Questionable Things

2011-11-10T12:41:00.002+06:00

The SHEPHERD and the STRANGERS

The shepherd was on a remote hill, with the village just barely visible in the valley below, when the stranger arrived. He sat down beside the shepherd and from his bag pulled out his lunch and ate, sullenly, holding the scrap of bread tight to him. "And what brings you here?" asked the shepherd.

"I am looking for a new place to live," said the stranger. "Pray tell me, shepherd, what is that village like, in the valley below?"

"I will tell you of this village, stranger, but first I should like to hear of the place from whence you come."

The strangers face twisted into an ugly mask of contempt. "Thieves! Thieves and liars! Nobody can be trusted there, everyone looking out for themselves. People there find no joy in life except when bringing misery to their neighbors. And now, shepherd, I have met my end of the bargain - tell me of your village? Is it a place worthy of my time?"

"Sadly it is not," replied the shepherd. "Here you will find that the people are much the same."

And the stranger carried on, taking the fork in the path away from the valley and onward into the wastes.

On the very next day, on that same hill, a second man came along and joined the shepherd where he sat. He spread his lunch between himself and the shepherd, and bid him share his dates and wine. After some time the conversation turned to the purpose of the stranger's journey. "I am looking for a home, good shepherd. The town that I am from was a lovely, friendly place, full of honest and hardworking folk, but I felt that surely there must be something new to see in this world. And so I have set out to find new friends and family among strangers. Tell me of your village, shepherd - is it a place that would welcome me?"

"Indeed it is," replied the shepherd. "You will find that people here are much the same as those you left behind. Come, let us walk together, and when we arrive I shall introduce you as my friend."

CREDITS

This is a reprint of one of my most favourited comments on MetaFilter, original version here.

This isn't really mine. Although the writing is all original, it is based entirely on a tale that I read somewhere, and I am transcribing it as best I can from memory. Maybe it is an ancient parable, maybe it is the original work of someone more creative than I am and walking among us today, I don't know... If anyone finds the original source I will happily link it.

PRIOR ART - part two

2010-05-18T18:59:00.001+06:00

On Tuesday May 18th 2010, I have developed a new framework and acronym for ESL / EFL writing lessons.

M.A.P.

Model
Analyse
Produce

Hands off, publishing vultures, this one is mine.

2009-08-23T12:55:00.003+06:00

Slovakian Fun Facts

1. In Slovakian, they actually call their country Slovensko, and themselves Slovenes. This is intentional obfuscation, in the hopes that people will confuse their country with the much more interesting and successful nation of Slovenia.

2. Up until recent times linguists have had great difficulty in classifying the Slovakian language. Some evidence pointed to it being a regional dialect of Polish, while others claimed that it deserved status as its own language.

Recent DNA and population studies have helped to piece together the historical puzzle, and Slovak now has the special status of a creole based solely on one inherited language, Polish. The descendants of the initial brain damaged exiles to Slovakia regrammaticised the basic Polish being spoken by their elders, the result being the bizarre stepchild to Polish we hear today.

3. Spite is the national characteristic Slovaks are most well known for.

4. Since the collapse of communism in the early 90s, all infrastructure has been abandoned. Tourists can see highways, power plants, and factories in various states of neglect and decay. It is a point of honour and friendly competition among Slovakian municipalities to see who has the worst utilities.

5. The national dish of Slovakia is a McDonalds cheeseburger that has sat for 30 minutes under a heat lamp. Since the introduction of McDonalds, all previous national dishes and specialties were abandoned and forgotten.

6. The primary export of Slovakia is slaves. Men are recruited as dishwashers and women as sex workers in Western European cities. This is why you never see people in Slovakian towns.

7. Slovakia has adopted the Euro, unlike most of its recently acceded EU neighbours. The finance minister explains the choice: "Most other countries are waiting for their economies to harmonize with the rest of the Euro zone. But let's face it, we will never be ready, so best to bite the bullet and just do it now. At least we don't have to bother with a national bank or mint any more."

8. Useful Slovak phrases for the traveller:

Where is the Polish border? --> Kde je tu hranica poľský?
Where is the Czech border? --> Kde je tu hranica český?
Where is the Hungarian border? --> Kde je tu hranica maďarský?
Where is the nearest border? --> Kde je tu najbližší hranica?
How much for your son? --> Koľko za chlapec?
How much for your daughter? --> Koľko za dievčatko?
That is too much, I will give you half that. --> Aj drah, dam polovina tak.

Dead Michael Jackson

2009-06-26T07:45:00.003+06:00

"Oh, I feel so old, everyone is dying. What should I do?"

It's a valid question, dear reader, and you have come to the right place.

The answer is, revel in it. Think of the alternative - you could die young, while all of your heroes and icons are still vibrantly alive. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but it is not the hand you are playing.

As all of those you know die, the past congeals and eventually sets, and the present becomes less immediate, and less relevant. You start to realize that you are a part of the past, too. Please don't freak out while this is happening.

Enjoy all those dead people, you'll be joining them soon enough. But enjoy them now. And enjoy the gradual detachment from the new world that the new people are creating, it can be very liberating to not care quite so much anymore, and to be ready to just float downstream.

Keep those cards and letters flowing in!

Q: How are Turkey and the USA similar?

2009-04-19T03:30:00.002+06:00

A: I am glad you asked, reader. People often think of Turkey as an exotic, magical, Eastern place. But deep down Turkey and the USA are two of the most similar nations in the world.

Consider:

Americans love their country, as do the Turks. Well, you might say, surely this is a feature of every country in the world? Obviously you haven't spent much time in Turkey or the USA then - these people really, super-duper fucking LOVE their countries. In both nations you'll see the national name all over the place, in place names and businesses, and you'll see the national flag everywhere you look. It is almost impossible, in either country, to not know you are there for any length of time before you are confronted by a flag or the name of the country.

The two nations are modern republics, founded in recent times and based on political principles. The Pledge of Allegiance, Turkish written in the Latin alphabet, and the lack of Fez wearers in Istanbul are all coming from the same basc place.

Americans have hamburgers, Turks have kebap. American cities smell of rancid deep-fry grease, Turkish cities smell of grilled lamb.

