Of Birds and Birthdays

This one's yours. 

El Perro Rojo

Once you get past the guns, the gangs and the “sweet, sweet Mexican Black Tar Heroin”, there are a lot of positive aspects about moving to Mexico: the opportunity to wander again, to experience a new culture, meet new people, grow as an individual and an educator, learn a new language, eat Mexican food… the list goes on. I’m pretty excited. All parties concerned are (insofar as I am aware) pretty excited. The only thing that really has me worrying (other than the packing… I’m not particularly adept at squashing my entire life into a suitcase...two?... three?…) is the learning of the new language.

Crazy, right?

I know, I know. I’m into languages. I like to talk. I enjoying knowing stuff, being able to do things. This should be right up my alley. And it is, except…

I really dislike doing things I’m not good at. I’m highly competitive and just want to win. At everything. Because in my head, everything is, on one level or another, a competition.

And I’ve never actually had to learn a language before. Both French and English have always just been there. Sure the grammar may not have been overly accurate, but at least I knew enough to get my point across. Even my brief foray into German proved to be relatively successful (if success can be measured in knowing how to say “potato chips”, “hi my name is Jacquie and I live around the corner” and being able to sing not one, but several, Beatles songs in German...). Furthermore, it wasn’t all that difficult. 

This, clearly, is because none of these languages incorporate a rolled “r” into their phonemes.

(this is where someone inevitably pipes up with the comment that I’m Canadian and have a serious caffeine addiction… “rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroll up the rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrim to win” and all that. Ya. Sure. Whatever. I’m a Starbucks girl.)

I can handle the verb conjugations (love it), the memorizing of new vocabulary (my flash cards are unparalleled) and the fumbling-through-the-languages-already-co-existing-in-my-head-when-I’m-desperately-attempting-to-string-words-together-to-form-a-sentence-that-expresses-something-that-somewhat-reflects-what-I’m-trying-to-get-out (“My prima heiß Emma y ella habite en Australie…”). What I can’t handle is the fact that no one can tell whether or not I’m trying to say “pero” or “perro”.

I can’t decide if the Spanish teacher at my school, Sra-Mme-Ms VH, finds this hilarious (she keeps trying to get me to say things like “el perro rojo”) or painful (deduced from the confused-painful facial expression that surfaces and is quickly masked when I attempt to say things such as “Querétaro”). However she feels, she has assured me that this is a common problem for anglophones-whose-second-language-is-French and that my issues are the same ones experienced by just about all of the Immersion students who try their hand at LWS2D1.

El Perro Rojo

And my Spanish instructor Sra Susy (yup, I went there) is, I’m sure, in the same boat as VH. Every time I have to pronounce anything with a rolled “r” I stop, take a deep breath and… try. After which Sra Susy repeats the word and I… try again. Usually this happens three or four times, after which she pauses awkwardly, contemplates the eager-yet-overly-enthusiastic-and-far-too-competitive blonde sitting before her and says something along the lines of “Good. That’s getting better. We’ll keep trying”.

Needless to say, this doesn’t usually satiate my inner perfectionist. Which makes me not want to attempt to speak Spanish to native Spanish speakers, which means that I’ll never improve and will not be able to take the bus for the entire time I live in Mexico. The obvious solution to this problem would be to find a (relatively?) fluent-yet-not-native-Spanish-speaker with whom I can practice.

So I did.

And THAT is why I’m flying to Australia at the end of June.

Where I Spend Most of My Time...

There's a distinct possibility that I've stolen this off of Emma's blog. That being said, thank you. It's made my year thus far.

On Writing and Traveling. Or a lack thereof.

You may have noticed that I haven’t been writing much since, well, I got back from Italy. Three years ago.

 *sigh*

 It’s just that not much happens when you’re working and living a so-called “normal” life. I’m a responsible adult now, with bills to pay and wine to drink (moderately) and young minds to mold. Ok, so that’s not exactly true. Well to some extent some of it is… But really, what it comes down to is that after having spent the greater part of a year teaching in Asia and traveling your way home, comparatively little happens in South Western Ontario when you’re working and living a “normal” life.

I’ve hardly traveled since my return (thank-you OSAP), with the exception of my and Mandy’s little foray into the world of all-inclusive living last March and a brief skip over to Montréal from time to time… The point being, there just hasn’t been much to write about in recent… years…

Well, we are going to Kingston for a weekend at the end of the month. Bear with me. It will hopefully prove to be more exciting than it sounds.

The point being, I was hoping to find some inspiration and write somewhat more regularly in the months to come.

And then I acquired a PlayStation 3.

I can’t decide if it should be considered an incredibly sweet gift, or a rather sneaky way to get the message across that perhaps we need to see less of each other. I suppose there is always the possibility that it could be both.

The point being, I’ve been spending more time than is strictly necessary running around the roof tops of digital Damascus, Acre and Jerusalem, saving civilians and pickpocketing when the desire/ need arises. It makes me think a lot about my Master’s programme and that essay I wrote on Historical Accuracy in Video Games (ya, it actually happened. I’m sure I have a copy of it somewhere...), which inevitably makes me think about going back to school and pursuing the ever-elusive PhD (which would be great, except that I’m too busy being an assassin and trying to prove my worth and dedication to the Creed to realistically contemplate writing a doctoral-level thesis. Also molding young minds. That takes time as well.).

Come to think of it, that’s not actually the point at all. The point is that I haven’t been writing because I haven’t been traveling and now we’re going to Kingston.

Which will, with any luck, prove to be more interesting than it first appears.

Today is November 26...

so I set out to finish my Christmas shopping.

That's right, FINISH.

Reduced-Fat Eggnog Latte in hand, I bundled up and headed out.

Then I took off the hat. And the mittens. And the coat.

*insert confused-emoticon here. It's November 26. In South Western Ontario. Why isn't she wearing a coat?*

**just wait. It gets better.**

I then proceeded to open my sunroof. And roll down my windows. And turn my music up.

Why?

Because it's November 26. In South Western Ontario. And it's FIFTEEN DEGREES AND SUNNY.

This weather almost makes me consider sticking around.

Almost.

Big Willy Style

The school where I'm currently working is incredibly socially conscious. Our kids volunteer and conserve and generally fundraise like it's nobody's business. It's scary, in an indescribably super-amazing way.

Right now our Me to We group (a Craig Kielburger creation) is trying to generate funds to help with the drought in East Africa. Students have been organizing fun African-inspired activities like a drumming parade, water walk and bracelet making, in addition to your typical baked-goods-and t-shirt-sales. They also had a teacher karaoke "competition" (which, if I may be so bold as to point out, has absolutely nothing to do with Africa... at least not insofar as I'm aware...). in which students paid to see their teachers sing a song of their choice in the caf at lunch. In front of the whole school.

Of course this would be the time that my grade nine homeroom, who hasn't shown a drop of interest in anything all year, busts out the school spirit and I somehow find myself with a mic in my hand and Will Smith lyrics flashing across the karaoke screen.

Boy did I ever "Get Jiggy With It".

This is the point where I should probably mention that I got off lightly, seeing as their initial choice was LMFAO's "Sexy and I Know It".

I won't get into the details seeing as I'm positive that before long it will be on YouTube, but suffice it to say that I did Will Smith proud. And also that I'm more than a little embarrassed.

the thing about driving around with a box of Starburst in your back seat...

... is that you eat it.

All of it.

Even the yellow ones.

Argh.