole night, poking my paunch, and wishing me Merry Christmas. Incidentally, Bulgarian Christmas carols are strange things. None of my students really knew any, and in fact knew more songs in English. The carols seem to be just for shows. They're all very well rehearsed and sung in large groups.

And this is what Christmas used to be about everywhere: boys going from house to house caroling and asking for cake. You know, now bring us some figgy pudding and all that. Apparently, they have to be bachelors, they go from house to house with staffs, sing songs, then ask if there's a married man in the house (for some reason). Then they get cake. It doesn't seem to happen in real life anymore though. Again, it's all for show.

Then came the surprise of the night. A bunch of eight year old Bulgarians doing a cowboy routine to country music. They had fake little guns, little whips, everything they needed. Absolutely hilarious and adorable and all that. We were all leaning out of our chairs laughing.

Mishu led the whole group of orphans in one last song. Mishu is a very good singer who's graduating this year and leaving the orphanage as a result. The kids all seem to look up to him, and it seems like they're all going to miss him. They really are like 74 brothers and sisters living without parents. Of course, you can see it in their faces that no number of siblings makes up for the loss. Nobody seems to know what Mishu will do when he leaves the orphanage. It's always a mystery when the kids leave.

Then every kid got a bag of candy, small toys, and fruit. It was all very orderly and done one at a time, which meant it took forever, but made sure every kid got to say "hi" to Santa and get a bag of candy.

After the candy was dispensed, we gave them 3 copies of the new Harry Potter book in Bulgarian and a couple of balls which will probably all be lost within a week. We helped clean up the room, then bolted so I could get the roasting gear off and eat dinner. It was a good night overall, and not nearly as exhausting as most trips to the orphanage are. I think the Santa appearance put a lot of the kids into a state of awe and kept many of them at a safe distance.

So I woke up this morning and went to a couple of shortened classes where the most work we did was play hangman in English and hand back some tests. I came home and realized that the year's work in Silistra was done. Time to go to Greece and celebrate. I'll be leaving tomorrow, so expect sporadic posting over the next two weeks. There will be a Christmas post though, so come back for that. Until then, Happy Holidays!

Note: I'm having trouble uploading the last of the photos. They'll be up whenever I can get them there.

The Ghost of Christmas Just Around the Corner

Short entry today. Debbie, my sitemate, and I went to the orphange this afternoon to help a representative from Reebok Bulgaria hand out shoes and get things roughly planned for the thing that will be tomorrow's visit. I'll be going as a poorly dressed Santa, we'll sing a carol or two, then give them bagfuls of candy and pieces of cake. Then we'll dramatically dive out the door as the building explodes in a massive orphan sugar high. It'll be a good time.

The last real day of school went well. In every class we sang songs, talked about Christmas and the year to come, and had an all-around good time. Saturday marks a brief return, but it'll just be a ministry mandated half-day and will be entirely fun. The students are already pointing out that it'll end in a teachers' party that all the teachers will leave drunk.

I'd raise a point about the terrible example a lot of teachers here set for the students, but that would be horribly generalizing and require more strength than I can muster at the end of a Thursday capped by a trip to the orphange. Frankly, just this was a blow to the system from which I may never recover. I hope you're grateful...

Fortune Wobbles, But She Won't Go Down

Last night I was going to title this entry "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagghhhhhh!" but in addition to realizing its stupidity (it's much better to be the haughty English major that Lex Libertas so cruelly mocks here), I also found the stupidity in my needing that kind of anger release anyway. The Egypt trip has fallen apart, you see, due to the incompetence of a Sofia travel agency I trusted even when they couldn't put their under construction page through a spell check.

Four of us--Zhana, a primary ed. program director at PC, Jeff, Kate, and I--wanted a package tour because it would be cheap, painless, and completely arranged. What we got instead was a travel agent who held our money and played around with Egyptian hotels until a sheik swept in and claimed 300 rooms in the resort town where we'd be staying. Money returned, but no trip. Jam Advice, at this point, doesn't need my business anymore.

At the same time, students in one of my eighth classes all but staged a noise revolt and doubled up their points total in our little game. They were absolutely terrible the entire forty-five minutes and I couldn't get a thing done. After the class, I went into the smokers' room in the teachers' lounge (something I never do), and talked to their other English teacher. She smiled sadly, said "they always do it to me, too." and shrugged.