Fetishization / deification of the national founders. Ataturk and George Washington.

In both USA and Turkey, women are free to show their hair, and couples can hold hands on the street, despite the vocal protests of religious puritans who make up a sizable minority of the population and would prefer to live in a theocracy.

So there you have it. Keep those cards and letters pouring in!

Prior Art

2008-08-08T05:55:00.002+06:00

I might never get around to it, or by the time I do it it might already be done. For these reasons I hereby declare that today, Friday August 9th 2008, these things are my original ideas. If you see them done elsewhere, you know where they stole the idea from.

1) "Angry Geography Lesson". A youtube video short series. I stand in front of a classroom with a map of a continent and a pointer. I point out the countries and shout out the names, all while very angry. Perhaps I eventually rip the map down and start screaming and ranting.

2) "Soviet Housewife" blog. Byline "Tips and Tricks from the Land of Dearth". Documenting all the little kitchen techniques that you can do using free / salvaged shit that I have seen in kitchens across Central Asia. Examples include using the unglazed rim under a coffee cup as a knife sharpener and using old pantyhose to store onions.

3) I hate your nation and your culture. Based on the data collected here.

4) Naughty English. Youtube video series to help non-native speakers with their pronunciation. Practices the minimal pairs shit/sheet and bitch/beach.

IMPORTANT INFORMATION for VISITORS to REPUBLIC of TAJIKISTAN

2007-04-07T18:15:00.000+06:00

We wish all visitors pleasant stay and great rest in beautiful land of Tajikistan. By national year of tourism, in interest of maximum comfort and ease of foreign guests, conforming to Presidential Decree 4826b/28 of 02/14/2006, the process of registration is now streamlined and simplified.

1. REQUIREMENT FOR COMPLIANCE TO NEW SIMPLIFIED PROCEDURE
All foreign guests holding earlier OVIR registration must re-apply in order to conform to the new registration regime. Fines for non-compliance will be levied in accordance with applicable decrees and statutes, at set minimum $25 / day, $15/day for war veterans and CIS nationals with validated and pre-approved documentation.

2. DEADLINE FOR COMPLIANCE
OVIR registration must be completed within 72 hours arrival through Dushanbe International Airport, those crossing overland entrance via Pjandzh, Pandzikent, Khorog, Konibedum shall complete registration in place within 48 hours at their convenience.

3. REQUIRED DOCUMENTS
Applicants for registration should have the following of documents in own possession at arrival of OVIR office:

passport with valid Tajik visa and entry stamp;
completed and stamped customs declaration with applicable addendum for each non-salable personal item cash value greater than US$55 / 142.50 Somuni;
notarized and stamped letter of invitation, 3 copies;
two passport photos, black and white, 3X4.5cm, in compliance with reg. 7257/16.

4. INITIAL REVIEW and COMMENCEMENT
Upon inspection and approval of documents at OVIR office registration process may begin. Applicants will complete document «OVIR Registration Simplified Form 2007». Dissemination of documentation regime Monday and Thursday 10:30-12:00.

5. DISBURSEMENT and DISSEMINATION
«OVIR Registration Simplified Form 2007» will be completed with seven (7) copies at applicant expense delivered for OVIR office (2), Militia Precinct closest localization of place of registration (2), «National Documentation Archive in name of President Imomali Rachmunov» (1), and Customs and Immigration office point of departure (2). Acceptance of documentation regime varies by location, applicants responsible for checking with each office to meet confirmation time of local regime.

6. FINALIZATION and FORMALIZATION PROCEDURE
Presentation of receipt of payment to OVIR office will result in issuance «OVIR Registration Confirmation» on passport and departure tax card, and is valid for six months or until end of calendar year. Keep receipts for inspection by Customs and Immigration upon departure.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Priority Seating in OVIR Waiting Area
Priority of seating in OVIR waiting areas is in accordance as follows: war veterans, those over 65 years of age, the infirm, pregnant women, mothers with accompanying children under 2 years, OVIR staff in pursuance of legitimate OVIR business.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Those Ineligible for Streamlined Registration
Citizens of Argentina, Belorus, Brazil, Canada, the European Union, Republic of South Africa, United States, and Uzbekistan must comply with standard OVIR Registration procedures as outlined in OVIR internal code 1983346-26/71 and/or 25/18. Other applicants may also be denied eligibility for the expedited procedure at the discretion of OVIR officials.

24 Hours with the Uzbeks

2006-11-09T13:25:00.000+06:00

An Uzbek who you have just met who insists on calling you "my friend" is most certainly out to rip you off. Beware.

Uzbek taxi drivers will want to know where you are from. This is to put you at your ease and build rapport, such that they might rip you off more successfully in the nearest future. As an interesting experiment, tell them you are from Bolivia. They will immediately tell you tales of their great friend John from Bolivia, who they helped extensively while he was in Uzbekistan. And they didn't charge him a single cent!

There are random documents and reciepts exchanged with every transaction in Uzbekistan. Throw these away as soon as you get them. On the way out of the country, be sure you are not holding any currency - ideally you are travelling back to the real world where your bank or credit card will be useable. Any money you are taking out with you will be assumed by the customs officials to be a present for themselves. If the customs inspector asks you any questions, just play stupid. You don't understand. Explain to him that in the free world you never had to collect reciepts like this, so you just assumed it was the same in Uzbekistan. Don't get angry, just smile and laugh. Show him your empty pockets.

At the government run hotels, every member of the female staff, from hairdresser to cleaning woman to receptionist, will offer you "massage services". What they are actually suggesting is that you give them money to have sex with you. Be sure you negotiate the price prior to the start of the "massage" - if you don't, the fee will rise dramatically and will be negotiated with the help of hotel security.

Don't trust Uzbeks with matches.

Never let an Uzbek policeman or security official hold your passport. If he must look, be sure you continue to hold it, with both hands.

Do not agree to follow an Uzbek policeman or security official anywhere - they are only wanting to take you to a more intimate location where they can more conveniently extract a bribe. Conduct any official business with them in as busy a public place as possible.

Nexus

2006-11-03T17:34:00.000+06:00

I found timecave, it's a place on the Internet where you can send anyone a delayed email message. Perfect for suicide.

