Another typhoon. The eastern version of a hurricane. I'll be honest, up until 2 weeks ago I thought a typhoon was just a baby hurricane. It's not. I also had warped the meaning of the word mercenary. My mental image was putting a little too much faith in the "mercy" sounding quality of the word. I was thinking more like Bono than Blackwater. Phil got a pretty good laugh out of that one. But mercy gaffe aside, it is amazing how quickly I have become desensitized to 90 mph winds. But I suppose, it's not like I am trying to forge my way through the madness outside. Nope, I'm inside, on the 7th floor of a new building, making egg sandwiches with my boyfriend, obsessively watching Heroes, season 1. (Done, le pout. Can't wait for season 2. Yes, I've been informed it sucks, but the addiction needs to be fed, people. The addiction needs to be fed)
Happy, Happy Birthday to Wen, Daniel, Cousin Jenny, Cousin Jeff, Josiah, Susie, Lyndsey, AJ, and Amy and anyone else who is a late summer early fall baby.
I was talking with my co-worker about the novelty of going back to the states and being able to talk to children. I do miss that. The kids in my classes are lovely, for the most part. We operate off a mutual understanding that we probably like each other. We both seem nice enough. Their English is a collection of stunted questions and answers. My Chinese is the one stunted question of what is your name. Which they think is hilarious.
Tea-chA! You know name, hahahaha.
Having a conversation with someone other than Phil that is fluid and not a frustrating wrestling match for understandable words and phrases will also be a novelty. I miss the possibility of this and mimosas and frou-frou scrambles and hollandaise sauce. Oh and my friends, and my family, and live music, and superhero dress up parties.
Teaching at the university has gone swimmingly. It’s still early in the semester, but week 2 was as promising as week 1. I’m excited about the poetry class because my students are excited and scared, but not frustrated. Yet. I hope they remain that way. I showed them Taylor Mali’s “What Teacher’s Make, or Objection Overruled, or If things don't work out, you can always go to law school”
One of my students voiced his displeasure and disbelief that this was poetry. “This is poetry. So scary. Teacher, I am Chinese. This is too loud.” I told him there are many different kinds of poetry. We have everything from Taylor Mali to Shakespeare. To which he replied in horror, “They read Shakespeare like this?!?!”
My students have a romantic idea about poetry and what it should be. This should be an interesting journey for both of us. Ok, off to the beach with me.
That's right, I'm talking to you. Where you been, eh? You don't write. You don't call (except Mom. Mom I need to call you back).
Phil has arrived and we've proceeded to being incredibly boring. You know, having conversations and generally enjoying each other's company. It's nice to have someone to point with and spend too much time ordering and looking for food.
and there was something here to wrap this blog up, but I deleted it. And there was an apology for deleting the nice blog wrap up, but I deleted that too.