So last night, after we had pestered the agent and demanded to talk to a supervisor who was "already away on holiday," we went through several options, the best being an ad hoc "Lets Go! Europe" trip through Greece to Crete. It certainly has a certain romanticism to it, would keep us together as friends, and would get us some place fun for Christmas and the New Year.

So, even though we had plans to be together on the holiday of holidays all set, the day still pounded away at me. I tried to relax, take deep breaths and all that, but it had been rough. The only cure was sleep, and a new day.

And as they usually do, sleep and a new day cured all--or most. I came to school, entered the eighth class, and they had been spoken to. They had attached a big pink sign on the board with "Sorry, Mr. Young" scrawled across the middle. I've kept the poster, and I'll take a photo of it and post it here later. They were also quiet the entire day. Which bugs me. It means that they can control it. Which means they aren't giving me their best every day. Which, as I said, bugs me.

Later in the day Vanya, my English teacher counterpart, came up to me and asked what I thought of the class. She teaches them in an optional class after school, and they're even worse then, apparently. We talked about them, exchanged ideas about causes of the problem and doubts about solutions. We left assured that there must be something we can do and we promised to share the solution when either of us stumbled on it.

Now, as I write this, plans are circulating that might--might--get us to Dubai instead of Greece or Egypt. Well, that would be fun, too. Life, rather pleasantly come to think of it, goes on.

"Nie Go Namerihme"

Since it will be English everywhere else, I thought it'd be appropriate for me to write the big quote in transliterated Bulgarian here. This morning, I put down whatever I had been reading to go eat some lunch. Food in hand, I flipped the TV to CNN and watched on the edge of the couch as skeptical rumor reporting became assured speculation, then a quote from the governing council, then "we got him" and finally cheers in a press room as one of the luckiest medical officers ever was shown picking through Saddam's hair and teeth on international TV. In the middle of all that, I got some news that my travel plans for New Year's might be in trouble, but that was something to deal with during the week. This news was important, exciting, and happy now.

This is a timeline Shakespeare would have written a great history around. Act 1 would be the prelude to war, Act 2: the war, Act 3: Uday and Qusay, the sons, are killed. Act 4 would be the hunt and capture of Saddam and Act 5 would be a long and detailed portrait of his trial and subsequent execution. Some critics would call the last act a weak point in the play, being much slower than the others, but most would agree that it reflected the just end to the man's life very well. The last line of the play would be a soliloquy from Bremer or Bush, with the last lines being something like "There's never been a greater pity/That such a man as he/Ever lived."

Whatever Shakespeare would have done with it, it's an incredible and terrific thing that it's finally done. That the shadow is off, and that Iraq can finally begin to move on without the worry that "he" might come back. They also move on with the knowledge that he probably lived much of his last few months of freedom in a hole. It's a triumph for America and our allies, but it's an even greater triumph for Iraq and its people, who can finally leave the worst memories behind.

Fat Cops, Fit Cops, and Hairdryers

I watched SWAT last night and, although it doesn't really need to be discussed--being Mediocre but Entertaining Movie #746 this year--it did remind me of the book I just finished this morning. Tortilla Flat was Steinbeck's breakthrough novel; it made him popular and gave him enough money so he could go on writing. I certainly get that. It's a very entertaining read with solid, well-drawn characters and just enough of a story to create a thread. But I kept finding myself looking at the page numbers. The book is only a little over 200 pages long, but I just kind of wanted it to tell me what it had to say and end.

The book is about a group of paisanos living above Monterey. They don't work and they go about life doing good and bad deeds in what Stenbeck convincingly writes as some kind of holy quest. Somehow it all makes sense, and there were enough literary gags to make me laugh off and on. But when I've seen Travels With Charley, The Grapes of Wrath, and Of Mice and Men come out of Steinbeck, Tortilla Flat comes off as almost cute. It's obvious Steinbeck draws on his experiences and that he cares about his characters, but the novel seems to use them as the butt of Steinbeck's big paisano joke. Nevertheless, it was worth reading, and it's a shame to be back at the book crossroads again.