I don't remember all the details, but let's say it's six months from now. I warned my future self that now is the time to do something extraordinary. Shit or get off the pot.

"A lot of tattoo artists won't do hands or heads," he told me, "tend to be suicidal." And from now on, on my left palm I sport my third eye, and a little yin yang, the words "reality check" up my middle finger, a dollar sign at the tip of the pinky. On the right, just "LOVE". I hear it's all you need, and I believe it. I'll keep loading up, until both the palms are completely covered with freaky shit. For the rest of my life it will just take a flash of the palms to warn off the normal people - CAUTION: from elsewhere.

There's nothing like litterring in a foreign land. I wait for the confrontation. "Not my planet, monkeyboy," I'll say, my bulk and menace shutting down further discussion. Intimidation. I want to be the bad man, the bully. Fear me, because I am ready to throw it all away right now. How bout you, bucko? Go ahead, I could do with fewer teeth, it will save me on dental bills.

But I've been suicidal all my life, working up to it, having premonitions, making plans. It's been my ongoing life project. Everybody dies, it's just some people get to sign out of their own volition. I'm one of the special people, I can do it all by myself. Look, ma, no hands!

I am most fortunate that my employers have seen fit to send me to India in the nearest future. My Hindi is coming along, slowly. Two more months of Korea, then January in Kabul, and then the nexus point.

Westerners go to India to find God, burn out, hit rock bottom and wallow in the dirt. I want in on that scene, those sound like my people. I want to become an opium addict, I want to throw everything I own into a holy river, and after all my money is gone, and I've seen enough, I want to slit my wrists and die very stoned and numb and listening to "Across the Universe".

And in the interim, I want to see the Jagganath Rath Yatra. It's where we English folk got the word Juggernaut, and conveniently it's also the only place I am aware of on the planet where opium is legally available.

And I want to be a Bollywood movie star. That might be an interesting distraction for a year or two. I look good on TV.

Or, failing that, I want a sweet young Hindu girl with good English and a tight round ass and a bright smile to adopt me, make me whole, give me a reason to build a home and make little brown babies, and die some other time.

Polling Bishkek Taxi Drivers

2006-10-10T15:48:00.000+06:00

Q: What do you think of independent Kyrgyzstan?

A: It was better in Soviet times - everybody had work, schools and hospitals were free. I was a Komsomolyets, and was going to become a Communist just before the breakup. On the other hand, in those days I never would have been able to buy a Mercedes, and here I am.

-Bakyt

A: There was order in those days, now it's a jungle, every man for himself. People drive however they want, the rules of the road mean nothing. We need a strong man to rule here, like Putin in Russia.

-Jakshynbek

A: This place is a fucking mess, just look at these streets. I'll tell you something about the Kyrgyz. There's two things they know how to do: sit, and drink tea. They don't understand the meaning of honest work. It's not in their genes, they just haven't been exposed to civilization for long enough. Everything you see here we built for these people, and now the lazy fuckers are letting it all fall apart, stealing whatever they can carry away.

-Andriy

A: The mafia is running everything, including parliament. I was an engineer in Soviet times, I have two advanced degrees, and look at me now: driving a cab trying to get bread for my children. In the old days I had holidays in Sevastopol, in Georgia, we had everything we needed. I went hunting in Siberia almost every fall. Now I have to fight for every Som I get, and can't get a Russian visa.

-Ruslan

A: You have to ask? Are you serious? This place is going down the toilet, fast. I have a cousin in Moscow, and hopefully I'll have enough to move there by this summer. Screw this place.

-Kolya

A: Our politicians are theives, and do nothing for the people. How is a pensioner supposed to live here for $25 per month? With a pension of $300 I wouldn't complain, surely that isn't much to ask for is it?

-Marat

A: It's funny, in the old days everybody had money and there was nothing to buy. Now you can buy whatever you want, and nobody has enough money.

-Nikolai

Looting Tips

2006-08-20T03:12:00.000+06:00

You've already missed out on Baghdad and Basra, but by planning and preparing now you can be first in line in Damascus or Pyongyang.

Practical advice here - loot like a professional!

1. Organize your gang well ahead of time

Once the regime falls, it's too late. The biggest and toughest bullies will already be on someone else's team. Be discreet about it, but do line up your looting party beforehand. ("Achmed, I know we're part of the party militia right now, but if something, well, you know, happens... will you loot with me?")

2. Timing is Everything

Timing isn't just a concern for businessmen, for looters it's crucial too. A few hours can mean the difference between a bullet through your head, all the modern electronics you can carry, or just smoldering archives in a stripped-out shell. You have to hit your targets just after the old guard has thrown in the towel, but just before everyone else has caught wind of the change.

Pay attention to the sounds of artillery. If your city is already being shelled, make regular patrols during the late night and early morning hours - as soon as you see there is no sentry in front of the target structure, gather your team and strike.

If you arrive late, it is considered poor form to rob other looters. Play fair, it's your own fault if you are late to the party!

3. Select and prioritise your targets

Presidential compounds and the homes of ruling party members are the best pickings, but may be guarded to the bitter end. Come well armed. For the early bird there will likely be modern electronic entertainment gear, quality alcohol and foodstuffs, with European furnishings and housefittings available for the more determined.

If you need to get off to a "running start", you might instead begin with a military base, but here contacts are important. Trucks, communications gear, and weapons will be your main priority when looting these installations, in order to loot more effectively elsewhere.

Government offices are third choice, with a lot of used office furniture and low-end computer equipment.

The worst pickings are to be had at hospitals and schools. The nagging emotional reminders will only slow your hoarding down. However, wheelchairs do make decent wheelbarrows.

4. Bring the right tools for the right job

In the early stages of the chaos, you can't have enough guns and ammo. On days 2 and 3, the enterprising looter should have a good selection of wrenches and screwdrivers in standard sizes, a sturdy crowbar, and an exacto knife. These tools will facilitate the stripping of carpets, built-in wall units and other fixtures.

5. Your only limitation is your carrying capacity

How much stuff can you transport? A pickup or SUV will suffice for high-end items on day one, but on later days a heavy truck or horse-drawn transport will serve to transport carpeting, refrigerators, air conditioning units and the like.

