Raspuns la scrisorica

Citii si eu parerea unei studente romance la Londra aici, si sar cu parerea mea:

Catre toti cei care se cred speciali pentru ca:

- locuiesc / nu locuiesc in Romania, America, Anglia, Franta etc
- cred / nu cred in Dumnezeu, Allah, Buddha etc
- asculta / nu asculta manele, rock, jazz etc
- au / nu au copii
- is / nu is albi, negri, rosii, galbeni, roz bonbon etc
- cred / nu cred ca democratia / comunismul / capitalismul sunt supersianumebe
- se inflameaza / nu se inflameaza patriotic
- fac / nu fac sex cu femei, barbati, ambii in acelasi timp
- fac / nu fac avort


SUNETI NISTE PROSTI

Functionari in vacanta

Mi-a dat mai o tzarasica timp hazbandul adresa unui centru de resurse pentru profesori, pe care l-a vazut intr-o pauza de pranz, la cam 20 de minute mers lent de noi. Mi-am facut bagajele asadar ieri (apa, suc, gustare, sepci, bomboane) si m-am dus dupa Vic la "centre aéré" ca sa purcedem toti trei catre respectivul centru. L-am scos pe la 5, ca inchideau la 6 jumate.

 

Cand il iau pe asta mare, il vad rosu ca un rac in obraji si cam lesinat. Ii dau repede sa bea, zice ca se simte bine, ca i-i cald de la soare. Cum evident nu i-a dat prin cap sa se duca la umbra, i-am zis de vreo patrujsiceva de ori sa nu mai stea in soare, ca o sa il doara capul alea alea. Imi place ca l-am tot intrebat "na, cum esti, nu ti-i prea cald, poti sa mergi, nu ti-i prea cald, sigur nu ti-i prea cald" si imi zice si el "et toi ça va, maman, tu as mis un jolie robe...aujourd'hui" (de fiecare data cand ii place cum sunt imbracata imi zice, si mai si pluseaza cu o privire super incantata, ma face sa ma simt ca un star).

 

Ne-am tarat dupa conversatie catre centrul ala in pas de melc in carje, si am ajuns pe la 5 jumate. Vorbesc cu doi mesio care se invarteau pe acolo, le explic ce vreau, imi zic ca da, am nimerit bine, dar in vacanta programul e pana la 6, sa revin maine. Ma uit la ceas, vad inca o data 5 jumate, vede ca sesizez discrepanta si imi zambeste intelegator: "madam, suntem in vacanta acum, dar din septembrie e deschis pana la 6 jumate". No, nu-i bai, ma gandesc eu, cine stie ce prostiute or mai fi si pe acolo, probabil nici nu o sa ma mai duc a treia oara.

 

Ne-am intors cu Vic in carucior si Philippe la el in brate, ca asta mare nu mai putea nici sa se tarasca in stil melc, am impins la ei peste doua poduri in plin soare de-am transpirat cinci litri dar ma felicitam ca anul asta nu am mai avut mirobolanta idee sa ma duc la Timisoara in iulie si august.

 

Azi pornesc iar catre centru, de data asta era deschis, madam de la receptie imi zice insa ca in vacanta nu imprumuta carti, dar daca am nevoie de ceva poate ca se va putea etc. Nu prea am inteles de ce zice ca nu poate, daca poate totusi daca insist. Imi face abonamentul, arunca o privire fisei de salar, zice ca o stie (banuiesc ca toti profesorii au acelasi tip de foaie), ma pune sa completez o hartie cu datele personale, imi face un card de acces si voilà, gata. Puteam sa fiu un hot de materiale didactice in serie, si as fi fost primita cu bratele deschise, mai ales ca se pot imprumuta 6 documente timp de 3 saptamani. Imi faceam stocul pentru tot anul. Ma rog.

