On Saturday, Rie came over for lunch and Miho for dinner. The original plan was lunch for both but Miho was busy with koto practice, and couldn't make it until about 4:30, and Rie had evening plans and had to leave by 5:30. All very haphazard, eating the same meal in shifts.
Conversation with Rie was normal as normal can be when you consider that I was conversing with a quirky Japanese woman whose thought patterns sometimes make leaps I can't quite follow (for example, after the djembe practice, she told Ted and I she was like a married woman's lover, with reference to me?). Things are often unclear and I can't always blame it on the language barrier.
With Miho, the topic of conversation was very clear but I don't know why it came to that. I am fairly certain I blew Miho's mind without ever having the intention of doing so.
She declared to me she was looking for a boyfriend she would only have to see once or twice a month, preferably living in the same city as she, and that ideally, they would just talk, go to the movies and hold hands. To this declaration I replied all she really needs is a friend. Where is the sex, I asked. Sex doesn't matter, she responded. So what do you need a boyfriend for, I asked...
She told me the story of a man she had dated for 2 years who lived in a different prefecture, and as the relationship progressed she would see him but once every 2 to 3 months, however they often spoke on the phone. And when they did meet in person, the sex was entirely incidental as far as she was concerned -- even going so far as to fall asleep during. I decided that it probably wasn't good sex, and suggested that. Miho stated that no, it was good sex...probably. The qualifier undercut her argument. Perhaps she has never really had good sex, I asked, and she replied that yes, she has.
At this point we were interrupted by her ringing mobile -- a call from a teacher she used to work with at a Yonago high school. While she conversed, I looked up a word in Japanese that I felt would help me make my point, showing it to her on the electronic dictionary while she chatted. She started to laugh and couldn't stop, explaining to the teacher that she was very sorry, she was at a friend's house and the friend had just told her a dirty joke. The teacher never asked what the joke was, which surprised me more than anything, as I would have loved to have heard Miho explaining our chosen topic of conversation for the evening.
When the call was over, she said that her satisfaction comes when the man is satisfied, as she then gets to cuddle. I attempted to explain that it doesn't have to be that way, hinting that she should try and find out what she likes about sex so that she can make sure she gets it. She was shocked by the idea that a woman could, or would, satisfy herself, announcing that only men masturbate. In an attempt to prove otherwise, I phoned friends who I knew would wholeheartedly disagree, and be more than happy to tell her so. She was thoroughly shocked and I am sure that I shall be forever associated with sex in her mind -- a role that I have never had with any other friends, and is a little disturbing to me that I have now become that. I sent her home with a bottle of liquor and the recommendation that she enjoy herself in the bath for a little while before she go to bed, and she said she was going to call all her friends and ask them if they have ever tried such a thing.
I swear, I am a good Catholic school girl,and am not entirely certain how I have come to be Miho's "sex" friend.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Friday, May 27, 2005
Poor Addicts
I have an addiction -- I have several, but only one will succeed in making me poor. Iwill, however, have an excellent selection of music to listen to en route to my madness. I buy CDs. I buy a lot of CDs. I don't have a computer of my own (so I type this at work) so I can't download music. I can burn CDs that I rent from the rental shop, but CDs from a rental shop in Japan? You can imagine how fabulous the selection will be, as well as how long a delay there is between the release and the arrival in the rental shop. Movies are sometimes 2 to 3 years behind, so why would you expect more from the music?
Anyways, I have in my possession hundreds and hundreds of CDs. I have a decent world music selection, as well as some R&B, soul, pop, rock, jazz, alternative and the omnipresent "shameful music" selection. I am not only an addict, I am also a dealer. Before Nick left the country, he was burning CDs like mad -- 10 to 20 in a borrowed batch. Ted is also making use of my collection, 20 CDs in a shot, and on his blog lately I am seeing my CDs appear in his "on the turntable" lines. I am my own personal radio station -- C has itunes on her computer, with a playtime of approximately 1 and a half days. Ted has itunes with about 8 days (I think a couple of those days are mine). I have in my apartment a playlist of a couple of weeks I think.
My latest fall into the madness of music? It was for Dave Matthews Band ("Stand up"), Johnny Cash ("Silver" & "20 foot-tapping greats"), Gorillaz ("Demonz"), Basement Jaxx ("The Singles"), and Chet Baker ("sings the standards"). I need help, but I don't think the CDA group has been formed yet. I suppose I could be the president, as well as a member?