6. Business first, pleasure later

Day one of year zero, what to do, what to do?

Remember - the party official who killed your family member will still be walking around tomorrow, and you'll still have a gun. The statues and posters of the beloved leader might get ripped down, but you can always buy the video and see it on TV later. The beloved leader's TV and stereo will not be available to loot tomorrow. Make hay while the sun shines.

Originally posted to k5, Thu Apr 10, 2003

Two Newbee Teacher Seating Patterns

2006-08-20T02:36:00.000+06:00

The Circle Jerk

Can be initiated by giving the instruction "I want you all to turn to work with the person to your left"

The Clusterfuck

Takes more advance preparation to create. Each Ss puts a marker (eg, their name tag) in a hat. Then everyone picks one randomly. Now each person works with the partner whose marker they are holding. In rare situations this set up can lead to a Circle Jerk.

The Second Battered Woman I've Known

2006-03-20T02:27:00.000+06:00

Executive Summary: kind, friendly, young Kyrgyz prostitute gets her head beaten in by an aggressive, drunk, bad trick. I do what I can to make it less terrible and fucked up for this woman.

She phoned me the night it happened, but I didn't realise it at the time, and I had already resolved to be rid of her. There was no way at all I was interested in pursuing some more serious relationship with her, and I was uncomfortable being her ongoing client. She phoned and asked "Do you miss me?", and I answered "No".

After a long pause, she said "I'm going back to Karakol".

Ah, trying to tug my heartstrings, make me worried I'll never see you again, eh? I'm just some guy who bought you off the street, this is ridiculous. "Good, this job isn't right for you, you should go back home".

Another long pause, then from her "Bye".

I thought that was the end of her, and I was proud of my resolve and glad she was behind me now. What she failed to tell me during that call was that the night before a john had taken her home, and that when she wouldn't give him a blowjob he started punching her in the face. She guarded herself with her hands, and got a couple of deep gouges on the base of her right thumb from his rings. He managed to land at least a couple of good ones - she got a very black left eye, probably a light concussion. She couldn't go to the doctor because she had no money, she couldn't go to the police because she was a hooker, she couldn't work anymore both for physical and psychological reasons

But for whatever reasons, she chose to keep that to herself then. But she phoned again yesterday evening, to my work. When I heard her on the phone I started to get cold and hard. "Please, I need money."

Her pleas make me colder, harder. After a long pause, "That's not fair," I answer.

"I can't work again, I need to get home, I've been badly beaten."

The cold melts immediately, and I feel very wrong and very small. "Where are you now?"

"At home, at the hotel."

"Do you remember where I work?"

"Yes."

"Come here, right now."

"OK"

Her bruises were purple and yellow by this time, but her head still hurt and she carried a handkerchief in front of her eye, to try to hide the marks. She was still pretty, but the scene was so sad. She still had all of her teeth. My father-in-law was much more thorough with my mother-in-law, those years ago; she had needed major reconstructive dental work.

What could I do? I took her home, gave her tea and aspirin, gentle hugs and kisses. I washed her feet, and then massaged olive oil into them, spent a long time doing that, while she watched TV. My positive energy could flow into her feet, and drive the negative out the top of the skull. Not all men are bad, the universe again in balance and harmony.

Then I gave her about US$150. I made her promise I'd never see her working the streets again. "If I find you here, in Bishkek, I won't DO anything, but I'll be so sad and disappointed for you. Please, go home. Don't phone me anymore, I was your client, you don't need any connections at all from this life. Start again, you are young and pretty and it needn't be like it is now."

She gave me her word. I asked her if she wanted to stay the night, or go back home. She wanted to get home, to leave first thing in the morning, and that was fine with me.

Footnote: This is another dead old text, from November 2004, originally here. I want all my text to live here now, so from time to time I carry one here, saves writing the buggers.

If I still remember it right, the story didn't end there. She came back from Karakol a month or so later, came to my place. How sad - she cared for me about as much as I cared for her, but my place had a TV and didn't have constant john traffic wandering through. She let me fuck her, and didn't ask me for any money. It took a very direct talk then, and another couple phone calls, to get her out of my life. But I don't think she went back to streetwalking, bless her soul. Good luck to you. I can't even remember your name now, but good luck to you, stay away from the bad people if you can.

And one other thing, the larger my sample size grows the more it is seeming that almost every woman in Kyrgyzstan has been beaten at one time or another. This story should be retitled "The second woman I've seen who was just recently batterred", but that doesn't trip off the page as nicely. This needs some more thought.

esprit d'escalier

2005-12-05T13:52:00.000+06:00

Second Episode: December 4 2005 12:15

Finally we are done, the course is over. The bus has taken us to the airport, the trainees are ready to split off, go away, leave us. My co-trainer will soon revert to being my drinking buddy. We'll be able to take off our humanistic masks and become bitter and cynical again, openly ogle women, tell sexist and rascist jokes. No more need to be warm and fuzzy and culturally sensitive. He can go back to being British, I can go back to being a grumpy old prick.

The trainee that I've lusted over so desperately these last four weeks is there in the crowd of them, and she doesn't need a ride into the city with us after all. This is it, I'll never see her again, and I won't be able to pull her drunk and horny up into my hotel room to explore her body, steal some of her youth and happiness to energize my tired dying soul. This is a drag, and I am resigned and disappointed as I stand there with my luggage on my back, waiting impatiently as the trainees emote and cry and tell us how we've changed their lives and they'll remember us forever.

So now it's her turn, and she says "It looks like the last thing you need is another goodbye."

So I won't get any contact from her at all. Not on, young lady, all I want in the world at this moment is more of you, your time, your attention.

So I stick my cheek out and point to it, and she comes up and plants a nice big smack on it. And for half a second I get a last deep look into her eyes, she flashes me her brilliant smile, a tiny little portion of her life energy is sucked into my soul, devoured voraciously. Not enough to feed it, just enough to make me realize how hungry it is. Consolation prize. And we all part company and she is gone.

The correct action in this situation, had I only had the presence of mind, came to me just minutes later in the taxi. And the correct action was: to quickly rotate my head, at just the last moment, so that her lips would have met mine.

