Charles Kinney, Jr.

Love Takes a Holiday and The Never-Ending Battle for Water

2012-02-15T20:24:00.004-08:00

The two faces of Batumi

The sun has broke and the temps are through the roof. I understand why people like Batumi so much. It has taken on that lovely Mediterranean feeling. This week, I walked the length of the boardwalk, which is my favorite part of the city, other than the BOD cafe in the piazza tower. There are all these unexpected little surprises, like microbrewery cafes and little restaurants hidden under cabanas. It's utterly charming.

Then this morning, torrential, biblical, non-stop rain that will flood the broken streets and sidewalks. This is Batumi.

I hosted a successful dinner party for Valentine's Day. I hosted 14 guests of a very divergent group with chili and all the pastry they could handle. We had a great time. Incidentally, the Georgian Orthodox church has deemed Valentine's Day illegal as it is a Catholic holiday. Love takes a holiday when god is concerned.

My upstairs neighbors have been at it again. My sleep has gone from jet-lag infused to neighbor-infused. When they are not yelling at each other, they are dragging chairs across the floor and conducting horse races (or something similar). I'm convinced they do not sleep. It doesn't matter what time of day...11 AM, 6 PM, 4 AM...that family is in motion, dragging chairs across my ceiling, placing bets and making all types of non-stop noise. I'm tempted, in addition to smacking the man around, and making him clean the house, to go upstairs and plead with them to let me put pads on their chairs. Breakfast usually is 10-15 drags across the floor. If the chairs aren't being dragged, the TV will be blaring in compensation. I wonder where they keep the horses.

Unlike the torrential rain, or my intermittent toilet, the water in my apartment is seriously hampered. Perhaps the biggest hurdle is the never-ending battle for water. The tap water is undrinkable, which is fine and remedied, but the complete capricious nature of the city's water system makes you nutty. The piping system is the same used for sewage (yes, think of the health implications). The city is attempting to remedy this, but as the endless ripped-up sidewalks and streets attest, it isn't going well. So from 8-11, there should be water, but you never know. It has been sporadic lately, and only on for a few hours the last few days, after going 24 hours, and the best you can do is fill up water bottles. When it comes on, you run amuck, flush the toilet, take a shower and fill up as many bottles as you can.

Speaking of the toilet, it either flows constantly, or no water will flow into it. Right before the Valentine's Day dinner, I didn't have water for hours. It ain't easy cooking for that many people without any water. Alas, the toilet would not flush. I had to prime it with the water I had on hand. As I took off the lid and began to pour water, the water suddenly came back on and somehow (I've had the opposite and the water cut off mid-shower), the stop valve shot off and water began to cascade in an arch across the toilet, the bathroom and myself. It was all slightly Brady Bunchish, and I called for Alice. Common sense kicked in and I turned off the valve, but not before the water had soaked nearly everything in its path. I consider myself lucky. There are parts of the country where the water doesn't come on for days.

I washed my hands thoroughly before I went on with the meal. Chair pull eight. I better get moving.

The Marshitka, Cha-Cha Heels and Georgian Men

2012-02-12T06:58:00.000-08:00

I went to Kutaisi, Georgia's second largest city, to work with my colleague this weekend. This was the first time I was treated to the delights of the Caucasus bus system, or the marshrutka. It is clearly not a misspelling when I forever more refer to it as the marshitka. Here is the dream version, with functioning TV.

Yet in reality, it's something more like this. Missing are the iconographic religious pictures and symbols and/or matching smoke smell.

They are these white or yellow minivans in various stage of life. They race all over the country, as well as in Armenia and Azerbaijan, Central Asia, former Soviet republics, and points in between. While cheap, they are something close to the seventh layer of hell. What you do is this: you go to the marshitka station, where groups of men are hanging out for once again no discernible purpose. If you're lucky, you start to figure out the Georgian alphabet quickly, and can figure out which goes where. Mostly, you start the name of your destination, and the group of men will jump on you (politely) and get you to the right marshitka. It's a total free-for-all. Inside are seats bolted to the floor. If it's empty, you go for the prized single seats. Then you wait. And wait. And wait some more. They must fill up before they can leave, and you usually sit for up to an hour. Then the real fun begins. The music is cranked up to incredible volume, usually Georgian folk/dance or the gayest dance music ever, and you're off!

Forget personal space, manners and essentially everything else you know about travel. There's marshitka etiquette, meaning you usually enter and leave by the front passenger door. That's about the only rule. It's a wild ride through bumpy roads, zooming at white-knuckle speeds around goats, cows, dogs and every other animal imaginable. Sidetrack, but one of the saddest things about Georgia are the animals. There is clearly something to be said about a society and their relation to their animals. In Georgia, like Greece and much of the Mediterranean, dogs and cats are everywhere, and it's sickening to see how they live.

Back to the marshitka. As the music is blaring, the driver will without question smoke, and all your clothes will start to have that smokey-goodness smell. Meanwhile, your fellow passengers will play music (while other music is blaring over the speakers), elbow you and catapult your seat every time they get up or down. The marshitka stops every so often to pick up and drop people. It is god-awful and so time-consuming that any journey is nearly double what it would be by regular car. Still, it's cheap and it works. Chaotic, but it works. It's mass transit, Georgian style. That said, I really thought I was going to vomit coming back to Batumi today. The smoke and the music were rancuous, and it took all my strength to hold my cookies down. I never throw up, so this was an unexpected bonus of my marshitka ride.

To Kutaisi! I arrived after my harrowing ride and did what nearly every foreigner does: get on the phone with a compatriot, who hands the phone to a Georgian, and I did likewise. They figure out how to get you where you want to go. Of course, my taxi driver had to stop and get gas, and then got lost. Yet we arrived, eventually. There's always an eventually in Georgia. Kutaisi! I like the feel of the city. It also has functioning sidewalks and drainage, which I also like. Kutaisi is lively, and the central bazaar is a true delight. It's grouped around a central area, and the stall keepers are friendly but not aggressive. Anyone who has been to Turkey knows what I mean. There are heaps of goods, dead chickens and mountains of white powder, which we could only assume was flour and not some re-run of Miami Vice. We bought what looks like candles but is crushed grapes made into a paste, dried around nuts and put on a rope. It's chewy and the only equivalent taste would be a grapey Snickers. As we were working our way through the stalls, my colleague, who is good in Russian, got side-tracked, and before you knew it, we were getting shots of homemade cha-cha, which is Georgian vodka, from a stall keeper. You don't have to ask twice to get a drink from Georgians, and he whipped out a Coca-Cola bottle filled with some clear liquid. Cha-cha has the look and smell of clear anti-freeze. As the Georgians gathered around, I had a sip and made the universal HMMM, DELICIOUS sign, even though it tasted like one grade above rubbing alcohol. My colleague had a good gulp, and you could tell it burned! The Georgians gave us some apple to kick out the taste. I could barely finish another drop, while my colleague's face was starting to go pumped-up red. It must have been 140 proof. He got his cha-cha heels! We thanked the stall keeper, and as we were leaving, an old man came up, took a massive glass of the cha-cha, and drank it like it was water. He clearly had the biggest set of cha-cha heels ever.

