Field trip

Golly, it has been a long time since I have been on one of these things, and yet even with time and distance, all the set pieces are still there. The beat up bus, the friendly bus driver, the packed lunches, the bumpy ride, the complaining on the hikes, the excessive happiness on the bus. . . but I will say this. I don't remember this much raunchy techno music from back in my day. Man, you should have heard some of this stuff.

First we went to this monument. It was this huge statue of a arm holding a rock. The rock was the symbol chosen by the monarchs of the region as a sign of their unity against the evil Dutch oppressors who were totally evil. And the actual rock itself is housed under this giant statue of a arm holding a rock. It is about the size of watermelon. Now if you are asking "why would a bunch of kings pick a watermelon sized rock of all things to symbolize unity in the face of tyranny?" Well, let me tell you. . . that I'm just as lost on this as you are. I mean, seriously, it is probably the least inspiring rock I have ever seen, and you are telling me that this is the best 14 kings could come up with?

Then we went to this museum. The was a collection of some money from around the world. A currency of note was this 50 dollar bill that featured a grinning Abraham Lincoln in aviators. Now there is a country that knows what to put on their money. I should move there. There was also this huge preserved snake on display. It was, like, 7 meters long, and the curator was telling me that it was originally around 10 meters but part of its tail was missing when they killed it. The coolest fact about this snake? It was killed in 2010. Yeah, food for thought.

I did not take any pictures in the museum. Sorry :(  

Finally we went the grave of the first king in the region. It is on top of this really really big hill. On top of the hill is one of the prettiest views ever.

 At the site of the grave is a really big tree. It was a pretty neat place, but after 10 minutes I wanted to leave, but nooooo, the teacher giving the tour had to give a half hour talk about the history of the place. So me and the students spend that time getting bit by all manner of mosquito while doing our best to stay clear of all the huge millipedes that roamed the site. Good times.

Then there was more raunchy techno music on the way home. The perfect way to end such a day.

(miscellaneous pictures bellow)

Idul Adha

This is a festival of sharing. On this day those who are capable will either buy a goat or a cow. Sometimes people will get together and all chip in for one. Then they will butcher the animal and divide the/their share of the meat as follows. One third for the poor. One third for their friends. One third for themselves. It is a very beautiful celebration that reminds those who partake to never forget about those around them.

Now here is the not so beautiful part. The method of killing the livestock is as follows: tie it up, slit its throat, wait for it to bleed to death. Blood will spray out at first (complete with that "psssssss" sound effect), then procede to start cascading out. Then towards the end, yellow bile will start to eject itself out. The worst part of all is the animal violently thrashing around 5-10 seconds after the blood has stopped flowing.

My headmaster says that the method of killing is rather barbaric, but they don't have any other way, seeing how the only tools they have available to them are kitchen knives. I don't know much about killing, but lord knows there has got to be a better way.

So yes, there is much sharing and even relieving of suffering, but it comes at the price of more suffering. Will this be one of the traditions that changes to keep up with modern ways of thought. Probably not. But for once in my life, I wish that fate upon a tradition.

Bingo!

There have been many things bugging me the past week. Things such as what do I do about the complete lack of faith my students have in themselves? How do I leave my mark on this school? How do I appease the State Department's appetite for heart warningly cute things from Indonesian students? How do I cater to all the different types of students in my classes? How do start something in the school they will be proud, not just to have, but to continue? Most importantly, how do I do all of this in the context of an English classroom? How to do all of this? Is doing all of this even possible? And just what the hell is bakso made of?

This is quite a bit for a young boy to be ruminating on, but the efforts were worth it. (hence the title of this post) The answer finally came to me last night as I was trying to fight off these questions so that I might finally fall asleep. The answer?

Y e a r b o o k

Yes! A yearbook! Why did I not think of this sooner?! The idea is too perfect to be true. Projects for it can easily be squeezed into my English classes. It will get students from all sorts of skill backgrounds working together. They will be actively producing something that is about them, so they will all be proud of their work. All the photographed memories makes this something perfect for sharing. The State Department will eat it right up. We can add in some stories about the school and teachers so that others will feel part of it too and be encouraged to continue it. Most importantly, accomplishing this feat will cause to students to feel like they are capable of anything, as this has never been done at this school yet.

And perhaps it will teach me the same thing. I mean, why do I keep backing away from challenges? Why do I keep selling myself short. I have a rather impressive set of skills and an even more engrossing history. I have scratched and clawed through every damn statistic that cumulated to suggest the best future I could hope for was a lower management position at a fast food restaurant. I've already proven myself, it's time to do it again, and I could not think of a more perfect arena. I was Features Editor on the best high school newspaper in the state of Georgia. I know layout. I know putting pictures and words together on paper, and I have first hand experience with the requisite logistics and management for such a feat. Together with my students, I'm going to give those cuteness craving diplomates at the State Department something to fawn over.

Like I said. This idea was too perfect to be true. Not just for what I hope for my students, but for me as well. . .

Okay, maybe perfect was a little too haughty of a work. I mean, it completely fails at answering the recurring question of "just what the hell is bakso made of?"

So what am I teaching now?