First Episode: December 2 2005 13:40

The debriefing was very positive, lots of strokes, the participants love the training they've got from my co-trainer and I. The assessor is American, trained in these sorts of feedback sessions, so his concerns and doubts and action plans for our future development are sandwiched into the middle of the good things.

Earlier in the day we had discussed the state of English as a Second Language teaching in the US and in Europe. "That's one thing I've got to say for the British," he tells my colleague, "Europe is 10 or 15 years ahead in teaching methodology."

And he's absolutely right.

And the two of us, my co-trainer and I, have both come from a British / European teaching and training background. And we both think teaching grammar to ESL students sucks.

So here comes his question. "I was wondering about the grammar teaching during this course. There didn't seem to be much of it from the participants towards the end. Could you say something about that?" Very open-ended, he's ready to enter into discussion, find out what we think, ready to build a dialogue. This is part of the schtick, there are no right answers, everything is potentially up for debate.

But the subtext of his statement is clear: "I have my trainee teachers teach grammar to their students, and what you're doing strikes me as wrong."

I didn't want to say "Because teaching grammar sucks," because that would have come off as snarky and unprofessional. I brooded and smoked my cigarrette instead, avoiding eye contact.

So my colleague jumped in with a hand waving song and dance, he's very good at running interference, telling people what they want to hear, and he went on about functional language and use activities and blah blah blah, without saying in so many words that teaching grammar sucks.

The conversation went on, the assessor shared his ideas about the importance of trainee teachers teaching grammar, and then back to the good things. Let's all feel positive as we wrap up the discussion.

The correct answer to his question, had I only had the presence of mind, came to me hours later over a beer. And the correct answer was: "We're from Europe. In the future, ESL teachers don't teach grammar."

Vague and Sloppy

2005-10-30T15:14:00.000+06:00

I saw this article somewhere on the Internet. I didn't find it myself, actually, someone on a discussion site gave the link, probably. It was about technology and the future, and had some sort of political or philosophical implications.

The article seemed so clear and made perfect sense, I was nodding my head in agreement with everything that was written there. "Wow, I'll have to be sure to comment about this on my weblog," I said to myself.

It was kind of long, though, so I saved a copy to my machine with the intention of finishing it later, but it had some obscure filename that I've forgotten.

But anyway, back at the discussion site a lot of intelligent people refuted most of what the article said, so now I'm not so sure whether my original opinion was right anyways.

21 in November

2005-10-05T12:43:00.000+06:00

She is "21 in November" as she keeps insisting. Uzbek, from Osh in the south of the country. She looks Kyrgyz, to me - asian eyes, thin, small tight body, round face. Kind and sweet young woman, happy to chat while we have beers and smoke. Wearing tight black jeans and a neon orange sleeveless sports top, with matching hoody. Very cute. Big, firm, proud tits - not particularly common in these parts.

Picked her up under the overpass near Mos-Soviet, downtown, took her home.

The cab driver turned out to be a bit of a prick on the way back - talking dirty to her in Kyrgyz, making her a bit uncomfortable... then to me, in Russian, suggesting he'd have her after I was done. Real gentleman. Eventually politley asked him to shut up, and he did.

Translation by your humble correspondent, from the original Russian.

MB: Ok, so... you got here [to Bishkek] in May... This was your first concept... this kind of work, you from the start planned to work like this? Or what?
GULYA: I came to Bishkek, in May, and now I work like this.
MB: Yeah, but when did you start, how did you decide to get into this business, what happenned?
GULYA: When I first came here I wanted to study, but I didn't get in [to university].
MB: What did you want to study? Economics? Business?
GULYA: Yeah, but I didn't pass the entrance exams. Later, I thought about working, needing to find some money and work.
MB: So, how long have you been a prostitute?
GULYA: Not long, just a month.
MB: Ah, OK, so what about before then?
GULYA: When I first came, I was in a cafe. They paid me enough to live on, but then there was a problem. I needed money.
MB: What kind of problem?
GULYA: At home, there wasn't enough money.
MB: Your parents needed money?
GULYA: Yes, and one of my friends suggested to me...
MB: What kind of problem at home? What did they need money for?
GULYA: My mom got really sick.
MB: Cancer?
GULYA: A problem with her heart. Blood pressure too high.
MB: And what, did they write a letter telling you they needed money, or what?
GULYA: They phoned. And said, if there's some way you could send some money, we really need it. Mom was in the hospital. So I sent some, just a little, but then next month they asked again. And I didn't have any to give. Then, a friend told me... about this kind of work, I was surprised because I had no idea she worked like this...
MB: Really?
GULYA: Yeah, she said she worked in a cafe.
MB: It seems like lots of girls from Issyk Kul and Naryn come to Bishkek and end up working like this.
GULYA: I was always asking her, 'why don't I come meet you at your cafe?', and she never did invite me, kept putting it off. (laughter) But then, when my problem came up, she told me honestly about her work, and that I could get work like this.
MB: So, is the pay really so excellent, better than in a cafe? What can you make in a night?
GULYA: I get half, and she [the 'mama'] gets half.
MB: So, I paid 1000som, you get 500 [~US$12]?
GULYA: Yeah. And she takes the money, holds it for me, and then [misunderstood]
MB: I am not sure I understand exactly.
GULYA: I first sent the money, my 'mama' gave me a large sum to send to my family.
MB: Ahh, you have a loan, a debt with the 'mama'?
GULYA: Yes, and now I am working off the debt.
MB: How much is your debt?
GULYA: Just a little now, I am working it off. I borrowed a lot, but once I am paid off I can stop. Go back to working in a cafe.
MB: Interesting. And could you tell me, more or less, how many different customers have you had as a prostitute?
GULYA: What, in a day?
MB: No, overall.
GULYA: I don't know.
MB: 20? 100? More or less.
GULYA: I don't know.
MB: More than a hundred?
GULYA: Oh, likely, sure.
MB: Is it good work? Do you like it?
GULYA: No.
MB: What's the worst thing about this work?
GULYA: There are different clients.
MB: What kinds? Tell me.
GULYA: Well, some that want to take you back home, say that it's just them alone, and when you get there there is a friend.
MB: Ah, and then they all want you...
GULYA: And sometimes the ride is really far...
MB: But the ride doesn't matter so much, if the client is OK.
GULYA: Yeah, but if not then you are way out somewhere, not safe...
MB: What was the worst moment you've had in this job.
GULYA: All kinds of stuff. Swearing angry men, getting beaten.
MB: Beaten?
GULYA: Sure. And like I was saying, those situations where there is more than one guy... I say 'You only said one, only paid for yourself, and they say 'You whore, you got your money, what difference does it make to you?'
MB: Of course it's a difference! More work, you aren't getting fair money.
GULYA: There was once a situation, in...in June. At our hotel...
MB: You've got a hotel for short time customers, yeah?
GULYA: You can pay for an hour, two... or also some stay all night. They hired three women, four guys, to the hotel, to the morning. One guy said, I'll just sit and later go home.
MB: Mm hmm.
GULYA: But then later he got very drunk, turned the music up really loud, this was about 4am. I told him people were sleeping and we'd be in trouble, and he just kept swearing at me, calling me a dirty whore.
MB: Nice.
GULYA: And I kept trying to explain, normal people are sleeping here, you'll get us in a lot of trouble. And he took his beer bottle and smashed me in the head, here [shows light scar at temple].
MB: Holy shit! He smashed you in the head with a beer bottle?!
GULYA: Yeah. I passed out, fell on the floor. I didn't remember anything, woke up in the hospital after getting stitches. Had to ask my friend, 'what happenned?'
MB: Wow. How many stitches?
GULYA: It was a really big ugly scar. Afterwards I got plastic surgery on it, they sewed it back up really carefully so now it isn't so noticeable...
MB: Oi. Must have hurt, eh?
GULYA: Yeah, I had two black eyes, bruises all over my face. Concussion. 25 days i was lying in the hospital.
MB: Christ.
GULYA: When I stood up I couldn't balance, had to lie back in the bed.
MB: Bad concussion.
GULYA: But they [the clients] paid for the hospital, if they hadn't I would have been in trouble, I didn't have enough money for the hospital stay, and the plastic surgery. And he said 'Sorry, I was drunk, excuse me.'
MB: So, what would you like to do, what plans do you have?
GULYA: I'd like to go back to school, a person needs an education in life.