Anyways, I have in my possession hundreds and hundreds of CDs. I have a decent world music selection, as well as some R&B, soul, pop, rock, jazz, alternative and the omnipresent "shameful music" selection. I am not only an addict, I am also a dealer. Before Nick left the country, he was burning CDs like mad -- 10 to 20 in a borrowed batch. Ted is also making use of my collection, 20 CDs in a shot, and on his blog lately I am seeing my CDs appear in his "on the turntable" lines. I am my own personal radio station -- C has itunes on her computer, with a playtime of approximately 1 and a half days. Ted has itunes with about 8 days (I think a couple of those days are mine). I have in my apartment a playlist of a couple of weeks I think.
My latest fall into the madness of music? It was for Dave Matthews Band ("Stand up"), Johnny Cash ("Silver" & "20 foot-tapping greats"), Gorillaz ("Demonz"), Basement Jaxx ("The Singles"), and Chet Baker ("sings the standards"). I need help, but I don't think the CDA group has been formed yet. I suppose I could be the president, as well as a member?
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Surreal School Life Seepage
We are currently practicing for a PTA volleyball tournament to be held next weekend. Yesterday, after school of course, a practice was held in the gym -- about ten teachers participated. During one of the sets, the principal walked over to the piano and started to play classical music to accompany us. He played through the entirety of our game, stopping when the game was won (or lost, depending on your point of view).
In my first year, during cleaning time at the junior high school, cleaning time was accompanied by Disney theme music. At this school, it is classical music, although when I first arrived it was English ditties designed to make english interesting and easy to learn, but falling somewhat short of the desired effect.
Staff meetings are in overabundance here, and I am sadly required to attend despite my lack of understanding and enthusiasm. At the beginning of one staff meeting, the principal thought it would be a good idea to relax everyone a little, so he passed around sheet music, whipped out his guitar, and began strumming away while we proceeded to have a "kumbayah my lord" kind of sing-along. Another meeting began with us playing "rock, scissors, paper" with our neighbour, then giving neck and shoulder massages to the winner.
Town cleaning day hasn't happened here yet, but the one time I participated in Yodoe makes me wish it is nothing like that here. It started at 6am on a Sunday for our section of town -- to call it a section of town is probably hyperbole, as it was really only our building. Other neighbourhoods chose to exercise some restraint and put it off until 7am. As I possessed neither a shovel, a spade, rubber boots, nor the proper gloves, it fell to me to stand around and stay awake with the other similiarly insufficiently equipped participants. When we were finished at about 6:30, all the participants were given 100yen with which to go and buy a can of soda or juice from the nearest ever-present vending machine, as the organizer han't been certain as to who would drink what. I did this in order to not pay the 3,500 yen fee for not showing up. I decided to pass on the juice and returned to my down comforter covered bed, quite likely the only person in the building to do so.
My last town had radios installed in every home, from which alarms and announcements would blare at various times of the day -- the first one at 7am and the last at 8pm. In my wisdom, I unplugged it. My current town has nothing on Yodoe, as they prefer to ensure listenership by mounting large speakers at various high points in the town -- no region left unreached by the pervasive sounds. At 6am, 11:30am and 5pm, we are treated to the melodious call of an air raid siren. At 6:30am, 12pm and 6pm, we are treated to chimes, which one morning, in that curious state of half-sleep I was in, I concluded the chimes were actually playing "Ode to Joy." That would not be my chosen theme song for that particular hour of the day. No one I kow understands why this happens. I believe it is so no farmers will ever have need of an alarm clock, but I could be wrong. I do know that it is horrendously loud, as one of the quartet of speakers stands facing my apartment across and empty field.
It seems only fitting that if a town has no problem with air raid sirens and the like (as does most of the country), politicians will be allowed to drive the streets in cars and trucks mounted with obnoxious speakers, announcing nothing so useful as their platforms, but only their names and a request that you please do them the favour of voting for them. This can start as early as 7am and carry on until 8pm. They do not stop announcing when they are waiting at stoplights, seeing it as an excellent oppornity to bombard a captive audience, rather than taking pity on the drivers hearing and sanity. I am surprised that I have never heard announcements about accidents during election season, caused by drivers no longer able to handle the incessant noise who in a mad haphazard fashion run red lights in an attempt to save themselves. Or even of some truck coming up behind an election van and ramming it repeatedly until it sits in the middle of an intersection or train tracks, waiting to be run over by oncoming vehicles. If I am in my home when one of those monstrosities pass, I rush to my drums and thump (play is not an appropriate word) as loudly as I can foregoing all attempts to pretend I have rhythm, whereas if I am in my car, I choose to lean heavily on the horn for the duration of the aural onslaught perpetrated by those political wannabes.
