mums the word

Today my German teacher was wrong. WRONG! And I did nothing to correct him.

He was explaining the difference between simple past (preterit) and present perfect in German. To do so, he compared the German to English: The boy went to the store. vs The boy has gone to the store.

Both correct sentences, both past tense. So German teacher says to class "Is there a difference in the tenses of these two sentences? Does it change the meaning?" No one says anything (probably because no one had any idea what he was talking about....Americans are notoriously bad at knowing their own grammar. But don't fret if you're one of them. You can't help it if you're a product of your less-than-worthy-grade-school-English-education).

I, not wanting to appear a know-it-all (I answer too many questions as it is), simply nodded my head. He asks again, I nod again. There is a long pause...and my teacher confidently declares "There isn't a difference! And it's the same in German!"

My eyebrows raise in skepticism. No difference? Excuse me? There is totally a difference. Yes, maybe it's a subtle, picky difference, but it's a difference nonetheless. Could you say I went to the beach last summer and I have gone to the beach last summer interchangeably? If I were to say did you see the movie, you might answer yes, last Saturday. But what would you say to have you seen the movie? Does it sound right to say yes, I have seen it last Saturday. I certainly hope not!

Unfortunately, I didn't say any of that. Instead, I sat there with my eyebrows raised, head shaking vigorously in disagreement, and mind racing. How to contradict/argue with my teacher in the middle of class...I've never been good at that...the blushing that results is always so uncomfortable. But luckily, we have a Russian student in my class who piped up (I think being a foreigner gave her an advantage) and said what I was thinking. My teacher shrugged it off as poor Russian teaching skills. But he did agree to look at one of her English textbooks at a later date, so apparently he's not opposed to being wrong.

I really should have said something. I wanted to. Usually my reason for keeping quiet in such a circumstance is insecurity- I'm never totally sure that I'm right. But this time, I knew I was right. I teach this stuff to my students on a regular basis. I can show him dozens of different grammar books as proof of my rightness. But rightness doesn't matter when you're too silent to answer.

Dang it.

the way of the Russki

I have a Russian student this semester. I love him because he's Russian and I've never had a Russian before (Russian speakers from Armenia or Tajikistan, yes, but never a real Russian!). I'm kind of partial to reverse discrimination- I love my minority students more.

On my first day of class, I was slightly terrified of this Russian guy. He's about 5'6", extremely muscular (think a smaller version of the bad guy in Rocky 4...or someone who's obsessed with "building muscular mass," as he puts it.). His hair is short, dark blondish, and perfectly parted. He wears his pants slightly too high for American taste and always tucks his button-up shirt into his slightly high pants. His clothes are perfectly tailored to his muscular frame. He insists upon calling me Mrs. Zirker and always raises his hand when answering a question in class. He is, in short, very intense.

But after a few weeks, I realized that although he is indeed very intense (and very intelligent), he's not really that scary. He's actually really great. His English is much higher than a level 2 (which is the class I have him for), so he understands when I make jokes that the others don't catch or when other students are being remarkably dense (I have a lot of dense students in this class. They're nice, but very thick). And he started smiling, which made him seem less like a military sergeant.

But the best thing about this student is his writing. He is simply incapable of writing something comprehensible to the average American. His love for "fancy" words (as his grammar teacher says) is just too strong. For example, when asking for help with the printer, instead of saying something like "Could you help me with the printer?" he says "Could you render me some assistance with this printing device?" Or if he wants to know about a homework assignment, he sends me an email that says "Let me address to you with question concerning the implementation of our home assignment." Did he get married? No, he "entered into a matrimonial alliance."

And this is how he feels about an athletic competition from his youth: "In the course of our displacement I did not experienced a critical excitement, inasmuch as I possessed sufficient training abilities. On the contrary, the feeling of foretaste overfilled me, which was stimulated by adrenalin."

I love it.

when your luck runs out...

...you get a dreadful head/chest cold, complete with excruciating sinus pressure, a nose that drips like my bathroom faucet, a hacking cough that sounds like consumption, and dizzy spells. Twice. In a three week period of time. Did I mention that up until 3 weeks ago, I hadn't been sick in over a year? I guess it was coming to me.

And I have watched nearly all the online episodes of House, Chuck, Ugly Betty, Bones, The Biggest Loser, and The Office. Oh, and I watched Sense and Sensibility twice. I'm running out of things to watch. Any suggestions?

valentines

This year our valentine's day was lovely, albeit a bit non-traditional. As usual, my "gift" was a cherry hostess pie. I gave T-rav a box of his favorite cereal and some peach gummy rings. We don't usually spend more than $4 on presents for each other. I've gotten a hostess pie for the past 7 years, including the year that brother Matt stepped on it with his size 27 feet. I can't remember if I ate it anyway...

We spent the evening with some of T-rav's old refugees from Bhutan/Nepal. We played "hide and find" with the kids, chatted with the Pundit (the local Hindu leader), danced to a favorite Nepali song, and ate the most delicious Nepali food you'll ever have. They fed us rice with lentils and mutton, carrots, and cucumbers. We ate with our hands (they gave us the option of silverware, but we said we wanted to do it their way) and discovered that using your thumb to shovel the food into into your mouth is much more effective than just slurping food off your fingers.

We topped off the night with the movie Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress about rural China during the 70s. Two boys from the city are sent to be "re-educated" in the ways of chairman Mao, but instead fall in love with a local girl while reading her Western novels.

