Oops...I didn't realize that announcing my illness then not posting for two months might look a bit, um, morbidly cryptic.

Anyway, I recovered from the condition mentioned below pretty promptly. But, the truth is, I don't think I like blogging very much. I find that it's an inadequate and alarmingly public way to communicate a very interesting and at times overwhelming experience. Also, it's amazing how putting a few weeks between me and a post can make me cringe at every word I'd written.

If you're interested in hearing about my time in Morocco, I'm hoping you can find a way to send me an email...

If you're sticking that chin up and moving on, thanks for looking at my blog, and to everyone who's expressed their enthusiasm and support through it. AnnieinMorocco, signing off.

Recent updates: I've been incapacitated for the last two days due to a disease which I've finally figured out is boring old strep throat, but which I thought was cleverly masked by the fever and the chills. Now I'm slowly but surely building up an immunity to antibiotics. Awesome!

Feeling sorry for me? Then check out this link. My good friend Mona, who is a youth development volunteer out in the desert, just got a project proposal approved. She's trying to help the women and youths who attend her community center to fund the purchase of computers and dictionaries, both of which have obvious awesome usages. Mona and her community need your help to finance the project, so if you're feeling it, go to that website and chip in--every little bit helps!

Me: The grad student said I looked like a seasoned volunteer! She said she could tell I've been here for a long time.

Whitney: That just means you're dirty.

Student: So on the outing, there are going to be six boys and six girls, including you, Annie, so we can fill two grand taxis.

Me: That sounds great. Soo, Fatima and Hawla are going to want to go of course, and Amina and Iman.

Student: Ah, well, no, not the girls who play les boules. They have their own club now, a different club.

Me: No, they come to the library every day.

Student: No, no, they're a different group. The girls who are coming are the other Amina, Jamila, Saida, and we need two more.

Me: I don't agree with this! You're excluding* people. You chose a certain group that you don't want to come, and that's hashuma**.

Student: Yes, you're right. Okay, they can come. 12 girls, 6 boys.

Me: You boys aren't organizing this just because you want to go off with your girlfriends, right?

Student: No, I want nothing to do with girlfriends!

*this student speaks very good English, luckily for me

**"shameful"

Shopkeep: How are you doing with the heat?

Me: Hoo. It is HOT, isn't it.

Shopkeep: It is hot. And the sun!

Me: The sun is wild.

Me: How are you doing with the heat?

Woman: It is hot!

Me: It's REALLY hot***.

Woman: And the sun.

Me: The sun is wild.

***it's not actually that hot yet, to my dismay..

Fish man outside my house right now: Fish! Fish! Fish! Fish! Fish! Fish! Fish! Fish!

Delicious Peace Corps Fruit Salad Breakfast:

Mix:

--A bowl's worth of any fruit, chopped up (suggestions: melon, banana, orange, apricot, peach)

--A sprinkling of chopped almonds

--A sprinkling of All-Bran

--A dollop of non-sugar non-fat yogurt

...I'm off to make seconds now, mmm. But you should get organic fruit or something, I don't remember liking fruit this much in America.

It's getting unbearably hot in the middle of the day. When I got a burst of energy at the cool hour of 9:00pm last night, I realized that the siesta schedule makes sense and must be adhered to if one isn't going to be miserable.

I assure you I'm not being culturally insensitive when I say, regarding a major difference between Moroccan and American culture, at least in my town, it is more accepted here to say you'll do something and not do it, especially regarding things such as meeting in a place at a certain time. As a particularly gullible American who has no choice but to take people's word at face value, you can imagine this makes work hard. People do get angry with each other about it, but then they get over it really quickly, especially if given an adequate excuse. Unfortunately this has left me occasionally feeling like I have no obligation to keep any commitment because of the number of times people have tflla-ed alaya (I usually translate that as something kind of vulgar, but let's say it means "say something with no real backing behind it").

I'm talking about girls' sports. We're down to three. That'd be fine normally, but today I didn't have the key to the dar chebab and I would've had to wake up the mudir to get in. And I knew he'd be mad if I did it for three girls. So I made them go running. I think they were displeased. New mentality: oh well!

My doorbell makes the sound of birds. Despite my relatively newfound comfort in my adoptive country, I still have an irrational hesitation to go to the door when the doorbell rings. Let's just say my personal space is very important to me.

My landlord's brother showed up at the ungodly hour of 8:00am today, the last day of my precious weekend, wherein I intended to spend all day sleeping. First I heard the birds and awoke stiff in bed, a look of horror no doubt frozen on my face. I stayed put, clinging to my new favorite, "If it's important, they'll call/come back." But, my house has an outside door and an inside door, both of which I lock at night. The doorbell is next to the outside door. After the ringing and a two minute reprise, I heard knocking on the inside door. So, despite my horror, I knew it was the landlord's brother, who fixes things. But I was wearing shorts and a brassiere, yet another instant of the constant challenge of having to cover up one's shame in order to interact with the outside world (not just pertinent to Muslim countries you will note).

I took my time putting on my muumuu. Then went to the window. There he was next to his motorbike wearing his trademark beanie. He made the symbol for "sleeping?" I nodded, but told him to come in.

He puttered around and I casually swept ahead of him gathering things such as gin bottles and balls of cat fur. Then I made coffee. Now, in Moroccan culture, when someone shows up to your house, especially at a meal time, you're supposed to offer them food. I know I'm exempt from everything really, but it was nice of this man to come, even if it was at 8:00am. Also, if my dad were involved, the man would be tipped thousands of dollars just for existing. So I got to work on a fruit salad. I chopped delicious fresh melon, banana acquired from the weekly souk yesterday, a peach, and a couple of apricots. I poured yogurt all over it then sprinkled it with expensive All Bran. We split a French press worth of coffee, then I offered him the fruit salad. He looked repulsed and said he was happy with the coffee. And I was off the hook.

He's still in my house, so I can't do things such as yoga or going to the bathroom.

Updates From the Front:

--the dar chebab kids have come to me wanting to organize an outing. I think I weird them out by constantly saying, "That's GREAT! I love that idea and I'll do anything I can to help you!" Because I assume they're like, well why doesn't Annie do something? I tried to explain that, when I try to organize something, it's less likely to work for a multitude of reasons. But if they organize it, that's better. I think they just think I'm lazy. Anyway, they want to go to a lake, and that sounds great to me.