My colleague was clearly invigorated by the experience, and had earned his cha-cha heels. We made our way back to his apartment on the eighth floor. Remember, most apartment complexes in Georgia have no lighting in the hallways. When we arrived weeks ago, we were told that the elevator would soon be fixed. I had a look and thought maybe in 30 years, but not anytime soon. We worked our way up eight floors. I love my colleague's place. Small, but cheap, and warm. I was wondering if I had made the correct choice in my living space, which is impossible to heat. Then I realized it would soon be spring, and to hell with heating. I'll probably have problems cooling it down. We made our way out to dinner and found this great pub-like place. We walked inside and it was one of those needle stopping on the record moments. Everyone stared for a second, but we played it cool. Soon we were ordering khinkali, which are Caucasus dumplings filled with cheese, potato, meat or mushrooms, and boiled in salt water. They look like cow testicles. They are incredibly cheap, and four or five fill me up. They come up steaming and all piping-hot goodness, and look slightly naked but they eat them sauce-less. The potato and mushroom version are out of this world! You're never supposed to eat the twist top, but that's my favorite part! We ordered .90 pints of Georgian beer.

I managed to avoid eating khachapuri, the Georgian pizza-thing. It's delicious but fatty as HELL, and while I'm partial to the Kutaisi-version (each region has its own version), I will bust a gust if I keep eating it. In Batumi, they serve it boat-like with an egg, and you stir the egg like a madman and mix it. Batumi-style khachapuri reminds me of Denny's and the Grand Slam breakfast. However, when you see the amount of butter Georgians stir in, the only thing you are assured of a is a grand-slam coronary bypass.

Back to my khinkali and .90 pints. I glanced up and saw a Georgian soap opera on TV. There usually is some fat older man who plays the lead, and some superhot woman is falling in love with him, or trying to figure out how to get him. I don't get it why Georgian women would find these men virtues of hunkdom. Georgian men are works onto themselves. Once again, I'm not speaking about all Georgian men, but most treat woman like furniture. Cook, clean and make babies. Georgian men are boisterous, smoke-filled creatures that seem to have little rhyme or reason. Yesterday I saw a fist fight as I was pulling into Kutaisi. Two men were arguing over something or another, and then one threw a punch. The other leaped out of his van, but before they could throw another punch, others were pulling them apart. For a country that has survived a civil war and an invasion in only 15 years, there is a real push to cool people's jets. Georgian men, though, are all smokes and swarthy, but unemployed. It's amazing people don't get more heated then they do. Walking through traffic, an inevitable part of life in Georgia, would freak any Scandinavian out, but the men aren't all screaming at each other because of the way Georgia is. They hold hands and walk arm-in-arm, and kiss each other when they meet, but don't scream at each. There must be total suppression of male rage, and I'm afraid it must come out behind closed doors. My upstairs neighbors, who seem to have no work and are up 24 hours a day, had a horrible yelling fit the other day. Well, the man did anyway. He was yelling at his wife as if she were a dog, and I'm not positive, but I heard the thunk of something (someone) being hit.

Anybody that hits another human is a non-entity in my book. Sadly, like the dogs and cats, there is nothing I can do about it rather than reflect on it and be happy I'm in a good relationship with a very good human. Still, I wish I could go up there and smack him around a bit. Maybe make him cook and clean for a few month just for good measure as well.

Time to do some wash. Unlike Greenland and the insane Danish washer, I have a Samsung that I'm trying to figure out how it will fit in my suitcase. I love it! Thank you, Georgia, for realizing a superior washing machine when you see it! Incidentally, when I say thank you in Georgian, it inevitably comes out like MOLDOVA instead of MADLOBA (or madlobt for older women). It reminds me of fun times in the Czech Republic, where we'd toast NA'DRAZI! (to the train station!) instead of NA'ZDRAVI! (to your health!), or stastny novy rok (happy or horrible new year, depending on how you say it).

I'm putting on my cha-cha heels and working the rest of the night on my work and projects, because in the words of Eartha Kitt, I hope women (and children) in Georgia will one day be able to say, "So don't you mess around with me, you won't know what to do, 'cause I'll put on my cha cha heels and walk all over you."

Then things will really start to change in Georgia. Keep rockin', Eartha (who died on Christmas day in 2008), wherever you are. We have a long way to go until everyone can put on their cha-cha heels, or whatever the hell else they want to wear.

Georgia

2012-02-07T10:23:00.000-08:00

I've had a better chance to get to know Georgians and Georgia. I've met many people in a just a few weeks, and it's hard not to formulate a rough opinion. It's the early days, but after having met so many people on the planet, I know I will not loathe Georgians when I leave here.

Georgians walk around as if they are the most miserable people on Earth, but up close and personal, they are charming, very much alive, and endlessly attempting to help you. You would never know it on the street, but they're incredibly funny and smile quite a bit. They love to eat, and also sadly to waste. I've never seen so much food wasted, and I live in America. They simply cannot have a simple meal. It's a marathon of dishes. The quantity is scary. They have fun, and are the party people behind closed doors. Public drunkenness is a no-no, but they consume MASSIVE amounts of wine in closed affairs, like, hmm, official school ceremonies. They're funny and inquisitive, and long to be part of something, but they're unsure what. They can only freely travel to Turkey, Armenia and Azerbaijan, with Russia blocking the north and the EU blocking everything else.

The ferry has started again to Sochi and Russia, and the shops are full of Russian products. Georgians themselves say they are lazy, and for a country blessed with some of the most productive land on Earth, the laziness shows in a lack of a solid Georgian food industry. They make some of the best wine in the universe, but can't figure out how to get it to market. Like much of Georgia, the food industry isn't organized to maximize resources and labor (and not in a communist way). People don't seem to mind much. Georgians have a lackadaisical attitude to everything. Six people can easily do the job of one. Georgians think this is a Georgian trait, but this is a hangover from the Soviet world. I only sincerely wish they could know that. What they think is the Georgian way of life and a complete lack of critical thinking really is a hangover of Soviet bullshit. Georgians can rejig any electrical or plumbing crisis to get the electricity and water flowing again, but can't wrap their heads around civic duty, like picking up the trash. There was no need for it under the Soviets. Nearly everything I see here is the same as the Czech Republic fifteen years ago. That is perhaps why it doesn't bother me as much as some of the foreigners I've met. After seeing the remnants of communism throughout eastern Europe and kids in Greenland, this doesn't seem so bad.

This rejigging of things makes Georgia interesting. True, the electrical wiring would scare the bravest fireman, but it works. The outside of the block estates that are the home of many Georgians are this wild mix of different facing, balconies and endless color choices. It's wild to look at but there is beauty to it. Humans find ways to create and survive and be themselves. Georgians see ugly but I see independence and choice. I think it's beautiful. They're like little stories that tell economic success or failure, human ingenuity and sheer determination to make something work. These are not condo units that people are going to flip. These are the Georgians' homes, and probably where most of them were born and for many, will die.

