WHOA...HEY THERE, HO THERE

What's going on? Oh, oh yeah, the site's moved. It can now be reached and will be updated at the much more pleasant address http://www.alaskanbulgarian.com. Adjust accordingly the bookmarks and links you maintain so religiously. Of course, I just bought the domain name, the server space I owe to the man behind Lex Libertas and so the site's actual address will always have to pay tribute to him.

For the time being (and hopefully not forever) the archives will still be here. So if you want to see something I wrote in the past year, this is the place to go. However, I think everybody will find the new digs homey and hospitable.

See you there!

Ahh Wednesdays

For the last few weeks Wednesdays have started early and ended late. I've talked about them before, but it never hurts to praise my favorite day again and again. I get up at 6 or 6:30, relax for a little while as I get ready for the day, and head out for school around 7:30 or so. I teach two eighth classes, which usually go well since the students are still pretty drugged from sleep and have yet to wake up enough to become pains in the ass.

Then, at about ten, I go back home. Today, I ran into one of the orphans who walked with me along the way and, in a heart wrenching attempt to screw with me, showed me about five different things he'd like to get for Christmas. I gave him two leva for oranges he wanted to buy and some time in an internet club, which I gather is one of the orphans' few entertainments during winter.

Back at the apartment, I made myself some French toast and settled in on the couch. Usually, I wind up taking a nap for an hour or two, or three, but something just didn't connect today. I wound up going to bed, reading some Tortilla Flat, dozing off, then waking up a second later after thinking I was going to be late for my Bulgarian lesson. This happened for about a couple of hours until 3:30, when my alarm went off, I stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes, then got up to go study some Bulgarian. Two hours of study, coffee, and cookies later, I always come to the internet club to check up on things and do that one thing that makes every Wednesday--read the Onion, top to bottom.

Today, in addition to a brilliant article about a point in teaching I've come close to but never reached, I chuckled audibly at just about everything on the site. Also, the Lakers won, which kind of wrapped the whole day in a tidy bow.

After the internet club, I'll go home, check homework for tomorrow's classes, and watch the WWI documentary on the Discovery Channel at midnight. I can't really say that Wednesdays are the most productive day of the week, but it's nice having a day where I relax and actually do something . Makes the week flow a little easier, especially when Thursdays always wind up being a challenge.

For the last couple of days, I've been orally testing the eighth classes, and I really hate giving tests, I've discovered. The problem is, every student speaks English passably well, but I have to draw the line somewhere. I wind up dropping students I know speak the language well down to the equivalent of a "B" for not using full sentences or messing up word order in slight ways.

It's awfully stressful. Pretty much every kid here wants to learn the language and learn it well, but sometimes they just can't keep their mouths shut during the test. I gave about four "2"s ("F"s) for talking when not allowed and, in a moment of pity for the great students that just couldn't keep themselves together for forty-five minutes of testing, gave them a nigh impossible extra-credit assignment to have the privilege of taking the test. Fortunately, the students are well-disciplined enough that this doesn't seem like rolling over and exposing my throat to them.

Some volunteers have had to get so strict on cheating as to impose an actual, fully-functional bell curve on their classes. This smacks of weeding students out. I would never want to give a kid a two just because he wasn't keeping up with the rest of the class, but I suppose if that's what they need to do to maintain order, then that's what they need to do. Discipline, especially in the younger classes, seems to be paramount.

So what does this coffee-inspired divergence mean, exactly? Well, it means that I only had to suffer through a couple of hours of teeth-grinding testing before I got to relax the rest of the day. That was pretty nice...

Anyway, what I now realize too late was an unfortunately dull entry peters out as the bulk of another Wednesday comes to an end, and as I search for a decent way to end this post..Oh screw it, the post is over. Good night, everyone.

TIS THE SEASON

There have been signs in Silistra for about 3 weeks now. The first Christmas trees began popping up in store windows then. Since that beat Thanksgiving--which most of the volunteers I've talked to seem to agree is the beginning of the standard Christmas explosion in America--Bulgaria seems to be right there in the Christmas spirit.

I find that impressive, somehow, but have yet to put my finger on why. Maybe it's the growing presence of a community identity, something that didn't seem to exist in summer but grows every day now. Maybe it's just that I've gotten to know the city well and am noticing the details. Whatever the case may be, it's the holiday season in Bulgaria, and Silistra seems about as ready for it as Sofia was when I visited it last weekend.

Lights lace the town center and store windows, although houses are still bare. There's finally a thin film of frozen snow on the ground, not enough to qualify for a white Christmas, but there are still two and a half weeks. I haven't seen any department store santas, but that doesn't mean there won't be.

Most of all, the students are into it. My slackest class last week got into singing Christmas carols, and to get through the last ten minutes, I even managed to pull all twelve days of Christmas out of the deep recesses of my memory. One girl, a singer, left her usual seat in the back and hopped quickly up front when I started writing the lyrics on the board. They all really ate it up. Even mentioned it to Vanya, my counterpart English teacher, in her next class with them.

The gloves are beginning to come out and snowballs, scraped together off the park lawn, are getting thrown lamely across the street toward the school.

I'm going to go up to the orphanage this weekend and do whatever I can to pull off an early Christmas there, since I won't have another free weekend until the New Year. I'm thinking of just going as a Santa, bringing them whatever goodies I can get together, and take their wishes. We'll see how that turns out, I'm sure there will be pictures.

Of course--and here's the problem--if I do a pre-Christmas Santa, how do I not disappoint them when the big day arrives? I could leave 70 or 80 candies with the director up there to be dispersed on the morning, I suppose that would work. But it's something I'm going to need to make sure I have nailed down before I go.

A SELFISH ENTRY, BUT AN ENTRY NONETHELESS

I've been thinking about putting up a kind of written cultural time capsule on the site. Something to the point that I can look back on in a year or so to remember what I was watching, listening to, and reading in the heady days of December 2003. Some may find it interesting, others may not. But here, unapologetically is...

WHAT'S GOING INTO ROB'S HEAD? DECEMBER 2003

Most of the books I've read (some for the second or third time) since I came to Bulgaria in April:

The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay--Chabon

The Citadel--Cronin (On the front it says it's now a Masterpiece Theater movie. That fits it really well.)

Travels With Charley--Steinbeck

The Great Gatsby--Fitzgerald

The Thin Man--Hammett

The Way Some People Die--MacDonald

Uncle Tom's Cabin--Stowe (The fact that this has been banned in some libraries absolutely baffles me)

Tender is the Night--Fitzgerald

A Man in Full--Wolfe (The best 700+ pager I've yet read)

The Perfect Storm--Junger

The Sun Also Rises--Hemingway (Can't get enough of the greatest party novel ever)

The Grapes of Wrath--Steinbeck

The Barbarians Are Coming--Louie

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe--Adams

What's Wrong With Dorfman?--Blumenthal

Hannibal--Harris (Hannibal Lector is Sideshow Bob in this book. No question about it.)

The Once and Future King--White (Probably the best read thus far)

A Farewell to Arms--Hemingway (Hemingway started it as a downer, and by God he would end it as one, too)

The Salmon of Doubt--Adams

Oliver Twist--Dickens (Turns out Oliver is the long lost cousin of Charles Darnay, Ebenezer Scrooge's much younger half-brother, and a personal friend of David Copperfield's former roommate. Who knew?)

The book I'm now reading:

Tortilla Flat--Steinbeck

Some of the movies I've seen:

Matrix 2+3

Terminator 3

X-Men 2

Bad Boys 2

Charlie's Angels 2

2 Fast 2 Furious (When's "2 Pointy 2 Breaky" coming out?)

Johnny English

(What an absolutely terrible movie summer it was. When you line it all up like that...)

Pirates of the Caribbean (The best of a bad crop. But still pretty good)

The Italian Job (Nice little caper movie)

Dumb and Dumberer (Okay, I'm stopping this right now)

Videos

Favorite video at the moment that no else here seems to like all that much:

Outkast--Hey Ya

Video that all the girls say is all the guys' favorite (giggle, giggle):

Kylie Minogue--Slow

Favorite videos from artists that I'd never heard of, but guess I probably should have:

Lene Marlin--You Weren't There

Texas--Carnival of Girls

Fun Lovin' Criminals--Various Videos

Paul Van Dyke--Nothing but You

Propeller Heads--History Repeating

Video that most guys really like for the “giggle, giggle” reason:

Dido--White Flag (also “Life for Rent” for that matter, but that’s a newer single)

Favorite techno, outside of “Nothing but You”:

Chemical Brothers f/ Flaming Lips--Golden Path

Favorite rock:

Limp Bizkit--Eat You Alive (There! I said it! I like the song and I love the video. What are you going to do about it?)

Close second for favorite rock:

Evanesence--Going Under

Favorite German:

Scooter (But that’s really the top of a pretty rotten barrell)

Favorite Bulgarian:

Oh, please don’t make me choose. Probably Slavi, but that’s just because I saw him live, I suppose.

Favorite video of an artist whose country of origin I still don’t really know:

Moloko--Forever More

Favorite group to make fun of mercilessly with other volunteers:

Black Eyed Peas (But all they want is to stop “the Bloods, and the Crips, and the KKK!” They are after all, just a bunch of “conscious cats” who didn’t want to release a song about “ugly people” after 9/11. Oh, just shut up, shut up.)

Favorite Music Channel:

Euro VH1. All videos ever released get played here. The Police are singing “Wrapped Around Your Finger” right now. It’s good stuff)

I think that about covers it. If I think of anything else I’ll put it down later.

THE SILISTRA SPORTS REPORT

Tuesday, one the girls in my eleventh class approached me after class and told me that the girls’ volleyball team would be playing at PMG that night. “Would I come out and support the team?” she asked. Of course, my first thought was “There’s a girls’ volleyball team here?” but that thought passed quickly and I told her that I would come.

So, that night, after my regular visit to the internet club, I walked to the gym at PMG. PMG’s is probably the best gym in Silistra. It has a good solid floor, 4 baskets, and a decent amount of sitting space around the court. The first time I had visited I was playing a pick-up basketball game after the city’s teams had finished for the night. When I arrived before the second half of the last game, I’d estimate there were about 30 people there watching. I can’t remember who was playing that night, because I had been so taken aback by the fact that there was any kind of city-wide basketball at all.