I kind of want to read Dickens' Hard Times, but as good as Oliver Twist was, a person kind of gets off Dickens a bit. Honestly, I've only read Twist, A Tale of Two Cities, and A Christmas Carol, so maybe I can't rightly judge. But when the first 80% of his books is always the best stuff ever written and the last 20% is a collection of coincidence-derived...um, stuff, a reader begins to fear being let down again. Anyway, I'll read Hard Times later and figure out something else to read in the meantime. Thanks to everybody for not leaving me with a shortage of choices.

I'm not really sure how other people get through books, never really asked. I think I'm a little more into monogamous reading than most. I start one book and will finish it unless it actively prevents me through terrible writing. Book by book, I'm always a slow starter. The first hundred pages usually take awhile unless they're stellar. In the middle of the read, though, something clicks and I just keep reading until the last part of the book keeps me in my room until the book is finished. Usually, the thing that clicks is the switch on a blow dryer.

There's a foggy history behind all this, and as in all cases I'll bet my parents had something to do with its beginning. I think the final push came when I had chicken pox as a freshman in high school and the dryer, when put to the spots, made the itching go away. At the time, I also set a small fire to my bed sheets after falling asleep with the thing on "high." That's always left me with a cautious streak when using a hairdryer.

Whatever the full history might be, I enter a zone when I read with a little hot air blowing at me with a load of white noise behind it. It's not necessarily a focus, but the world of the book becomes the only world around, at least until I get hungry or sleepy. It's strange, largely unexplainable, and it dries out my skin like nobody's business, but it's also incredibly relaxing and makes books a better read.

So how does all this work in Bulgaria? Well, I actually picked up a more-than-decent hairdryer at the department store here in Silistra, and its wattage demands don't seem too high. It also has a heat sensor that shuts it off if things get too hot. Bonus! The school pays the electricity bills, and I haven't had any complaints, questions, or concerns. I never use it for more than hour or so, and it heats the room, so it's really nothing more than a noisy personal heater, something most volunteers have, anyway. When the room is a bit chilly, book or no, I'll sometimes pop the hairdryer on to warm things up a little.

I didn't bring one of the little wonders with me because I was worried about luggage space, my lack of a converter, and that Bulgaria might not be able to handle it. It all seems okay so far, though. It's just a weird habit that I've grown used to having. And apart from the skin thing, it really isn't all that harmful. Not at all like cracking knuckles, picking noses, or smoking. It's just a hairdryer used a bit longer than usual.

So yeah, that's that. Today's picture is a preview of the Bulgarian Graffiti section, which I'll start work on whenever I finish the FAQ and project pages. "Fat Cop" can be found in the middle of a block complex a half mile outside of Silistra's center. Most students know it well, and I think the art in Chubby there can be pretty well appreciated. The red background has been completed since I took this photo. I don't think the police are currently investigating the defamation of their character.

ALSO...An old, good friend sent me this link to an article from a Bolivian Peace Corps volunteer. Since his experience is similar to mine and most people think Bulgaria is Bolivia, I figure it's worth reading.

On the Weather and Writing While Feeling Good

Today's weather continued the week's pattern of getting slightly warmer every day following the Monday when I felt my ears would fall off if tapped slightly. It's not toasty by any stretch, but it's hovering in the high 30s-low 40s, which is pretty temperate for this region at this time of year, or so I gather. The nights are still the time of gloves, hats and scarves, but the days still see guys with their hands firmly stuffed in their pockets.

Passing a cafe on the way to the internet club today, a friend opened the door and called me over. I went inside and he had already sat himself down at the bar next to my gloves, which I had apparently left there last night. "I believe these are yours," he said. Of course, he hadn't seen me in two weeks and had absolutely no idea what my gloves would look like or if these were mine. I'm sure "the boss" (the cafe's owner, who everyone calls shefe) had left them behind the bar, with the explicit instructions to give them to "the tall American who comes here sometimes." The boss knows my name, but I'm pretty sure he would be iffy on the rest of his staff knowing it.

Just kind of gows to show how things have been coming up well lately. I try to spread the luck around as much as I can, give some of the good vibrations to those who deserve it. But looking back on the past few entries, I can see the contentment has phased through into my writing. Might just be me, I don't know, but there doesn't seem to be much bite this week.