--aerobics-wise, one of the girls has started teaching the class in my place. Finally! I like to think I can call that sustainable development. However, she's very hardcore and I'm scared she'll scare all the less-fit ones away..

--It's getting HOT. At least not as hot as by Ouarzazate. I heard it was 100ish there yesterday. It is not that hot here, but the sun has become intolerable after 11:00am and until 3:30pm.

--A grad student came here the other day. She sent out an email to all PCVs in Morocco, trying to go places to get narratives from women, so I invited her. She's now off in a village with my tutor.

I just went out to the kitchen and found my landlord's brother mopping. He called me lazy. Guilty as charged.

Two exciting things happened today:

1) The party for the reading competition actually took place, and was successful. The girl who won--who clearly knew she was going to win, as she conveniently wore a sort of evening gown--gave me a passionate hug afterwards. There was music and singing, and more food than I'd like to acknowledge. This is perhaps the second or third occasion where I've had to speak to a group of people in Arabic (not in English class). It's getting easier but I was still surprisingly terrified.

2) I got positive feedback for my bacci ball skills from many members of the dar chebab community. I admit that I associate Moroccan culture more with criticism than with people telling me good job--I know it's a method of encouragement, but it's hard to get used to. So I strutted around beaming, basically, and now dream of going to France to defeat all the retired men one day, one at a time. The girls are also getting really good and there's talk of us forming a team. I hear, though, that regional bacci ball competitions are infamous for people getting totally drunk...so maybe that wouldn't be a good idea. Yeah, you think you don't talk about stuff like that in an Islamic country, but you do...at least in Morocco.

List #2: Four Random Lessons I've Learned in Peace Corps So Far:

1) There's no good dinner on a hot night like a healthy gin and tonic.

2) Trust no one.

3) An idealistic white westerner in his/her twenties might go somewhere in Africa to try and "make a difference"; but, ultimately, the status quo of white versus black, the apathy of the world, and the direness of the situation will leave that same go-getter in a state of utter despair, which will in turn function as a profound coming of age experience, possibly resulting in extreme suffering (or so I gather from Blood Diamond, The Last King of Scotland, and Shooting Dogs).

4) Chocolate chip cookies are the best baked good in the world, and people from other countries will admit it if you force them to eat them despite their evidently somewhat unimpressive appearance.

"The more one travels, the less one really knows." ~ The Beatles

A student and I have been playing a lot of chess lately. He has a clever little move that he got me with several times in a row. Finally, I did it back to him. I tried to translate the expression, "a taste of your own medicine." Instead, I believe I said, "Now you taste your medicine!"

There's a guy who comes to the dar chebab to play bacci ball who's really good. He's been teaching me and I've grown very attached to him, as the karate kid to Mr. Miagi. He has a hoarse voice and the look of an ex-con, and plays with the ball in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The arc in his toss has the grace of swan's neck.

7am aerobics is leaving me exhausted, and the girls seem dejected and lethargic every time they come.

In a nearby town's souk yesterday, I threatened to kill a man with a rock.

I didn't leave the house today (dar chebab closed on Mondays). But fear not: the community was with me. For you see, the neighborhood children have contests to see who can shout or scream the loudest every few hours. I'm not cleverly trying to say they're loud--I think that's actually a game they play.

What I did today (aside from endless buckets of laundry):

Peace Corps Recipe for Baba Ganoush:

1 large eggplant, roasted in the oven for half an hour and peeled

3 tablespoons tahini

3 tablespoons lemon juice

1.5 tablespoons olive oil

2 teaspoons sesame seeds

2 garlic cloves

salt and pepper to taste

....put everything in the blender. Chill. Eat. Feel slightly ill because you ate too much.

Bread I Invented That I Loved, But Who Knows If Others Would At This Point:

Some yeast, mixed into some water

Some sugar

A few handfuls of whole wheat flour

A little white flour

Some salt

Some olive oil

Some basil (I think, the one that's like oregano)

Some chopped garlic

....mix all and knead. Let rise 1 hour. Beat down and knead some more. Let rise one hour. Beat down and knead some more. Let rise, bake. Brag to Moroccan women that you made bread and are now worthy of being considered a real woman.

Falafel From Instant Mix From America:

--Empty pouch into bowl; mix powder with 1 cup water

--Heat oil in pan; fear the oil

--Fail to cook a single falafel glob evenly, and scald yourself with oil

--Curse; yell at the cat

--Luckily anything deep fat-fried is delicious even if it's cooked wrong

I went to souq (the weekly market) today. I almost didn't go, as it's about two kilometers out of town. But the weather was cloudy, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity. Also, I'm shopping for cheap clothes with funny English expressions on them, to wear to in order to share the hilarity other PCVs (I don't know where these clothes come from--maybe Spain--but they're awesome).

Souq is a bit crazy for us uptight westerners. The vegetable salesmen usually lay their wares out on mats on the ground. Then you go up to them and, elbowing past the throng of people, demand to know the price of the vegetable in question. For those of us who think in dirhams, you then have to divide the price by 20 to figure out the real price (I've gotten pretty good at this--it's kind of a thankless skill, to be able to divide any number by 20). Then you demand a "bagnole" from the salesman, you load it up with whatever you want (after groping every last item to check the quality), then you tell him how many kilos you're going for, and he'll add or reduce from what you've put in there.

While the craziness is intimidating, it also works to my favor--nobody notices me enough to cheat me, I think. I just have to elbow along with everyone else and act like I'm supposed to be there. Normally I go to the mini-market nearby my house. Convenient, indeed, but suspiciously more expensive.

The used clothing tables are a little scary in that the women who are also going through the clothes tend to stare at me. I imagine they're thinking, "Why isn't this French girl just going to a store in a city?" The tables have set prices, which is nice, and they range from one to twenty dirhams for an item. Today I scored a shirt that said, "Be the prom queen" and another that said, "Caampions" in sequined letters.

I saw a lot of people there. A student told me, "You've become hard-working!" which is what I hear every time someone sees me doing something that relates to housework. It was fun--sometimes I like it so much here, I walk around with a creepy smile on my face, and people think I'm all the crazier.

A most interesting phenomenon has occurred at the dar chebab. I probably failed to mention that some of The Men turned a large chunk of the garden in front of the dar chebab into a gravel terrain for the game petanque, a close relative of bacci (sp?) ball. Here, we call it "Les Boules". If you've ever been to France, you've seen that it is the required pastime for all men over 60.