That is a good question! Let me fill you in. For those of you wanting to know about fun and exotic stuff: bugger off! This is pedagogy time fool!

So I decided that with all of my students being all self conscientious about the way they pronounce, I would teach them just that. That is probably the least important part of learning a language, and it is probably also the hardest for most learners. With that kind of difficulty to importance ratio, I don't know why people are so caught up on it, but they are, and so I will do my best to help them.

Then again, maybe I feel that way because pronunciation is my favorite part of learning a language, and so it really does not seem like that much of a obstacle to me as much as a challenging challenge. I don't know why, but I really do enjoy trying to figure out the sounds of a language, the way the come together, the effect one sound might potentially have on the sounds around it. My favorite thing of all would be figuring out the way the mouth transitions from one sound to another. If there is one thing I have learned all these years, it is that if you are straining your mouth when using a language, you are probably doing it wrong. With the constantly evolving nature of language, most rough edges have been sanded out by now. If you experience strain. . .well, it might behoove you to take it as a sign.

Anyways, I enjoy learning pronunciation in the obsessive way that a conspiracy theorist displays to connecting all of the dots in news stories. Also, I've been told that when I switch languages, its like a different person suddenly started talking. . .not bragging or anything you know. . .just repeating something others have said about me, that's all.

So back to teaching. I decided that it might be a good idea to teach my students the IPA. "What is that?" I hear you ask. Well, that would be the international phonetic alphabet. It is a system that maps out all of the possible sounds humans can make with their mouths and arranges them on a chart based on manner of sound and place of sound. My hope now is that when they get stuck on a pronunciation, I can write the sounds out for them and then they will be able to "see" the difference between the sound they are making and the sound that is needed.

Then I gave them an activity where I crumpled out a big paper ball and played music. The idea being that whoever has the ball when I paused the music had to come up to the front and transcribe the last word before the pause. It was quite fun, and it pretty much turned my classes into a club. . . A club minus the alcohol. . . A club minus the alcohol and plus hot potato. Yes, that is an apt way to phrase it.

Plus, there was just something about blasting Ke$ha songs from the school's speakers in the super conservative and quaint  town that just made me feel, I hesitate to say it, good. . .

. . .oh man, what is this town doing to me?

AHHHH! A lizard just pooped on my hand right as I was about to hit the "Publish" button! Not cool lizard! Not cool!

About that PS3 rental shop

Yeah, it is still closed. Batman: Arkham City just came out. I was hoping to be playing that game at that shop at this point in time. Am I? No. **grumble grumble grumble**

ANTS!!!!!

They are taking over! Ahhhhhhh!

And now I shall give the requisite back story for the aforementioned exclamation.

Right out side my house lives a boat load of ants. I don't know exactly where they live, but they are out there. That much I know because every time I go out, I see them. Oh yes, I see them. Plotting. Plotting their evil little ant plots. So to say that this day came as a surprise would be a lie, but that does not change the fact that I am woefully underprepared for this situation.

Two days ago, their hand (or whatever it is ants use to hold their cards) was finally revealed to me . Their goal: to build a massive ant hill right inside my bathroom. Their method: to form a massive ant line and carry in the needed dirt speck by speck. Truth be told, they have been working on this for awhile now, but it was not until two days ago that I actually noticed it. Here is where the true genius of their evil little ant plot comes in: they chose to do this in my bathroom.

"But Chris!" I hear you say. "Bathrooms are home to water sloshing and splashing around, would this choice not be counter productive to a species that is highly susceptible to water?" Well, these ants surely must have considered it, but they must have taken many other factors into consideration as well. I don't know how (perhaps they studied my mannerisms; perhaps they stalked my facebook page), but the ants somehow realized that I never wear my glasses into my bathroom (the one with the shower at least). Sure the water presented risks, but it was the one place in the house that they could build without my notice. They weighed the risks, and they took their chances.

At first their plan went without a hitch. As previously mentioned, their worked eluded my detection for quite sometime. However, their success got the best of them. They became overreaching as they grew overconfident. Their cozy little ant hill not longer fulfilled them anymore. They wanted bigger, they wanted better, and this meant that they would need more dirt. The ant lines grew larger and larger with zealous ants carrying in the building blocks of their monument speck by speck.

Now make no mistake, I had seen the ant line before this, but I foolishly thought that it would go away as soon as they extracted whatever grain of sugar I had accidentally dropped. Then the ant lines grew, and they grew, and they grew some more until they were to big to ignore. I followed the trail and realized for the first time the extent of their determination. It started from the front door, went through the living room, then into my room and finally ended at the bathroom. It is at the end of this insectan long march that I saw what I wish I had never seen.

Horrified, I grabbed a broom as a means to expel them. While they most certainly had to go, they had personally done me no harm, so I sought to preserve their lives by radically relocating them with a broom as opposed to suffocating them with the fumes of most unnatural poisons. Sadly, every time I got a group out the door, more would rise up in their place. At this point in the invasion, they have started encroaching on my bed. I want to say that I'm at my wits ends, but you and I both know that is a lie. The next step is more than obvious, but the pacifist in me cries out against it. . .

Anyways, long story short. Shit ton of ants in my house, insecticide buying going down tomorrow.