In my first year, during cleaning time at the junior high school, cleaning time was accompanied by Disney theme music. At this school, it is classical music, although when I first arrived it was English ditties designed to make english interesting and easy to learn, but falling somewhat short of the desired effect.
Staff meetings are in overabundance here, and I am sadly required to attend despite my lack of understanding and enthusiasm. At the beginning of one staff meeting, the principal thought it would be a good idea to relax everyone a little, so he passed around sheet music, whipped out his guitar, and began strumming away while we proceeded to have a "kumbayah my lord" kind of sing-along. Another meeting began with us playing "rock, scissors, paper" with our neighbour, then giving neck and shoulder massages to the winner.
Town cleaning day hasn't happened here yet, but the one time I participated in Yodoe makes me wish it is nothing like that here. It started at 6am on a Sunday for our section of town -- to call it a section of town is probably hyperbole, as it was really only our building. Other neighbourhoods chose to exercise some restraint and put it off until 7am. As I possessed neither a shovel, a spade, rubber boots, nor the proper gloves, it fell to me to stand around and stay awake with the other similiarly insufficiently equipped participants. When we were finished at about 6:30, all the participants were given 100yen with which to go and buy a can of soda or juice from the nearest ever-present vending machine, as the organizer han't been certain as to who would drink what. I did this in order to not pay the 3,500 yen fee for not showing up. I decided to pass on the juice and returned to my down comforter covered bed, quite likely the only person in the building to do so.
My last town had radios installed in every home, from which alarms and announcements would blare at various times of the day -- the first one at 7am and the last at 8pm. In my wisdom, I unplugged it. My current town has nothing on Yodoe, as they prefer to ensure listenership by mounting large speakers at various high points in the town -- no region left unreached by the pervasive sounds. At 6am, 11:30am and 5pm, we are treated to the melodious call of an air raid siren. At 6:30am, 12pm and 6pm, we are treated to chimes, which one morning, in that curious state of half-sleep I was in, I concluded the chimes were actually playing "Ode to Joy." That would not be my chosen theme song for that particular hour of the day. No one I kow understands why this happens. I believe it is so no farmers will ever have need of an alarm clock, but I could be wrong. I do know that it is horrendously loud, as one of the quartet of speakers stands facing my apartment across and empty field.
It seems only fitting that if a town has no problem with air raid sirens and the like (as does most of the country), politicians will be allowed to drive the streets in cars and trucks mounted with obnoxious speakers, announcing nothing so useful as their platforms, but only their names and a request that you please do them the favour of voting for them. This can start as early as 7am and carry on until 8pm. They do not stop announcing when they are waiting at stoplights, seeing it as an excellent oppornity to bombard a captive audience, rather than taking pity on the drivers hearing and sanity. I am surprised that I have never heard announcements about accidents during election season, caused by drivers no longer able to handle the incessant noise who in a mad haphazard fashion run red lights in an attempt to save themselves. Or even of some truck coming up behind an election van and ramming it repeatedly until it sits in the middle of an intersection or train tracks, waiting to be run over by oncoming vehicles. If I am in my home when one of those monstrosities pass, I rush to my drums and thump (play is not an appropriate word) as loudly as I can foregoing all attempts to pretend I have rhythm, whereas if I am in my car, I choose to lean heavily on the horn for the duration of the aural onslaught perpetrated by those political wannabes.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Sekai ha Semai
It really is a tiny world, isn't it? Everyone seems to know someone else who knows someone else who knows whatI did and isn't afraid to share...
I have recently started visiting a second elementary school and it seems as though everyone I meet knows everyone I work with, or have ever worked with, or has worked in the same school as I at some point in their finite history or even knew me.
The first year teacher worked in Yodoe while I was in my first year (ah, to be so young and foolishly ignorant -- fortunately I am so much more foolish than that now). The vice principal at that school worked with my current school's vice principal and principal when they were all back in Yodoe, long before (or so I like to fool myself as I approach thirty and am thrown into a weird state of reflection) my time. My current principal was also a teacher in that school about 20 years ago. One of the grade six teachers is married to the woman who was in charge of school lunches at my current school when I arrived (but she is now on maternity leave). The school office lady worked at my current school until April of this year, and is also a member of our struggling English conversation class. Another random teacher whose role I don't yet understand worked in my current school until about two years ago when my friend Dago worked here (I believe she may be the divorcee the then principal was drunkenly trying to set Dago up with at the drinking parties). And in the principal's office there is a photo of the man who was principal in Yodoe when I first arrived. Serendipity may not be the word for it -- I lean towards stalking or something of that ilk.