So now the dar chebab is always crawling with men and boys who want to watch, play, and discuss les boules. It is played thusly: a tiny ball (the bouchon) is thrown. Then each person has two larger, metal balls to throw as close as possible to the bouchon. In a given round, one or two points are awarded, according to whose balls got closest to the bouchon. You can chuck your ball at your opponent's ball to get it away.

For the last few weeks, I've been skeptically eying the hordes of les boules enthusiasts. I didn't know that I approved, and sadly, I no longer function very comfortably around groups of men that I don't know.

Last week, two of my more outspoken girl students marched up to one of the guys who work with me, and demanded to play. The guy assured them that they would have their turn. It was delayed, and delayed, until finally, one day I showed up at the dar chebab, and there they were on the court, concentration written all over their faces, lobbing the metal boules with grace and passion.

So now ALL my girl students want to play.

And then, after a lot of pressure from all parties involved, I played for the first time yesterday. Uh oh--not only did I LOVE IT. I'm quite good at it, if I may so flatter myself.

So now, in the movie montage of life here, we have about half the town completely addicted to this game. The only demographic we're missing is the mamas. The plot should next involve the news of some problem, and we have to use our Les Boules skills as a community to overcome it/fund raise 10,000 dirhams to pay off the tax man who wants to take our land/the land of the local handicapped folks. Soon some other foreigner should walk through town and say, "Where is everybody?" as a tumbleweed rolls by. And someone will answer, "Why, they're playing Les Boules, of course!" And then one of the moms--who will have disapproved all along of course--will come down to yell at her husband, then accidentally give it a try, and become addicted too, and she'll turn out to be really good.

Okay, I'm exaggerating. But it is really cool seeing the girls get so into something. And while it may not be cardiovascular exercise, I think it's just as good as aerobics, or basketball, or whatever other thing I've been trying to trick them into doing since I got here. Tbark allah.

There are certain sentences one cannot utter without seeming to condemn oneself in some way:

"I don't have a drinking problem."

"I'm not irrational."

and the old classic, "I'm not a witch."

That is, the attempt to deny the problem comes across as an affirmation of the problem in and of itself.

Accusing other people of causing problems can work in a similar way. For example, saying, "X group of people is oppressing me," can often come across as, "I'm paranoid and bitter, have a chip on my shoulder, and probably need to lighten up."

I admit, the first time I heard Tupac say, "They get jealous when they see you with your mobile phone," I thought, "Really, Tupac? Isn't that maybe a bit paranoid? I can find no reason to have a problem with African Americans using cellular telephones."

Sorry, Tupac--I think I understand a little more now.

So, I neglected to mention in my last post why my days are getting long. I'm taking yet another stab at aerobics classes in the dar chebab--four days a week at 7am. Wednesday was the first day. A large chunk of Fadma's (my best friend) beauty school classmates came--seven girls in all.

As the dar chebab doesn't open until 10am normally, I had to procure the keys Tuesday night, which I did without problem. The problem? When I showed up Wednesday morning, the outside gate was locked from the inside. It wasn't really an obstacle--I just had to climb the wall, jump over, and go and remove the bar. This little thing probably is just a coincidence, even if I can't remember the gate ever being closed before. But consider the fact that twice in the last week, two different men who frequent the dar chebab told a group of my girls to "go cook something." And while endless boys file onto the court to play soccer every day, I'm being told that aerobics is not a sustainable enterprise because of "liability issues."

Conjecture is unproductive and I've learned not to indulge in it, but I've also allowed myself to stop doubting my instincts in other ways. Oppression is obvious and easy to condemn when it involves things such as killing, rape, the denial of clear-cut rights. But there is a subtler form, one that does not inspire outrage and the formation of new laws. In fact, it's almost impossible to communicate to other people, thus rendering those who try to complain impotent in that they come off as irrational. Take sexual harassment, for example. A man touches a female co-worker inappropriately. That's easy to label and condemn. What if he just lets his eyes linger on her too long sometimes, forcing her to endure an environment of intimidation and discomfort? How does she accuse him of that and not sound crazy?

Working with all men for the last year and a half has showed me the various roles that they wish to allow me to play among them, whether consciously or not. And, when describing how I feel in this environment, I find that I sound bitter and crazy, or as if my generalizations are mere exaggeration. I've tried being cold and prim; I've tried being warm; I've tried being a balanced, androgynous individual; I've tried being flirtatious; I've tried being detached and professional; I've tried being "masculine"; I've tried dressing down, and dressing up; I've tried being absent for awhile so I'd be missed. People here tend to think I'm pretty, and they like talking to me, and that's just fine (although, the most common elements of my beauty that are cited are my skin and eyes. Some girls here buy bleach for their skin). But when I want to accomplish something with the cooperation of males--more than getting someone to carry something heavy for me--it's all the same. Dismissive nods, pats on the head, and the assurance that whatever I want is impossible.

I'm astonished now at how many respectful American men I know. Rights and laws are easy to give. But it's the subtle changes in inner mentality that represent true advancement. They are also perhaps the most difficult changes to achieve, considering the level of understanding and communication a given group must reach in order to cultivate them.

The situation of "feminism" in the west today is really lamentable. What was once a semi-clear and unified movement has essentially become a dirty word. And as I grapple with what shaving my legs really represents, women everywhere are, forgive the cliche, kept down by others, and themselves. The only reason I have the opportunities I have today are because of women who fought against the subtler forms of oppression--the ones wherein their peers (men and women) labeled them as too weak, too shrill, or too bitchy. I think a lot of Americans take that for granted and don't really appreciate what must have gone into that effort, and the fact that it's still a problem. Isn't it sad, though, that even as I write this, I'm slightly concerned about people thinking I'm an obnoxious feminazi?

Regarding gender roles in Morocco, I'm not ready to throw cultural relativity entirely out the window. I was at my neighbor's house the other day, casually drinking tea while she and one of her older daughters beat her two youngest children. What do I do? Stand between them and rip my shirtsleeve? "No! These children are innocent! If you must strike someone, beat me instead!" That's not my role. As horrified as I was, I sympathize with the fact that this woman is essentially a servant in her own house, and she sincerely believes that her children benefit from each hearty thwack. So that is to say, about the gender roles, "I get it." Women and men haven't achieved equality here (or anywhere, probably). I think one must still view the world through eyes of compassion and empathy for all demographics. It turns out that that can actually be very difficult when the time comes to exercise it.

