To add to what I was saying earlier, about the nose running, picking and eating problem, yesterday I had four students in class, seventeen children were home sick.
A couple of weeks ago I gave a nose-blowing lesson - the children loved folding the kleenex into a rectangle and then another rectangle as my previous boss taught me, and they especially loved looking in the mirror to check if they got everything.
But this new found love for nasal hygiene has come a month too late.
Today class was cancelled; all 21 children are at home sick.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
I stand corrected.
Instant coffee is not the drink of locals, it is mate´.
Mate´: Argentina
Green tea: Japan
Starbucks: Unites States
Mate´: Argentina
Green tea: Japan
Starbucks: Unites States
Thursday, June 11, 2009
bad-breathed bus stalker
Do I write about this or would it be too mean-spirited? Is anyone interested in hearing about Javier, a balding man with dyed hair and bad breath, whom I met on my charter to Lujan one morning? A man whom after sharing a brief conversation with me showed up at my school with flowers as a welcome to Argentina?
After knocking on all the doors around my bus stop, asking where the English teacher works, he ended up at one of my student´s homes because her mother is an English teacher. Confused, thinking perhaps he wanted English lessons, she directed him to my school where he then asked a staff member to let him in so he could deliver the flowers in person. Of course she did not let him in, told him I was busy teaching, and that afternoon I found the flowers lying on top of the recess bin in the kitchen.
Well, after the thought of him greeting me one more morning with a touch on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek and asking to sit next to me (causing me to become one with the window) I knew I had to stamp out this growing irritation before it became a full-blown molestation. So after a few mornings of pretending to be asleep with my backpack occupying the seat next to me, I finally faced him. As he leaned over to put his hand on my shoulder and kiss me on the cheek, I held out my hand, and said ¨NO!¨ and felt quite empowered. He still managed to grab my shoulder, but he got the picture. He asked if I got the flowers. I said yes, but that my boss was very angry. I cannnot have any visitors at school. He must never come to see me again. He explained that the flowers were not out of desire, they were because he admired me, a foreigner, that has come here, who has a vocation; he doesn´t have a vocation, he hates his job, etc., etc. And while I felt sorry for this man, I could hear my Dutch friend telling me, ¨You´re pathetic! You´re too nice to these old people. What are you even getting out of it? Tell them to take a hike.¨ So, I ignored the man and looked out the window.
Now he gets on the bus, greets and kisses an older woman who knits all the way to Lujan, her knitting spilling into and occupying the seat next to her. He then slumps down in the seat in front of me, falls asleep, and breaks wind like a mule all the way to Lujan.
After knocking on all the doors around my bus stop, asking where the English teacher works, he ended up at one of my student´s homes because her mother is an English teacher. Confused, thinking perhaps he wanted English lessons, she directed him to my school where he then asked a staff member to let him in so he could deliver the flowers in person. Of course she did not let him in, told him I was busy teaching, and that afternoon I found the flowers lying on top of the recess bin in the kitchen.
Well, after the thought of him greeting me one more morning with a touch on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek and asking to sit next to me (causing me to become one with the window) I knew I had to stamp out this growing irritation before it became a full-blown molestation. So after a few mornings of pretending to be asleep with my backpack occupying the seat next to me, I finally faced him. As he leaned over to put his hand on my shoulder and kiss me on the cheek, I held out my hand, and said ¨NO!¨ and felt quite empowered. He still managed to grab my shoulder, but he got the picture. He asked if I got the flowers. I said yes, but that my boss was very angry. I cannnot have any visitors at school. He must never come to see me again. He explained that the flowers were not out of desire, they were because he admired me, a foreigner, that has come here, who has a vocation; he doesn´t have a vocation, he hates his job, etc., etc. And while I felt sorry for this man, I could hear my Dutch friend telling me, ¨You´re pathetic! You´re too nice to these old people. What are you even getting out of it? Tell them to take a hike.¨ So, I ignored the man and looked out the window.
Now he gets on the bus, greets and kisses an older woman who knits all the way to Lujan, her knitting spilling into and occupying the seat next to her. He then slumps down in the seat in front of me, falls asleep, and breaks wind like a mule all the way to Lujan.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
minor miseries
Although I am from Minnesota and used to brutal winters, I am still finding myself quite cold these days in Buenos Aires, mostly due to the fact that the heat does not work in my apartment and we don´t yet have a heater installed in my classroom - so it´s coats, sometimes hat and scarves, all day. Sometimes the bus driver for my one hour-plus commute decides to not put the heat on as well. So I am at the point of constant chilled to the bone cold that makes you not want to get out of bed in the morning or take a shower. (I do both out of necessity of course.) I am hoping that my shoulder muscles do not freeze into a permanently hunched position; that mixed in with one bumpy neck-jerking busride makes for a rather jacked trapezius.
The energy I put toward warding off all the flourescent snotty-nose diseases floating around the classroom makes me rather tired as well. I´ve never seen more unattended runny noses and nose-picker-and-then-eat-´ems. The beso farewell has now turned into an air kiss, a safe three inches (or more, depending on the condition of the nose and amount of boogers eaten) away from the child. It´s time to start giving lessons on proper nasal hygeine. While we watched a video on swine flu, and the topic at one point was on keeping your fingers out of your orifices, I saw a boy pick his nose and wipe it in the girl´s poneytail sitting in from of him, and then look around to see if anyone was watching. It was gross, but I´ve seen worse.