I bring that up because the language school’s girls’ team (EG) was playing PMG Tuesday night in a first round game of a small tournament. As soon as I walked in, the girls noticed me and cheered and kind of clapped. I felt honored, but later realized that it was only half because of who I was. Turns out I was one of two, maybe three people from EG there supporting the team. More on that later.

I walked across the court to the single row of benches along the side of the court opposite the team benches. The PMG crowd had already gathered and filled the benches so I stood next to the bench on the EG side of the court. When I entered, the teams were in their pre-game discussions. The game started shortly after I took my position.

It wasn’t what you would call pretty. It was entertaining, worth going to. But no. No, it wasn’t a good-looking game. EG played pretty well considering that they didn’t seem to have a girl who could get both hands above the net at the same time. Neither did PMG for that matter, but PMG had an artillery division when it came to serving. They had a few aces that dropped hard and fast on the sidelines. It didn’t help that the ceiling in the gym is low, and most of the bumps off the harder hits went straight up and high. A ball into the ceiling was side-out. Anyway, that night it was three blow-outs and good night. Dejected looks for EG all around.

After the game I went up to the girls to congratulate them on an entertaining game, and before I even made it to the group they gave me grins and told me not to say anything. I gave a shrug, thanked them for the invitation, said that I had had fun, and that the match-despite the loss-had been entertaining. They thanked me for coming and told me to come the next night, when they would win. I said that I’d come, of course, and wished them good night.

A day of teaching later, I cut my Bulgarian lesson a bit short so that I could make it to the game on time. I arrived at about the same time I had the night before, and took the same spot next to the benches. It was a colder night, and everyone in the not-really-heated gym had their thick coats on. Fortunately, the games went EG’s way and they won three close games to sweep the team from-well, I never did figure out what school they playing-but it was a well-played victory nevertheless, and they were all a little more receptive to my congratulations after the game.

I walked out happy, they walked out happy, and three-quarters of the audience stayed in the gym to watch the next game. I was, again, one of maybe four or five non-participants from the school watching the game. PMG was up next and by the time EG’s game was over, there were about 60 or 70 students in the gym. This confirmed that, as rumored, volleyball is more popular than basketball in Bulgaria. But it didn’t explain why no one from the language school really bothered to come to either game.

I think this might be another of those things I’m going to want to focus my energy on. People need to come to these games. And not just students either. During the second game, I noticed that apart from the coaches and referees, I was probably the only person over twenty in the gym.

Sports are a great way to get the community involved in local schools, and since there aren’t bands or orchestras at the schools not dedicated to music, sports in Bulgaria are really the only way for the community to get involved in the schools’ activities. Sports might just be something schools should advertise and not leave up to word-of-mouth from students.

Of course, I say this as if it applies to all of Bulgaria. It doesn’t. In the smaller towns, if a school is lucky enough to have a gym, it usually has no room for an audience and no sports program to go along with it. As in most cases, Silistra is just big enough to have all the nice things that go along with a big town. I’m lucky in that, I suppose. But it also makes my job more about improvement than creation. Many volunteers are the only people around to coach their teams, making it pretty easy to get involved. But here I feel like I have to show my worth in order to be part of the circle.

Fortunately, coming to two games seems to be enough at this point to label me a booster, if not a die-hard fan. So I think things are off to a good start.

LIGHT POSTING THIS WEEK, EXPECT MORE OF THE SAME

Well, if you must know...I'm approaching my first blogaversary and want to give the old girl a makeover in time for the big event. It'll mean a new address, a new look, a new host (Thanks Owen), and new pages if I can get them ready in time. Unfortunately, it also means that most of my time in the internet club is spent tinkering with the new template.

So, to sum up, there will be a new post tomorrow about girl's volleyball here in Silistra and sports in Bulgaria in general. Tune in at the usual time to get that update. Until then, please accept the above photo of the Thanksgiving group as a peace offerering. See you tomorrow.

STARTING OVER ON A NEW WEEK

Coldplay's "The Scientist" has been running through my head today, or at least a few lines from its chorus, since I can't really remember any of the other words to the song:

Nobody said it was easy,

No one ever said it would be this hard,

Take me back to the start.

Now, the song's about starting over in a relationship where the singer (usually Chris Martin, but it could be anybody really) overthought everything and kind of ruined it all. While this is certainly applicable to certain areas of my life, it really isn't what kept the chorus running through my head all day.

Sunday, following an incredible Thanksgiving Saturday, I raised what I thought was an interesting question. I asked whoever was around at the moment if these fantastic weekends we've been having make it easier, harder, or about the same going back to class on Monday. While everybody around answered "harder," I said that, for me, it made things easier. No matter how hard each consecutive week is, a weekend will always be there in the near future, giving us all a chance to vent, hang out, and have fun. Hell, sometimes the weeks are pretty fun themselves, they're a grab bag, really. I never know what to expect Sunday evening.

So that's why I've come to accept Mondays as a new start to each cycle; a cycle that gets easier as the months unfold. There are challenges pretty much every day, but as long as I have a chance to take those challenges and talk about them at some point in the future, maybe bringing solutions if I've found them, life gets easier and there's a better a chance of a week becoming fun again. I've finally figured out that things will be hard, occasionally nigh impossible, but if I learn from it, I can take everything back to the beginning every Monday and rework it, at least to a certain extent.

What does that mean in the context of the day? Well, it means that I had to shout a couple of times today and act good and mean, but I got more done than I did in my classes last Monday, and the kids were better behaved. I checked all the workbooks, did an overview of a test next week, and ran through a quick lesson for AIDS Day, since it's an important subject and I wanted to keep the day pretty lax on testable material since the eights will have a big, giant test in their other English class tomorrow.

Brings up an interesting subject. The eights are pretty confused at this point in their lives about what they can do to prevent AIDS. One suggested the pill, and another suggested the pull-out method. I corrected them both, and made sure they knew about their real options, the best being abstinence. As I've learned though, one day of teaching does not a huge impact make, so I've kind of made a memo to myself to repeat some of these lessons when the opportunity arises in the future.

As progressive as Silistra seems to be (AIDS Day was pretty well covered city-wide, where other cities would need a little prodding from volunteers), the post-communist values vacuum my colleagues are always talking about still sucks hard here. Kids take most of their lessons from TV, and parents expect schools to train their kids in values just as they did under the communists. It's a generational thing, so it'll take a while to bring in better values than those coming out of Britney and Co. But it'll happen someday, and I'm glad I'm here to help it on its way a little.

[Grinding transition gears until they shatter in order to save a little internet club time]

Thanksgiving went delightfully well. About eleven volunteers gathered in Pleven Friday evening. Before the big gathering, I went with Kate (Pleven resident and incredible hostess) to a couple of her classes to make things flow a little easier there. Following that, a few of us went to Pleven's Billa, a large Western-type grocery store (Jeff: "So Kate lives in America...") and the eaters bought a snack to tide ourselves over until dinner while the others did some Thanksgiving dinner shopping. Later, we all went and ate at a great Chinese place and got our venting (or our venting about other people's venting) out of our systems at the dinner table. Then we got to sleep at some reasonable hour after a big meal. Day one ended with full stomachs and relieved heads.

Thanksgiving Day (observed) began whenever it was we all decided to wake up. Some of us took a walk and, since it was a cold, drizzly day, threw around a football instead of playing what would be a sloppy and muddy game. Chance, Sharad, Jeff and I sat in a downtown cafe with a football in hand and scarves around our necks. We talked about life and literature and India and we all felt incredibly haughty and preppy.

On the way back to Kate's, I bought a kilo of mandarins on a whim in the pazar and shared them with everybody. Mandarins are absolute candy in Bulgaria, you unwrap them and pop the bits in your mouth (the same process everywhere in the world, I suppose). We went through the bag pretty quickly, but it was just a small part of the appettizer spread laid out on the table that afternoon. There was bread and butter and spreadbale cheeses and wafer cookies and wine. Everything we needed to get through the afternoon and arrive at the turkey.

We passed the time by watching a strange HBO double feature of The Shipping News and Best in Show. Also by playing Scrabble and Yahtzee. It was only the second time I'd played Scrabble here in Bulgaria, and I'm clearly rusty, but it was also good fun. I started a horribly wrong trend with the fake word "vike" after Minnesota native Ryan substantiated it. Jeff, then, at some point played "saep," or "peas" spelled backwards, which we grudgingly accepted. Then it got all out of control as Chance used his fake word option to play "synj" on a triple word score. I can't really remember his fake definition. It was all out of control, or at least as out of control as a game of Scrabble is likely to get.

Dinner had the requisite turkey (one of the few Billa had, apparently) front and center, with all the usual bits surrounding it. Although there wasn't any sweet potato or cranberry sauce to be had in Bulgaria, we made do with casserole and squash with walnuts. There was also mashed potato and gravy and well-made stuffing. I'm not sure I could have had a better meal anywhere in the world. It was incredibly well-made, in fact. A meal only Peace Corps volunteers could pull off.

Since I had nothing to do with the creation (not wanting to pack an already crowded kitchen with what meager services I could have provided), I eagerly volunteered to do the cleaning. I took care of the dinner's dishes right after the last plate was set down on the floor. Family tradition, I suppose. Whoever it is that doesn't do the cooking should do the cleaning. Seems like a solid enough rule, and I was willing to stand by it.

Over pumpkin bread and the last of the wine, we talked about life in general and our plans for Christmas, having forgotten about school following the discussion the night before. We all went to sleep one-by-one, and when we felt the time was about right. The last thing on the TV that night was a dubbed version of Battlefield Earth, and we used our last powers of sarcasm and irony to make fun of the horrible make-up and the fact that not a single shot in the movie is level.

Morning came, people began to leave, we played Uno, and I asked my question about the weekends. Jeff hadn't quite figured out his travel plans well enough so he and I, both living in the same mostly inaccessible region, took an afternoon bus back to Silistra. Jeff took the couch at my place and left on a bus for his small town of Isperih this morning at 6:30 and the weekend was over.