Imaginary Pornographic Film number one

2005-09-06T05:19:00.000+06:00

Political Animal in Heat

30' mpeg, homemade on video
Starring: Thomas Topham, Michelle Malkin, two other guys.

Synopsis: Michelle Malkin is sucked into an alternate universe, dazed and confused as she tries to come to terms with Liberal Democracy. Tom first convinces her to dress up in a tight little peasant girl / schoolgirl getup, with pigtails. She has on very little makeup, and no bra - throughout the shoot her flat chest and hard nipples are on full display whether in or out of her clingy white t-shirt. She comes to understand the value of non-exploitative pornography as she first gives Tom head, then enthusiastically moves on to lessons in deep throating the monster cocks of the other two guys. She turns out to be a very proficient, tolerant, and good-humored cocksucker. Facial cumshots, in quick procession from all three men and the cameraman, ends the scene.

Keywords: asian teen schoolgirl politics Michelle Malkin gag deepthroat bukakke

Dirty Little Open Secret

2005-09-02T13:55:00.000+06:00

Many Israelis come back to Europe as tourists, to see the old homeland of their parents and grandparents. One group had been touring Kraków and Małopolska, and a pilgrimage to Auschwitz was a painful but necessary part of the trip. On the way from Kraków to Oświęcim their rented mini bus broke down. Stranded and with the van irreparable, the driver walked out to a farmer he saw in the field by the highway. “Farmer, sir, you’ve got to help me – I’ve got a busload of Jews I’m taking to Auschwitz, and my bus has broken down.”
“I’m sorry,” says the farmer, “I’ve only got a tiny little oven.”

(a joke told in the Krakow area)

“What do you mean, Unia Wolności is full of Jews? There are almost no Jews in Poland anymore. Hitler killed them all, those he didn't kill left.”
“Mazowiecki is a Jew.”
“With a name like that? Surely, he’s Polish?”
“He’s a secret Jew (tajny zhid).”

(conversation with a bar owner, Krakow, 1998)

Anti-semitism is still alive and well in Poland. In most of the Western world, we’ve managed to marginalise this sort of hateful thinking. In Canada, you'd get dirty looks and find yourself a social leper if you spoke like this. This isn’t to say that anti-semitism doesn’t exist in North America, or Western Europe, but if nothing else at least it is not an accepted part of public life. The Poles have been anti-Jewish throughout their modern history, and unfortunately it is a tradition that is still as strong as it has ever been.

Why is it that the Germans, who were the initiators and main perpetrators of the Holocaust, are now so much more tolerant and sensitive people? Why is it that in Poland there is still such vicious anti-semitism, even now that there are so very few Jews living there?

The Jews were not the only victims of Hitler’s racialist ideology. The slavic peoples were also Untermenschen, who were deemed worthy of only a marginal existence as slave labour to the Aryan race. After the conquest of Poland in 1939, the great bulk of the Polish intelligentsia – politicians, academics, and the officer corps – were arrested and interned. The first wave of inmates in Auschwitz, Treblinka, Sobidor and the other main German concentration camps were Poles. Over the course of the war, six million Polish civilians lost their lives in the camps, in forced labour, or by summary execution - about 50% of them non-Jews. Poles were not allowed to be educated – schooling within the General Government was limited to German schools for the Volksdeutsche (the local German population) and German colonists and occupiers.

Victims needn't feel shame. Victimhood is a part of the national consciousness here. The first few lines of their national anthem:

Poland is still not lost,
As long as we still live.
What the foreigner has taken with violence,
We will take back with the sword.

After the war, when Jewish refugees tried to return to the town of Kielce, they were killed by the local Polish inhabitants. The Nazis were bad, but at least they got rid of those dirty Jews.

3:45 AM

2005-08-31T14:23:00.000+06:00

Woman: Well I don't know about pictures.

Man: Sweetheart, you're shaving your fucking head ANYWAYS, what's to be ashamed of?