 

Imi arata politicoasa raftul cu materiale de engleza, si surpriza, normal, e plin de tot felul de chestii interesante pentru toate clasele, pana la ultimul an de liceu. Am stat aproape o ora acolo, sa vad ce au, mai intreb o data, in caz ca, formulez intrebarea negativ (da, is desteapta totusi cateodata): "deci daca gasesc acum ceva, nu pot sa iau, nu?" imi raspunde evident ca nu. Cand termin de studiat dau sa plec, ii zic ca au chestii faine si imi raspunde ca daca vreau, pot sa si iau ceva, ca vara nu prea au multe cereri. O las balta, si ii zic ca vin in 22 august cand deschid sezonul la imprumuturi. Vacanta placuta i-am urat si m-am tarat peste alea doua poduri catre casa, fericita ca am gasit resurse. Si totusi ii scarbos de cald zilele astea.

And the Oscar for the best timing goes to...

...the unique moment when I realized curly (ok, and frizzy) hair is not that bad, just after buying 20 euros worth of supplies to straighten it up. I have not even been tempted to use a comb anymore, I just splash some water on it every morning and the curls (ok, and the frizzy stuff) are back. Revolutionary.

 

...the other unique moment when I have started to prepare my heels for summer sandals, rubbing and scrubbing them every night so that they look perfectly smooth in the sandals I have been planning to buy. Buying the sandals, "coup de cœur", yesterday, and they have a closed heel.

 

...going out with Philippe today, a walk carefully planned when the tree trimming team was working, so as not to be in the appartment when they were trimming the trees under our balcony. Just as we were getting out of the building, the team took a break and they strated working again at nap time. They will probably finish when the nap is over, if they don't manage to wake the little one up before that. Needless to say, MY nap is ruined.

 

...another unique yet slightly annoying moment when the holidays are officially starting, after having waited for it for something like 9 months, and wishing for it to hurry up every other second. That special day is here now and all I can think about is to go back to school, because I just like it there. This feeling of likeness will of course fade away as soon as I go back to school and the one where I wish for the holidays to come will settle back instead.

 

...it could go to this one: after being to the students' party 3 weeks ago, which was supposed to knock the walls down and let everyone know how hard they can party, I was slightly dissapointed: the girls came dressed normally and they hid in the toilets to appear with what I call very large belts around their buttocks, with heels so high that they couldn't walk on, literally, they were just standing next to the tables, tables which were full of candies and chips. There was no DJ, so every pupil took their turn every now and then to change the music, and they just couldn't make up their minds about what they wanted to listen to, so we got something like 50 songs in 20 minutes, of no morre than 30 seconds per song. Nobody was dancing, or when they were dancing, they were brutally stoppped by the wannabe DJ  "oh-let-me-play-this-one-I-absolutely-love-it" but the rest of us didn't. Whereas, at the teachers' party, the average age was something like... very hard to pronounce by the 14 years old, but there was: chicken BBQ, champagne, wine, salads, cakes, exotic sangria, nobody got drunk and at the end we were all dancing, inlcuding the 2 colleagues 2 years away from their retirement, on 80's hits the students hadn't even heard about. The DJ was great (the school's cook) and he didn't change his mind every 20 seconds. Who can party now, party pupils?

 

...this moment perhaps: I just want to buy something, and I really, but really, really can't get myself to think about something I need. Or want, for that matter. So I got everything that was on the shopping list and came back home.

 

...maybe this moment: the tree trimming team are on a break (again) but the construction team 100 metres down the street just started digging some holes in the concrete.

 

 

Isn't it just great being a teacher

Well, except for all those weird and annoying moments when students don't learn or they just chat. Those moments that just come one after another from September until June, and then in June they realise the teacher is not so bad, that she was right to ask them to learn the vocabulary and the lessons so that they can feel they are making a progress.

 

It is in June only that you hear a student say "Miss, you are a great teacher", and you are so moved that you can't say anything but "thank you" and smile, or when you have the back turned to the board and they come and write little sweet love messages in their lovely (but still) bizarre English "You are the best teacher of english, we learned a lot with you, thanks you, cheers". I have taught them to use Cheers at the end of a letter or email to a friend, and now they use it everywhere.