Most of us will be gathering in Sofia this weekend for various important reasons and we'll talk, play basketball, and have another fun weekend in the midst of carrying out the toughest job any one of us will ever love.

WE GATHER TOGETHER...

Students ask me all the time why my favorite season is winter, and I usually say something about how the snow makes everything look crisp and new, and how there are new things to do, and the joy of regularly having reason to down warm beverages. Things like that. But this week the real reason finally hit me. My three favorite holidays come right on top of the other. I'd say that's about as good a reason as any.

Christmas, is of course, number one. The combination of it being a family and friends holiday is pretty powerful. Although it's best celebrated with the family, a group of friends can have a lot of fun celebrating Christmas before, after, or--if necessary--during the actual day. It really is the ultimate Swiss Army holiday. Whatever you want it to do for you, Christmas is there.

Thanksgiving though, is a little different. Without the family around, it just doesn't feel right, at least as far as I'm concerned. In 22 years of living, I don' think I've never been away from some family member for Thanksgiving. I suppose while they were always on hand, ready to give something to be thankful for, it made the whole thanking thing very easy. But here I am in Bulgaria, and I'm still thankful as all get-out for my parents bouncing around Alaska and having the time of their lives empty-nesting it. And for my sister doing what she has to do to take care of the animals she loves. And for my Grandmas, who both support me here, even though they're both still a little wary of the whole internet thing. Oh, and Barkley, I'm awfully thankful Barkley's still enough of a puppy to eat snow when it first hits the ground. However, as nice as it would be to go back to the stately living room on Lake Street, I'm here in Bulgaria, aren't I? So I have to dig a little bit deeper and pull out some more things to be thankful for.

Well, I'm thankful for the greatest 41 people a guy could come through Chicago to Bulgaria with, and also the Americans I've met in Bulgaria. I can imagine situations where the people I would be with here would help the country in driving me quite literally insane. But these volunteers, these glorious, proud, hard-working folks, are the greatest group of people with whom I've ever had the privilege to work. I'll be spending Thanksgiving with people I've known for a little over seven months, and already I can't think of a better substitute for family. I'm pretty damn thankful for them.

My friends back home in the States (and one in Russia, and one in Tasmania), have kept me going well here, too. Staying in touch with them has gotten me through the rougher days here, and I'm lucky to have friends as supportive, brilliant, and reliable as them. Not a day goes by without my thinking of the fun times back in California and Alaska, and those memories help a lot.

My Bulgarian colleagues here in Silistra have been exceptional, and even though we all went through the same confusion at the beginning of the year, they were always more than willing to help out. It was all well-appreciated.

I'd have to really scrape low, but I know deep down I'm happy to have the students I do. Even though the 8th classes needed some reminding about the ramifications of being noisy little grunts today, they were pretty good for a Thursday. They also mostly remembered to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving without my prompting them. I thought that was pretty impressive. They're a good bunch of kids, and I'm glad to be teaching them.

So, um, coming down off of planet Cornball, where were we? Oh yeah, favorite holiday #3...New Years. And, honestly, although it's nice, a guy really doesn't need his family around for that one. Distant third, really.

Still, when it gets cold, the best holidays come out to shine. And even though it's not technically winter yet, it sure as heck feels like it, and there's no better time than winter to say something chessy like "Happy Thanksgiving Everyone."

THE FIRST BLOW HAS BEEN STRUCK

For those who think I've done nothing but complain lately, today saw triumph. In the battle against undisciplined eighth graders my opening salvo went through the wall of noise and tore it down to nothing. Leaving behind pretentious metaphors for a second, I actually did something to shut down the obnoxious noise today! I'm happy.

I was going to just slam both eighth classes with assigned seating. That was my intention right up to the sound of the bell. But when I got to class I realized something I had previously only suspected: Assigned seating would only anger them and make them yell to their friends over the two or three desks between them.

So, on the fly, I made it all a game. Michael, a B-12, had at IST introduced a reward-based point system of his that seemed to be working with his students. If they were good, they got points. If they were bad they lost them. There were a variety of rules for losing and gaining points. I had seen two problems with his system that kept me from getting it going right away: For one thing, it was complicated and would take a week I didn't have to completely explain to the students. More importantly though, it lacked the crucial "guillotine" factor. There was nothing hanging over the students' heads if they failed. Under Mike's system, if they were good they got a movie day after getting a certain number of points. If they were bad, no movie, but they could go right on misbehaving and talking in class.

In a couple minutes of re-planning after my fateful realization, I took Mike's system, simplified it, and added something I'd gotten right from my parents, the choice. I told them that we would all be playing a game, this brightened them up and got them all excited. I lined them all up at the blackboard and then seated them the way I would have them if there were assigned seats. By the time I had finished, they pretty well realized what had happened and most were complaining that this wasn't any game. I told them that it was, and a very long game at that. Then I explained the rules.

The students start clean, no points, and have a clear choice for a path to follow. Every time I say "quiet down," and they don't immediately shut up, I go to the board and put up a hash mark, 1 point. If they get 50 points between now and the end of the year, they would have to sit this way, then I'd come up with an even more severe punishment--like push-ups to begin every day--and hang that over them. They all looked at their new neighbors and most everybody quieted down right then. Then I gave them the choice. If they're good, and stay below 50 points, they'll get a movie day every few months. For example, I'll now write "MOVIE DAY: FEBRUARY 1st" at the top of the board next to their point total every day.

Then one of the students asked if there was a way they could get points back if they were good. "Um, sure," I replied. Remebering one of Mike's "good" rules, I said that if everyone brings in their journal and completed homework on Monday (our big homework day), I would subtract two points from their total. I'd also subtract a point or two for what I thought was exceptionally good behavior. "Everybody has to bring in homework? Ne e chestno." one of the students said. "No," the student behind her said, "it's fair. It's fair." And the rest of the class agreed.

The immediate result? Absolute silence and superb behavior the rest of the day. Working on the day's lesson, I told them to take two minutes to do an activity. Shortly after those words, I clicked my pen to write something down. The sound of the pen echoed and boomed around the room. The dead quiet would have been scary and ominous if it weren't so pleasing. When I noticed that they were all finished, I walked to the center of the room, asked if someone wanted to read the first part of the exercise, and hands across half the room shot up.

I've never been quite so happy leaving the classroom. If there's been a personal victory here in Bulgaria, this was it. We'll have to see how it goes in the long term, but I have a feeling that as long as I can threaten the students with a hash mark, they'll be good. Only time will tell.

A NEW RECORD IS SET!

Even though there are 6 writers credited on IMDB for the immortal Bad Boys II, let's take a look at the first meeting between screenplay writers Ron Shelton and Jerry Stahl:

Ron entered the room at about 3 in the afternoon, and flopped down onto the couch, kicking his feet up onto a coffee table. Jerry sat behind his shiny black desk and puffed quietly on a cigar. He rotated a glass of bourbon in his left hand.

"Afternoon, Jerry!" Ron beamed when Jerry took the cigar out of his mouth. "You ready to get down to brass tacks on this thing?"

Jerry put the cigar back into his mouth and puffed a cloud over toward Ron. "Sure. What's "your vision" for this?"

"Well," Ron said as he lowered his feet and leaned toward the desk. "You know how the funniest scene in the first Bad Boys flick was that scene in the dead guy's house? You know, Martin Lawrence came in all 'we're here to borrow some sugar!' and they sniffed and realized that there was a dead guy in the house. Then Martin Lawrence almost got sick all over the place. You remember that one?"

"I sure do Ron." Jerry let go of the bourbon and planted both of his elbows onto his ink blotter. "But I don't remember it being the best scene in the film. I remember it being a long, drawn out one-joke piece of bs that could've been over in a minute or two. Gotta admit it was funny when Will Smith said 'don't be alarmed, we're ne-groes' though. That made me chuckle."

"See," Ron's eyes were lighting up. "That's what I'm talking about. And haven't you always thought that dead bodies are funny? I mean, in general."

"Um, no."

"Work with me here. I mean, I've always loved autopsy scenes, where the police reach into dead bodies and pull out stuff. That scene in the middle of Silence of the Lambs? Where they pull the coccoon out of the fat chick? Hee-larious." Ron took a breath. "And I've always gotten a kick out of coroner's vans. The scene with a coroner's van absolutely made The Chase. When those corpses started falling out. I nearly cried. Cried, Jerry!"

"I'm not following you here. Do Americans like dead bodies falling out of trucks?"

"Screw the Americans! Eastern Europeans'll eat it up!"

Jerry leaned back in his chair and took a long pull of his cigar. When he had finished he said "Well, why didn't you say so, Ron? We've been looking for better worldwide sales. Let's make it happen. I picture the last third of the flick one big, long corpse joke."

Ron lept up. "Now you're speaking my language, boy! And you know, Jerry, I've always wanted to write a really long ass movie. I mean one that'll make audiences think 'Good God, this is a long ass movie!' Epic like, you know?"

"Go on."

"Well, even if we have to make maybe half, hell, three-quarters of the movie pointless gibberish, I say we do it. Just to make a really long movie." Ron was pacing the room now, his vision leaping before his eyes.

"Ron. Make it so. Do we want to get together on the weekend to pound this thing out?"

"Ahh. I want to golf this weekend. Let's get everything down tomorrow at lunch, and if we need to add stuff we'll just wing it, huh?"

"Wiser words were never spoken, sir." Jerry poured another glass of bourbon as he spoke and handed it to Ron. "Wiser words? Never spoken. Cheers."

I'm pretty sure that that's what had to have happened. It couldn't have gone down any other way.

Before I get into the heart of the drubbing. Let me make one thing clear. I am not one to easily call a movie terrible. I thought Battlefield Earth was entertaining. Mostly because it was laughably bad, but I still had a good time watching it. I've enjoyed both Matrix movies this year for what they were, entertaining fluff. I'm a long-time fan of Mystery Science Theater 3000, where a guy and two robots make fun of the worst movies made. I respect the art of poor film-making. A bad action movie can be just as good the first time as any classic if it's comically wretched enough. "Entertain me" is all I ask of most movies. Was I expecting the long lost sequel to Scarface in Bad Boys II? Nay. I just wanted a good time after a long day.