There was an episode of "The Larry Sanders Show" where Phil, the head writer, stops writing well because he's happy and in love. Well, although the love part hasn't really sunk in yet here in Bulgaria, I'm pretty happy, and it's awfully hard to write about the happiness in being content. I've also seen that it's awfully hard to read about someone being happy, explaining why Dickens devotes maybe 6 of the 600 odd pages of Oliver Twist to descriptions of Oliver actually being joyful.

I spent part of the otherwise productive morning going over things that I could complain about. Nothing there really. I'm planning on visiting the orphange as Santa, and I had no idea where I would get the costume here in Bulgaria. Well, turns out I had the shirt and the necessary pillow, and the store below my apartment sold me a nice hat and beard combo for a lev fifty. The only things missing are the pants and boots. In all honesty, it would be next to impossible to get a pair of 34-38 red pants and size 17 shiny black boots in America on short notice, so I really have nothing to complain about if Santa will have to wear black slacks and loafers to pay a visit to a Bulgarian orphanage.

I'm going to have to work next weekend. When I first heard that, the voice of Office Space's Lumberg went through my head. Um, yeah, I'm going to need you to come in this Saturday. And, oh, yeeeah, I'm gonna need you to come in on Sunday, too. mmmkay? Thaaaanks. It means I'll have to miss a birthday party in Veliko Turnovo, which is an absolute pity. But the schedule change means we won't have to teach the Monday and Tuesday before Christmas, which I could imagine would be absolute hell with two hours of eighth class a day, the kids bouncing around the room waiting for Christmas Eve. They're already getting antsy enough.

No pro or college basketball? Over that, really. And to continue a day of references, I've come to appreciate Santiago's habit of re-reading old box scores in The Old Man and the Sea. I can construct imaginary games out of the numbers on the page. It's kind of fun, like being a kid again. I've also learned to find new joys in highlights. Instead of reliving the great Kobe-Shaq alley-oop I had just watched two hours before, I get a little kick of joy every time I see Devean George hop and turn down the court after someone else makes a big play. It makes me feel like I'm watching a game and given the luxury of being able to pay attention to the little things.

Bulgarian grocery stores? Used to them.

The fact that, as an English teacher, I now think more about improper use of language than meaning when I listen to song lyrics or sometimes even when people speak? Actually kind of fun, as long as I don't get to the point of being an asshole about making corrections. It's "were," dammit, "were." "I wish she were here." Okay, maybe it's not that fun. But still, it's like a game. You get the idea.

Things are good here. Yesterday, I set up a couple of big projects for the twelfth classes that will give us something to do throughout the next term. Both classes seem excited about the possibilty of setting up plays in English. They want me to find a play on-line, but after class I decided that it'd be more fun to let them do the writing. It would take up more time too. So I have that going for me, which is nice. The tests in eighth class went well enough, and the students all understood the grades they were given, without argument in most cases. But I'll change things next time. I had all the students take their oral tests in the room one at a time, and despite general silence there were still a few corrections, chuckles, and outright laughs at screw-ups. Next time, it'll all be done in the hall. That's decided.

I suppose it's all about adaptation. I could be sitting here moping about any number of things, but there's really no use in it. So until some new problem rears up, I'm happy here, and am patting myself on the back as I speak. Good for me.

Welcome!

Oh, hi there! Why, I wasn't expecting guests...the place is just an absolute mess still, but make yourself at home.

Most of the stuff on the left is the same, and the bathroom is where it's always been. There's the comments section everybody has been begging for now SO USE IT! and you always know your way around the kitchen.

Hmm, what else...oh, don't go in that hall yet. I'm building a new wing that will detail all the things I'm doing here in Bulgaria and yesterday the plumbers bashed a hole right into the septic tank over there. How, I have no idea.

Yes, yes, that's what the smell is.

So--I hope you like the new artwork. Aren't those birds just adorable? And I think that standard Movable Type Calendar is pretty stylish.

Yes, yes, you know your way around. Just make yourself at home. And have fun! I'll see you tomorrow with a new entry.

Ahh Wednesdays

For the last few weeks Wednesdays have started early and ended late. I've talked about them before, but it never hurts to praise my favorite day again and again. I get up at 6 or 6:30, relax for a little while as I get ready for the day, and head out for school around 7:30 or so. I teach two eighth classes, which usually go well since the students are still pretty drugged from sleep and have yet to wake up enough to become pains in the ass.

