Dear All,
Well, Paul and I made it back home finally. I assumed you guessed that from the lack of obituaries and family phone calls. We've also gotten on a kind of sleeping schedule. (Guess who was able to sleep for more than 5 hours straight last night? Me!) Now we're just kicking back and working through our back mail and to-dos that can finally be done now that we're in the same country as they are. It's exciting.
As for the surprise, I dyed my hair purple--well, cranberry-colored. Except it didn't quite work. Apparently, when you take a red-violet tone and layer it over dark brown hair, you get that superheroine red-purple color like in X-men. Which was cool until I took a shower (tragically, days later due to travel) when the color lost its intensity, making it less superheroine-y and more boring red-y. Oh, well. I've always said I wanted to be a redhead. I guess I got my chance.
There's a picture of my hair right after it was done, which I will post as soon as I can remember where we packed the connection for the camera.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
A Gold Star and an 'A' for effort
For any doubters out there, I can hereby testify that Jennifer Jean Bussio can in fact board a flight, ride it for 11 hours, and disembark without
A- Going Crazy
B- Weeping Constantly or
C- Getting Drunk
In all seriousness, howver, she was great and I was very proud.
Paul
A- Going Crazy
B- Weeping Constantly or
C- Getting Drunk
In all seriousness, howver, she was great and I was very proud.
Paul
LAX Sucks
LAX sucks. I dare you to find a worst airport. We had to wait to disembark the plane because no one had moved the walkway over. Then we had to wait to go to the terminal because the airport is so dang big that you have to ride a shuttle bus to get from the place the airplane drops you off and the terminal. Customs is a puzzle. We had to wait in a long line where three different people looked at our form and waved us through. Three people in the space of 50 feet. What, just in case the first two managed to miss the parrot you're smuggling, the third can (literally, given the distance) jump right in? Makes no sense. We also had to wait FOREVER for our luggage because the conveyor belt was broken. Well, it wasn't broken, you see, some luggage was just caught on it, but the people who work at the baggage carosel expressed profound ignorance of how to fix it or who to call to get it fixed. They work at the baggage carousel, for heaven's sakes! Isn't that their job? Anyway, one eventually climbed inside and unjammed it but it took like twenty minutes after that to collect all of our luggage. Then we sent off in search of terminal 8. Despite what the map says, there is only an entrance labeled terminal seven. To get to terminal 8, you have to go through terminal seven. Not that this is ever clear. Oh, and none of the terminals connect (except, oddily, 7 and 8), so you have to go outside and walk around forever until you find your terminal. to get into the terminal, you must complete the security walk of death, which actually wasn't too bad due to the poor man running the 1 metal detector who was constantly repeating "You need your boarding pass and nothing metal." At one point he did mix it up by announcing to the line that 1) there was but one line so keep it single-file and 2)cell phones DO have metal in them, so please do not clear one in your hand and try to pass through the metal detector. I kind of felt a little bad for him. What he was saying was not rocket science, but only half the people were listening so he had to keep repeating himself.
You may not know this, but terminal 8 has a newstand, a Starbucks, a hamburger place, and a bar. All of these places close at 10 pm. It's an airport!!! There are flights coming and going at all hours of the day and night. So we're starving, alone, and sleeping on those black airport chairs.
Oh, and internet access costs ten bucks. I hope you're getting ten dollars' worth of something out of this post.
And Ambien, 10 mg? You and I have a score to settle. I demand sleep from a sleeping pill!
You may not know this, but terminal 8 has a newstand, a Starbucks, a hamburger place, and a bar. All of these places close at 10 pm. It's an airport!!! There are flights coming and going at all hours of the day and night. So we're starving, alone, and sleeping on those black airport chairs.
Oh, and internet access costs ten bucks. I hope you're getting ten dollars' worth of something out of this post.
And Ambien, 10 mg? You and I have a score to settle. I demand sleep from a sleeping pill!
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Better Pack Your Bags and Run
Well, we're all packed up--or mostly, since select toiletries can't be packed until tomorrow and I have a small load of laundry to finish. Not vital, though. I'm cool with just throwing them in a bag at this point. I feel a little better about the flight, since I realized we're flying on Singapore Air instead of China Air. I have much more confidence in Singapore Air. Still going to knock myself out, though. No reason to slit my wrists there. Oh, and I have a fabulous surprise--well, I think it's a fabulous surprise. If you'll only be pleased by a smuggled antique or small child, you will be disappointed. Anyway, 10:24 am July 3, SLC Airport. Be there or be square.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Like Rats on a Sinking Ship...