I think what makes Bad Boys 2 the worst movie I have ever seen (and this includes movies from Mystery Science Theater 3000) is that it tries, and desperately fails, to be a comedy. The corpse joke thing? It really happened. Nearly every one of the last dozen or so scenes features some bit of "comedy" involving a dead body. DID WEEKEND AT BERNIE'S DO NOTHING? Heven't we realized by now that, because they are inert, lifeless objects (and usually meant to be respected) dead bodies are not good comedic fare? How the hell long does it take?

Beyond the failure of the comedy is this one small fact: There is not one scene--one scene--in the entire movie that couldn't be cut in order to make the movie better by virtue of not running so long. There are at least 4 car chases in the movie, all looking exactly like the last. Gun fights run so long they lose any minimal suspense they came in with. The movie is dull. It was by no means an entertaining experience, and I regret spending over two hours of my life on it. There, that's out of my system now.

Today was a little better on the front than yesterday. The kids were reasonably well-behaved and I did what I wanted, when I wanted to do it. Made for a relaxing day, all around. Now, if only I could get the horrible memories of it out of my head.

THE FIRST DAY BACK. A CATHARTIC HARANGUE.

Okay, maybe I didn't quite expect it to be this way, but I certainly hoped it would:

I would enter the room. The students, all in or near their desks, would turn their heads gracefully toward the door. Upon sight of me, their faces would brighten and through smiles they would chirp "Hello, Mr. Young. My it's good to have you back!" I would trot merrily over to the desk, place my backpack on it, and have a good chat with them about how splendid their week had been. Before we began the lesson, we would go through each of their workbooks and check to see if they had done all of the homework I had assigned for the week in Ruse. They would, beaming--of course--and coming one at a time, bring their workbooks to the desk, where I would, with my own broad smile, check each and every one of them. I would give them each a six because they're such intelligent, good-willing little rascals, and then I would explain to them the course of the week's lessons, answer a few questions, and send them on their happy smiling way at the end of forty-five gloriously well-spent minutes. My God sir, it would be heaven.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Earlier in the day, a teacher working with my first eighth class had warned me that they had only gotten more evil in my time away, but I was skeptical. They had always been at least managable. "We'll see." I had said.

Coming up the stairs from the teacher's room, I ran into a group of five or six students standing nowhere near the classroom. Ushering them toward it with the book in my hand, I opened the door and was instantly pounded by the insane ravings of Sean Paul and Beyonce singing "Baby Boy" out of the demon box (um, cassette player).

"MR. YOUNG. I'M SORRY BUT I FORGOT WE HAD CLASS TODAY AND I DIDN'T BRING MY WORKBOOK." One of the little banshees screamed into my ear. I think the headache began right about there.

Three more devils flanked me and in an earnest effort to look genuinely sorry (the filthy liars) complained that they too had duped themselves into believing there would be no class today and had not brought their homework.

Without a word, I waded over to the tape player, which some student mercifully shut off before I arrived, and put my backpack on the desk. The screams and yells of the class began to wash over me as the group appealing to my rapidly disappearing forgiving side huddled around me and began to show me what meager parts of the homework they had done. I told them all that they could bring their workbooks in the next day and receive a slightly lower grade, but I was apparently speaking gibberish and they would not acknowledge me.

After about a minute of staying uselessly cool and calm, I rose from the chair, walked to the center of the room, and at the top of my lungs, yelled for the entire room to be quiet. It worked for a brief moment, but it really didn't get the annoying mosquitos flying around me and near the blackboard, still screaming at me in Bulgarian, to sit down. I told them all to sit. Nothing. Then I wacked them each on the head with a notebook and that finally got their attention. They went to their desks and sat, for a moment, giving me their attention.

I began to lay down my plan for the day.

"Mr. Young?" One of the children of the night howled without raising her hand. "We've just had a free week and don't want to work today. Can we have a fun day and listen to Sean Paul and Beyonce sing?"

"No."

Moans and wretching sobs as if I had dumped boiling oil over the lot of them--a thought that had, at that point, passed through my head at least once. I tried once again to lay out my vision for the day.

"You just don't like Sean Paul." The afore-mentioned child of darkness pouted. "We all want a fun day. It's been a long day and we're all very tired."

Ignoring the least intelligent words I had ever heard and using all of my available patience and will, I finally got the class into some kind of order and shut up the evil voice demanding the migraine-inducing club anthem. The students finally began to work on the assignment of the day and, one-by-one, came to me to either show me their homework or--once again--plead their case. At the end of the period (It took that long to get through every workbook), the last students comforted me by admitting that the class had been "very bad today."

When the bell rang, the eternal champion of "Baby Boy" ran to the player and pressed play. Since I was still answering questions and explaining things to some of the students, I suffered through the song and, to get something out of it, stopped it at the end to explain some of the lyrics to the students.

You'd think I had just rammed a hot poker through each of their stomachs. The screams were ear-piercing and long lasting. I quickly explained the lyrics to any students who cared and got out of the room. Tomorrow will, apparently, be the first battle of a long war. If they want one, they've got it.

The second eighth class of the day wound up somewhere in the Earthly range between these two dramatically different visions, and, as such, was pretty tame and, thankfully, not worth writing about. After school, I talked basketball with some of the guys on the team. That was nice and relaxing, and a good way of cooling down a little after the day.

My lesson in Bulgarian, as always, brought me down to peace still further, and my time in the internet club will hopefully level things out completely. After a little escapism with Bad Boys 2 later, I'll arm myself well for the day ahead. Seats will be assigned and a new battle plan sketched out. Today was absolutely unacceptable, and it will not happen again.

WAIT. I HAVE TO GO TO WORK AGAIN?

Yesterday's post was supposed to go up, well, yesterday. But it didn't make it because I didn't quite make it to the internet club. Oh well, it's there today so scroll on down and have a look. While I don't have all that much to say today ("It's good to be home!" sums it all up pretty well), I'm here and might as well say something.

I slept in today and then went shopping. I picked up everything I needed to stock the fridge, and noted that Bad Boys 2 was playing at one of our theaters this week. Now, I haven't heard the greatest things about that movie. In fact, I've heard a lot of bad things. But I have a special place in my heart for the first movie, it's one of those movies that, despite being pretty bad by all indicators, is eminently rewatchable. I will see Bad Boys 2 this week, probably tomorrow, and I will enjoy it. So there.

Yeah, um, I guess that's pretty much it. Shopping was pretty uneventful. I asked for what I wanted and the woman ran around the store getting it. It's almost fun if you don't have the pressure of a dozen people standing behind you. That was the event of the day. It's been a calm, peaceful, and uneventful Sunday.

And even though tomorrow's Monday, it's good to be home.

THE HORROR, THE HORROR

The events of the past week, will, of course, be detailed later. First, I have to describe the opening events of a crisis. The coup in Georgia? No, that's covered elsewhere, and Bulgarians could really care less about Georgians--or anybody but Americans and Bulgarians really. This crisis is decidedly more personal. I came home today at about 4, unpacked, and sat down on the couch to unwind before dinner and a trip to the internet club. I flipped on the TV, turned to Cartoon Network, and sat back to enjoy some mindless humor. Now, as far as Peace Corps volunteers in Bulgaria go, I have a good selection of TV stations. Euro MTV, VH1, CNN, Eurosport, DW, they're all there. Cartoon Network has always been something I can depend on when I need to not think. When a day has left me so tired the only solution is to laugh it all off. Today, disaster struck.

My cable feed of Cartoon Network has finally gone completely French.

I saw the warning signs earlier. The ads were all in French, and the credit sequences as well. But, miraculously perhaps, the shows had all featured the usual English voices. Now it's all changed: Dexter speaks with a horrid French screech; Mojo Jojo does his thing, but it's all in French. It's horrible, and made for a terrible homecoming.

Oh, wait, I'm a Peace Corps volunteer. One who happens to live in Europe and get an amazing array of quality television. Maybe I ought to stop complaining. Where were we?

Oh yes, I've just gotten back from Ruse (or Rousse. However the heck it's transliterated. It's pronounced "Roo-Say," with an emphasis on the "Roo." I've always been fond of "Ruse" for getting that point across), where all the volunteers who got here in April, the B-13s, got together to talk, complain, eat, drink, plan ahead, and take a week-long break from teaching. On the menu for the first three days was project development. We all worked on this with our Bulgarian counterparts, so they were by our side until Wednesday afternoon.

Some of the interesting bits out of those days were the ongoing discussions of volunteer guilt over abandoning our counterparts at the end of the day. Somehow, the facts that they're Bulgarians, in their own country, and among their own colleagues, were not enough to sway many of us from the belief that we were somehow obliged to entertain them. To her credit, my counterpart--Vanya, never let me feel too bad as she always had a plan for the evenings, most of the time before I did. We also worked really well together and with the other people in our group of six. We designed a theoretical project to rehabilitate a local sports facility and program. For our closing presentation we made a rousing push for youth sports. Each of us read about particular values to be gained from sports while the rest did a stomp/clap (whump, whump, clap. The backbeat from "We Will Rock You"). The Bulgarians had a hard time picking it up at first, but managed to get it down perfectly for the presentation.

That lasted through lunchtime Wednesday and the counterparts left that afternoon or the next morning. That night, a few volunteers went to go see American Pie 3. Well, if there was ever a source of mindless humor, that movie was it. One laugh-out-loud scene, and the occasional snicker or chuckle the rest of the way. Not as good as the first two, but while that may sound like pretty faint praise, it's worth seeing if you want to see where the envelope sits at the moment. It's been pushed pretty far. The slightest reason to see it comes from Sean William Scott, who really channels Belushi pretty well in this one. He has his act down well.

Wednesday afternoon and Thursday were spent in TEFL training courses, where B-12s and PC people taught us new ways to keep the hell spawn (err, students) under control in class. Tricks, philosophies, and boondoggles were tossed at us, and I might try a few, but compared with some of the horror stories I heard this week from other volunteers, my students are angels. Perspective always works miracles.