They all know everyone and everything and it frightens me. I have been informed that even as far away as Kurayoshi there are teachers that speak in reverent whispers about my creative game-making. I don't know why I need to keep appearing in un-understandable newspaper articles throughout the prefecture, as well as my small town, when it is patently obvious that everyone is aware of, or knows someone who is aware of, who I am. It is time to launch a counter-attack. What I want to know is who are you and why are you spying on me?
I have recently started visiting a second elementary school and it seems as though everyone I meet knows everyone I work with, or have ever worked with, or has worked in the same school as I at some point in their finite history or even knew me.
The first year teacher worked in Yodoe while I was in my first year (ah, to be so young and foolishly ignorant -- fortunately I am so much more foolish than that now). The vice principal at that school worked with my current school's vice principal and principal when they were all back in Yodoe, long before (or so I like to fool myself as I approach thirty and am thrown into a weird state of reflection) my time. My current principal was also a teacher in that school about 20 years ago. One of the grade six teachers is married to the woman who was in charge of school lunches at my current school when I arrived (but she is now on maternity leave). The school office lady worked at my current school until April of this year, and is also a member of our struggling English conversation class. Another random teacher whose role I don't yet understand worked in my current school until about two years ago when my friend Dago worked here (I believe she may be the divorcee the then principal was drunkenly trying to set Dago up with at the drinking parties). And in the principal's office there is a photo of the man who was principal in Yodoe when I first arrived. Serendipity may not be the word for it -- I lean towards stalking or something of that ilk.
They all know everyone and everything and it frightens me. I have been informed that even as far away as Kurayoshi there are teachers that speak in reverent whispers about my creative game-making. I don't know why I need to keep appearing in un-understandable newspaper articles throughout the prefecture, as well as my small town, when it is patently obvious that everyone is aware of, or knows someone who is aware of, who I am. It is time to launch a counter-attack. What I want to know is who are you and why are you spying on me?
Friday, May 20, 2005
Noise Maker
I have a drum set in my bedroom. A basic kit -- two cymbals, a high-hat, first and second tam, floor tam, snare drum, and bass drum. I have never played drums in my life. I have begged and pleaded since childhood for a set (which was always on offer by both my parents and grandparents, but with the proviso that they could only be played in the other's house).
My high school was very small and we didn't have music offered as a subject, let alone have a band. There was a choir I could have joined, but after an unfortunate experience in elementary school (elementary school was full of unfortunate experiences, as was high school) the prospect was unappealing.
So when Scott was leaving Japan last summer, looking for some wiling fool to purchase his drum kit, I eagerly offered -- damn my neighbours!! And thus, I have a drum kit in my bedroom.
They have been there since late last August, and every so often I go through phases when I am quasi-dedicated and serious about learning to play them. This is one of those phases. I (and my neighbours) can blame my current dedication on having gone to a djembe lesson Saturday night.
The man teaching the lesson was from Guinea, and spoke French. The lesson was conducted in both French and Japanese, and through a half-assed slap-dash understanding of both languages I managed to grasp the gist of what he was saying.
The class was full of people who make up a djembe group in that city with only a few learners mixed in -- myself being one of the inept. The teacher, Yuul, would break down the patterns and we would attempt to follow; then he would speed it up and acquire accompaniment and I would be lost in the midst of tons, claques, and basses. One of the rhythm players in the background was grooving in time with her own beat. It was fantastic.
And in the mist of my inability to comprehend the beats, I revived my interest in playing the drums. The djembe and the drum kit are nothing alike, but I believe that should I learn one, I should be more able to play the rhythms of the other. I like my pie in the sky version of reality -- it makes my life so much more fulfilling.
Thus I am the resident noise maker in my neighbourhood, quite likely in my town. The rice fields are being flooded again and the cicadas and frogs are reappearing full force, bringing their nighttime choruses back to life. And when I finish practicing the drums each night, that is all I can hear. Perhaps they feel they are in competition with my tuneless racket, and feel a need to show me how it should be done. I am trying my best to keep pace, but I fear it will be a while. I hope they can hang around that long...