Wow! I must note the excellent suggestions on how to deal with the utter collapse of civilization at Casa Americana. I'm please to report that some of the roommates had a change of heart (or reached their absolute limit) because the dishes have been done by people other than me, the trash had been taken out and washed out (now larva-free!), and most of the recycling taken care of. Hurray for basic cleanliness!
We also successfully pulled off a Spectacular, which is the equivalent of a primary program, but twice as long and on a Saturday. It had been consuming my waking hours for some time. Since our children never meet at the same times, we never had a complete rehearsal. In fact, the older children had no rehearsals at all. Everything had to be memorized, too. Here's a snippet of one of my thought trains from the second rehearsal (the day before the Spectacular):
1. The kids won't know what song to sing unless I tell them.
2. I should have my signs like the primary choristers do.
3. Do I have time to make signs tonight?
4. Doesn't matter, I can't draw.
5. Can I ask the other teachers to draw signs tonight?
6. No, that's too big of an imposition.
7. Maybe I could still make them.
8. How would they know to connect the pictures with the songs.
9. I would make a horrible primary president.
Surprisingly, it went off okay. The kids did their best, no one wanted pictures (except one of Paul's students, but we like him, so it's okay.), and everyone was apparently too distracted by the principal's see-through dress to bother me. Our kids were rewarded with ice cream, gatorball, and Pokemon toys, depending on age.
Now, we're just trying to riding it out without burning out, but it's hard. It's been a rough month of grammar review for everyone and the kids are melting down because they have important tests in Chinese school next week--but Chinese school also ends next Friday. I only have 2 4B students left, both of whom know they are dropping out of the program on the 30th, so they aren't exactly giving 100%--or even 50%. Meanwhile, an enterovirus has broken out in Taiwan (yes, there have been 204 cases THIS YEAR in a nation of 23 million. Clearly this is an epidemic, call the CDC.), causing mass panic at the school. One student has been forbidden to attend class in the afternoon (but not in the morning--what the???), the school was "sterilized," and McDonald's playground use has had the kibosh put on it, which is no good for us. How are we supposed to entertain small children in an unconfined environment for 30 mins? After they have been at school for 12 hours, mind you. (Yeah, Taiwan has a truly screwed-up education system.)
The BIG news though, is that there is 1 teacher coming. Yup, ILP couldn't recruit enough teachers for the Taiwan program. So the five of us will be replaced by 1 teacher. Keep wondering how that's going to turn out. ILP and our boss have been leaning on us to stay, which is ridiculous and impossible. Ellie is working illegally (which puts her US residency in jeopardy, BTW), the Roommate Who Must Not Be Named has already been here for 13 months and she just found out her mother has cancer, we'll be lucky if Katerina doesn't burn down the school as she leaves--plus she already has a ticket to and a job in Costa Rica, and Paul and I have to get back to our regularly scheduled lives. You know, permanent employment, moving to Arizona, grad school, etc. I do genuinely hope things somehow work out. Not so much for our boss (she'd land on her feet), but for the other employees and the kids. The little ones in particular are just so excited to go to Basic Reading. They were literally jumping up and down saying "I can go to Basic Reading!" How can we not teach them English? Sigh. The deal I cut with myself is that we'll stay an extra two weeks if that allows them to get the rest of the teachers over. If they can't, then we'll come home on the 2nd. As it stands, we'll be coming on the 2nd.
We also successfully pulled off a Spectacular, which is the equivalent of a primary program, but twice as long and on a Saturday. It had been consuming my waking hours for some time. Since our children never meet at the same times, we never had a complete rehearsal. In fact, the older children had no rehearsals at all. Everything had to be memorized, too. Here's a snippet of one of my thought trains from the second rehearsal (the day before the Spectacular):
1. The kids won't know what song to sing unless I tell them.
2. I should have my signs like the primary choristers do.
3. Do I have time to make signs tonight?
4. Doesn't matter, I can't draw.
5. Can I ask the other teachers to draw signs tonight?
6. No, that's too big of an imposition.
7. Maybe I could still make them.
8. How would they know to connect the pictures with the songs.
9. I would make a horrible primary president.
Surprisingly, it went off okay. The kids did their best, no one wanted pictures (except one of Paul's students, but we like him, so it's okay.), and everyone was apparently too distracted by the principal's see-through dress to bother me. Our kids were rewarded with ice cream, gatorball, and Pokemon toys, depending on age.