 

This morning I got another 2 messages from them, asking me how I was and what I was going to do today, it meant the world to me, while I was struggling to install I don't know what shitty CD on my computer which just wouldn't let me. I had to spend almost half an hour looking for some film on youtube about Alaska, which I found in the end, and it was not that bad either, they loved it and they asked me to go on a trip with them to Alaska next year.

 

Half of them are asking me to join the European section (5 hours of English every week, instead of 3, and it's got a nice reputation too), I hope it is because they have heard that I was going to teach this section next year. I had to say "no" because there are only 32 places and no one is planning on leaving it next year.

 

Anyways, for sweet instants like these I would be a teacher for the rest of my life and the next ones, should I be able to choose. I quickly forgot all the bad moments with them, and only remember the good ones, when they are just the greatest little people one could hope to be next to. I love them to bits.

A very good bad trip

Since we've had our kids and lost our social life, well not completely but enough to know almost everything about TV and series and even ancient China and Egypt and the birth of science and the likes, since that moment we sort of became alive extensions of our sofa. Mostly me, my better half usually gets stuck in front of the computer on a very cozy chair, playing I don't know what.

 

So, not to get lost in useless yet sad details, we pretend we're alive when we comment on movies or series. We have a strong penchant for The big bang theory and 30 Rock, although the latter doesn't always keep me awake until the end.

 

Tonight though it was a liiiitle different, we watched A very bad trip. With the usual apprehension of the American made film about lots of sex, drugs and alcohol, when they try to take it lightly and make fun of it but pretending not to, or the other way round, I'm not quite sure.

 

Instead we got this little piece of, well, I don't know how to call it, this piece that keeps me awake way past my bedtime, wanting to say how great it was. How many things can one say or do about a bachelor's party? I think they did not even stopped to analyze the question but went ahead and sketched what seems like 4 male stereotypes and they sent them over to Vegas. And the next day they woke up, so did the tiger in their bathroom and the little baby in the cupboard. They know how to take care of a baby for "it's not the first time" one of them found such a thing, and the tiger can just wait there. The thing is they lost the bridesgroom, Doug but they finally find a black Doug, for whon they pay a nice ransom to a Chinese guy, with "little Chinese balls". In an almost Shakespearean way, of course. The mistaken identities that is.

 

Something makes this bunch of not-so-original stereotypes very sweet and you can't even get yourelf to take the regular pee-break. You can't wait to see what they had been going through, you sneak short peaks as they go back to the hospital, to the wedding chapel, where Stu married a stripper, whose baby was in their hotelroom cupboard. And all this is very funny. And sweet. And you hope they win a lot of money in a casino to pay for the luxury suite, and the ruined car, and you wish Stu sayed married to the nice stripper and that white Doug gets back on time to go to his own wedding.

 

All is well that ends well, you know that things are going to end up just well, but you don't even have to willingly suspend your disbelief until it every cell in your brain hurts. You can just let them all relax and laugh your guts out, then remember funny scenes and talk about them over breakfast. The stereotypes in comedies have just reached new dimensions. It's more like a play, or, even better, a scene taking place in your neighbours' home. Loved it.

Bucataria franceza

Cum se schimba o bucatarie in Romania (sau cel putin cum as face eu personalmente): il prind pe nea Doru cand vine de la lucru, ii zic ca vreau sa schimb mobilele din bucatarie ca-s vechi si nu mai tin usile de cat se balangane Philippe pe ele, nea Doru imi zice ca se face, vine, masoara, imi da o data aproximativa de executie, executa, am mobila noua in bucatarie, platesc cu arginti sunatori, hai mersi si dau si o bere. Doua. Poate chiar trei. Timp scurs de la inceputul discutiei pana la a treia bere: cam o luna. Cost: mobilele si fo 300 de euro, ca ne cunoastem.