Basically, here is the difference between First Year Peace Corps Me and Second Year Peace Corps Me:

First Year

Me: Let's do sports!

Girl Student: I want to, but people in this town are narrow-minded and will talk about me.

Me: Uh oh. Hm, how can we accommodate that? Am I ruining these girls' chances of marriage? I better find a way to respect the balance of tradition and progress while still encouraging my students to be healthy.

Second Year (I had this conversation yesterday)

Me: Let's do sports!

Girl Student: I want to, but people in this town are narrow-minded and will talk about me.

Me: Don't give them importance.

Girl Student: Right on!!

My kind mother called me on my birthday yesterday--the big two-four, wherein one must ask oneself, "Can I continue to wear pigtails and still maintain my dignity?" (the answer is, "absa-wutewee!") I remarked that I had no time to blog anymore. She said, "Do you think KATE (my sister with the baby and the med school and the PhD) has time?"

So, I am recommencing my posts--not entirely in the name of sibling rivalry, of course--but, mostly.

When we last left off, our heroine (me) was grappling with some existential issues and soon going to be on her way to a week of English immersion "spring camp"for Moroccan youths. The existential issues (such as, what am I DOing here, really) never go away, but the amount of grappling has subsided these days. Camp was a rollicking good time. Someone somewhere has pictures, and my reliance on that always keeps me from taking pictures, meaning I never get any pictures of anything. I was at camp and then taking advantage of two vacation days until April 9th, when I returned to my town. Then this weekend I've been puttering around the mountains making social calls to other PCVs and collaborating on planning a training for locals interested in spreading AIDS awareness ("What happened to all those other things you were working on, Annie?" you ask. "Quiet, quiet, quiet!" I say).

Now, ancha allah, I might actually stay put for a couple of weeks. Results should include:

--me being less smelly

--my cat being less stressed (uh I went from two to one, don't ask, okay)

--my blog posts being more fruitful

--something actually happening work-wise in my site

--my Arabic no longer being the meaningless sputtering sound that seems to be coming out of my mouth lately

Things get so overwhelming from time to time, I don't even know how to go about summarizing them...

Environment Day: It was all right. Let's never speak of it again. I have some good pictures that maybe I'll post someday. I got in a fight with someone who works at the dar chebab. Then I freaked out and said, sweet God, what am I doing, I'm a guest here and I didn't come to make problems. And he's all, it's normal, it's normal, everyone fights all the time, even the organs in your stomach fight! And I'm all, sorry, I just go crazy when I spend a lot of time here, I feel alone sometimes. And he's all, I make efforts so that you don't feel alone! I'm with you! And I'm like, yes, but you must understand, I think people from two different cultures might just have different ways of thinking about a lot of things! And he's like, no, we're all the same! And I'm like, I think that sometimes too, I don't understand anything, really!

The Reading Competition: I don't even know, I've postponed the deadline by a month, a lot of the books just seem to be MIA?? I finally made a list of the books for the mudir and I think that bought me some affection..also some of the kids have agreed that they need to develop a relationship with the administration if anything I do with them is going to be sustainable.

My Mental Health: I went on a totally sweet vacation to the beach last week, and am leaving tomorrow to go work in an English immersion spring camp. I'm excited because some of my old pals will be there. Then I might go to the beach again.

The King: I think he's coming for a visit while I'll be gone--damn!!

A lot has been going on. Environment Day—God willing—is going to happen this Sunday. In the morning, in theory, two speakers will come, one from a national association of science teachers and one from the Ministry of Water and Forests. They’ll talk about the importance of the environment, and how to start and run environment clubs. People attending will be local principals and teachers and members of associations.

In the afternoon, a group of PCVs will come and they will cooperate with members of the dar chebab’s new environment club in order to put on stations with environmental activities for local youths, who will be split into groups by age. This is all with a big “ancha allah”…there are a lot of nay-sayers out there, man. The reading competition is still going strong…sort of. I got my first book summary yesterday, about The Old Man and the Sea in French. I was shocked that the girl in question could have read that book that quickly. Her summary was very impressive as well. I was excited at the prospect of someone having actually completed a book, but I quizzed her on it just in case. I asked her to tell me the meaning of one of the words in her summary, lutter, French for “to struggle”. And I asked her what the old man’s “one affection in his life” was, as she had described it. She couldn’t do either, so I didn’t give her the points. I found it incredibly awkward and horrifying, but she and her friend just laughed it off. Interesting cultural difference I guess. Anyway, the competition ends the 18th, and no one else has handed anything in…nonetheless, more people keep coming to sign up. I guess I’m going to push the deadline back. Some other kids had an idea for a drawing competition. Keen! I recently visited an association in a nearby town. This also involved some awkward moments. I was told to meet them at the third bridge on the river from my town. It turned out, they were at the fifth bridge. Not a big deal, except that I ended up walking for an hour and a half, and had only scheduled half an hour for the whole meeting, and couldn’t make it to the dar chebab that morning. So I decided on the way that I needed to be less of a doormat, and was more or less convinced that I’d been lied to. Upon arriving, I thus spoke very sternly with the man who had invited me, about how I would be perfectly happy to come a long way to work, I just want to be informed so that I can ride my bike and bring water. I also declared that I really want people to respect my time. I’m pretty sure I made it clear I thought I had been deceived. Whether I was or not, the man and his colleagues were then some of the nicest people ever, and I’m really looking forward to working with them. So of course I felt bad for my diatribe, and no one cared that I didn’t make it to the dar chebab, but still. Their development association fought and fought, and made significant strides for their village in terms of electricity and potable water (after the nearby commune had refused to help them because they’re Berber). This is the kind of association you want to work with. I also participated in the kick-off day of a women artisans’ festival with Fatima. I think I made some good connections (and hopefully she did too). I’m still doing aerobics with her women. I tried to be extra energetic today, and I don’t think they’ve ever had so much fun if I may so flatter myself. A lot of them struggle with weight problems and are eager to do even more workouts in a week. I’ve had the treat of having a guest since Sunday. Laura B of Ithaca fame. She came to the dar chebab and frolicked with the kids like a champ, and raved appropriately about the local culture. We also had a fun night in Marrakech, and ate the Marrakechi meat dish “tangia”, which was delicious. We had a bit of an altercation with one of the women who do Henna markings for girls on the main tourist square, regarding a disagreement over payment, but everyone came out okay--hopefully not too emotionally scarred. Anyway, it’s always great to have visitors (hint, hint, everyone). The word has gotten out that the dar chebab is actually fun in the evening. MOSTLY, kids come, and read, or draw (with the ten, sad pencils I bought), or play games, or help each other with homework, or chat. I think I’m averaging 15-20 kids a night and their enthusiasm for things is unbearably endearing. Sometimes, though, I have found myself becoming Old Lady Annie, and I relate more to the guys who work in the dar chebab. For example, at 7:55 (the dar chebab closes at 8:00), some days a group of five young men that I don’t know comes in just to check out the scene. So they’re not technically doing anything wrong . . . I just don’t like it when my classroom starts to feel like a cocktail party. I haven’t figured out the solution yet.