I long to go to a Georgian wedding, which will come in time. I've explored the cemeteries, which are these insane, loving tributes, full of full-scale, life-like murals of the dead underneath. Georgia is a religious society, and icon pictures abound, while everyone genuflects at the drop of a hat. In the classrooms are iconic pictures of Jesus, and children say the Lord's prayer as if they were reciting the national anthem, which surprisingly, there are no pictures of the Georgian president. Georgian kids are rough and tumble, but curious about the outside world and friendly. They remind me of Greenlanders, without all the alcohol and sexual abuse. They do this thing when they raise their hands that is charming and funny all at the same time. The raise their arm halfway, and with the other, take their hand and support the raised arm. It's the halfway meeting point from the west to the Soviet style.

Boys have all the power. There are no male teachers (and only one in the whole country from what I can find out!). Georgian society in general is so patriarchal that women are nearly irrelevant, but do most of the work and keep society going. Brothers have power over sisters. The man is right and the woman cleans. This translates to the boys. They don't really respect woman, and they treat them as objects. In one class, the boy leader saw a girl accidentally push her coat on the ground. The boy leader stopped what he was doing, and signaled her that she should pick it up. It was chivalrous and sexist all at the same time, but it was incredibly interesting to see. The kids run amuck in the hallways and up and down the stairs, and toss each other around like wrestlers, but then their is a hidden respect and a fear of authority that still sits underneath. Georgia has a long history of the strong man. The one who rises above the rest to control the rest. In Georgian schools, there are THE MANDATORIES. They police the halls and the teachers and are the hired guns. They take their jobs very seriously, and mark up teachers for being late. They've brought some type of order to Georgian schools, where violence and knives ruled not too long ago, but they still can't make students show up on time. Nearly no one is on time in Georgia.

Georgians hate rules. Any system of authority from the past was abandoned. There are no fire extinguishers, smoke alarms or the other hallmarks of a civil society. Traffic lights are a suggestion, not a rule. Quote of the day, "The only traffic laws in Georgia are the one that need to be broken."

After all these shenaningans (has there ever been a better name for an Irish bar?), you would think that the society would be chaos. It is chaotic, but you never feel threatened, or in danger. Georgians push you out of the way and are aggressive, but Norwegians have no concept of a line and can barely function one someone doesn't tell them what to do, so everything is relative.

They know I'm foreign on the streets, but Georgia has been immersed in thousands of foreigners now who have come here under the Teach and Learn in Georgia program. I won't discuss the merits or failures of the program, but with such a large group of people, things are going to go right and wrong somewhere, sooner or later. Still, people speak very little if any English, and I get down on my knees and thank the Czech gods for what Czech I have left. It comes sooooo in handy. Everyone keeps asking me when I'm going to learn Georgian, but between the upcoming book about Norway, this very crazy job where I'm pushing weird hours and trying to master a new life here, I haven't had much time for anything.

I like the feel of the city, though. There are little surprises everywhere, and in a good way. Hidden cafes, good food, a hidden, brilliant building that sparks an architectural gem. Yesterday I found with the help of a new colleague the Press Cafe, where really good food at good prices abounds with CNN and pieces of the foreign press. I can't, however, stand the smoke in all the restaurants. It makes me sick now. I still have my butt of death cafe that represents the Georgia of the future. It's so beautiful and the waiters are so styled. A little bit above average on price, but they even have brunch.

If they could only fix the damn sidewalks!

Like the butts of death, I marvel at the sea everyday after waking up. I love waiting for the coast guard of the Georgian navy that passes by at the same time, daily. Not a big boat, but a sign to the people that everything is OK. The sunsets are breathtaking. Unlike the sunsets, I loathe the sidewalks and the streets in Batumi. They are an absolute mess and priority number one for a functioning city. A 10-minute walk turns into 30, because of the endless meandering and circuitous route you have to take to get to the corner store. They're trying desperately to put in a drainage system, but in the meanwhile, it's Beirut 1980.

I've gotten completely comfortable with shopping, and imagine my surprise when I found a new shop near my house that has the feel of a supermarket in Manhattan. Open glass walls and clerks that don't follow you around the store. There's a little bit of something, but not a lot of everything. The prices are cheaper, too. Everyone freaks when I hand them my nylon bag and attempt to bag myself. That is simply not done in Georgia. There's plastic, plastic, plastic everywhere. Everything goes in the trash, including glass. It's a damn shame.

Like the glass, Georgia wastes its potential by not promoting all its citizens to their fullest potential. Georgia has a long history of a multi-ethnic and multi-religious state. The Jews have managed to survive and thrive here for thousands of years without too much interference. However, I've heard horror stories of what's happened to African-Americans. Either way, it's the patriarchal system and the strong man-complex that seem to be holding everyone back. That and the fact that they simply can't be bothered to get every done. There is a real Mediterranean vibe running through the country.

Strangely, my water has now come online 24 hours. In three days, there has been no power outages. Rome wasn't built in a day, and either was Georgia.

Down the Rabbit Hole: A Rambling Type of Day

2012-02-03T06:05:00.000-08:00

Last night I wrote a crazy blog entry about being truthful. It was ludicrous to be that blunt, so I deleted it. I hate sugarcoating things just to make everything seem happy, but still, things are actually quite good in Georgia. Maybe I have to be a bit more subtle, and absolutely more professional. That is not as amusing, but it is more level-headed. I'm also starting to miss Dag and that damn cat very much. Yet the power and water have stayed on all day, and that is always something to celebrate.

Anyway, the snow didn't stop for two days. The streets and sidewalks were an absolute mess. Pools of water, whole streets flooded. I realized I was completely without the proper gear. The only real boots I have with me are completely not designed for any protection against water, and my feet were soon soaked with cold, nasty water. It was grossly unpleasant. My colleagues and I piled into a cab with no bumper and went to the bazaar. The bazaar street was flooded, so no one could see the holes. The bumper-free taxi dragged itself against the ground a good two feet at one point, and everyone ripped a loud OH! as the sound was horrible. We thought it wise to get out at that point. We worked our way through the bazaar. I got new boots and put them on with new socks. I had to sit on this tiny little chair that wouldn't have fit an elf, but the crisis was averted.

Georgia enjoys the bargaining, and you never know if you're getting a fair price. Usually, however, the Georgians seem like honest people. I dropped nearly 20 bucks on the ground by accident (Georgian money is pretty but not the strongest stuff), and the store clerk grabbed my attention and showed me the money. It was amazing. They also tell you one price, and then nearly as quickly offer you a lower one. I've also discovered if you walk away and come back, there usually is someone else tending the booth, and they offer you a lower price. It worked for the boots and five lari!