Cum se procedeaza in Franta:

- se cauta cataloage de bucatarie de la toate firmele care fac bucatarii, se uita in ele, nu se intelege nimic, ca mai toate au bucatarii cat salonul nostru, or bucataria noastra ii lunga si ingusta

- se injura

- se duce pe site-ul de la Ikea, acolo iti propun pe cineva care sa te observe si tu sa faci totul, la sfarsit ai de platit 500 de euro pe zi observatorul

- se inghite in sec, se discuta cu hazbandul

- se calculeaza bugetul, mare parte din el cica o sa se duca pe butoanele de la sertare, ca-s cele mai cu dichis. Bref.

- se pune la punct o strategie gen: suni la o firma, iei randevu cu un consilier maestru in bucatarii, discuti, iti da randevu cu un maestru in masurat exact o bucatarie, vine, masoara, iti ia 500 de euro si mai departe nush exact cum se procedeaza, dar banuiesc ca in felul cel mai scump cu putinta: nici o bucatarie din catalogul lor nu se potriveste cu a noastra, deci tre' sa o faca pe masura, deci o sa fie ca cum ar fi in aur masiv cu incrustatii de platina, de banii respectivi as putea sa mobilez 3 apartamente in Timisoara.

- se rediscuta cu hazbandu', ca daca l-am aduce pe nea Doru aici, face el tot. Nu, ca nu avem asigurare, ca daca se strica fo teava si inundam blocul nu ne ramburseaza nimeni deoarece nu am folosit maestrii bucatarari autohtoni cu autorizatie de la stat

- se asteapta, se mai uita din cand in cand prin cataloagele astora, de fapt nici nu imi plac chiar asa mobilele lor

- se mai discuta cu hazbandul una alta, dar tre' neaparat sa nu fim acasa o saptamana pana lucreaza astia de la 9 la 5, ca ce curu meu fac cu juniorii fara bucatarie si cu lucratorii acasa

- avem doar 3 saptamani vara asta cand nu suntem acasa, si ne apropiem vertiginos de inceputul primei

- se anchieteaza vag la gandul ca mai stam un an cu usile alea de abia se tin in balamale

- se impaca cu gandul

- se asteapta vara viitoare, sau poate aialalta, in functie de buget

Timp scurs: indefinibil. Cost: de la zero la 10000 euro

Problema rezolvata.

Ca-i Canada, ca-i Alaska

Azi am facut o chestie despre Alaska cu astia de a patra: le-am aratat niste poze si le-am zis ca reprezinta o agentie de turism specializata in Alaska si ca jobul lor e sa prezinte statul asta ca pe cea mai superdupercool destinatie de vacanta. M-am saturat de New York si Central Park ca si cacaturi de vazut in State, am zis sa o dau mai in nord, si sa vada si un film despre Amish (care apropos am aflat ca se pronunta cu /a/ si nu /ei/ cum ziceam eu, na, si profii mai traiesc cat invata) si o lectura despre Spirit Week si inca una despre Yosemite si Grand Canyon.

Bref, sa nu sarim prea departe de elanii nostri, cum ziceam era intr-o poza o harta cu Alsaka, langa Canada, cum e ea de obicei, inconjurata de ce-i ea inconjurata tot de obicei, si numa' sare unul dintr-un grup cand sa prezinte unde e asezata Alaska respectiva si zice ca-i in Canada. Ii zic sa se mai uite o data, se mai uita o data si tot in Canada zice ca e. Si balena din poza aialalta ii crap rosu cu ochi bulbucati.

Am trecut printe randuri mai departe, si il auzeam cum explica celorlalti din grup ca nu poate fi in America, dat fiind faptul ca-i "tout à fait à côté du Canada, regardez quoi".

Bref, le-am urat un weekend fain si sa ne vedem cu bine luni, pentru un alt curs de engleza.