Thursday morning also saw the arrival of the Peace Corps "in general" folks. Carl, the country director, came for the day and night, and volunteers representing the community development, environmental, and youth development programs all came for the day. We split into groups and had the opportunity to listen to a presentation from one of the programs. I chose youth development, seeing as I hadn't really been satisfied by an explanation of just what they--the newest program in Bulgaria--do here, or met many of them. I came away incredibly impressed and optimistic about my chances for using what they do for my own ends at the local orphanage.

Things like Halloween night at the orphanage are all well and good, but also incredibly random, unfocused, and draining. I figure it would be more productive to be doing something, well, productive with the kids. I had a chat with a couple of the new volunteers to see what they thought or what their programs did in regards to orphans nationally, and we managed to at least get some things out in the open. Unfortunately, Peace Corps hadn't quite dug deep enough to give them rooms in the hotel so they could stay beyond the afternoon. Chats over meals are where Bulgarians get most of their business done, as a counterpart or two reminded me earlier in the week, and it was a pity we didn't get so much as a dinner to talk about life, orphanages, etc. But, well, these sacrifices have to be made occasionally, I suppose. There's always a next time.

Carl, however, did stay the night and told me of a beautiful place in Sofia where he plays basketball on Sundays with locals and occasionally U.S. Marines. Carl does rather enjoy dangling carrots. Fortunately, this gives me one more regularly occurring reason to get down to Sofia, a seven hour, 15 leva bus ride away. Can't have too many reasons to get down to Sofia.

Friday was language day, where I learned and reviewed a couple of new tenses and learned a little about the history of Ruse and Bulgaria. It was a long day to finish up a long week, but we had a great farewell dinner at a local tavern and spent the rest of the night dancing and chatting at a nearby club.

Morning came, and we all crawled out of bed to check out and go home. I caught a 2:30 bus here, and well, I guess that catches us all up, now doesn't it? Since I'm back in the happy confines of Silistra, expect more regular reports throughout the week. Until then, photos of the two most disturbingly placed mannequins in storefront history.

THE BLANK

Not much to report. O! How I wish there was something to report. We've had two full days of seminars where we've been planning potential projects for our towns. Once Vanya (my counterpart) and I get a project solidified, the first thing I'll do is post a page about it detailing ways it can be supported. It will be part of that big facelift I've been promising this site and haven't yet stepped to the plate on. The seminars have been useful in an abstract and theoretical way. Vanya and I keep trying to whisper back and forth about practical issues with our project, but we keep getting hushed. We take the moments where we can get them. Tomorrow, we'll make presentations about our theoretical, nearly fictional, projects and everybody keeps demanding something special out of me.

Since this internet club's connection is attempting to suck an elephant through a coffee stirrer, I can't go back and check the archives in the time I have here. But at some point in the past, July 10th probably, I detail the events surrounding my counterpart conference at the end of training and the little song I sang there. Everybody has been, quite seriously, asking me when I will sing again and telling me that this presentation will be the perfect time and place to do something great. I'm forced to tell them that, despite my desire to entertain the volunteers and their counterparts, the last song was something like an event of the moment. I saw an opportunity, a small gap of opportunity was suggested, and I tucked the ball and hit the gap running. Turned out well enough, but even though there may be (as Letterman says) no off on the genius switch, there are times when that genius lightbulb is most appreciated (and for Letterman that happens to be around 11:30 most nights). On short notice, having everybody on the edge of their seats is just bound to lead to their disappointment. And since I'm also limited by the none-too-subtle fact that I have to be productive with this seminar, and am working with a group who may not be able to improvise new lyrics to old songs with the timeliness, things just can't be as magical as when I sang that song from Mary Poppins to a room full of people expecting a rather serious presentation.

Or I could just be imagining all of this pressure and should just freakin' relax. That could be true too.

More or less, the week will go on as planned. Long, productive, but mildly dull days backed by nights filled with fun, and gossip, and interpretative dance, and singing, and proposals that the whole Peace Corps experience would make a great HBO dramedy series of some sort. In short, the nights are filled with the scattershot ramblings and inventive friendliness that's all kinds of fun, but not really something that can be written about in the time I have here. That also means no time to proofread. I hope with crossed fingers that it was a good read.

EVERY WEEKEND THAT BEGINS MUST END

But this one has a ways to go. Friday morning I woke up on a bus as it was approaching Sofia at around 7 AM. From the station I walked to Peace Corps Headquarters and relaxed there while I waited for Jeff to come in so we could take care of travel plans. My M-Bag, a giant bag of books from the states, had finally come in and I looked through it, but all the books were appropriately wrapped in plastic bags. Only when I got home did I realize what a trove I had received. I'm reading Oliver Twist now and the school library will get them all as soon as they're processed somehow. Thanks to everyone who has sent in books so far, they're appreciated beyond words.

So Jeff finally came in, we had a long talk about various things Bulgarian, then we went over to the travel agency where we, with a couple of other volunteers, had arranged for a trip to Egypt for the New Year.

We paid for the packaged trip, after waiting for a particular agent to arrive, then, at a loss for things to do, we went to go see The Matrix Revolutions. I'm going to go ahead and slap it with a big "meh. It was okay." Entertaining, but with frightfully bad character development (The Frenchman and Persephone, the two most interesting characters in the last two films, are again given less than five minutes of screen time) and bad dialogue (Young Kid: I never completed training. Dying Mentor: Neither did I. ). It's an impressive study in how sequels can be much, much worse than originals. And I'm at this point thoroughly convinced that the brothers Wachowski did not plan the whole thing as a trilogy. If they had, any reasonable person would have paced Neo's development better, so he isn't the exact same character in the last two films.

Anyway, we saw that, did something or other for two hours at Peace Corps HQ, then hung out at the nearby Irish Pub, Murphy's, with other volunteers. On that particular night, a group of Irish guys at the bar were having a swell time singing along to various folk songs that, if one knew the words, would be very fun to sing along to. For a while, we talked about this and America's surprising lack of such songs. I argued heroically that if any bar were to start playing "Cecilia" or "Hey Jude" with a group of Americans, of any age from 20-50, around, those Americans would be bound to join in and sing along. Everyone seemed to agree, but as none of us had ever encountered that kind of situation, we were all left without any proof.

When Murphy's had exhausted itself, and we had gotten good dinners, around 8, Jeff and I wandered aimlessly looking for something to do. We went over to the National Palace of Culture, an immense, ominous looking building if there ever was one, and we saw a crowd at the entrance. Curious as to what was happening, we went to go figure out where they sold tickets, which turned out to be in a hole in the ground on another side of the building. On the way, we met up with two volunteers of the female persuasion who, when they saw us, asked, "Are you guys here to see In the Cut too?" "Sure." we said, having no idea what In the Cut was.

Well, turned out it was a chick flick starring Meg Ryan. Not a bad chick flick though, and one involving murder, blood, and enough nude shots of Meg Ryan to make things interesting and even out the other kinds of nude shots in the movie. Bit of a departure for her, this movie. She plays a weak English Lit teacher fascinated by her own fantasies in life and oblivious to the differences between those fantasies and the startling things that start to happen around her. It's a good movie to analyze a bit when you're done with it, and it's a pretty entertaining ride. Never would have seen it if we hadn't been in a "Ah, what the hell?" kind of mood that only a mediocre Matrix sequel can create in a person.

After that, Jeff went to a hostel to get to sleep and I met some other volunteers for a nightcap at another cafe near Peace Corps Headquarters. There I met two B-14s, who seemed to be good, hearty folk and in good condition after training. And, incidentally, the Alaskan Bulgarian would like to extend a warm welcome to all mothers of B-14s whose kids don't write enough e-mails. Glad to be of service in showing you a glimpse of the kind of life they're living.

Left the bar at 12:30, caught a bus at 1 AM and slept my way to Silistra where I arrived at 8ish. I did some last minute laundry, using my heater to dry the clothes in a slightly more rapid way than the usual drapings around the room, and then went to sleep on the couch. I woke up at four, prepared things a little for the next day, and went outside to meet my 12th class students at 6 so I could chaperone their little all night party.

They ushered me away to an old boarding school outside of town that seems to be used only for sanctioned high school parties these days. The two supervisors were very kind, and made sure everything was taken care of before they left for the night. There isn't that much to report about the party, it featured the usual senior sentimentality and group bonding. I was the only one there looking over the 30 kids, but they were all fine and only wanted to have a good time. I had a "wow" moment at about 2 AM when I realized what an odd situation it was to be listening to a bunch of my students in Bulgaria singing along to all of Deep Purple's "Soldier of Fortune." That's a "life's funny sometimes" situation if I've ever heard of one.

Shortly after that moment, when about half of the group had gone over to the dorms to go to sleep, I followed them and rested for a while myself. I woke up at 7:30, followed shortly by everyone else. We cleaned the whole place up and were gone by 9. Good times had by all.

Getting home, I packed again and walked to the bus station at 11. I napped on the bus to Ruse and got here for PC in-service training that will last until Saturday. All the B-13 TEFLs will be here by tomorrow. And I have a feeling it won't be just a week of somber reflection and renewed intent on doing a job well done.

So that's where I am now, a Ruse internet cafe, where the light is getting dim outside at 4:00. Time to go eat.

THURSDAYS, BLOODY THURSDAYS

Another hard Thursday, come and gone. I got both 12th classes to debate, although it was like conducting surgery without anaesthetic in the second class. They simply have no desire to do anything but sit around and mope in Bulgarian about life and do crossword puzzles. Occasionally, I give them exercises to do, and they do them in a grumbling, bitchy sort of way. I have more fun doing the "creative" things with them, and it gets them speaking in English, but it really gets most of my energy. They do this to all their teachers apparently, or at least that's what my counterpart and they tell me. I just wish they wouldn't do it to me. This week has become "I didn't come all the way over here for..." week, and I certainly didn't come all the way over here for high school seniors who have no further desire to learn English, or anything else for that matter.