My colleague and I went to grab some bread yesterday. The bakeries in Georgia are out of this world. We walked into a shop, and without any real reason, one of the women sitting inside offered my colleague a Thai massage. It was one of the funniest things as I had no idea why she didn't ask me, and it wasn't really a massage as much as an offer for sex for money. We were both surprised. My colleague said he was good and we were on our way to the electronic store.

When you go into a Georgian shop, there usually is six people for one customer. THE STARE people (usually in pairs), and a bunch of other people milling about for no real discernible reason. I love this electronic shop because it feels like a disco. The prices are CWAZY! Anything with some wiring inside is so expensive here that you would think they had sodered it together with gold.

My colleagues have left, the sun has returned. Massive sunlight floods my place. It's a real twist after Norway. Today, I watched from my window a man solicit yet another prostitution act. He stopped the car in the middle of the road, and REVERSED the car in heavy traffic, bargaining with a woman. It was depressing and amusing, all at the same time. She wasn't going to get in and kept walking away. I'm on the 3rd floor, and I could see him hand her money. Then she got in, and off they went to do the deed.

Last night we had the all-Georgian experience. We found this freakin' cool place that looks like a village, and all the waiters dress in costume. No foreigners, and the menu was only in Georgian and Russian. It was hysterical and good fun, and an absolute must for people when they come. After the crappidety crap crap experience at the gross pizza joint, we had an incredible meal at half the price.

Georgian TV is feel of commercials for the army. There's one where people at an airport clap for soldiers walking through the terminal. The Georgian president is in DC, visiting the president, Georgetown and the other halls of American power. It's not rocket science to see how everything comes together. My colleagues and I are not here by chance.

This morning we woke up to find a broom carefully place in front of my doorway. It was a little scary, and my visiting colleagues also found it a little disconcerting. As I feel like I've gone through the ringer this week trying to get this project off the ground, it didn't bother me too much. There's a circle of people to go through when you have a question, and I've managed to get around some issues with a little ingenuity. A broom in front of the door is the least of my worries.

This is so rambling that it's almost incoherent. I have a ton of things to do before my first seminar tomorrow and I'm attempting to clean my head by writing this. I hope it works.

The Moneyshot Pizza and Orgasm in a Cup

2012-02-01T14:06:00.000-08:00

That's all mayonnaise!

A freaky blizzard hit Batumi, and the two words that are missing from the Georgian language are DRAIN-AGE. The city, already torn up, is flooded in parts. Royal slush is compounded by massive puddles. It was beyond annoying to walk today. On the average day, the torn up streets and sidewalks are a challenge. Today, they were a complete battle field. Meanwhile, water and power are sporadic. I've decided to keep everything fully charged, and emergency bottles of drinkable and non-drinkable water at hand.

Luck favors the prepared.

Now for the good parts. I visited the American Corners and started to bump into the Teach and Learn in Georgia people. This is a Georgian program that brings people from around the world to Georgia to well, hmm, teach and learn. The first few generations were a challenge, but the later ones have proven to be invaluable, especially as far as we're concerned. Some of them have an incredible grip on Georgian. Most of them are really teachers in their first practicum. It's an interesting idea to launch thousands of people on a society. I can't say whether it will succeed, but it's an interesting idea.

Meanwhile, Batumi was hit by a serious snow storm. 5-6 inches piled up. It was quite the sight for a coastal warm city to be mobbed by the snow mafia.

My colleagues made it to Batumi after some of the roads were closed. We headed out for dinner. There's a cafe in Batumi called, Hello from Batumi! This is the place where the waiters dress like sailors. I had such a good time there on Friday. It was a disaster tonight. The food was, mayonaisey. We ordered salads that were super blah, and then the pizza came. There was no cheese on it, and Georgians know cheese. It was covered in mayonnaise. I MEAN, heaps of mayonnaise. I had never seen anything like it. It was disgusting. That wasn't a cultural slur. I couldn't imagine Georgians would eat it either. My colleague, and it was obvious, commented that it looked like something out of a bad porn movie. Heaps of mayonnaise we're leaped on a poor unsuspecting crust. Meanwhile, as we all stared at it in utter surprise for a long time, which clearly would have alerted anyone as to how wrong it was, the chef came out to stare at us. It was awkward. It wasn't a cultural snafu. That pizza was from hell and shouldn't have been called a pizza. We paid the bill, pizza untouched, and wondered if we had committed some cultural faux pas.

That crap was gross. Who calls dough with mayonnaise pizza?

We left what I thought was such a wonderful place and made it to the piazza. We worked our way into the the Silent Woman Pub. The ceiling, swirled with blue and Cretan-like characters dancing and swimming with each other, was so delightful that soon all was forgotten, and with the snow falling, we were soon our old selves again. We had a snack and decided to head home. There is a tower, and we decided to venture to the top floor. Along the way, we found one of the most amazing cafes I've experienced in my life. On the 3rd floor, there is a bookish, French place with cute waiters who have the butts of death, who fold their arms behind their backs and open the doors for you. The bathrooms have stained glass windows that look out into the piazza square. It was absolute freakin' magic. We decided to have a cocoa, a chocolate muffin and a piece of cheesecake. What appeared was the item right before the hot cocoa. By complete mistake, the waiter with the butt of death produced this molten chocolate thing in a demitasse cup that was something akin to orgasm in a cup. It was like pudding but stuck like real chocolate. Smooth, creamy but real. We broke up the stale muffin and heaped it in, which made it even better. It was so unbelievable that we were licking the cup. Do you ever have those moments in life where you can't believe your good fortune in accidentally finding something incredible? This was one of them.

We tipped the butts of death and piled out into the snow.

We walked back along the beach. The snow was less raging but the wind was omnipotent. A very angry Black Sea was pounding the pebbley stones while seagulls looked for their prey like ghosts looking for their lost bodies. The beach, which is large pebble versus sand, was forlorn and alone. I can imagine the wave of bodies that will descend on it in a few months. It was the perfect cap to the evening of porn pizza and chocolate orgasms. We all have our crosses to bear.

Water and Power and Cell Phones, oh my!

2012-01-31T06:59:00.000-08:00

I woke up at 6:30 to attempt to get some work done. I was to go to Kutaisi to see a children's performance and meet up with colleagues. I waited until 8 for the water to come on (we only have water from 8 to 11). It came on at about 8:10. I was in a massive rush to catch the bus and I hopped into the shower, shampooed up and SHAZAM! No more water. I waited around 5 minutes in the vain hope that it would return. Silly me.

I felt truly gross and climbed out. I used what little water I had left (the water is undrinkable) and it didn't help much. What to do? It rains in Batumi. I'm talking Seattle rain. Not heavy, but constant. Maybe I should take a spritz outside? Scandalous! I decided against that option. I toweled off and waited. And waited. And waited. The window of opportunity to make it to Kutaisi slipping away (it would have been a 6-hour haul back and forth today), I called my colleague and realized it wasn't going to be possible. It was an ambitious plan and would have worked had I just thought ahead and realized that water and power are sporadic.