The meeting of the environment club was about as I expected: one tenth of the original attendants willingly came, and the others were my followers who just happened to be there at the wrong time.

But it's okay. The "fundamental law" of the club is written, and the kids seem ready and willing to do things. I'm hoping once they see how fun environment day is, they'll be more encouraged.

My digital camera gave the dar chebab computer a virus. Oops. Gotcha, guys!

Fatima came to the dar chebab just now and bamboozled me into participating in a women's exposition (that's probably not the right word for it but I'm not sure how to translate "maharajan") with her association. That would be great, normally, except that it's tomorrow at 6:30am!! Sleep is for the weak, Annie wept...

I kinda of freaked out at Mohamed, because I was bemoaning being a "bad volunteer", and he said that he thought I should indeed go to more people's houses. I said, If I wasn't a social butterfly in America, why should I be here?? Huh?? Etc. etc?? And he was like, whoaa, okay there, it's totally fine if you don't want to go to people's houses. So much for me being over the guilt. But I say, you know you're integrated if you feel perfectly comfortable spending half a day whining to people...okay no I still feel guilty. Damn it.

Seven Souls signed up in the kick-off day of the reading competition. I would have preferred more, but I'll take it. Explaining the rules was difficult, and I'm paranoid about letting the books leave the dar chebab, so every kid has to initial a mini-contract with me.

Aren't they so cute you just can't stand it??!

Near the end of yesterday evening, I tried to play Mafia with a group of them. It was a challenge. They uh were not as intense and competitive as the Americans I spent hours playing with during training way back in '06.

I've finally got a free morning to do housework, and maybe yoga. I need both desperately. Housework here--without a washing machine, dishwasher, and with five, large dust-gathering rooms--is more or less a full time job. As I give it about one day every two weeks, perhaps you can imagine the state of my house.

You may recall way back when, when I sort of stopped going to my host family's house because I thought they didn't like me anymore. I saw Host Dad yesterday and he was all, why don't you come by? I was all, I'm embarrassed now because we haven't seen each other for so long. He said, well, come...but make sure to bring Emme's phone number. Ouch...but I deserve it.

I've probably talked about this at length, though, but the whole Going to People's Houses thing is a huge topic of discussion for PCVs here. I would probably seethe with a combination of hostile jealousy and pity if someone told me they go to, say, five or six houses per week (but that's pretty unlikely for most people I know). So many people seem to revel in our company...but it's just that treatment and attention of being different that makes it sort of unpleasant to participate in. I absolutely love my work now. And I also do really like my friends and neighbors. But, I usually don't want to go to people's houses, no matter how desperately they want me to come. Getting over that guilt was a big step for me and has made PC easier.

Speaking of making PC easier: with this much time that one can spend alone in one's house, I've figured out there are a couple Coping Strategies that are a must, or one risks going completely insane. The main one is, don't become Obsessed. Obsessed with what, you might ask? ANYTHING. If you want to make it here, you risk to but simply cannot become obsessively preoccupied with any of the following: your work, a project, a person from your town, another PCV, all other PCVs, all people in your town, someone from home, your weight, the weather, the laundry, the cleanliness of your house, writing a book, teaching yourself a skill such as crocheting, the balance of your diet, your money, exercise, the injustices in the world, the injustices in Morocco, the injustices in America, Hurricane Katrina in particular, your family, your blog, taking pictures, adequately capturing your PC experience, PC administration, grant writing, your reflection in the mirror, fixing something that's broken that you really don't know how to fix, some interaction that happened six months ago, your childhood, your resume, your future, finding a job, your solitude, facebook.

About 30-40 young people attended the first environment club meeting on Saturday. It was tedious, but, after pulling a few teeth, the club was officially founded and engraved on the dar chebab roster. Those of us who were going to put on the meeting were a rag tag group: an American, another American who can only communicate in Tamazight, a middle-aged guy who left school in fifth grade, and a struggling university student. In fact, we were so rag tag that uh we actually were unable to manage the meeting on our own. The guys I work with totally came to the rescue and facilitated everything, and I've never felt so thankful to them. It was a momentous step in our relationship (knock on wood ancha allah), and the meeting itself was a testimonial to not give up--I had been pretty discouraged after the attempted meeting that didn't have a single attendant. Our next meeting is Friday at 6:30...we'll see if anyone shows up to that one.

The reading competition starts tomorrow. I'm about 75% prepared, which is unfortunate because I'm spending tomorrow morning in Nearby Large City in order to check out a couple associations. It'll work out, ancha allah. A hanger-outer (I've got to stop saying "student," because I really don't teach much anymore) stayed 40 minutes after the dar chebab officially closed in order to help me enter the names of Arabic books in the library into my Excel spreadsheet.

Working with teens and kids is like a terrible and addictive drug. I'm not saying that to make myself sound good or revel in their divine innocence. It really weirds me out to find how much I'm liking it. They're just so eager for intellectual, cultural, and social stimulation, and so ready to think I'm awesome, that I get a very quick return on all investments with them, and it's incredibly rewarding and, as I said, addictive. This is unfortunate because then one is inclined to spend all one's paycheck on stupid art supplies or something.

I'm anxious about the evening of activities for International Women's Day on the 8th. I got someone to agree to be the MC at least. I don't know why I'm so apprehensive about having things I plan crash and burn.

The weekend of traffic safety activities (which I had nothing to do with in terms of planning) went really well I think. I did hand out some flyers while saying, "Speed kills."