Woman: Yeah, but I'm not a punk.

Man: It's not about being a punk; it's about the process of having your head shaved.

Woman: Yeah but you're not just shaving it, you're doing a series of intermediate hairstyles that I wouldn't be caught dead wearing, and I don't really want some sort of record of this.

Man: Look, the fact that you are letting me shave your head already indicates two things. One, you trust me. Two, you believe me when I say that your sex is inherent, in your soul, that I'll fuck you and want to fuck you regardless of your hairstyle. Three, you have a sexy skull; your hair is an additional bonus item, not a necessity...

Woman: Listen, darling, you have to understand me. I love this night, and drinking with you, I don't question the drugs at all, and I don't think that shaving my head is wrong. I'm excited about tomorrow, about the two of us being bald and naked together. Very Freudian, very THX1138, it's actually getting me wet right now. But please, darling, let's take the shots on full bald, and no need for the faux Mohawk that I was never seen in public in?

Man: You remember the scene, when THX's flat mate is asking him if he's taking his drugs? There`s a short time when the two of them are experiencing real love and affection and sex, without sedation, before the other guy reports him....

Woman: There is something about the baldness that really TURNS.ME.ON.

Man: Well why do you think I wanted to shave you? It's so hot... Let's rub skulls, umhh...

Woman: I've worn my hair long like that for... oh, I can't remember, since I was a schoolgirl...

Man: And this serves as a symbol in so many ways, and your consent in submitting to being shaved makes me love you that much more strongly. Your baldness strips you of your femininity, and confirms my infatuation. It brings contrast to your breasts, your hips, the disjuncture excites me... No, please, don't fight; just let me rub it on your thigh...

Woman: But you'll give me your injection regardless, you naughty boy. What ever made me consent to this madness? I have to teach tomorrow!

Man: Tell them that you've found true love. Or tell them it's the new you.

Woman: How long are these mushrooms supposed to last?

Man: For the rest of your life, meine Liebling. It will never be the same again.

This one is also old and brittle, it comes from hulver, where I parked texts for a little while. Texts shuffling around, now here now there, someday there will have to be new ones, I'll have to stop playing archivist and start playing writer...

Tashkent International Airport

2005-08-30T22:32:00.000+06:00

summer 2001

In 1966 large parts of Tashkent were leveled in a massive earthquake. The flaking paintwork and chipped floor tiles of Tashkent International airport look about 30 years old, and the style is bland, monolithic Soviet 70's, which suggests the structure is post-quake. But as you ride the creaking 30 year old bus / cattle car across the tarmac to be confronted by the rusting, crumbling bare metal frame of this boxy soulless building you can easily imagine that the earthquake was last week. This place is only one example of this most pathetic Soviet legacy to newly independent Uzbekistan - huge, half finished and never ending construction projects, buildings that are so ugly no-one seems to really wants them to be completed. In most of the world there is a clear distinction between construction and demolition, but in Central Asia they have learned to sit on the fence. Finishing them won't make them any better, and then there would be all those extra costs to furnish and heat them. Welcome to Tashkent, and mind your head.

Throughout Central Asia, procedures at airports seem haphazard, ad-hoc, made up as the officials go along. It's as if they never put someone through customs before, never got people off a bus and onto a plane. Which of the 28 security officials will break away from the huddle in the corner to come over and ignore the x-ray machine? Will they ask for a customs declaration? Oops, can't, seem to be fresh out of those. Out on the tarmac, should the mob of redundant police smoke cigarettes to the left or right of the gangway? Ooh, what an innovative idea, let's check boarding passes! But that opens a whole host of other difficult choices and decisions; shall we rip them in half, giving the passenger a stub? Just collect them? What the hell, let's just let everybody on and see if there are enough seats for them. If not, the surly Russian stewardess can come and scream at the passengers until nobody gets off, and after all the only real problem is that the pilots have to squeeze extra close and personal past the standees as they board.

In Tashkent there's a fairly broad selection of cheap crap available to tourists. There are extremely low quality Chinese knock-offs of Disney stuffed animals, and suspiciously new looking Soviet-era badges and pins. The 8" bowie knives look like they are made in someone's basement on a rotary grinder, and I suppose they probably are. In lieu of jewels on the tin sheaths there are dabs of fluorescent ink from a highlighter. They would make a serious collector gag, but at about $1-$3 a pop they are one of the more popular souvenir items.

So we are passing through customs with these, and after two bags with big monster knives go through the x-ray without a hitch, we collect our luggage and wait for the third of us to pass through. Ooh, how exciting, he has seen a knife! "Have you got a knife in there?" he cunningly questions the third teacher. She is a sweet, harmless little 22 year old, wide-eyed and first time out of Kyrgyzstan. When he asks her she immediately says, yes, yes, it's just a souvenir. The customs guy takes it, sits there thinking to himself and holding it in his hands, as if no tourist has ever left Tashkent with one of these cheesy knives until today, indeed as if he himself has never seen a knife before. Perhaps he is pondering whether or not it counts as a weapon.

"Are there knives in there, too?" he asks, pointing to the two little carry on bags that we are holding, that he has just cleared through security. He must have been too busy sitting in glum indolence to watch the screen when our bags passed through.

Occasionally the security guards are in a more playful mood, at least in Bishkek: on the way here, when I looked at my bag in the x-ray screen, over his shoulder, the guard at the security check pointed to the dark spot in the center of my briefcase, and with a big smile told me it was a bomb. No, it's just the buckle, I said, and how we both laughed at his witticism.

Back in Tashkent, the other young teacher / potential terror threat takes her knife out and hands it to security. I figure he'll be happy discovering two, and I might need mine if the stewardess starts picking on me, so I stay mum.

"Let's just leave them," says the first teacher. After all, we are all a bit antsy because we haven't yet realized that the huge clock in the main hall is broken, and that we have an hour rather than 14 minutes before departure. What a perfect scam, I think to myself. The customs guys can collect these knives by the tonne and then sell them back to the tourist hawkers. Maybe there are really only a hundred of these knives in Tashkent, traveling in a closed loop from Tashkent International to the stalls on Broadway, into the hands of the tourists who complete the circle, instinctively delivering them like carrier pigeons back to their owners in airport security. Eventually they will count as antiques, so the staff will be able to take them from those tourists who have had the foresight to stow their treasures in their checked-in luggage, too.