Then again, six hours of travel in one day for a performance is a little nutty.

The water came on hours later. Then the power went out for a few hours. Plans changed, I realized it was first real day without having to go meet someone or have a meeting, and the first day that I didn't feel like I was in motion. I managed to catch up on tons of paperwork and got prepared to conduct my first seminar. I realized I have to have everything charged, perpetually, and to fill up as many water bottles as I can.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my colleagues have been texting and ringing all day. It appears they have found themselves in their first real Georgian fest after the performance, which is a marathon that you cannot extricate yourself from easily, no matter what you say or do. You roll with it when you're doing these projects, but as much as I regret missing the performance, I'm slightly happy I missed the fest part. I need to function tomorrow.

Sugar and Turkish (and Georgian, Armenian, etc.) Spice

2012-01-30T08:39:00.000-08:00

After a lovely dinner of Armenia apricot wine, more Georgian pizza, Polish chocolates and these yummy bean cake things, I walked home. I met a college junior and a young Georgian lawyer, who was educated in Latvia. Both were working with the European parliament. The new EU states have not forgotten the old.

I was corrected on my assumption that everyone in Georgia wears black. I was, of course, exaggerating, as I have no idea what color their underwear is. I kid! The predominate color is black. I met up with the college junior, who escorted me on my first marshutka ride. They're essentially minivans that run all over Georgia (and much of the Caucasus). They're smelly, a complete loss of personal space and blast that type of music that only drivers in the Mediterranean and the Caucasus seem to enjoy. You know what I mean. That pop folk beat with local singer that no one has a clue why anyone listens to it, except the driver, and by extension, you! The marshutka seem to have no logic or safety protocols, but gosh are they cheap!

Speaking of my guide, her English is nearly flawless and her spirit is like wildfire. She's guided the presidents of Estonia and the Swiss Confederation, and US congressmen, who were so charmed by her that they asked what she missed from her time as an exchange student in the US (Honey Nut Cheerios), and sent her some when they got back. Now that's my type of marketing.

The products in the store are this mix of Georgian, Russian, Turkey, Armenia, Chinese and nearly everyone else in a 5-country radius. The packaged food seems to come from nearly every country on Earth, and then some. Georgians eat a ton of bread, something I'm trying to avoid, but I managed to find lentils today and will hope to lose 2-3 kilos by Easter.

The water and electricity have been sporadic. The university didn't have any electricity the entire time I was there today. Thus, the few traffic lights (which are a guide rather than a rule), were either not working or off cycle, making it even more hazardous to cross the roads. I'm getting the trick of it, much like THE STARE person, who I actually made hold my shopping today and have turned into my personal shopper. I mean, if they're going to follow you around the store, I might as well turn it to my advantage. They're incredibly shocked when you engage with them, and anything I can do to make my experience more like Nordstrom's, I'm all for it. Everyone is watching everyone. I live near some type of military barracks, and you would think I had the buttocks of a 16 year-old girl the way the soldier-guard-dancer (a triple threat!) stare at me. Speaking of which, thank god for my Czech, not my buttocks. It has proven invaluable. Everything from numbers, nouns and verbs, it flows with Russian and it's been an absolute bridge to get me from A to B.

How does sugar fit into all this? We're here in the idea that a civil society is worth building. Something interesting happened. I picked up a bag of sugar. At the check-out, I picked up the bag to check out, and the cheap-ass packaging broke. It didn't really break as much as explode. There was sugar everywhere. The register, the conveyor belt, the merchandise around the conveyor belt. We stood for a few seconds in complete surprise. Then the cashier said she would just keep going, rang up the depleted bag of sugar, and that was that. I didn't get too irate. It's only sugar. Still, it was a little surprising to be rung up for the sugar, but memories of the Czech Republic and their days of attempting to rebuild their society keep flowing back. It's as if the Georgians are at the same point of development as the Eastern Europeans were 15 years ago, but have been interrupted by civil war and an invasion. Sometimes I have to actually shake the feeling that I'm in the Czech Republic, 1993. Then my guide said the cashier would be charged for the sugar if I didn't pay, and I was slightly humbled as I can easily afford a burst bag (or two) of sugar, and maybe the cashier can't.

It reminded me of a time in Thailand, when on an elevator, I pushed the wrong button and a massive tray of food ended up on me, the elevator and the poor wait staff who was carrying it. That time, the hotel apologized to me (which was even more bizarre), and sent complimentary fruit to my room. I tipped the maid a ridiculous amount in retrospect out of guilt. The travel gods must be appeased.

I managed to get the lighting situation worked out. My favorite is the orange stone lamp. It feels like I'm channeling Wilma Flintstone. We hit the bazaar (not a very good one) and my guide did all the talking, saving me a few lari. Things in Georgia are substantially more than I anticipated. I have no idea how the average Georgian can afford anything.

The Wild West and a Hurricane, Batumi-style

2012-01-29T00:15:00.000-08:00

We left Kutaisi after staying at the hotel of stairs. The hotel was like some M.C. Escher painting, Georgia style. There are a lot of stairs in Georgia. There are elevators, but usually it's broken. It also seems Georgians are just on the verge of fixing everything, and more often than not will tell you whatever is broken will be fixed, soon, but no one is sure when.

Either I was very tired or I'm getting used to the driving, but it almost felt natural to be going at breakneck speed while careening around all types of domestic animals. Sheep, goats, cows. More than the animals, there are large groups of unemployed men hanging out, everywhere. I wonder if it's possible to create some WPA-type of program to get these people moving again. There are these people in purple plastic coats who sweep the streets with brooms made from eucalyptus trees. It seems to be a large government program to create employment.

As we were getting closer to Batumi, I started getting that feeling you have when you're a kid going to a beach vacation. You know it's coming, and you want the damn car ride to be over. We passed through a valley that had terraced farming, through mountain-jagged twisting roads, and voila, broken houses gave way to refurbished villas, and we were in site of Batumi. From the distance, it has a very Disney World appearance. Towers and ferris wheels mix with all types of glass structures. The first thing that was explained to me was that Batumi only got a true drainage system LAST YEAR, and the entire street system was dug up and re-done in roughly a year. The city would flood when it rained heavily. To my dying die, understanding the wisdom of the Soviets in ignoring the obvious will elude me.

Batumi is wild. Brand-new state of the art hotels and buildings mix with buildings that are literally falling over. The whole city feels like a wild west-era border town that just found gold. The energy is palpable. The tallest building, the Sheraton, which can only be described as an exact copy of the lighthouse at Pharos, looks like it was here forever and refurbished, but it is only a few years old. The city is full of cafes, beach bars and upscale restaurants. The Georgians have clearly decided to go for Monaco versus Ocean City tourists. There are no tacky souvenir shops, and the new tourist attractions are breathtaking. European-style lighting and clocks, whole new squares that use French maison windows, classic Italianate facades, and Arabic balconies. My favorite is a tower that screams Disney World without the mouse. The whole city is lit at night with light sculptures, accent lighting and reflective surfaces, and there are not one but two massive dancing fountains. There are also pieces of very good outdoor modern art that are hidden around the city. You turn a corner, and surprise, another delight hits you.