My high school was very small and we didn't have music offered as a subject, let alone have a band. There was a choir I could have joined, but after an unfortunate experience in elementary school (elementary school was full of unfortunate experiences, as was high school) the prospect was unappealing.
So when Scott was leaving Japan last summer, looking for some wiling fool to purchase his drum kit, I eagerly offered -- damn my neighbours!! And thus, I have a drum kit in my bedroom.
They have been there since late last August, and every so often I go through phases when I am quasi-dedicated and serious about learning to play them. This is one of those phases. I (and my neighbours) can blame my current dedication on having gone to a djembe lesson Saturday night.
The man teaching the lesson was from Guinea, and spoke French. The lesson was conducted in both French and Japanese, and through a half-assed slap-dash understanding of both languages I managed to grasp the gist of what he was saying.
The class was full of people who make up a djembe group in that city with only a few learners mixed in -- myself being one of the inept. The teacher, Yuul, would break down the patterns and we would attempt to follow; then he would speed it up and acquire accompaniment and I would be lost in the midst of tons, claques, and basses. One of the rhythm players in the background was grooving in time with her own beat. It was fantastic.
And in the mist of my inability to comprehend the beats, I revived my interest in playing the drums. The djembe and the drum kit are nothing alike, but I believe that should I learn one, I should be more able to play the rhythms of the other. I like my pie in the sky version of reality -- it makes my life so much more fulfilling.
Thus I am the resident noise maker in my neighbourhood, quite likely in my town. The rice fields are being flooded again and the cicadas and frogs are reappearing full force, bringing their nighttime choruses back to life. And when I finish practicing the drums each night, that is all I can hear. Perhaps they feel they are in competition with my tuneless racket, and feel a need to show me how it should be done. I am trying my best to keep pace, but I fear it will be a while. I hope they can hang around that long...
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Surreal School Life
I start these blog postings (yes, well aware I have such a long history of blogging to reference) by thinking of a title, and then I am left with a mental blank as I am not sure what will follow. Perhaps I could just do a daily blog with headlines only, leaping out at you and possibly intriguing you with their suggestions of insanity and loopy hijinks, causing you to click again and again -- "blame it on the damn internet, why won't it load this bleeding post?!?!" -- in ineffectuality. It would interest me to attempt such a challenge, however it is not the rationale (excuse? defence?) for my setting up this blog in the first place.
I am my school's representative and instructor of "English and International Education." Rather sophisticated designation, isn't it. Sounds far more sophisticated than my actual role though. I attempt to conduct lessons in English, and English only, focusing on such worldly topics as "colours" and "animals" and "sports"... I am not entirely sure what the international education part of my job description is supposed to entail, but I indolently fall back on looking at my presence in the school as concrete evidence of my internationalizing. I play with the kids, let them climb all over me, answer rude questions while trying to stop them from doing rude things to me on a daily basis. Also, the most important part in such a physiognomically homogenous country, I am a large white woman with blue eyes. I most assuredly do not resemble anyone in this school. I harbour the belief that merely by coming and standing in the hallway everyday, I could fulfill this nebuolous job requirement.
I am my school's representative and instructor of "English and International Education." Rather sophisticated designation, isn't it. Sounds far more sophisticated than my actual role though. I attempt to conduct lessons in English, and English only, focusing on such worldly topics as "colours" and "animals" and "sports"... I am not entirely sure what the international education part of my job description is supposed to entail, but I indolently fall back on looking at my presence in the school as concrete evidence of my internationalizing. I play with the kids, let them climb all over me, answer rude questions while trying to stop them from doing rude things to me on a daily basis. Also, the most important part in such a physiognomically homogenous country, I am a large white woman with blue eyes. I most assuredly do not resemble anyone in this school. I harbour the belief that merely by coming and standing in the hallway everyday, I could fulfill this nebuolous job requirement.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Reclamation Commences
I started this blog for me. I have told no one of the existence of this blog. This could be due to the fact that I don't know how to do everything I might want to yet, as in forming links to sites that interest me (hampered somewhat by the fact everything on this computer appears in Japanese that I don't entirely understand), but I think it is primarily due to my not having written anything other than emails and lesson plans since graduating from university. I am making a feeble attempt to get back into the habit of writing something for no reason.
I blame this on my friends. My friends (not all of them, but several) and even cousins, have started their own blogs, which I studiously read when I am supposedly working. (As compared to now when I am studiously writing as opposed to working? I can't deicide which is worse.) And I am fascinated by their blogs -- and envious -- as I am in love with their words and the way they think. They are using words I used to know, and still recognize when I come across them in novels and such, but rarely come unbidden (or even when bidden) to my mind. My vocabulary has shrunk as a direct correlation to how my Japanese has increased.