But it's not to be. After much deliberation in consultation with his colleagues, he decides we need to put the knives into checked-in luggage. He's getting soft.

This was also an old dead text written a long time ago. Someday soon i will run out of old texts, and what will I do then?

"The Best" LSD

2005-08-29T12:51:00.000+06:00

This might have happened in the year 2000.

The main shopping streets to your right as you come out of Centraal Station are one of the areas the lowest-rung pushers and rip-off artists hang out in, especially in the evenings when the shops are all closed and shutterred. There is one particular guy, a short and stocky Guyanese, who has been around for the last couple of years and seems to be one of the big men among the two-bit scammers.

I guess it goes without saying, every guidebook says it, and now I'll say it: DO NOT try to buy drugs out on the streets in Amsterdam. I wanted to buy a batch of LSD, which as far as I know is not available in any stores, so like a bloody idiot I found myself stumbling tired and vulnerable at four in the morning, looking to buy 10 hits of acid from the street toughs.

As soon as one of them sees a taker, a chump, they all start converging. They speak English, Dutch, and Guyanese, and will switch to whichever you don't understand. Before I know it I have about 6 Guyanese street folk pressing me from all sides, with this mean looking ringleader doing a sweet, well-rehearsed hustle on me every step of the way.

RIPOFF I There aren't 10 hits, there are 8.

RIPOFF II "It's the best, man, it's the best," I am continually assured throughout the transaction. He also offerred me "the best" cocaine, "the best" MDA, and "the best" Extasy. It was, it later turned out, the weakest, shittiest acid I have ever had in my life. In fact, it seemed to have about the same effect as eating a small bit of non-LSD-coated paper.

RIPOFF III This is the real honest-to-God "I fucked you" part of the ripoff. As I have my wallet out, and count out 80 Guilder for him, he makes a nice quick grab and helps himself to one hundred more.

Like a pack of wild dogs they run off after their alpha male. In the blink of an eye they are gone, all screaming at one another, tearing at the big man for one of my bills. I suppose he gave the 10's out to eight of his lieutenants, and kept the 100 to himself.

And I'm standing there like the most moronic chump ever to walk the earth...

Citizens of the Internet! Hear me today, and learn from my extreme idiocy! Let me repeat: DO NOT try to buy drugs on the streets of Amsterdam.

This stale text was produced long ago, originally posted on k5.

Communist Pillow Talk

2005-08-27T16:12:00.000+06:00

Joining the communist vanguard is a win-win situation: if the revolution comes, you can be among the ones selecting rather than the ones selected, and if it turns out that communist theory is just a big pile of crap, well you haven't lost anything.

Therefore, I hereby officially declare myself to be a member of the communist vanguard!

CUT TO: interior bedroom, night. Communist member BRAD is lying in bed with his communist girlfriend, BETTY. They are in a post-coital cuddle / chat.

BETTY: Tell me again about after the communist revolution, sweetheart?
BRAD: What, about the workers and the new system of distribution and production?
BETTY: No, the part about our house.
BRAD: Well, as we'll be at the very front of the communist vanguard in the glorious revolution, I'll be pretty much calling the shots...
BETTY: With Blake and Tim, right?
BRAD: I told you, Betty, just because they're part of the local committee doesn't mean they'll have an important role at the national and international level. I'll probably keep them here in their district posts.
BETTY: You were going to tell me about the house.
BRAD: Yeah, and you interrupted! (BRAD kisses BETTY's forehead and strokes her hair) So, when I'm Chairman of the Central committee, we'll get to ride in limousines to all sorts of important places, and we'll live in a big palace with maids and assistants to take care of all the chores of everyday life.
BETTY: (staring lovingly into BRAD's eyes) Will we have a big screen TV?
BRAD: (laughs) Babe, you'll have the biggest god-damn wide screen TV on the planet!
(BETTY kisses BRAD passionately, on the lips. Fade out.)

Still just repeating old shit from k5, my apologies. Stale texts here! Come get your stale texts, bargain basement prices, stale texts right here folks!

Hippy Pillow Talk

2005-08-26T19:14:00.000+06:00

CUT TO: Exterior, large park, night. Hippy BRAD is quietly tapping on his bongos, wrapped in a large poncho with hippy girlfriend BETTY. BETTY is topless, and rolling a joint. OFF SCREEN LAUGHTER and PSYCHEDELLIC MUSIC suggest that they are at a love-in.

BETTY: Tell me again about after the revolution, sweetie?
BRAD: What, you mean after everyone tunes in and drops out, how there will be no more war and hate, only peace and brotherly love?
BETTY: No, the part about the drugs.
BRAD: Oh, well, like I was saying before, we'll be able to get high all the time because dope will be free.
BETTY: (confused) So, like, Raoul is just going to give it away?
BRAD: No, silly! (BRAD ruffles BETTY's hair, and kisses her cheek) We won't need dealers anymore, cause there won't be any laws or money, and we'll all just hang out here in the park all day.
BETTY: (still confused) But someone will still have to grow it, right? Won't they need money to feed their families, and buy clothes, and all that stuff? And don't we already hang out here all day in the park anyways?
BRAD: (hesitates) I never thought of it that way, hmm... Yeah, but I guess food and clothes will be free too, so they all won't need money either, too.
BETTY: But then like won't they all just want to hang out here in the park, like us? Why would they want to grow dope, or make clothes, or cook food, when there's nothing in it for them? (BETTY hands joint to BRAD)
BRAD: (lights joint, tokes repeatedly) Have a hit, baby. Peace and love. (BRAD grins and hands joint to BETTY)
BETTY: This is killer stuff, hey sweetie? (tokes) You gotta ask Raoul if he's got anymore of this Thai shit next time he's around here...

BETTY AND BRAD stare into space, each lost in confused, shallow thoughts. fade out.

My apologies, this is a repeat from a previous source, but I want to archive all my old texts here. Saves me writing anything new for a couple of weeks, while I get settled in... Originally from k5, a couple years back...