Then, at about ten, I go back home. Today, I ran into one of the orphans who walked with me along the way and, in a heart wrenching attempt to screw with me, showed me about five different things he'd like to get for Christmas. I gave him two leva for oranges he wanted to buy and some time in an internet club, which I gather is one of the orphans' few entertainments during winter.

Back at the apartment, I made myself some French toast and settled in on the couch. Usually, I wind up taking a nap for an hour or two, or three, but something just didn't connect today. I wound up going to bed, reading some Tortilla Flat, dozing off, then waking up a second later after thinking I was going to be late for my Bulgarian lesson. This happened for about a couple of hours until 3:30, when my alarm went off, I stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes, then got up to go study some Bulgarian. Two hours of study, coffee, and cookies later, I always come to the internet club to check up on things and do that one thing that makes every Wednesday--read the Onion, top to bottom.

Today, in addition to a brilliant article about a point in teaching I've come close to but never reached, I chuckled audibly at just about everything on the site. Also, the Lakers won, which kind of wrapped the whole day in a tidy bow.

After the internet club, I'll go home, check homework for tomorrow's classes, and watch the WWI documentary on the Discovery Channel at midnight. I can't really say that Wednesdays are the most productive day of the week, but it's nice having a day where I relax and actually do something . Makes the week flow a little easier, especially when Thursdays always wind up being a challenge.

For the last couple of days, I've been orally testing the eighth classes, and I really hate giving tests, I've discovered. The problem is, every student speaks English passably well, but I have to draw the line somewhere. I wind up dropping students I know speak the language well down to the equivalent of a "B" for not using full sentences or messing up word order in slight ways.

It's awfully stressful. Pretty much every kid here wants to learn the language and learn it well, but sometimes they just can't keep their mouths shut during the test. I gave about four "2"s ("F"s) for talking when not allowed and, in a moment of pity for the great students that just couldn't keep themselves together for forty-five minutes of testing, gave them a nigh impossible extra-credit assignment to have the privilege of taking the test. Fortunately, the students are well-disciplined enough that this doesn't seem like rolling over and exposing my throat to them.

Some volunteers have had to get so strict on cheating as to impose an actual, fully-functional bell curve on their classes. This smacks of weeding students out. I would never want to give a kid a two just because he wasn't keeping up with the rest of the class, but I suppose if that's what they need to do to maintain order, then that's what they need to do. Discipline, especially in the younger classes, seems to be paramount.

So what does this coffee-inspired divergence mean, exactly? Well, it means that I only had to suffer through a couple of hours of teeth-grinding testing before I got to relax the rest of the day. That was pretty nice...

Anyway, what I now realize too late was an unfortunately dull entry peters out as the bulk of another Wednesday comes to an end, and as I search for a decent way to end this post...Oh screw it, the post is over. Good night, everyone.

TIS THE SEASON

There have been signs in Silistra for about 3 weeks now. The first Christmas trees began popping up in store windows then. Since that beat Thanksgiving--which most of the volunteers I've talked to seem to agree is the beginning of the standard Christmas explosion in America--Bulgaria seems to be right there in the Christmas spirit.

I find that impressive, somehow, but have yet to put my finger on why. Maybe it's the growing presence of a community identity, something that didn't seem to exist in summer but grows every day now. Maybe it's just that I've gotten to know the city well and am noticing the details. Whatever the case may be, it's the holiday season in Bulgaria, and Silistra seems about as ready for it as Sofia was when I visited it last weekend.

Lights lace the town center and store windows, although houses are still bare. There's finally a thin film of frozen snow on the ground, not enough to qualify for a white Christmas, but there are still two and a half weeks. I haven't seen any department store santas, but that doesn't mean there won't be.

Most of all, the students are into it. My slackest class last week got into singing Christmas carols, and to get through the last ten minutes, I even managed to pull all twelve days of Christmas out of the deep recesses of my memory. One girl, a singer, left her usual seat in the back and hopped quickly up front when I started writing the lyrics on the board. They all really ate it up. Even mentioned it to Vanya, my counterpart English teacher, in her next class with them.

The gloves are beginning to come out and snowballs, scraped together off the park lawn, are getting thrown lamely across the street toward the school.

I'm going to go up to the orphanage this weekend and do whatever I can to pull off an early Christmas there, since I won't have another free weekend until the New Year. I'm thinking of just going as a Santa, bringing them whatever goodies I can get together, and take their wishes. We'll see how that turns out, I'm sure there will be pictures.