How was your day?

meat is murder....tasty tasty murder

T-rav and I were at dinner last night at a most-delicious meaty restaurant (Texas Roadhouse) wherein I consumed at least 6 rolls smothered in cinnamon-butter, a salad, sweet potato, several ribs, and a big fat juicy hunk of steak (If I have any vegan/vegetarian readers out there, I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable...I can't help it). Most of our friends ordered their steak medium. One asked for well-done, and T-rav and I opted for medium-rare. It was perf. The outside was salty and flame kissed; the inside was progressively pinker until it reached an uncooked state of nirvana. Oh the succulent meaty flavors! Oh the tender texture! Oh the juicy center, mooing at me from between layers of pink. I savored/snarfed every meaty bite. I haven't had a good steak like that in months. Years! Or maybe since the last time I went to Texas Roadhouse.

If you ask me, steak should be eaten at most medium, at best medium rare. Why bother eating a steak at all if you're just going to suck all the life out of it. You might as well be chewing on a piece of old leather.

So how do you like your steak?

a feis! the third episode

Today was my third feis (Irish dance competition, for those of you who don't know they ways of the Irish). And like always, it was nerve-racking, emotionally trying, scary, somewhat painful (hi shin splints!), and exhausting. Oh, and did I mention really really fun?

Every feis I've been to is the same (can I say "every" if I've only been to 3?); there's a ton of excitement and build-up beforehand and I can't wait. And then the day of the feis arrives, and I start to wonder why I thought a dance competition was a good idea. And then I get there and watch the other dancers and I KNOW it wasn't a good idea. Suddenly everyone looks better than me. Their toes are more pointed, their legs more crossed, and their steps more precise. How I can I possibly compete with such perfection?!

When it's finally time for me to hop on the stage and dance, I'm pumping full of adrenaline, my legs are shaking, and I'm desperately trying to remember my steps. The first dance is terrifying and usually includes at least 1 sketchy moment. After that, my nerves come and go in waves. For a few moments, I don't care how I do, then I'm mortified that I messed up, then I start panicking about the next dance. And then I remember that more than anything else, Irish dance is fun. I dance because I love it. Sure, getting medals and advancing is nice, but if it isn't fun, why do it?

And once I remember that, everything is better. The nerves are still there, of course (I hope the judge didn't notice the trembling in my calves), but I no longer have the desire to sit in a heap and cry (it's funny how such spectrum of emotions can do that to you). Medals don't matter- having fun does.

But incidentally, I did quite well. I medalled in 5 of my 6 dances and only really messed up once. Hurrah! Next feis: June 2010.

a Jonah day

I woke up today in a remarkably pleasant mood; I believe I may have even bounded out of bed. But something happened once I hit school. I had to deal with some remarkably dense students (no matter how many times I tell them things, they never seem to get it...until suddenly they do, regardless of what I've just said). I blushed furiously several times in my German class (which actually caused me to forget what I was saying rather than the other way around). Then I lost patience with my dim-witted students who then told me I was weird today, that I was talking too fast, and that my hair looked weird (which it did. But was it really necessary to say so completely unsolicited?). Did I then proceed to blush? Yes, of course I did. And then half of my class failed a test that I had been pretty sure they were prepared for. My fault or theirs? I'm hoping theirs, but guilt says it's all me. And now I'm sitting at home thinking about the Russian I should be studying so I don't look like a fool again during Russian class tomorrow. Blech.

personality-free zone

I found my answer. According to Hartman's The Color Code, I don't have a personality. Or rather, I'm deceiving myself to the point where my personality has become mush. You see, I took his little no-fail personality test several times, and each time my results were muddled. The first time (taking it alone, with no assistance) I was 15 Blue, 14 Yellow, 13 Red, and 3 White. The next time (with T-rav's advice), I was 14 Blue, 14 Red, 14 Yellow. The third time I took it alone (again) and promised to be extra honest with myself. The results: 13 Blue, 15 Red, 14 Yellow. Finally, I took it with my friend Lindsey and had the same results as with T-rav. Now, if you haven't read this book, you may be wondering what the big deal is. It's this: Hartman claims that everyone is born with an innate personality, one that will always be dominant throughout your entire life. No matter what. And if you take his test and don't have a dominant color, you're lying to yourself. Or you're confused. Or conflicted. Either way, you have a problem.

I felt kind of lost for a few days. Maybe I really had lost my personality! Maybe that explained why I have often felt torn in certain social situations (should I sit by the wall and observe, trying not to talk to anyone, or jump into the fray and perform an Irish jig? Should I boss people around and start giving orders or just do it myself?). Maybe Hartman was right! Maybe I really didn't know myself anymore.

But after a few days of thinking and reading, I decided Hartman's theory is a load of bull. How can you claim that a personality will remain the same (deep down) throughout a person's life? Can't people mature and change? And why do we have to have just 1 dominant personality? What's wrong with having 3 equal parts (aside from occasionally being confused).

So I've found my personality again. I'm bossy when I need to be, constantly loyal to my friends, and spontaneous and care free when I can be. I worry too much, can't stick to 1 thing for a long time, and tend to know everything (really, I do). Sometimes I find the three parts (as described by Hartman) to be divisive (as mentioned above), but I think it makes me stronger. I can adapt to different situations more easily than if I had just 1 dominant side of the spectrum.

So Hartman can take his prescriptive theories and stick 'em where the sun don't shine. I enjoy being able to analyze how and why people interact they way they do, but don't try to tell me there's 1 answer for everyone. My redness refuses to be told how to think.