Another minor misery I´ve encountered lately is the new flatscreen tv that has been installed on the ceiling of my charter bus. So now to and from school I am bombarded with music videos, advertisements for clothing stores and restaurants, and a rap song about a man that had to kill his wife because she got too fat. I nearly had a fit this morning when I was trying to read while getting blasted by the overhead speakers. I asked the busdriver to please turn the volume down (first he turned off the radio he had been listening to as well), that it was too noisy, but he said he couldn´t, there was no volume. Then I asked him to mute it or turn it off, he said he couldn´t. I sat down, wrapped my scarf around my head and put my hat on to try and block out the noise, but it didn´t help. I decided that if this continues, I will have to get some huge Bose headphones that completely block out all noise. Am I overreacting? I got over the toxic cleaner and now this? Maybe I have an oversensitivity problem but is it so much to ask to not have psychotic rap songs blasting in your ears at 8am?
Ok, I am ranting a bit. I complain about these things and then see someone in a doorway sleeping with a very thin blanket over him and wonder how on earth this person manages to stay warm. And what makes him get out of bed in the morning?
The energy I put toward warding off all the flourescent snotty-nose diseases floating around the classroom makes me rather tired as well. I´ve never seen more unattended runny noses and nose-picker-and-then-eat-´ems. The beso farewell has now turned into an air kiss, a safe three inches (or more, depending on the condition of the nose and amount of boogers eaten) away from the child. It´s time to start giving lessons on proper nasal hygeine. While we watched a video on swine flu, and the topic at one point was on keeping your fingers out of your orifices, I saw a boy pick his nose and wipe it in the girl´s poneytail sitting in from of him, and then look around to see if anyone was watching. It was gross, but I´ve seen worse.
Another minor misery I´ve encountered lately is the new flatscreen tv that has been installed on the ceiling of my charter bus. So now to and from school I am bombarded with music videos, advertisements for clothing stores and restaurants, and a rap song about a man that had to kill his wife because she got too fat. I nearly had a fit this morning when I was trying to read while getting blasted by the overhead speakers. I asked the busdriver to please turn the volume down (first he turned off the radio he had been listening to as well), that it was too noisy, but he said he couldn´t, there was no volume. Then I asked him to mute it or turn it off, he said he couldn´t. I sat down, wrapped my scarf around my head and put my hat on to try and block out the noise, but it didn´t help. I decided that if this continues, I will have to get some huge Bose headphones that completely block out all noise. Am I overreacting? I got over the toxic cleaner and now this? Maybe I have an oversensitivity problem but is it so much to ask to not have psychotic rap songs blasting in your ears at 8am?
Ok, I am ranting a bit. I complain about these things and then see someone in a doorway sleeping with a very thin blanket over him and wonder how on earth this person manages to stay warm. And what makes him get out of bed in the morning?
Monday, June 1, 2009
ooops.
Well, I guess my ESL student really is going to pursue his dreams in psychology and now I feel a bit bad about what I said in my earlier post and in my email to my students. I must be going through some sort lapse in mental clarity at the moment or perhaps this city has succeeded in making me crazy? I decided to exaggerate a developing cold and call in for a personal day. And what have I done? Slothed around in my freezing apartment drinking instant coffee. I should really cut back, what's even in that stuff? I drink it to be like a local. Before coming here I was an Illy snob. Anyway, I will meet my students Friday for (instant) coffee, luckily they didn't take too much offense to my accusations; hopefully I will have gotten a grip by then.
grass is greener?
I found this quote in the Herald here; it struck a chord with me, so I thought I'd share.
"It is said that the grass is always greenest on the other side of the fence, and many of us rather unthinkingly believe this fairly modern (mid-20th century) proverb without realizing that we may actually be passing up a great deal of luscious, green fodder right under our feet. Grass, as any farmer or gardener is well aware, is where you find it and how you treat it. As there is not just one grass but a vast number of different grasses provided by nature for our choice, the possible combinations of colour and usefulness is equally vast" (Dereck Foster).
(The author then goes on to speak about an excellent fish restaurant in his neighborhood.)
What happens when there is no grass under one's feet to even reject but rather cracked, uneven tiles that causes one to easily trip and sometimes fall? Perhaps in a puddle? What does this do to a person's psyche, I wonder?
"It is said that the grass is always greenest on the other side of the fence, and many of us rather unthinkingly believe this fairly modern (mid-20th century) proverb without realizing that we may actually be passing up a great deal of luscious, green fodder right under our feet. Grass, as any farmer or gardener is well aware, is where you find it and how you treat it. As there is not just one grass but a vast number of different grasses provided by nature for our choice, the possible combinations of colour and usefulness is equally vast" (Dereck Foster).
(The author then goes on to speak about an excellent fish restaurant in his neighborhood.)
What happens when there is no grass under one's feet to even reject but rather cracked, uneven tiles that causes one to easily trip and sometimes fall? Perhaps in a puddle? What does this do to a person's psyche, I wonder?
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