This is not to suggest that my Japanese is in anyway impressive; oftentimes, I feel it is barely adequate. I do believe that it is slowly but surely taking root in all the crevices of my mind where I stored my "interesting, multi-syllabic" words. The words that I would haphazardly fling into normal conversation with not a little satisfaction. Now, I have regressed to the level of a high schol student (possibly even a Japanese high school student), and it depresses me. I am often left standing with a dumbfounded look on my face as I attempt to resurrect a specific word, a word which would take the place of the dozen others I will be forced to use in it's place as I try and explain what I mean. I do so in the hopes that my friends will suggest my linguistic conundrum to me, or at least say something that will trigger an emergency resuscitation of the word in my enfeebled mind. It is as if I am suffering from some weird form of lingual constipation.
Perhaps I will have to take up reading the dictionary, but I think I would be content with a good thesaurus. A friend of mine will be leaving the country this year, and I am hoping I can lay claim to her thesaurus, as I think I can prove I have a need...
I blame this on my friends. My friends (not all of them, but several) and even cousins, have started their own blogs, which I studiously read when I am supposedly working. (As compared to now when I am studiously writing as opposed to working? I can't deicide which is worse.) And I am fascinated by their blogs -- and envious -- as I am in love with their words and the way they think. They are using words I used to know, and still recognize when I come across them in novels and such, but rarely come unbidden (or even when bidden) to my mind. My vocabulary has shrunk as a direct correlation to how my Japanese has increased.
This is not to suggest that my Japanese is in anyway impressive; oftentimes, I feel it is barely adequate. I do believe that it is slowly but surely taking root in all the crevices of my mind where I stored my "interesting, multi-syllabic" words. The words that I would haphazardly fling into normal conversation with not a little satisfaction. Now, I have regressed to the level of a high schol student (possibly even a Japanese high school student), and it depresses me. I am often left standing with a dumbfounded look on my face as I attempt to resurrect a specific word, a word which would take the place of the dozen others I will be forced to use in it's place as I try and explain what I mean. I do so in the hopes that my friends will suggest my linguistic conundrum to me, or at least say something that will trigger an emergency resuscitation of the word in my enfeebled mind. It is as if I am suffering from some weird form of lingual constipation.
Perhaps I will have to take up reading the dictionary, but I think I would be content with a good thesaurus. A friend of mine will be leaving the country this year, and I am hoping I can lay claim to her thesaurus, as I think I can prove I have a need...
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Secret Training Grounds
I was outside over recess, playing with (or played with by?) small children, when it came to my attention that elementary schools here are actually a cover for the Japanese government's devious ploy to produce a nation of gymnastically adept circus freaks.
Bendy, twisty, and well-balanced (Mentally or not? Who am I to judge?) kids the likes of which I have never seen. Unicycles, stilts, fireman poles, hula hops, spring boards, spinning bars... The list of circus accoutrements humbly disguised as PE paraphenalia abounds. Even the most jaded, athletically inclined, acrobatically adept visitor would be surprised.
And the kids -- I spent recess with five different kids all intent on mastering the intricacies of the unicycle while another climbed barefoot up and down a 10 foot free-standing fireman pole. I feel as if my elementary experience was deficient as I have never mastered the use of any of this equipment considered everyday by my miniature tormentors. My status as an instructor of English and international education is surely in jeopardy, and I shall be shown up for the fraud I am. Sent back to Canada in a haze of shame and scandal no one there will understand, perhaps I shall be forced to commit hara-kiri...
Bendy, twisty, and well-balanced (Mentally or not? Who am I to judge?) kids the likes of which I have never seen. Unicycles, stilts, fireman poles, hula hops, spring boards, spinning bars... The list of circus accoutrements humbly disguised as PE paraphenalia abounds. Even the most jaded, athletically inclined, acrobatically adept visitor would be surprised.
And the kids -- I spent recess with five different kids all intent on mastering the intricacies of the unicycle while another climbed barefoot up and down a 10 foot free-standing fireman pole. I feel as if my elementary experience was deficient as I have never mastered the use of any of this equipment considered everyday by my miniature tormentors. My status as an instructor of English and international education is surely in jeopardy, and I shall be shown up for the fraud I am. Sent back to Canada in a haze of shame and scandal no one there will understand, perhaps I shall be forced to commit hara-kiri...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
