Brief Angry Rant (Please Continue on to Post Below)

Dear ILP,
My freakin' name is Jennifer! It's not that hard to get! I call myself Jennifer, others refer to me as Jennifer, my e-mail lists the sender as Jennifer, I sign my e-mails Jennifer, I feel my name is very clear. So stop sending all correspondence addressed to "Jenni"! I don't know who this Jenni with an "i" person is, but she's clearly some terminally perky girl in a side ponytail and I assure you, that's not me. The next time you send something to "Jenni," I'm going to send it back as addressee unknown. Sheesh, the only more offensive mutilation of my name possible is "J.J."

A Thin Veneer

Last night, we were treated to a special Chinese New Year dinner by our employer, Sherry. All of the school's other employees were also there. They consist of "Uncle" Joe (driver/janitor), Lena (cook/light cleaning), Emily (secretary/light cleaning), and Shannon (secretary). Uncle Joe and Lena don't speak any English, so conversation was limited. Emily and Shannon are both fairly fluent (Emily is actually perfectly fluent, but she is very shy), and both give the impression of being very modern women what with the fashionable clothing and free mingling with foreigners. This is a convincing, but thin, veneer. Last night, Sherry announced that Shannon was getting married. As we were congratulating her and peppering her with questions, she revealed that her parents had arranged a marriage for her because "she was too old." (She's the same age as Paul.) Apparently, her parents were willing to let her try her hand at dating for awhile, but went the traditional route when things weren't moving along. She didn't seem too excited about it, although all of her girlfriends tried to console her by telling her their parents arranged their marriages too. At least her parents arranged for her to marry her current boyfriend. She said he is sometimes mean, which has Paul worried. Shannon is very sweet and incredibly tiny (80 lbs.) and he finds the thought of her getting stuck in an unwanted marriage very depressing, as we all do.

A BYU-Centric Post, With a Bit of Personal News At the End

This may surprise you, but despite the cozy Taiwan cocoon, I do try to stay abreast of international, national, and local news. Thus it was that I found myself reading an article on the Daily Herald's website about BYU's cutting of the social work bachelor's degree program. In fairness to the University (and because the Herald is not necessarily a baston of factual accuracy), I went to the School of Social Work's webpage and read the letter from Dean Magleby about the discontinuance of the program. Besides continuing the theme of cutting programs at BYU that exist at BYU-Idaho or BYU-Hawaii (which raises interesting and unanswered questions about BYU's relationship with its sister institutions), I found the argument that there simply wasn't enough qualified LDS faculty to keep the program going vexing. Not because I believe there are oodles of Mormons out there with Ph.D.s in social work dying to teach at BYU, but because I am quite certain that BYU's own official hiring policy favors those with membership in the Church, but it does not exclude the hiring of non-Mormons. In practice, I know--at least in some departments/colleges--it has been a number of years since a non-LDS candidate was hired. Which is a real shame, in my opinion. First, because does a disservice to the students whose program choices are increasingly limited and encourages students to attend other universities (which might make sense if you consider all of the BYUs equal in quality of education/marketability of degree, something which I have not particularly investigated and have no plans to do so). Second, it unnecessarily limits the practical candidate pool. Three of the finest faculty members I worked with at BYU weren't members of the Church. (One even describes himself as a "humanist," horror of horrors!) It pains me to think of other candidates of equal caliber being turned away to the determent of the school. It also seems at odds with BYU's mission to provide a high-quality education. None of this particularly surprises me, but it does sadden me and give me something to write back whenever BYU solicits money from me.

Anyway, Paul wishes to mention that he is already hard at work planning his next computer and I am duly horrified at the potential cost. There might be more news later in the week, but I have apparently been booted from Paul's family (except by his mom and maybe Spencer, who I think is too sweet and little to bear grudges) and my family has fallen off the face of the planet (probably due to youth activities and that infernal PTA) , so I am sorely lacking in family news/ juicy gossip. Please send some.