Yesterday was a bit better, although odd. Wednesdays are always odd. I only have two hours of class to teach, and they're the first two classes of the day, beginning at 7:30. Basically, I treat it like a period of three hours where I'm simply not sleeping. I go to school, teach, talk to other teachers to see if anything's going on during the day, then go home, fix myself breakfast, and go back to sleep, usually on the couch. Strange thing about yesterday was that I only managed to coax myself awake around 4, when I was supposed to meet my counterpart at the post office and take care of some things. This wound up being 6 hours of napping on top of the 6 hours of sleep I had gotten the night before. Weird day.

It left me all disoriented when I finally managed to find a good basketball game to play in and got some good full-court running. These guys knew what they were doing, and I felt like the guy out of touch. It was a first in Bulgaria. I managed to get a few points on the board and pick up a few blocks, but it wasn't really my best outing, and their solid defense was just as responsible as my sudden desire to sleep whenever I'm not teaching.

That's been another theme of the week, me being busy but intensely lazy about it. I've done just enough to get the jobs I have to get done finished, but I've never really exerted myself, and I've been napping whenever I can. I need a good solid sleep weekend, and it ain't going to happen this weekend.

Tonight, I take the all-night bus to Sofia where I'll take care of Christmas plans once and for all tomorrow. Then I'll take another all-nighter back so I can get to Silistra in time to meet a 12th class student who will take me to a party I'm chaperoning just outside of town. Sunday afternoon, I head to Ruse to have an all-week conference with other TEFL volunteers and their counterparts. I'm not altogether sure that I'll get much sleep at all next week either. Well, sleep will come when I get back to America, I suppose. All's well as long as I keep the awake and alert face to the students. Something I'm getting better at every day, it seems.

HEY FELLAS, WHAT'S COOLER THAN BEING COOL?

Before we begin, I've fixed the stupid and obvious grammatical errors in the last post. Just pretend they never happened. It was a busy weekend in a certain abstract kind of way and I was in hurry. Now, your post for the day...

The first signs of winter struck hard today. The biting cold came in on a wind from the north and forced everybody's hands into their pockets and prompted some people to put on hats and gloves. There still hasn't been any snow worth mentioning, but I have a gut feeling it might come in the next couple of nights. Today, at times, temperatures were certainly at or below freezing with the wind taken into account.

In school, things were a little more heated as I got a touch peeved with my 11th class. They're studying English as a 2nd foreign language, which in most cases would mean they don't have to give a damn about the class and will take any grade as long as they pass. Most take English at a private school in town, skip classes in school, and show up only when they have to do whatever they can on a test. It's the one class I'm teaching on my own, so I have to focus on explaining the rules of the language as well as fluency (my focus in the classes where I can leave the rules up to the Bulgarian teachers, who probably know them better than I do anyway). I'm willing to give them a little leeway, since I'm a nice guy and habits are hard to break. But they don't get a freaking native speaker from America to pop in and teach them English every year, and I had to give a little speech today.

I had just returned and reviewed a test whose results had disappointed me more than a little, and was about to begin the day's lesson after a break, when two girls who had gotten a five (a Bulgarian "B") and a four ("C") on their tests came up and, I swear to God, asked me:

"Can we go home for second hour so we can talk to our boyfriends?"

I looked up from my lesson plan.

"What?"

The girl who had gotten a 4 mumbled something in Bulgarian. The other girl translated for her. "She says she has to talk to her boyfriend about ..." I phased that part of the sentence out. I really have no recollection about what the problem with their relationship might have been.

"Look. You two didn't do too well on your tests, and I'm going to start a new subject today."

"Yes." Five girl answered. "But it's about modal verbs, and we've already studied those at Alexander Language School."

"You can go," I said. "But I'm going to mark you down as absent if you do."

"But we've already studied--"

"Look." I sat on a desk and prepared to ramble on for a while. "I'm not here to read your textbook to you. I talk to you, and use the textbook as a guide. I didn't come to Bulgaria to sit in any empty classroom and think about the things I would do if I had students. I left America, left my family, my friends, my dog, my cat (who has since died), to come to Bulgaria for two years and teach English. I try to make the classes entertaining. But if I bore you, I'm going to have to say that that is too bad."

"But you're our favorite teacher." 5 girl replied. "You're fun. But she is having problems with her boyfriend."

Realizing that appealing to their respect for my being in their country wouldn't work, I appealed to their gradebook. I pulled out the list of grades for the test.

"Looking at this, it seems like the students who got twos, threes, and fours on their tests were the ones that never show up to class. The ones that got fives and sixes have only, at the most, missed one class. It seems like showing up to class once in a while is a good idea."

That actually got them to stay, and 5 girl spent the next hour of the lesson consoling 4 girl while tossing out the occasional answer to questions I asked regarding modal verbs. 4 girl spent the hour looking and acting miserable, but I can't say I didn't give her the option of leaving with an unexcused absence. We made it through a lesson on modal verbs where I used examples from the Matrix, which had been on Bulgarian TV the night before. I would write "Morpheus tells Neo that he ________ in himself to be the One." on the board and the class would say, in surprising unison, "must believe!" The class also agreed that the first movie was vastly superior to the second, and most saw seeing the third as either a joke or something they'll do someday when they're very bored (which will probably happen to be the week the movie finally comes to Silistra).

The rest of the class seemed to have a good deal of fun with the lesson. But the insane request from the two girls has gnawed at me for the rest of the day. Ah, the challenges of teaching.

AND IN OTHER NEWS...Owen has left for St. Petersburg, and has gone to...[man on kettle drums begins playing] dum, dom, dum, dom[man on kettle drums stops]...Travel Blog mode! Today marks his first "Travelling is Hell" entry and also his first use of heavy adjectives, as in the phrase "rich blue seats embedded with individual screens." Head on over to Lex Libertas and wish the man better travelling (and better punctuality) in the future. Welcome to Eastern Europe, Owen!

AND MORE QUIZ FUN...

I'm not sure if these are getting better, I'm getting more bored at the internet club, or both. This one intrigued me when I saw it on the always worth reading Ghost of a Flea (who I really haven't linked to enough). I've always wanted to be in a Hemingway novel...Well no. Not really. That would probably mean getting shot, punched, or really very drunk day and night. But his characters do have fun occasionally, I like his books, and I'm an ex-pat at the moment. So it all seems to fit.

Ernest Hemingway penned your novel. Go you

studlyman, you.

Which Author's Fiction are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Time to head over to the bar and have pull with Jody and get really tight and enjoy the evening. The air is cold and I can see my breath when I walk, but it keeps me awake and prevents me from toppling over when I drink too much. I need the drink, the powerful drink. It keeps me from thinking too much about Bulgaria and the students and the grading and the tests and the cold, cold air and her. It keeps from thinking about--her.

If I aim in a slightly less alcohol-oriented direction, I get Robert Heinlein. So I'm doomed to die in a trench or be devoured by aliens. The outlook is good!

IS TEACHING FOR ME?

This is the kind of question that gets asked a lot around Peace Corps-Bulgaria. Teaching is, after all, what many of us are here to do, and few of us have had any kind of long-term experience actually doing it before our arrival. I think about it a lot myself, going to classes, coming to classes. The thing is, as draining as teaching is here, and I'm sure it's draining everywhere, I never drag my feet getting to school. While I'm teaching, I may sometimes rub my temples and take a couple of deep breaths when the kids just won't shut up. But I never ask myself what I'm doing here, or why I continue to stay. Thing is, teaching at its worst is a challenge and at its best makes me laugh and smile more than a lot of things. On the whole, it's actually pretty fun, and I enjoy myself when I do it.

So am I going to rush back to America after two years, get a teaching certificate, and teach at the first school that will have me? Um, no. Probably not. More likely at this point would be pursuing a PhD in English and teaching college students. In my opinion, the more students that come in ready and willing to learn, the better. Motivation hasn't been my favorite aspect of teaching so far. Making the boring bits, ie lectures, exciting has been one of my favorite parts. And applying this apparent talent I have to literature would be a way to spend a life, methinks. Besides, this inherent need to connect with the students gives me a reason to watch the music and cartoon networks religiouslty without feeling guilty or childish. All I need to crack up a room is throw out a Mojo Jojo impression or explain by example why I don't like Linkin Park. I don't spend every day in every class discussing the finer points of Cold Play and the White Stripes, but if I need to bring the kids in the rear back into the class, a short discussion of music works better than demanding they get their nose in the books.

And can I apply this all to teaching at a university? Well, seeing as I got my example from a professor at a university, I don't see why not. My senior year I had a German philosophy class with the chair of the Germanics Dept. at UCLA. I wasn't all that interested in the course, taking it because it fulfilled a requirement for my major. But he made Neitzsche, Schopenhauer, Hegel et al as palatable as they could possibly be, and I do in fact remember most of their points, if not volumes of quotes from their work. The professor did this by invoking the odd Madonna reference, the occasional Ben Affleck throw-in, and constant updates on the Justin-Britney breakup. This stuff wasn't relevant to me at this time, thankfully, but it lightened up discussions on the dialectic and made everything in the lectures a little easier to swallow.

I'm not sure if I would still use pop cultural references in class without that example. Nevertheless it seems to work and makes the classes flow more easily. I also get to learn about the reaction of Bulgarian youth to Western culture. Shockingly, very few Bulgarians like the White Stripes and Outkast. Most are indifferent to the heavier pop icons like Justin Timberlake, and most love rap and hip-hop as well as hard rock from all periods, prompting my regualr criticism of Linkin Park, whose every song sounds exactly like their first hit "In the End."

Of course, I'm saying that there hasn't been any burn out just before I'm finished with my second month of classes. If that isn't jumping the gun, I don't know what is. All I'm saying is at this point, things are looking good.

THE LAST, DYING DAYS OF THE WEEK

Well, the cold I feared earlier came and peaked Tuesday night. It's now in remission and my body's in the persistent process of getting rid of the phlegm. All that's left is the clean-up. I really like it when colds work out like that.

The problem is, clean-up or no, the cold has sapped me. Even though I'm normally in need of a long nap Thursday afternoons, I really need one now, since the eighth class was a giant, collective pain the rear today.

I'm pretty much saying that there's a lot to write about, but at this particular point in time, while I'm here in the internet club, right now, I'm in no real mood to write. Apologies, etc. More to come tomorrow, I'm sure.