Now, we're just trying to riding it out without burning out, but it's hard. It's been a rough month of grammar review for everyone and the kids are melting down because they have important tests in Chinese school next week--but Chinese school also ends next Friday. I only have 2 4B students left, both of whom know they are dropping out of the program on the 30th, so they aren't exactly giving 100%--or even 50%. Meanwhile, an enterovirus has broken out in Taiwan (yes, there have been 204 cases THIS YEAR in a nation of 23 million. Clearly this is an epidemic, call the CDC.), causing mass panic at the school. One student has been forbidden to attend class in the afternoon (but not in the morning--what the???), the school was "sterilized," and McDonald's playground use has had the kibosh put on it, which is no good for us. How are we supposed to entertain small children in an unconfined environment for 30 mins? After they have been at school for 12 hours, mind you. (Yeah, Taiwan has a truly screwed-up education system.)
The BIG news though, is that there is 1 teacher coming. Yup, ILP couldn't recruit enough teachers for the Taiwan program. So the five of us will be replaced by 1 teacher. Keep wondering how that's going to turn out. ILP and our boss have been leaning on us to stay, which is ridiculous and impossible. Ellie is working illegally (which puts her US residency in jeopardy, BTW), the Roommate Who Must Not Be Named has already been here for 13 months and she just found out her mother has cancer, we'll be lucky if Katerina doesn't burn down the school as she leaves--plus she already has a ticket to and a job in Costa Rica, and Paul and I have to get back to our regularly scheduled lives. You know, permanent employment, moving to Arizona, grad school, etc. I do genuinely hope things somehow work out. Not so much for our boss (she'd land on her feet), but for the other employees and the kids. The little ones in particular are just so excited to go to Basic Reading. They were literally jumping up and down saying "I can go to Basic Reading!" How can we not teach them English? Sigh. The deal I cut with myself is that we'll stay an extra two weeks if that allows them to get the rest of the teachers over. If they can't, then we'll come home on the 2nd. As it stands, we'll be coming on the 2nd.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
It's Like The Freakin' Lord of the Flies Here
Dang roommates. I hate them all. The house is completely falling apart. No one has gotten in water in weeks. They all (apparently) just keep their own supplies of water--some of them stolen from the communal pool. People would rather break their fingers than wash a dish or piece of silverware that was sullied by another. Of course, that's assuming that they do theirs. The garbage, recycling, and compost are never taken out. Katerina frequently leaves the kitchen windows open at night, which--since they don't have screens and well, the rotting food--is like putting up a flashing neon light saying "Bugs--Party Tonight Here." The Roommate Who Will Not Be Named (RWWNBN) NEVER sorts her freakin' trash, even after she was explicitly told that she was doing it wrong. No one except for me has ever purchased dish soap (that's in 12 months, folks). I have been doing the dishes once a week out of pure hate. Even Paul has given up on any sort of communal housework.
But Jennifer, why don't you do it all if it bothers you so much? Because I am too filled with anger over their irresponsibility. It's become one of those absurd and counter-productive points of principle. If that is the mess they will make, that is the mess they will live in until they do something about it. More rationally, it think it's more a reflection of how much everyone hates everyone else in the apartment. RWWNBN hates all of us, Paul's no fan of anyone in the apartment other than me (maybe the Belgian), I can barely hold my tongue with RWWNBN and Katerina increasingly, Katerina openly despises RWWNBN and barely tolerates me, and the Belgian may well hate us all or just RWWNBN (it's hard to tell, she's so nice even to people she admits to hating later). I can't tell if we're all heading toward a giant blow-up or just some choice words and gestures as we part to never see each other again. (Cross your fingers.)
But Jennifer, why don't you do it all if it bothers you so much? Because I am too filled with anger over their irresponsibility. It's become one of those absurd and counter-productive points of principle. If that is the mess they will make, that is the mess they will live in until they do something about it. More rationally, it think it's more a reflection of how much everyone hates everyone else in the apartment. RWWNBN hates all of us, Paul's no fan of anyone in the apartment other than me (maybe the Belgian), I can barely hold my tongue with RWWNBN and Katerina increasingly, Katerina openly despises RWWNBN and barely tolerates me, and the Belgian may well hate us all or just RWWNBN (it's hard to tell, she's so nice even to people she admits to hating later). I can't tell if we're all heading toward a giant blow-up or just some choice words and gestures as we part to never see each other again. (Cross your fingers.)
Monday, June 9, 2008
Learning Life Lessions All Over the Place
This weekend, we made our trip down to the beach in Kending. It was a learning experience.
Lesson #1: I Hate Traveling.