Brother, Can You Spare A Visa?

Well, apparently the Taiwanese government shares my deep and unabated hatred of Belgians because they refused to issue a residency visa and work permit to Ellie. She has until February 25 to leave the country or be deported with all the glorious side benefits that come with it. This puts us in quite a pickle as we really can't operate the school long-term with only four teachers. ILP has two teachers lined up for the next semester, but they don't graduate until the end of April, so they can't just up and come in the next four weeks. I'm quite sure that what will happen (if Ellie permits it) will be that she will fly to Hong Kong and try to get her visa extended until April 27. Naturally, there are some minor snags: no residency visa means no health insurance, no tax records because, you know, she would technically be illegally employed, which could possibly be a problem. The real problem is that Ellie only holds Belgian citizenship. If she held dual US-Belgium citizenship, there wouldn't be a problem.

We also found a magic scale in the spare bedroom. At least, we as an apartment collectively decided to assume it's magical because the numbers it displays are simply too fantasic to believe. Great ego booster though--I love being told I've lost eighteen pounds since I got here!

That's pretty much all of the thrilling news here. In more pedestrian news, there's been some exciting turnover in vendors on Food Street, so we can now buy Naan bread and crepes. One of the secretaries at school recommended a good and cheap pizza place, which we tried tonight. We went to Sweetney Todd last week, which was gushing with blood and had lousy sound. I'd like see it again, preferrably with subtitles (or at least normal sound) so I could follow it better. We're planning to see Cloverfield on Friday if it's showing here. I downloaded half of an Aimee Mann album, which I have been enjoying and listening to a lot. Paul hates "Satellite" with a passion previously unheard of. It's really quite unfortunate, since it is my favorite song right now, so it's in very heavy rotation. I also read Persepolis 2, which I liked a lot--probably more than the first book--though it's a bit more adult. (Luckily, I happen to be a certified adult.)

Paul, Slayer of the Big Bad: An Epic Poem

'Twas late, late night or early morn
And I still awake, lay pondering a shower.
A bother, oh yes, but my freezing feet
Insisted on the warmth of some water.

So off to the shower, I went with some glee
With a smile, with the hope
Of not freezing to death in me.

It was warm, it was nice, it was most pleasant
When I turned to the door
And what did I see?
What did I see to my utmost horror?

A bug, a foul bug
One as big as a finger,
Only fatter, much fatter
And looking far meaner.

What to do, what to do?
It was right on the door,
But not just the door,
Oh no, this bug was a thinker

It was standing on the hinge
and touching the frame.
I was trapped, trapped
And this foul bug was to blame.

Having lost all my reason,
Not a clue what to do
I mustered my courage and yelled,
Paul, I need you!

But the brave sir kinght Paul
Was not quite in ear distance,
So he arose from his screen
And said,

What? I can't hear you.
I'll just come to you.

Don't open the door! I shrieked and hollered
For all I could see
Was the bug flying at me.
But that brave sir knight Paul said
Don't be absurd,
Not another word

What do you really expect me to do?
I just can't sit here and let it eat you.

So in rushed the Paul and out rushed the I
As Paul fought it mightly,
With the shoe and the stick
Landing many a blow
Against his unfortunate foe.

And at the end of the night
/beginning of morn,
The bug he had safely hacked off the door,
Was now in fine pieces and cleaned off the floor,
And deposited in tissue and, I trust
Will be seen nevermore.

And that, in a life-scarringly vivid example, is why I don't write poetry. Ever. (Except now.) Anyway, it was a singularly traumatic event--really ruined a nice shower--and it did take Paul probably a good five minutes to kill it. (According to him, it ended up not so much in pieces as in a fine paste.) And he really did have to use both a stick and a shoe to battle it. Also, it happened at 3:00 am. I felt given the size of the bug, circumstances, and the fact that it took a lot of effort to dispatch said bug, Paul had exceeded the traditional husband bug-killing expectations and thus deserved a commemorative epic poem.