Because I'm tired, I want to go home, and I feel a cold coming on, it's...

A SHORT GLIMPSE INTO LIFE IN BULGARIA

Today, I was in a hurry around lunchtime (which should explain, in part, why I'm tired.) I didn't have time to go all the way home and make myself a lunch. I had an extra class with the llth graders at 2 and needed to make some copies before the end of the school day. Since I had already obliterated the copy guy's patience and also weakened the copy machine with my test for an earlier class, I had to go into town to get the day's reading copied.

On the way back, I stopped in at a hamburger stand. Bulgarian hamburgers, I should mention, are not in any way the sort you'd find in McDonalds or Burger King. They are, instead, an enlarged english muffin mashed into a toaster, sliced down the middle and stuffed with meat, tomatoes, cucumbers, french fries, mayo, ketchup and mustard. It is, undoubtably, crap. But so is fast food in America and I was in a hurry.

I approached the counter as a small herd of primary school girls giggled at the fact that I towered over their friend, also at the counter. After their friend had ordered, I said in Bulgarian "May I have a hamburger with schnitzel?" I've grown to have a fondness for schnitzel as fast food. My host family used to serve it for lunch. It has a particular unhealthy taste to it, and some stands actually have it. This one had it on the menu outside.

The woman behind the counter said not a word. She nodded her head and continued standing there, not looking at me in particular, but maintaining a half-interest in a bottle of ketchup on a shelf. My mind made two clicks: head nod, no bodily movement. Ah Ha! She was trying to tell me they have no schnitzel! The Bulgarian head nod/shaking reversal still takes a while to register with me. "There isn't any?" I asked.

She turned one eye, the closer one, to me and said "No, there isn't!" As if I, the only paying customer at the counter, was presenting a serious roadblock in her day.

"Is there ham?" I asked.

"Yes." She shook her head and assembled a ham hamburger (How novel!) in the most immaculate manner I've yet seen in Bulgaria. Each tomato, cucumber, and french fry was placed with precise location and meaning, and it seemed to take her all of 5 minutes to assemble the thing.

Fortunately, I was able to pay in exact change and not further inconvenience her. The consequences of that could have been severe.

And that's...

A SHORT GLIMPSE INTO LIFE IN BULGARIA

THE GREAT CONFEDERACY

In an Onion AV Club interview, Will Ferrell talks about the possibility of his playing Ignatius Reilly in a film version of A Confederacy of Dunces. Here's the relevant bit:

O: Are you doing A Confederacy Of Dunces?

WF: Yeah. It's now kind of gone back into a bit of a holding pattern. When the money is there, it's definitely something that the producer and director want me to do. I would be thrilled if it finally gets together, but it's been fraught with peril for a long time.

O: Would you gain weight for the part, or have you thought that far ahead?

WF: I have. Whatever the health issues would be, there's a part of me that would love to do the De Niro Raging Bull thing. But I hear that actually wrecked his metabolism, and he's had to battle that ever since he did that.

This made me sad, then happy when I thought it over for a while. At first, I reacted the way I normally do about books made into movies. I asked the room in general "Why can't Hollywood make something original for once?" I have thousands of my own images in my own head from A Confederacy of Dunces and when I watch the film, some of those images will be corrupted.

But, thought I, what if Will Ferrell gives me a new perspective on Reilly, something I hadn't thought of before? He's certainly more than able. If he treats Reilly the way he needs to be treated, I think Ferrell can more than handle the part. And what if the entire movie is actually done well and brings out new ideas? Well, that will allow it to break even in my mind.

What will push it into the black is the very real possibility that more people will go out and read my favorite book and I'll get fewer confused stares when I tell them that it's my favorite novel and that John Kennedy Toole is my favorite writer. Some will assume I only like the book becasue I heard about it from the movie, but that's the price I'll have to pay to actually be able to talk about Toole's one major work and one masterpiece.

As it is, I don't have the book here in Bulgaria because I loaned it to the proprietor of Lex Libertas, and am only vaguely optimistic about his reading it. But he did the right thing in borrowing it at least. If you've never read the book, find someone who has a copy, go to the library, go to Amazon, wherever, and get a copy. You might still have a chance to be one of the fashionable ones to read the most triumphant piece of literature ever written before "Now a Major Motion Picture From Paramount" is permanently tatooed on the binding and cover.

UPDATES

Photos have been added throughout the week, going all the way back to Monday. Re-read the stories (it won't kill you) and marvel at the photography. Also, a quiz response...

Which OS are You?

Warm fuzzy feeling from that one courtesy of Owen at Lex Libertas, who wound up being some creepy Mac OS. That'll teach him. He'll be leaving for Russia soon, and California's giving him a fantastic and apocalyptic good-bye party. All of Mother Nature's friends are chipping in.

THE ORPHANGE AT HALLOWEEN

I'm not really sure what to think of last night. It felt great to go up the hill again and help out at the orphanage. It always feels great when I'm done. I feel absolutely drained of all physical and emotional energy when I head down the hill, but I think the great feeling comes from that. An hour later is when the cloud sets in. It's the afterglow of the orphange that gets me, the thoughts and reflections on what those kids go through. Let's start at the beginning.

Debbie, the volunteer in Silistra working with the municipality and business center, had gotten a couple of boxes from friends of hers in the states. The boxes were full of little plastic bags containing Halloween candy. Understandably not wanting to go up there alone with two boxes of candy, Debbie recruited me and Gail from Pleven to go up and help. I needed to go up at some point anyway, since I had promised one of the kids I would return with English workbooks for him to use. Gail's just a good volunteer willing to sacrifice quite a lot of energy to help out. Debbie, properly assuming that I might need a costume, brougt along the silly cowgirl hat you can see if you squint at the pictures and she and Gail picked me up in a cab on their way up the hill.

As soon as we stepped through the gate at around 6:45 in the evening, it was like those moments in "Backdraft" where the poor arson victims open their doors. I could hear an audible whoosh as the lungs of the kids standing around the door filled up, and they rushed at us shouting batko at me and kaka Debbie at Debbie (kaka being a familiar form of sister in Bulgarian). They swarmed Gail and started hugging her even before Debbie had the chance to introduce her. Hugs were tossed around, we shook hands, I explained why I was wearing a cowgirl hat and pigtails, and explained what Halloween was all about. Then we all went inside and upstairs to the orphans tiny little living room.

I should qualify that. The orphans' living room isn't tiny. In fact their common area is about the size of the whole of my apartment, which is more than ample. For one person. Squeezing all 70-some orphans into that space is intense. Apparently, when Americans or other visitors aren't there, the orphans spend most of the winter sitting in their dorm rooms, where the bunkbeds are all stacked next to, near, and on each other. They aren't allowed to go out in the winter, even on sunny days, for fear of one child catching a cold and infecting the entire population inside. As a result of this caging the orphans develop prodigous amounts of energy, and release it on any novel person willing to step through the door. At night, only one, and at the most two, adults are around and supervising.

The pictures above don't adequately represent the insanity of last night. I have 92 photos from the night, and we were there for a little over an hour before the kids had to go to bed. I didn't take all of the photos, of course. In fact, I think I wound up taking ten, at the most. After the first kid asked if he could take a photo and I gently showed him how to look through the digital screen and press the button on top, every kid had to take a photo. I watched the camera like a hawk and never left the side of the orphan holding it, and it got through the night without a scratch. The kids got infinite joy out of it, I think it was worth the risk. And I'll have to do a separate entry on the camera and send an e-mail to Kodak one of these days because this basic EasyShare CX4200, that doesn't even have a zoom, has been through hell and back. Other than the tiny scratches on the screen in the back, the camera is really as good as new. It goes out, takes upwards of 100 shots on a single battery charge, and comes back ready for more. I've sat on the thing lightly when it was in my pocket, dropped it short distances, held it in the same hand I was using to balance myself in a slide down the side of a steep hill, and seen it go through the hands of 70 Bulgarian orphans, and it still works well and takes great pictures. I haven't been so happy with a piece of technology, ever, I think. And, since the camera's less than a year old, I'm knocking loudly on wood as I write this.

Back to the orphans. As soon as we started passing out the candy, two mobs formed around the two boxes. I kept yelling at the kids to sit and come one at a time, and my commands would work for whole seconds at a time. Amazingly, every kid who wanted candy got a bag, and the whole thing was over in about five minutes. For the rest of the hour in the orphanage, I was tugged all over the building assisting in, being in, and taking photogrpahs of orphans all wanting to do the most extravagant of poses. Some wanted to have their photos taken with only one other kid, and wouldn't leave me alone until that task was done. Those were the hardest photos, as I had to hold all the kids dying to be in a shot back until I'd fulfilled the wishes of the two selfish little things.

Finally, the supervisor started ushering the kids into their rooms and I found Debbie and Gail being played with in one of the back dorm rooms. I told them what was happening and we decided it would probably be best to leave. A half hour of more photos, American football throwing, hugging, etc. later we managed to call a taxi and make it to the front door, where it took a good deal of effort to peel the kids away and keep them there. We finally got to the cab and Debbie invited me over to dinner at her place.

She had a chicken casserole prepared and I poured some wine and we all sat down to another of Debbie's great dinners. The conversation kept diving back to the orphange, though, and when it wasn't there we talked about any number of things about Bulgaria we find depressing. Apparently realizing the futility of attempting any conversation based around mirth, we peppered the downer lines of dialogue with stories that drew laughs. There was nothing that could be done really, and we all managed to vent a little, but it's always a shame to bring down a good dinner.

I had promised Jody and a few Bulgarians that I would come to a nearby bar at 10 for a Halloween party. After leaving Debbie andd Gail, I walked down the street and stopped after a step next to Jody whose group was hanging out on the fringe of the sardine can bar. I ordered a beer, and finally got through it after an hour and a half. My stomach felt off, probably because of the wine before beer, and I couldn't breathe at all in the bar packed with people dressed in costumes and celebrating the holiday no Bulgarian celebrates. After an attempt to see if some air would clear things up, I said my goodbyes and went home. I hadn't really been in a spectacular party mood anyway, and everyone seemed to understand.