We went to Hello from Batumi, this old retro-style cafe where the waiters were dressed as sailors. I was praying for the cop, the native American, cowboy and construction worker to show up. Afterwards, I went to a an ultra-hip beach club that was open 24 HOURS A DAY. No customers (not the season), but the staff was falling over me like I was king. It appears it's the favorite spot of the Georgian president when he's in Batumi.

My flat is in good shape, and the hallway has lighting, a true luxury in Georgia. The landlady was nervous and said she would check in from time to time, which I said was un-categorical NO, and reached in my bag, pulled out some chocolate, and got her to calm down. I arrived back home to find homemade jelly and a bottle full of mandarins, so we're off on the right footing. The walls are painted in colors that would make the blind see, but I can't do much about that. Water also seems to be an issue. It only runs for so many hours a day, but compared to other parts of the country which have no water, I'm happy and will survive. It needed a re-design, and I got up and hit the streets. Lighting, appliances and new furniture. Out of bed and a look out the window, and what had been a calm sea was now tsunami-like, and super-high winds were whipping the city. The winds easily were 50-70 MPH. I got up my nerve and went out. I could barely stand along the beach front boulevard. I had shopping to do, and this wouldn't do.

I realized it must be better inside the city. It seemed simple enough until I got to the streets. There are none in places. Or sidewalks. The city was torn up so fast that only about half the infrastructure has been redone. Streets and sidewalks are little more than gravel pits. It all adds to the wild west feel. I managed to hit 20 stores and in a matter of hours (there are even 24-hours stores), and hauled back bags of stuff, in high wind. It was a royal pain in the neck.

A few things I've noticed along the streets are the animals. Like Athens, there are dogs and cats everywhere (but not in such large amounts). I saw a small black cat with a twisted paw that I wanted to rescue, and I had to stop myself. It nearly broke my heart. I got it some water from my bag and gave it some food, a trick I learned from my days in Greece. That is probably the best I can do. In the streets, there are men everywhere. I'm not sure what they do all day. Speaking of men, they walk arm-in-arm here, and greet each other with kisses. Now if they were only dressed like sailors, construction workers, cowboys and native Americans. They're not, as it appears nearly everyone in Georgia dresses in black. Always.

Georgian stores are a study on contrast. Well-stocked. The prices are much higher than I thought they would be. Anything electronic is easily twice the price of what it would be in the States. I went to Goodwill (no, not smelly but lovely used store Americans know and love) and ran into one of the joys of Eastern Europe and an annoying hangover from the Soviets...THE STARE! You are hounded like a dog by people who watch your every move to make sure you take nothing. I believe they have people who watch them, who are in turn watched by other people, all annoying the hell out of each other, including me. I went into later years of the Czech Republic-mode and did what I did then: walk up and stare right back and ask them what they're doing. The English throws them right off and within minutes, they're off to stalk the next customer, and you're free to do what you want.

My group of students looks like they'll be a tougher batch than the others. Must of them are well-trained, and more cosmopolitan than the others. We all sensed that there would be some concerns, and I had to whip out the, "I'm a serious baker that will bake for you every time we meet." My muffins are the stuff of legend. Thus ensued conversation of sharing recipes, and an in-road had been made. Whatever works and gets them to come. My milkshake brings all the teachers to yard.

Finally, a small thing occurred that illustrated how much I forget I'm an American who hasn't lived in the motherland for several years. We must be in contact with the folks in DC, and had to add people on Skype, something I wasn't very comfortable with doing. Skype, to me anyway, is a private thing for friends and family. Right before I went out on Friday, after four days of non-stop travel, I went on to talk with my home. A friendly hello popped up from DC. I asked how the person was doing, and they said they were working on a program with basketball. In my head, without even thinking, I went to say, "Like ping-pong diplomacy, but with bigger balls." It wasn't meant to be even remotely sexual, but I stopped myself in the nick of time. Sigh. I felt awkward and strange, and apologized even though I had said nothing. In Europe, people wouldn't have flinched, but in the States, I nearly committed a serious faux pas. Good times.

The best part of it all is the amazing sunsets over the Black Sea that I can see out my window. I woke up this morning (no bed bugs...hurrah!) to find large amounts of snow falling.

Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves

2012-01-26T20:03:00.000-08:00

We had our first disappointing dinner. After the marathon haul to Telavi and one of the most jarring roads I've encountered in my lifetime, we had roasted trout and bland soup in a smokey pub. Georgia still allows smoking in public places. Even after being a smoker for so many years (four years sober!), it disgusts me, especially around food.

We left Tbilisi and headed to Gori and Kutaisi. We have substantial luggage, but as it seems we compliment each other, it was packed in minutes and we were off. We tipped the porter five lari and I left the hotel staff 10 for the room, which we later found out to be way too much. Karma! It all comes back sooner or later.

Gori was a quick drive from Tbilisi. Birthplace of Stalin (good times!), it was depressing. Quiet and crumbling. We had our meeting and discovered while the city was falling apart, the people weren't. Lively and questioning, the group looked like they would be a good group. There's a program in Georgia called Teach and Learn, which was meant to be a shock troop of English teachers paid for by the Georgian government. The early days were filled with adventurers and you can only guess how that went, but it seems to have turned a corner and is doing better.

We saw the train that hauled Stalin around the CCCP and the actual house, enshrined like a temple with a neo-Greco Soviet thing encasing it, where Stalin was born. We also saw what must be one of the last statues of the man. I do not need to say more. It's Stalin.

We entered the apartment complex to help our colleague with her luggage. Most Georgian buildings are legacies of the Soviet era, and they are falling apart. It's shocking for an American, but you have to adjust your mindset and then start to see something miraculous. In Soviet times, the buildings were maintained like a collective, meaning the internal parts were cleaned by all. Those days are long gone, but they are now replaced by this bizarre mix of people reclaiming property, building rooms that weren't there before, managing to get water through jerry-rigged, MacGyver-esque systems, etc. It's to each his own, and its wild. Doors replaced, whole different walls. It's jarring at first, but then you realize people have survived through some dark days in Georgia, and the human ability to adapt and create starts to come through the structures. Inside, the apartments are warm and inviting, and everyone seems to have a flat-screened TV with endless channels. It's an urban designer's playground and nightmare.