No, really. It's extremely stressful and I get extremely sick. At one point as I was curled into a ball battling severe naseua and intestinal cramps, a truly bewildered Paul suggested I demand a rebate on my body, as he was aware of no circumstance under which it worked completely properly. (This is not quite true, obviously.) He also said he had no idea how my body was meant to move, since it was crippled by every mode of transportation. (This is actually not true: neither trains nor boats give me any trouble. Clearly, I was meant to travel only in the late 19th-early 20th century.) Apparently, I also travel in a state of "cat-like readiness," caused by the stress of unfamiliar and poor directions. Oh, and I lost my purse on the bus. And forgot the camera at home (although we bought a disposable one at 7-11). All of this reminded me why I never go anywhere.
Lesson #2: Lonely Planet's "Mid-range" Lodgings are Jennifer-rated "Minimum Acceptable."
We stayed at the Kending Youth Activity Center. I'm not really sure why it's called that, but it's a replica of a traditional Fujian-style village. Basically, it's like living in the old buildings in Lugang or an old temple. The room was small, but comfortable, air-conditioned, and clean. Also, they gave us bottled water, real towels, and adorable little bags with a washcloth, toothbrush and toothpaste, shower cap, shampoo, and soap inside. You are no doubt thinking, that sounds pretty good. Why does that merit a "minimum acceptable" rating? Because I'm a hotel snob. I believe in only staying in hotels that are at least as nice as one's home, ideally better. Anyway, the important thing was that it was a five minute walk to the beach.
Lesson #3: The Beach is the Most Awesome Place Ever.
I want to live on the beach--in a tent, eating only coconuts, mangoes, and papayas off random trees by the road if that's what it'll take--every day for the rest of my life. And I hate camping, mangoes, and papayas. (Coconuts are okay.) The first day, I stayed until the sun went down and the second day, Paul had to pry me away so we wouldn't miss check out. I don't know if he would had been successful if it wasn't kind of stormy. I picked up like a billion pieces of coral, but whittled them down to four pieces. I also didn't wear any sunscreen because I was seized by the "hey, I'm not Scandanavian, forget this!" whim. I don't think I can stress lesson #3 enough. I really, really, REALLY like the beach.
I probably learned some other things, some of which might show up here later or not. I don't know. Just the thought of the beach has caused all other memories to dim by comparison.
Lesson #1: I Hate Traveling.
No, really. It's extremely stressful and I get extremely sick. At one point as I was curled into a ball battling severe naseua and intestinal cramps, a truly bewildered Paul suggested I demand a rebate on my body, as he was aware of no circumstance under which it worked completely properly. (This is not quite true, obviously.) He also said he had no idea how my body was meant to move, since it was crippled by every mode of transportation. (This is actually not true: neither trains nor boats give me any trouble. Clearly, I was meant to travel only in the late 19th-early 20th century.) Apparently, I also travel in a state of "cat-like readiness," caused by the stress of unfamiliar and poor directions. Oh, and I lost my purse on the bus. And forgot the camera at home (although we bought a disposable one at 7-11). All of this reminded me why I never go anywhere.
Lesson #2: Lonely Planet's "Mid-range" Lodgings are Jennifer-rated "Minimum Acceptable."
We stayed at the Kending Youth Activity Center. I'm not really sure why it's called that, but it's a replica of a traditional Fujian-style village. Basically, it's like living in the old buildings in Lugang or an old temple. The room was small, but comfortable, air-conditioned, and clean. Also, they gave us bottled water, real towels, and adorable little bags with a washcloth, toothbrush and toothpaste, shower cap, shampoo, and soap inside. You are no doubt thinking, that sounds pretty good. Why does that merit a "minimum acceptable" rating? Because I'm a hotel snob. I believe in only staying in hotels that are at least as nice as one's home, ideally better. Anyway, the important thing was that it was a five minute walk to the beach.
Lesson #3: The Beach is the Most Awesome Place Ever.
I want to live on the beach--in a tent, eating only coconuts, mangoes, and papayas off random trees by the road if that's what it'll take--every day for the rest of my life. And I hate camping, mangoes, and papayas. (Coconuts are okay.) The first day, I stayed until the sun went down and the second day, Paul had to pry me away so we wouldn't miss check out. I don't know if he would had been successful if it wasn't kind of stormy. I picked up like a billion pieces of coral, but whittled them down to four pieces. I also didn't wear any sunscreen because I was seized by the "hey, I'm not Scandanavian, forget this!" whim. I don't think I can stress lesson #3 enough. I really, really, REALLY like the beach.
I probably learned some other things, some of which might show up here later or not. I don't know. Just the thought of the beach has caused all other memories to dim by comparison.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)