Hey Kids, Look At This

No, it's not the fall of the world's own optimist, just a new posting. Not really a thrilling one, but what can you say? Inertia is a property of matter? Yes, it is, but it's not an interesting one.

The new roommates have settled in. Ellie is the Belgian. She's nice, not really chatty. She wears an Amy Winehouse-esque amount and style of makeup, but that can only last for so long. I am personally thankful that it only took two weeks for the whole apartment to stop reeking of coconut lotion. Katrina is the other new teacher. She seems pleasant enough and she's taken her smoking outdoors. Either that or I just don't notice it anymore. Neither is particularly interested in cleaning (that is to say, more than Paul or Li or myself), so the level of overall cleanliness in the apartment has tanked, but eh. As long as there are no bugs, none of us can really muster the caring.

Speaking of a distinct lack of caring, apparently the foggy-like air that has been hanging around for the last few weeks isn't actual fog, but pollution-filled smog. It's pretty bad. Visibility is noticably decreased just looking down the street. The paper reported the air quality stations in all regions had reported levels exceeding 250 micrograms per cubic meter, followed by a note saying that international levels consider air quality to be "poor" at 100 micrograms per cubic meter. I found this concerning. If 100 is "poor," what is 250? "Very poor?" "Unhealthy?" "Your lungs are dying every second?" Taiwan's own standards consider 200 to be "unhealthy" and 300 to be "hazardous." It's kind of funny, there's a cartoon rabbit that accompanies the numbers. He looks very ill at 200 and is clearly dead at 300. Its tongue is sticking out and its turned brown and everything. Anyway, all of this has made me thinking about getting a pollution mask like everyone else, but I don't think they actually do anything, since they are just pieces of cotton with a little batting inside. So in conclusion, my lungs will probably turn black and die soon.

On the upside, the weather has warmed back up.

Las Vegas: Taiwan-Style!

It was an exciting time here at the homestead. We got up late, did a little laundry, and went to Las Vegas. No, not that Las Vegas (because then we would be home now because there is no freaking way we would ever come back here--wait, that sounds harsh. What I mean is once we get home, I am staying home, possible forever), the Las Vegas Buffet Restaurant in Taizhong. We had been repeatly asked out by a student's father and could no longer put it off. Back in October or so, we translated an abstract for him into English and he wished to show his appreciation. As it turns out, it wasn't even his abstract, it was his sister's husband's abstract. Supposedly, we did a good job. Anyway, he took us--along with his entire family including his elderly parents--to Las Vegas. We'd actually ridden by it on our way to Tiger City, so I cringed when I saw it because I knew it was going to be very expensive. As I have previously mentioned, very expensive always means very exotic and that is bad news. I actually panicked at first because all I could see was seafood: shrimp, sashimi, a thousand kinds of fish. Luckily, we found some pork and some Thai noodles and things were looking up. Then the "guests of honor" dishes started arriving. Giant prawns in strange sauces and batters with their giant eyes looking at you, salmon fillets, shrimp rice lettuce wraps, pork belly and honey waffers, Japanese soup, peppered beef, Peking duck in some crazy sauce with cucumbers and a miserable attempt at a tortilla. Some of it was good, the prawns I successfully ignored by eating other things at the time they were presented. The raw tuna belly almost did me in, but I managed to force it down with extreme effort. What was killing me, was that when we could get away and select our own food, it was killer good. It was a swank-tastic place, but you got some real bang for your buck. The requisite ice cream buffet was 12 flavors of Haagen-Dazs. There was a salad bar. Not a genuine Western-style one, but one none the less. There was an entire table of fresh fruit--all of it actually ripe--with fresh fruit juices next to it. There was lemonade, which until now I had heard only whisperings of being available. I could have had Kobe-esque beef if I had found it before I was so full I thought I was going to explode!