We left Gori after piling up on bread and mandarins for everyone as we realized we would have to skip lunch to stay on schedule, and headed to Kutaisi. Along the way, we had to veer around cows on the highway, while we were driving at incredible speed. Driving in Georgia is a hail Mary-type of adventure. Once again, it's scary, pee-your-pants, not for the faint-hearted type of stuff. The pass through the mountains was stacked with snow, and we passed pottery stands and sweet bread kiosks, where elderly women come running out to the cars to sell bread, which is soooooo cheap and soooooo good in Georgia. Kutaisi is everything Gori isn't. Georgia's second largest city, it's wild. Belle epoque buildings mingle with Soviet and modern buildings. Much like Tbilisi, it's frenetic. It also seems young. We had a quick coffee at McDonald's (and we joked that to find our colleague, all we had to do was follow the golden arches). Another meeting, and we met the first and only male teacher in our entire roster this session. Immediately, we were invited to a play with young learners on Tuesday, and we had to readjust our schedules to work it in.

We went to set up our colleague in his apartment. Again, another wild building, but the apartment was quite a steal for the price. The owners were incredibly nice, and left home-made wine. Everyone decided we had to have a toast, and before walking down eight flights of jumbling steps in the dark, we had a drink. BAM! Strong stuff. We all piled out into the hallway of death, but human invention pulled through. Everyone whipped out their cell phones in seconds, mini-flashlights to the ready, and we were down in a flash. It's a compliment to Georgian women, but their ability to walk in killer high-heels under such conditions is truly remarkable.

We had dinner, which is always a marathon of eating and courses in Georgia. We were easily compensated for the smoked-infused trout by new Georgian dishes, including tongue. We talked about some type of cow-leg soup that the poor originated (left over goodies from those pesky aristocrats), which becomes a gelatinous mess that people eat when they're hungover. YUM! It's eaten with garlic and drunk with vodka. We managed to avoid that dish and had spicy tomato and mushroom, fries with sauces and crab salad. Georgian meals are like tapas, and it's eat as much as can and there STILL is more coming. The Georgians have this pizza-like thing that we've eaten everyday we've been here that says STOMACH, MEET GROIN! as we will be fatter than hell if we keep consuming it at the rate were eating it. It's sooooo yummmy, but becomes a rock when it turns cold.

AS I learn more about Georgians, their society, their culture, their way of life is infectious. I mean, there is a quick sense of camaraderie without fakeness that I've haven't met anywhere else in the world. Do you know friends you haven't seen in years and you can start up with again like no time has passed? That's how Georgians are. After Scandinavians, who are a little cold and difficult to meet, Georgians are a complete breath of fresh air (hopefully not after they've eaten that cow-leg thing). They're worldly and hip, weary of history but still so damn friendly and open.

One Georgian colleague, who you want to sit down and talk with all day because he is mucho kind and interesting, told us about his time in Georgia, the state. It's a trick to tell people that you live in Georgia as opposed to Georgia. Still, Georgians in Georgia seems like a fun T-shirt to make. The Atlanta-Tbilisi express!

I don't like to write too much about colleagues, but it's almost impossible not to mention this spitfire of a woman, who reminds me of mini-Cher (hair and look to boot...how cool is that?), who is a high-belt in judo and played concert piano. She's just so damn funny and stylish. I almost live to see her next outfit. She's also lively in conversations and personal without being fake. We all agree we got lucky to be working with such funny and clever people. Still, it has been hard not to throw down in a Cher impersonation. It is almost a religious rite for my people.

We went out for a bit around Kutaisi. I had my first taste of smoke-infused beer at a world-class Georgian, state-of-the-art microbrewery, which frankly tasted like bacon. We quickly switched to something Belgian-like. Before we went to the brewery, we passed the River Rioni. On the bridge sits a statue of a boy with two hats, about to jump into the rockiest river I've see in years. We were told, and a film I've seen in my Soviet days, that in the film, the boy takes the hats from two grandmothers and jumps into the river. This bridge is THREE-STORIES UP. We then were told that in summer, the bridge is full of kids doing the same. I nearly pooped myself thinking of kids jumping from that height into the rocky, no, actually boulder-filled river. It seems it's much like Georgia. They're not afraid of much, and realize life is about taking chances. You might end up smashed to bloody bits on a rock, but on the other hand, you might have a good time as well.

George W. Bush Avenue

2012-01-25T12:39:00.000-08:00

We pulled out of Tbilisi today to take one teacher trainer to Telavi on the Chechen/Dagestan border. We were in good spirits. Substantial snow had fallen in the night, and the sun was threatening to make in an appearance.

The road out of Tbilisi veered off to George W. Bush Avenue. Obviously, the Georgians felt some gratitude for some reason or another to the worst president in US history, but I wasn't sure what it was. As we drove past the parliament, which was heavily damaged in the Georgian civil war (1988-1993). You wouldn't know it today. All through the city, buildings that barely can be called buildings stand next to gleaming new bridges and glass things, and a very renovated parliament shows the Georgians are trying to move on. Yet there's a very major hangover.

It's a testament to Georgian enterprise that they've managed to pull it back together after civil war and an invasion. As we rolled to Telavi, men of various ages stood everywhere, playing cards or talking. Most were just standing. Unemployment is high. Crime is low. At least I thought so. As we went to dinner after a very, very long day, we witnessed a purse snatching and the resulting crying older woman. It was disconcerting as there was little we could do. The thief tore past us through an underground tunnel, the women lumbering after. The Georgians didn't seem to know what to do either.

Devastation versus restoration. Modernity next to crumbling edifices.

On a cultural aside, Georgia has the scariest drivers I've encountered on the planet. There is zero concern for pedestrians. It is harrowing to take the highway. We barely missed one major accident, and everyone assumed the OH SHIT position as the van rocked to what we thought would soon be a crash. We veered at the last moment, and death was avoided for today.

Food: Georgian food is out of this world, and given in such massive amounts that it makes you a little sick. They make cheeses that I've only heard about, and the bread is world-class. They use pomegranate in everything, and there is this garlic/spinach thing that it very common that I swear could be marketed at Marks and Spencer. Much more about these human delights shortly. I'm a bit overwhelmed to do the subject proper justice.

It was almost humbling today to be near the Chechen border. I was in the Czech Republic when the Russians first crushed Chechnya, and it was sad to know that not much has changed. To be in the part of the world where so much recent history has happened is a very real thrill for me.

However, the whirl of faces this week is getting a little tiring and I'm looking forward to finally getting to Batumi. There's only so many times you can shake hands and assimilate another face after being in non-stop motion for two weeks. I need to save a bit of energy for my students.

A Good Omen

2012-01-24T14:42:00.000-08:00

Georgia has turned out to be something of a complete surprise.

There is a strange, palpable dynamism that I haven't felt for a long time. The streets and buildings are threadbare, but the people are not. It seems everyone is trying. Trying to do what, I'm not sure, but they seem to all be busy, constantly. The city is frenetic.

I'm convinced the hotel is running some type of import-export business, as the rooms transmit sound like they are moving Hong-Kong type of freight. It's incredibly annoying but I'm clueless what the hell they are doing. After a long day of yet more meetings, and people I cannot mention here, we went out.