Ashley has been here since Thursday, and we've been working our little heinies off. We're trying the meeting for the environment club again tonight, and I'm feeling pretty optimistic about it. I know at least 5-10 kids who are definitely coming, and they helped us hand out 150 flyers this morning to other kids during the daily noon exodus from the high school. There's a very happy atmosphere in town today because the weather is officially getting spring-y. I realized while handing out flyers that I now know a lot more kids than I used to. Also, I'm starting to see more energy and willingness to do things than I used to perceive, and it makes projects a lot more feasible. Next Saturday is International Women's Day, and I already had a group of kids eagerly agree to prepare presentations and facilitate activities for an evening in the dar chebab. Also, the dar chebab's resident theater lover is pressuring me to do a project with him and some other kids wherein they would arrange an AIDS play--in English and Arabic, and I'm also going to suggest Tamazight ("Berber") with the help of a resource from Peace Corps--and then go around to towns in the region to do it. I suggested doing one in the local market and I think he found the idea horrifying, but we'll see if I can get money for transportation.

We're also working on organizing Environment Day for the 16th. It's going to be pretty awesome, ancha allah, although Ashley has told me I should probably not pursue a career in events planning, because it's stressing me out so much. Description of events pending.

I went to a meeting of a local association last night and somehow managed to get on a Communications Committee for the organization of The Second Annual Town Youth Festival. This'll be a great way for me to meet more active youths. Other than that, I might just be a chair-filler. Ahmed says he thinks I have good ideas though. There was some Canadian there who I thought could become my friend. He snubbed me, as I waited for him to come over and talk to me after the meeting. But I didn't go talk to him either. Well then! I guess there's no reason our western-ness should bond us anyway.

Today, people are putting on road safety awareness activities for kids in the dar chebab. Morocco, I believe, has the highest rate of traffic accidents of all the countries in Africa. They made the cutest little stop signs...I'll take pictures this afternoon.

Ahmed has distributed notifications to school principals about the reading competition. I had a girl approach me this morning wanting to participate. Awesome! I thought no one would want to.

Talking about US politics with Mohamed is so much fun. We're not supposed to, but I think Peace Corps just warns us about that in the beginning because often bumbling newbies with underdeveloped language blurt out regrettable things (I, of course, I am perfect, so that's not a concern). He said he heard Obama was a Muslim, which is funny because in America that's probably a rumor being used to deter people from liking him, but here it would make him very popular.

Sorry to just jump from thing to thing, but as I've said, my life is weird. I'm learning that, as a teacher figure, it's really hard not to play favorites. That student, Amina, who is the main one helping me with the women's day stuff, is just great and I want to fawn on her and give her a thousand projects. She's a senior, clearly very pious (she only wears a black veil), and is also starting be active in several youth and development organizations. I hate that it's such a cliche to say this, but it's amazing seeing Islam and modernity in one such positive young person like that.

As far as drug addictions in Morocco, I think the two main ones are to hashish and paint sniffing. I don't think my town is quite big enough to have a problem with paint sniffers. In bigger cities, a lot of kids who live on the streets get completely messed up by it. Here, we mostly have guys between 20 and 35 who hang out in the alley all day smoking hashish. You can smell it as you walk by.

...that's my way of telling you I'm sick. I think everyone in town is, really, which is unfortunate because it makes people less sympathetic when I whine.

A year of doing nothing makes it pretty hard to keep up with a full schedule. This kid, Ahmed--a university student--is so gung ho about the reading competition idea that he keeps popping up and asking me if I've done things to prepare for it, then looking scornful when I haven't gotten to something yet. But, that is perfect, and I tried to tell him he's the president of the project, and I'm the vice-president, but he wouldn't have it. We're meeting tomorrow to count books and assign each one a value.

I am getting more and more anxious about the approaching Environment Day festivities (which is happening right in the middle of Reading Competition Two Weeks, good one, Annie), of which I am in charge and for which I am entirely unprepared. As for the club, Karim* apparently recruited a bunch of kids who are addicted to drugs and usually spend all day in the alley...I of course want to reach out to all demographics, but I'm apprehensive about how the dar chebab administration might react.

I also am working on preparing two days' worth of creative writing club material for the camp at the end of March. I attempted it in summer camp and it totally bombed...but now I know what NOT to do, don't I.

The new challenge that I care most about is this: the director of the dar chebab hates the kids and the kids hate him. I don't think any of them is bad and they simply misunderstand each other. I am determined to make a feel-good movie out of this!

And, update on Fadma*'s oppression. She came to the women's association with me yesterday to do aerobics. When we arrived, she got a call from her brother...who is in the army many, many hours away. And he wanted to know where she was. Apparently, his friends freaking call him when they see her out and about to update him about what she's doing (because her father passed away a long time ago and he's the only male in the family). Wow. She knows a surprising amount of swear words in English.

*I'm using different names now, take one last look at the old ones before I go back and change them all

I went to Hasnaa's house yesterday. She's been irritated with me for coming over so little. I try to explain, "sometimes I think about America and just want to stay in MY house." But most people don't really buy my excuses for, um, not wanting to spend time with them. But I AM really busy these days...

Hasnaa is oppressed. She used to come to the dar chebab all the time until her uncles told her she had to stop because people would talk about her. I asked her, well, what power do they have over you? Do they give you money? Is this their house? She said, no...just, mom says because they say.

She's really good at yoga. She did two sessions of it at a Peace Corps camp a couple years ago, and has a couple of DVD's that she's mastered. I told her I want her to teach it to other girls. She says, but my uncles say people should have to pay me if I do that, there's no notion of "volunteering". I said, what if you said it was a group of friends? She says, they say, no friends! Also, the girls, if they're going to like yoga, they have to know YOU, Annie, and Emme. The problem here is the people, they're so close-minded.

I gave her a speech that I more or less stole from Aziz. Firstly, I said, I don't accept that you're the only girl in our town who would be crazy about yoga, I just think the other girls haven't been shown it yet. And you're far better than I am at it. Secondly, look at history. Throughout all of history, there have been close-minded people and communities. But, there are always individuals who go against those communities, and that's necessary. What power do they have over you? They aren't going to throw rocks at you. Their words shouldn't have an effect on your life.

...then I taught her the phrase, "easier said than done." I'm gonna burn her a CD with this song, which I listen to while I run.

On another note. I had a meeting with a Community Member I Trust yesterday. He was drunk. Sigh. Nonetheless, we discussed a lot of local politics and I think it was productive. Also, Hasnaa later assured me that you can drink during the day and still be good at your job, and well-respected. Okay then! My life is weird.

Two of the better English speakers came into the library for the first time today. One said, "In the name of God!" (what you say here when you begin something), grabbed a book, and sat down and read intensely for half an hour. That was exciting.