THE BULGARIAN NON-HOLIDAY

"No, no. We don't celebrate Halloween here, Mr. Young. But, um, can we have a party at your apartment to celebrate Halloween?"

Ah, the 12th grade, the students I was most looking forward to before I started teaching. I thought they'd be just like little college students. The school I teach at is a language school, a public school with a selective admitting system, and the 12th grade kids are the bunch that has gone through the school's rigors for five years. They really know what they're doing and they all want to learn. Turns out they are little college students though, and many of them come complete with drunk driving records and most have an insatiable desire to smoke whenever they aren't in class and drink whenever they aren't in school. I'm willing to take a "we're all adults here" stance with them in class, as long as they don't ask stupid questions like the one above. Then I just give them a baffled look and tell them to get back to work.

Anyway, since I have today off, most of the time spent yesterday in class was devoted to Halloween. My colleagues see my being here as the perfect time to teach the kids about my least favorite holiday. It's not that I hate Halloween, or get "bah humbug" about it and snarl at the kids ready to egg my door. I'm just indifferent to it and run through the paces where, for any other holiday, I'd really expect myself to get into some kind of spirit. I did manage to do it for the kids yesterday though.

I figured that no one in Bulgaria, let alone the eighth graders I was focusing on, had seen the brains and eyeballs, and bloody organs in a bag trick. I was worried for a moment that it would be tough to pull off in a country where livers, hearts, and bowel linings are considered good food (I have, in a sporting way, given the liver and heart their due. But I've resolutely avoided shkembe), but I went ahead with it anyway, cooking up some spaghetti in fruit juice so it came out with that perfect, pinkish hue. I also bought a small platter of cooked kufte balls and red pepper slices, which I figured would pass for rotten eyeballs and slices of heart. I put the "brains" in a plastic bag of their own, and the "eyes" and "heart" in another bag. I doused the eyes and hearts in ketchup and put the whole thing in the fridge for the next day.

The costume was another problem. I simply had nothing to wear. So I took my plaid shirt, buttoned it poorly, put on my worst pants with a rope as a belt, and mussed up my hair beyond recognition. The rest of the costume I left up to performance.

The first class was the best, seeing as how I had the most energy going into the last long day of a long week. I came into the room as Frankie, jutted out my lower jay as far is it would go, and did the whole lesson as Phil Hartman's old Frankenstein from Saturday Night Live. I told the kids that "Frankie like to talk in the third person and would be make mistakes throughout class." When they caught me, they would say trick or treat, and I would give them something out of the bag of candy I had brought. That all went over pretty well. And they loved the brains and organs. Most bought the brain illusion until they were right up on top of the bag and looking inside. I also let them take turns carving various parts of the pumkin one of the students had brought. They made a pretty good jack o' lantern.

My next four hours were with the 12th class, so I abandoned Frankie and turned to Edgar Allan Poe, who most of them had to wrestle with but seemed to enjoy. We did the "Masque of the Red Death" and "The Raven." They illustrated sheets of paper I had given them for "Red Death" and acted along with "The Raven." Went over pretty well, but since the copy machine had broken down as usual and on schedule, I had to read everything aloud in both classes, leaving me without much voice or energy.

For the last eighth class, I again abandoned Frankie, but kept up the mistakes for candy game, the organs, and the pumkin thing. The class, normally obnoxious at the end of the day anyway, was nearly unbearable, but I managed to make it through the forty-five minutes without killing any of them, which would have been an apt finale to Halloween, but would probably have gotten me thrown in jail.

I stopped in at a restaurant on the way home for a late lunch and, at my apartment, collapsed on the couch for a long nap. I woke up, finished A Farewell to Arms, and throroughly depressed, wound up cleaning the entire apartment before making myself dinner and starting in on Douglas Adam's posthumous The Salmon of Doubt. It's sad knowing that Adams will never write again, but good to have his wit around after Hemingway's how-to manual on miscarrying babies and losing girlfriends during pregnancy. A lot of people call that his best novel. If I had people going around calling a downer like that my best work, I'd think twice whenever I passed the shotgun on the mantle, too.

Thankfully slept in today, took a shower and took care of some business at school, then came here. I'm bracing myself, though, as this day won't be easy. I'm going to pay a Halloween visit to the orphans this evening, and they never let me off the hook very easily.

THE LUCK AT THE END OF THE LINE

As I've mentioned before, Silistra is at one of Bulgaria's corners, nestled between Romaina to the west and the Danube to the north. Romania is awfully quiet across the border, and since there really is nowhere else to go, bus and train routes come to a halt in Silistra. The train tracks end at the foot of the station and the bus station is a turnaround (although this is usually the case in any other city, it's poignant here in Silistra. Come on, work with me on this one). I'd never really thought of the advantages of living in one of the country's dead-ends until last night and this morning.

Coming home from Varna last night, the bus was very warm and I was very tired after a long weekend and a long day of travelling. I was also wearing khakis with large loose pockets, an important fact when one is drowsy on a bus, a fact which I overlooked until later in the evening. I fell asleep in my seat and woke up just before the arrival in Silistra. I got up out of my seat, stretched, said goodbye to the two teachers I had travelled with and waited so I could be the last person off the bus. I walked home in that lazy way I've gotten used to after a trip on the bus where most of the time is spent sleeping. Then I made dinner and read Farewell to Arms until midnight, when I decided to go to bed.

I walked over to the table and unloaded my pockets. Hmm, I thought, I don't remember taking out my cell phone earlier. I walked around the room, checking all the usual places where I might have deposited the phone, and I also checked the couch, to make sure the phone hadn't fallen out of my pocket while I was reading. Nothing. I was surprisingly rational considering the hour and value of the phone. I remember first chalking it up as the first casualty to Bulgarian pickpockets or my own carelessness. I remember thinking something along the lines of "that'll teach me, then, won't it?"

Then I went through the usual process one goes through when they lose something. When did I last remember using it? I had used it to check the time just before getting on the bus. Okay, so pickpockets were out. And it wasn't in the apartement, although I couldn't be certain that it wasn't somehow under a plie of papers. It was probably on the bus. Well, that bus could be anywhere now. No, wait. That was an express bus from Varna to Silistra, and the last bus of the night. Besides, it's a long trip and they probably aren't going to send a bus back out on the road without a pit stop. I'd better go see if it's still at the station.

So, at 12:30 I went back to the bus station. The early morning buses to Sofia were warming up in the parking lot, their exhausts puffing clouds in the cold and their windows already foggy from the passengers inside. The Menes bus I had taken wasn't in the lot. I went inside, where two policemen and a couple of workers were sitting in the station cafe, talking. I explained my situation.

"Well, that bus is probably at the petrol base, in the Menes Garage." One of the policemen said in Bulgarian. "Do you know this city?"

"Yes, yes." I replied. "Where is the garage?"

"Near the airplane."

I gave a puzzled look.

"He doesn't know the city." The policeman sighed. The waitress at the cafeteria said that I could just ask any taxi driver to take me to the Menes Garage.

"Or the petrol base." The policeman added.

"So I should go in the morning?" I asked.

"Yes. You should go in the morning." The policeman answered. "The bus and the driver will be there. They'll be there at 6 in the morning."

"And that bus won't be the first bus out of town tomorrow morning? It won't come here to the station?"

"It might be the first bus out, but you should go at 6 anyway."

"No. There's no way it will be the first bus." The waitress retorted. "They need time to check it in the morning."

"But if it's checked tonight, they could leave in the morning." The policeman turned to me. "Just go to the Menes Garage, or the petrol base, at 6 tomorrow morning."

I thanked them very much and left. As I was leaving, they were still discussing whether the bus could be the first one out in the morning. Before I returned home, I crossed the street in front of my apartment, put my phone card into the pay phone at the gas station, dialled my phone's number, and sprinted across the street to my apartment. When I got inside, I heard no ringing. I had done what few who lose things manage to do. I had placed the lost object precisely. It had to be on the bus. The driver probably wouldn't even give the bus a once-over tonight and as long as I got there early in the morning, I would be the first one to see where I had sat on the trip. I went downstairs, collected my phonecard and hung up the phone, then went back to the apartment and to bed. I got to sleep around 1:30 and woke up at five to my alarm.

I had a small breakfast of apples and a glass of milk and went downstairs to catch a cab. I asked the driver if he knew where the Menes Garage was. He did, and took me there. Sure enough, it was in the most distant corner of town, squeezed between the river and the border, and there was an airplane parked uselessly in a lot near the garage. The morning was very cold and a thick frost covered the grass and the puddles were all iced over.

I walked up to the gate, waited for the gatekeeper to come out, and explained my predicament to him. He told me that the driver, a guy named Michael, would be by at 9 to work on the bus, and that I should come back at 9. I thanked him and walked the twenty minute hike to school, stopping in at a store for a warm banitsa (cheese between layers of phillo dough. Mostly fat, but filling and warm). I had classes during the first two periods of the day, the second ending at 9:10, and I thought over my options and what I would have to do to get to the garage by 9.

As it turns out, my second class was good today, and in-tune to my predicament when I brought it up. They blazed through the day's lesson, and I let them go ten minutes early without much guilt. I caught a cab at the main street near the school, and went back to the garage. A different gate guy was there for the day shift, and I explained the story of the missing phone for the third time. My Bulgarian in telling the story was rock-solid by this point. He took me into the garage and asked Michael, who was leading a team working on the car, if I could have a look inside the bus. He said "of course," and I went in and to the back where I had sat the night before. Sure enough, the phone was there, right in the middle of the seat, and it said I had missed the call I had made from the gas station last night.

I left the bus all smiles and thanked the gate guy, and Michael. Michael was the first person of many during the day to tell me that I was "very lucky." I never really brought up that a lot of it had to do with footwork, too. But luck seemed as good a reason for my success as any. I went back to the school, where the kids had apparently told the other English teachers about my problem. They were all worried and seemed happy and ready to credit luck when I told them I had found the phone.

The day went on pleasantly after that, with whings falling into place. I've been asked to put on a couple of Halloween parties during my classes tomorrow. We're behind in our work, but a holiday is a holiday and I agreed to lead the day's festivities.

Anyway, that's the long and winding story of the day. I have grading to do. Gotta run.