Of course--and here's the problem--if I do a pre-Christmas Santa, how do I not disappoint them when the big day arrives? I could leave 70 or 80 candies with the director up there to be dispersed on the morning, I suppose that would work. But it's something I'm going to need to make sure I have nailed down before I go.

A SELFISH ENTRY, BUT AN ENTRY NONETHELESS

I've been thinking about putting up a kind of written cultural time capsule on the site. Something to the point that I can look back on in a year or so to remember what I was watching, listening to, and reading in the heady days of December 2003. Some may find it interesting, others may not. But here, unapologetically is...

WHAT'S GOING INTO ROB'S HEAD? DECEMBER 2003

Most of the books I've read (some for the second or third time) since I came to Bulgaria in April:
The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay--Chabon
The Citadel--Cronin (On the front it says it's now a Masterpiece Theater movie. That fits it really well.)
Travels With Charley--Steinbeck
The Great Gatsby--Fitzgerald
The Thin Man--Hammett
The Way Some People Die--MacDonald
Uncle Tom's Cabin--Stowe (The fact that this has been banned in some libraries absolutely baffles me)
Tender is the Night--Fitzgerald
A Man in Full--Wolfe (The best 700+ pager I've yet read)
The Perfect Storm--Junger
The Sun Also Rises--Hemingway (Can't get enough of the greatest party novel ever)
The Grapes of Wrath--Steinbeck
The Barbarians Are Coming--Louie
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe--Adams
What's Wrong With Dorfman?--Blumenthal
Hannibal--Harris (Hannibal Lector is Sideshow Bob in this book. No question about it.)
The Once and Future King--White (Probably the best read thus far)
A Farewell to Arms--Hemingway (Hemingway started it as a downer, and by God he would end it as one, too)
The Salmon of Doubt--Adams
Oliver Twist--Dickens (Turns out Oliver is the long lost cousin of Charles Darnay, Ebenezer Scrooge's much younger half-brother, and a personal friend of David Copperfield's former roommate. Who knew?)

The book I'm now reading:
Tortilla Flat--Steinbeck

Some of the movies I've seen:
Matrix 2+3
Terminator 3
X-Men 2
Bad Boys 2
Charlie's Angels 2
2 Fast 2 Furious (When's "2 Pointy 2 Breaky" coming out?)
Johnny English
(What an absolutely terrible movie summer it was. When you line it all up like that...)
Pirates of the Caribbean (The best of a bad crop. But still pretty good)
The Italian Job (Nice little caper movie)
Dumb and Dumberer (Okay, I'm stopping this right now)

Videos
Favorite video at the moment that no else here seems to like all that much:
Outkast--Hey Ya

Video that all the girls say is all the guys' favorite (giggle, giggle):
Kylie Minogue--Slow

Favorite videos from artists that I'd never heard of, but guess I probably should have:
Lene Marlin--You Weren't There
Texas--Carnival of Girls
Fun Lovin' Criminals--Various Videos
Paul Van Dyke--Nothing but You
Propeller Heads--History Repeating

Video that most guys really like for the “giggle, giggle” reason:
Dido--White Flag (also “Life for Rent” for that matter, but that’s a newer single)

Favorite techno, outside of “Nothing but You”:
Chemical Brothers f/ Flaming Lips--Golden Path

Favorite rock:
Limp Bizkit--Eat You Alive (There! I said it! I like the song and I love the video. What are you going to do about it?)

Close second for favorite rock:
Evanesence--Going Under

Favorite German:
Scooter (But that’s really the top of a pretty rotten barrell)

Favorite Bulgarian:
Oh, please don’t make me choose. Probably Slavi, but that’s just because I saw him live, I suppose.

Favorite video of an artist whose country of origin I still don’t really know:
Moloko--Forever More

Favorite group to make fun of mercilessly with other volunteers:
Black Eyed Peas (But all they want is to stop “the Bloods, and the Crips, and the KKK!” They are after all, just a bunch of “conscious cats” who didn’t want to release a song about “ugly people” after 9/11. Oh, just shut up, shut up.)