Now that the kids are so self-contained, I don't really have a lot to do but sit around and read the books myself (I ALmost made them gather today to play Mafia, but they seemed too content and who knows if I can explain it in Arabic?). So I've figured out the movie that will depict my PC experience: a surreal back and forth between the world of Pride and Prejudice and that of the dar chebab. I'm sure we can relate the stories somehow.

"It's raining cats and dogs!" as another student told me today. Everyone is happy because it's good for the farmers. My roof leaks? Nonetheless, I'm happy because it makes me less anxious about the upcoming summer heat, for which any sunshine is a constant reminder.

Mais, il va a la bibliotheque, bien sur!

The story behind the library: there have been dozens of books stashed away in a closet in the dar chebab the whole time I've been here. I had glimpsed them once in the beginning, but had gotten the impression that they were few, and mostly French.

One day, when I used two kids' books that I happened to have lying around my office during a class, I realized that the kids, despite being too old for them, were totally eating them up. So I decided to use whatever resources I could find in there, and there were actually many more books than I had anticipated.

Anyway, long story short, there is a small library in my classroom now. I don't teach anymore. I sit in there from 5pm to 8pm every day. Kids trickle in and out. Some want homework help, some want to hang out...few want to read, unfortunately, but some paw through the books. So, the plan is to have the reading competition to generate interest in actually using the books. Then, if the administration can cooperate with me in making it sustainable, I'll attempt to write a grant to get more books. Because, you see, we can count the books that are already there as the community contribution necessary for PC to approve a grant.

Kids in the community do need books. Schoolbooks are very expensive, and dictionaries are even more pricey. Vocabulary is the biggest element lacking for kids who want to study languages. But I don't want to acquire some resource and have it get shut in a closet as soon as I leave...so, we'll see what we can work out.

I had a discussion with a student today who was very passionate about how women need to defend their rights...she said she'll help me do GGLOW activities for the others once I get the manual next week. Cool!

Somehow, over the last few days, the number of projects I'm working on seems to have doubled.

Current Projects:

1) A day of AIDS (or the French "SIDA" as we say here) activities for kids in a nearby town next week.

2) Continuing to try and start the environment club, and organize Environment Day for March 16th, and find resources for the flow of information into the environment club to be maintained

3) Helping organize a SIDA training for Moroccan association members for the end of April, to be followed by organizing information tables in regional souks, as well as a free SIDA test in the regional capital

4) The expansion of the dar chebab library with a grant, after developing a functional board of members (students) to be responsible for the monitoring and maintenance of the current library

5) A "Reading Days" period in the dar chebab, tentatively scheduled for March, to involve two weeks of a reading competition (modeled after ones we did in summer camp). Kids can participate daily during normal library hours (5pm to 8pm). Certain books will have certain numbers of points, and whoever reads the most in each age group will get a prize. The last day will involve a party.

6) Finding PCVs to participate in a Youth Festival to be put on by a local association, with workshops about anything, such as health, environment, or leadership

7) Helping organize a workshop for local youths who have their high school diploma and still can't find jobs, with the objective of teaching them some essential skills in starting businesses

8) Restarting girls' sports at the dar chebab

9) Pipe dream about putting on a girls'/youth empowerment camp (or "GGLOW", as we say, "Guys and Girls Leading Our World") in my town; at least preparing to start GGLOW activities on saturdays in the dar chebab, if they're willing (just requested the manual from the PC librarian)

10) Continued work on collaborating for the Women in Development conference

11) Continuing women's aerobics

12) Revising the grant proposal I sent in about getting wool for Fatima's association

13) Preparing to work at a week-long English immersion spring camp next month, running a club and teaching English

14) Setting up a peer tutoring program and/or ping pong club in the dar chebab

15) Going to the local hotel to see if the employees want english lessons, in order to infiltrate and urge the hotel to involve the community more in the economic benefits brought by the tourists

...This makes me sound a lot busier than I actually am, and many of these don't involve that much work, and a lot of them involve other PCVs being in charge and me just helping, and many might not work out at all. But I still find it overwhelming. I find I'm having to be freakishly organized lately (I bought a new notebook).

That meeting for the environment club was a bust--at the exact time when people might have started showing up, there was a huge downpour. Aziz and I are meeting Monday to discuss our next step (I think we should just try the meeting again).

There was a play at the dar chebab today. It was very hot and crowded, but pretty impressive (it was the story of a king and a queen, but with a secret, political message) (guess who the oppressive king represented?). I saw a certain group of former students, who didn't respond when I said hi. Oops. You know, I think I offend people more often than I realize.. And on that note, I did a turn standing at the door and asking for donations for the kids' group so they could pay to go to a competition. I said, "Give me a dirham, Madame" in French, and "Give us ten," in Arabic, which is what children say to me CONSTANTLY....not a lot of people laughed. Mohamed did!

Moroccan Cultural Note: At the little stores that are scattered all over every town, you can usually get a few dirhams worth of a variety of nut-type foods. The two I discovered here are sugar-covered peanuts and toasted chickpeas. Deelish. The store owners make containers for you out of their kids' old homework assignments, by twisting the paper all up into a little package.

It’s amazing to me how flustered I’m getting just wanting to write about two seemingly simple things. Let’s address the environment club first. Ashley, an environment volunteer near me, had the idea for our collaboration on this club, so my first task was to find an adult counterpart from the community to be in charge of it. Aziz is a man who works at the high school in some capacity, and who likes to hang out at the dar chebab and play guitar. He and I actually had a tiny bit of a run-in a few months ago. He had been wanting to learn English from the very basics, and finally we realized that that wasn’t going to come from him coming with my high school students. So I told him I’d help him learn in our free time. Then one afternoon he asked if it would still be okay if he came to Youth Café. I said, of course. He said, it wouldn’t be a problem? I said, Oh! Would it be? I don’t know…because, you’re a man, and there are girls…at that point, someone was pulling me off somewhere, and I realized that I had horribly offended him. Oops. So, the next time we saw each other, I said, I’m really sorry, I still don’t understand everything in the culture here and I thought that maybe that YOU were saying you shouldn’t come with girls. I don’t know anything! I can get really confused about the gender role stuff here.

He said, he has his own culture, and he really just wants to hang out and play guitar. I begged his forgiveness and we became friends. Then, whenever we saw each other we would engage in dialogues about the local community and closed-mindedness. He seemed pretty frustrated with what he characterized as people’s archaic habits, whether it was gender roles or littering. I said, well, you should share your thoughts with them. Why don’t you DO something about the problems you see? He seemed skeptical and we left it at that. When it came up that I needed to find an enthusiastic older person to be in charge of a club, he seemed like the perfect candidate. So I went to him back in November when we had this idea, and he agreed whole heartedly. Our goals would be to have local kids educate people in the community about problems that result from abusing the environment and how we can solve those abuses. Then Ashley and I both went to America and things got put on hold for a month… Back in the dar chebab in January, Aziz and I greeted each other, but didn’t mention the club. We both sort of eyed each other from opposite sides of the dar, and I thought he had lost enthusiasm and was scared I’d try to cash in on the commitment. I said, Aziz, are you still interested in doing that club? He said, “Yes! I thought you’d forgotten about it! I have a lot of ideas for bringing in kids, maybe getting the high school principal involved, and for the campaigns that we can do.” I said, excellent, let’s wait until my friend comes in February. So, Ashley (“Rachida” is her Arabic name) came Wednesday. But there is still the issue of the dar chebab administration. What IS the role of the dar chebab administration? I don’t know and I wonder if I’ll ever know. I went to those who work there and who frequently hang out there—who are men aged 35-50, mostly—and informed them of the creation of the environment club, and asked if they wanted to participate. Because if I appeared to be doing something subversive or exclusive, it would make things a lot more difficult. The mudir (boss) informed me that there already IS an environment club. Redouan is the president. They have done such things as acquiring the four potted plants that surround the dar chebab fountain, and planting flowers in the garden in front of the dar chebab. I explained that the objectives of this one are going to be a bit different, and are going to focus on the participation of high school students and their taking an active role in the community. Anyway, I said, Ashley, Aziz (who has agreed to be responsible but I’m sure we can find a role for everyone), and I are going to hold a meeting at 5:00 Thursday for anyone who’s interested in participating in starting this club. I also spread the word to a few kids who hang out a lot. So at 5:00 Thursday, Ashley, Aziz, and I sat alone in my classroom. At 5:30 we said, okay, guess it’s just us! And we conducted our meeting. I told Aziz: we want you to facilitate this club, but to have young people run it. An example of how it would work over the course of a month is that, during the first meeting, you would teach kids about a topic that you had researched—for example, litter, why it’s a problem, and what the solutions are (and Ashley and I can help you get some books on the environment and some online resources). You might do an activity with them. Then the next meeting, the kids would figure out, how could they share this knowledge with people in the greater community? And you could come and encourage them if you wanted. Then, they would do something, like a trash pick-up, or a soccer game with information tables, to spread awareness about the topic in question. We want to start the club with a kick-off event at the dar chebab a month from now. We’ll call it Environment Day and we’ll do it on a Sunday. We’ll try to get speakers from regional associations; we’ll also invite all the Peace Corps Volunteers in the region and do an afternoon of stations with activities (each one to be conducted by an American and a Moroccan). So, I continued, the next step is for us to do a meeting where we invite as many kids as possible. You and I can do a presentation to introduce the idea to them. From there, we’ll form the club and work on planning the kick-off day. Aziz said: I love it and this is exactly what I was thinking. …at 6:30, 8 other people filed in for the meeting. I said, Oh. I’m sorry, everyone, I thought that maybe you weren’t still interested in doing this so I already talked about everything with Aziz. Aziz, can you tell them what we talked about? My Arabic… Aziz: Well, we talked about a lot… Annie: Hm, okay, well, I will just tell you then… I don’t really even know how to describe the meeting that ensued. It was mostly really intense discussion of, and the expression of extreme skepticism towards, potential projects. The original three of us zoned out for most of it, though notes from Ashley (who only learned Tamazight due to living in the mountains) incited me to occasionally try to steer it back on topic, with the use of my Arabic, which becomes surprisingly bad in front of a group of 15 men (more people trickled in throughout the evening). One person engaged in a 20-minute speech in the middle, which I didn’t catch much of. I’m starting to have a very clear and disturbing notion of what power can mean to people. The meeting went until about 7:40, when I was finally able to go over to my students who were forlornly slumped in a corner. I met with Aziz Friday morning to make flyers for the next meeting, which we want to have on Tuesday evening. We did so, but because we’re handing them out in the name of the dar chebab, we had to run it by the administration, who felt the need to make a variety of changes. When we left the dar chebab, Aziz told me this Amazigh (“Berber”) joke: A married woman and her husband lived out in the countryside. One day, the man—a hunter—saw a frog. He killed it with his gun. The woman said, “What is this?! Why did you do that, kill such a small thing with your gun? Shame on you!” The man said, “Get out! I divorce you, and your whole family!” The woman went back to her family’s house and asked her parents what to do. Her wise mother gave her some advice. The next day, the woman went back to her husband’s house, pointed at the dead frog, and said, “Oh my! Who has killed this dragon? What strong man killed this horrible creature??” Then the man came strutting over, admitted his accomplishment, and married her again. I’ll leave the library for tomorrow.

I guess it’s best to avoid politics with one’s blog about one’s Peace Corps experience. Nonetheless, and I’m no political scientist, but I’d just like to take a moment to express my enthusiasm for Barack Obama. My opinion used to be “Grr, Obama and Clinton are the same and I’m disillusioned with the system.” But a few brief moments looking at his views on his website really left me impressed. A lot of politicians are just faces without any real area of expertise, right. Obama, however, taught constitutional law for ten years at the University of Chicago; he wants to work on a way for representing the whole spectrum of religious diversity that one finds in America; he has international roots and wants to increase diplomacy efforts twofold around the world, and never gave any indication that he buys into a mentality of paranoid imperialism; he’s not a robot, jaded and totally lacking perspective from a lifetime of experience in our twisted political system. I think he’s a lucid, eloquent, normal, well-intentioned man who is what the United States requires if it’s not just going to end up a humiliated empire trying to claw its way out of a downward spiral. I love my country, but I still get embarrassed when I reveal my nationality to people here, and I think we need a fresh start from a different angle.

Opinion number 2: I just finished working my way through season 3 of The Office. You know Andy, the Cornell grad? “I went to Cornell. Ever heard of it? I graduated in four years, I never studied once, I was drunk the whole time, and I sang in the a capella group, 'Here Comes Treble'.” With all due respect to my alma mater and classmates, it’s funny ‘cause it’s true!