Favorite Music Channel:
Euro VH1. All videos ever released get played here. The Police are singing “Wrapped Around Your Finger” right now. It’s good stuff)

I think that about covers it. If I think of anything else I’ll put it down later.

THE SILISTRA SPORTS REPORT

Tuesday, one the girls in my eleventh class approached me after class and told me that the girls’ volleyball team would be playing at PMG that night. “Would I come out and support the team?” she asked. Of course, my first thought was “There’s a girls’ volleyball team here?” but that thought passed quickly and I told her that I would come.

So, that night, after my regular visit to the internet club, I walked to the gym at PMG. PMG’s is probably the best gym in Silistra. It has a good solid floor, 4 baskets, and a decent amount of sitting space around the court. The first time I had visited I was playing a pick-up basketball game after the city’s teams had finished for the night. When I arrived before the second half of the last game, I’d estimate there were about 30 people there watching. I can’t remember who was playing that night, because I had been so taken aback by the fact that there was any kind of city-wide basketball at all.

I bring that up because the language school’s girls’ team (EG) was playing PMG Tuesday night in a first round game of a small tournament. As soon as I walked in, the girls noticed me and cheered and kind of clapped. I felt honored, but later realized that it was only half because of who I was. Turns out I was one of two, maybe three people from EG there supporting the team. More on that later.

I walked across the court to the single row of benches along the side of the court opposite the team benches. The PMG crowd had already gathered and filled the benches so I stood next to the bench on the EG side of the court. When I entered, the teams were in their pre-game discussions. The game started shortly after I took my position.

It wasn’t what you would call pretty. It was entertaining, worth going to. But no. No, it wasn’t a good-looking game. EG played pretty well considering that they didn’t seem to have a girl who could get both hands above the net at the same time. Neither did PMG for that matter, but PMG had an artillery division when it came to serving. They had a few aces that dropped hard and fast on the sidelines. It didn’t help that the ceiling in the gym is low, and most of the bumps off the harder hits went straight up and high. A ball into the ceiling was side-out. Anyway, that night it was three blow-outs and good night. Dejected looks for EG all around.

After the game I went up to the girls to congratulate them on an entertaining game, and before I even made it to the group they gave me grins and told me not to say anything. I gave a shrug, thanked them for the invitation, said that I had had fun, and that the match-despite the loss-had been entertaining. They thanked me for coming and told me to come the next night, when they would win. I said that I’d come, of course, and wished them good night.

A day of teaching later, I cut my Bulgarian lesson a bit short so that I could make it to the game on time. I arrived at about the same time I had the night before, and took the same spot next to the benches. It was a colder night, and everyone in the not-really-heated gym had their thick coats on. Fortunately, the games went EG’s way and they won three close games to sweep the team from-well, I never did figure out what school they playing-but it was a well-played victory nevertheless, and they were all a little more receptive to my congratulations after the game.

I walked out happy, they walked out happy, and three-quarters of the audience stayed in the gym to watch the next game. I was, again, one of maybe four or five non-participants from the school watching the game. PMG was up next and by the time EG’s game was over, there were about 60 or 70 students in the gym. This confirmed that, as rumored, volleyball is more popular than basketball in Bulgaria. But it didn’t explain why no one from the language school really bothered to come to either game.

I think this might be another of those things I’m going to want to focus my energy on. People need to come to these games. And not just students either. During the second game, I noticed that apart from the coaches and referees, I was probably the only person over twenty in the gym.

Sports are a great way to get the community involved in local schools, and since there aren’t bands or orchestras at the schools not dedicated to music, sports in Bulgaria are really the only way for the community to get involved in the schools’ activities. Sports might just be something schools should advertise and not leave up to word-of-mouth from students.

Of course, I say this as if it applies to all of Bulgaria. It doesn’t. In the smaller towns, if a school is lucky enough to have a gym, it usually has no room for an audience and no sports program to go along with it. As in most cases, Silistra is just big enough to have all the nice things that go along with a big town. I’m lucky in that, I suppose. But it also makes my job more about improvement than creation. Many volunteers are the only people around to coach their teams, making it pretty easy to get involved. But here I feel like I have to show my worth in order to be part of the circle.

Fortunately, coming to two games seems to be enough at this point to label me a booster, if not a die-hard fan. So I think things are off to a good start.

TEST

Standard Test Entry.

Nothing to see here.

Smithers, release the hounds.