First, you risk life and limb walking the streets of Georgia. Cars rule, and you're merely in their zone. Cross and sidewalks are a reference rather than a rule. There are few if any sidewalks and most of them are broken with pitfalls. Still, you don't feel threatened on the streets. The pubs are still filled with smoke, something akin to death in western bars, but the service is astonishing. I can't begin to tell you how much the staff fawns and waits on you. I somehow felt like the waiter was ours alone and was so intent on clearing the plates and dishes I thought he was attempting to pick someone up, gender non-defined. The hotel staff is so abundant that it seems you have to weed them.

Georgian food ranges on the abundant to the absurd. There are these cheese quesadilla things that are out of this world. Sometimes they fill them with beans. Heavy on the cucumbers and tomatoes. There is this rather toxic-looking drink with tarragon that's so green the Hulk would've peed it. I'm excited to move on from the nondescript pieces of meat.

Back to our boring lives.

What is astonishing are the amount of programs that attempt to encourage the promotion and dissemination of the English language, and by extension American culture. The pure flow of faces and acronyms today assured us that we are not going to roll over to the Chinese. FLEX, GLOW, SUSI, ETA, EFL, ELCE, blah, blah, blah. We have it going on. Imperial culturalism be damned. Gasp, cooperation with the British Council who might have realized their boat was sinking even further than ours and cooperation with the Atlantic revisionists might serve them as well. If the Chinese and their said Confucius Institutes (which have nothing to do with what Confucius said) think they have anything on the world-wide marketing machine that is the US, they are sadly mistaken.

Even more importantly, we've all come to realize how much we like each other in a few short days, without all that forced cheery team crap that is forced on humans in group sessions and team-building weekends that are close to hell. Build a raft with seven tooth picks and three pieces of balsa, in your underwear! We've seen enough kids end in suicide. That said and done, I've somehow been incredibly lucky in the crap shoot of life to be with three people who can really tolerate and work with each other. One is a laid-back hipster from California, another is a teachinista who can rival anyone, and lastly, there is an older compadre who resembles Dag's parents in sheer stamina. I can only hope to be that on at her age.

As we're plumbing our ways through the lengthy and almost endless accounting and assessment system, it seems that they've stumbled upon the foundations of a Georgia-wide computer school system, much like Norway's country-wide system. The scaffolding is there to incorporate every teacher in Georgia into a unified online system. I'm not sure if they realize what the potential is, but they might have accidentally found a magic bullet to bring it all together. I wish they would stop thinking that half the teacher pool is inept. You drag the unwilling into the next century by the strength of those who get the future is happening and you need to jump on. Still, I sense a big bang is coming with the imminent replacement of a large number of retiring teachers.

So back to us.

We actually truly incredibly and thank our lucky stars like each other. This project could have gone south in four ways quickly, but dang it, we like each other, we really like each other! Sally Field, throw tears, audience, audience, audience, Oscar!

We've also think we've figured out a way to unify ourselves with a common marketing thread of friendship. The potential is huge. We're selling this curriculum, but if we all truly work together, we can promote ourselves into something even more tangible. What was the good omen? As we were walking back to our hotel, huge, massive, Stalin-esque snowflakes started falling, but unlike Stalin, they were clean and reassuring. I've always taken fresh falling snow as an auspicious start, and there it was. It was nothing for Norway, but a sign that we are all on the right track. We felt kid-like, silly, and down-right invigorated. Clean snow kicks ass.

The highlight of the day, for me anyway, was during a well-meaning presentation someone spelled PEACE CORPSE instead of PEACE CORPS. Peace is dead, but democracy still may have a fighting chance. It's a hella-more interesting than re-marketed five-year plans.

Georgia

2012-01-23T06:54:00.000-08:00

It's quite funny to have to explain endlessly that I haven't moved to the state of Georgia. At last out of Norway but still very much in it mentally, I went into my future. I equate myself to a middle-aged phoenix. Somehow I always rise from the ashes, especially women from Minnesota and the endless hallways of Norwegian bureaucracy.

The flight from Riga was an adventure in a world I thought I would never see again. I forgot how pushy and aggressive Eastern Europeans can be, and that is said with all politeness. Not out of rudeness, but out of survival. It's acceptable to cut in front of someone, ignore lines and generally make a menace of yourself. I didn't take any of it personally, but was shocked how easy I was back in the same mindset.

It's how things work.

The plane was a microcosm of the eastern world: Russians tanking small bottles of this and that, stylish Georgians who seemed at home in the big wide world, while others clearly ignored AirBaltic's one bag policy, bringing their family belongings in large babushka shopping bags. The announcement, in Latvian, Georgian, Russian and English, to buckle your seat belt was ignored until a flight attendant kindly asked them to put them on, again. A hangover from the post-communist world where any type of authority was bad, like fire drills. Some have gotten burnt. One lone American, and a Chinese female national who just knew was going to be a problem at passport control.

The plane rolled over what was the Soviet Union, the former enemy and present friend in tow. It all seemed so passé that we take it for granted, but in another lifetime, I was committing high treason. Speaking of Russians, I made a joke at my going-away party that I hoped the Russians loved their children, too. It fit into some story or another. The 20+ looked strangely at me as if I has said something prophetic, while the +40 mustered "we-survived" giggles.

Tbilisi. -2. It seems nearly all flights in and out of Georgia are ridiculously late, or early, depending on your viewpoint. Amazingly, the project manager was there to meet me at 5:30 AM. The luggage piled to the rafters, and away we sped. We chatted and I got the sense that she was not the average Georgian. She seems very outspoken and comfortable with herself, and not afraid to be the very modern woman. I veered off the subject of politics as I thought I had only just entered to the van. After Greenland, I avoid that like the proverbial plague.

Tbilisi is fascinating at night. It appears the Georgians want to light everything possible, and medieval fortresses flow around state-of-the-art design buildings by some serious designers from the corners of Europe. The colors are breathtaking, with the radio tower dominating the scene. The various ministries are strewn around the winding twistiness, and they are all lit. It seems that the government is determined to give national symbols of modernity, and to light them up to show that Georgia is a bright place, on its way to somewhere.

The Georgians are so kind that at first it seems like an act. The hotel staff fell over themselves to get the luggage into the room. The project manager is a ball of fire and seems genuinely to want to help. More important, she gets it, and still knows the project will be a success. The four of us seem united and on the same page. The project doesn't seem difficult, but time-consuming and an exercise in organization. I went back to the room after the first round of meetings to find all my clothes neatly folded and my luggage organized by the cleaning people. It seems like the project. Georgians seem to be what all the stereotypes pour out of the guidebooks. They really do like visitors to their country. They are wildly proud but not boisterous. They're incredibly kind. I'll have to wait to the first wine/dinner.

The most amusing part of the day were two young Americans who gave us the skinny on life in Georgia. The woman was hysterical and didn't mince when she called Georgian men hmmm, rather ill-defined bastards in the modern order of the sexes, and women still stuck with most of the drudgery of life, while very much in all likely keeping the country and state together.

Norwegian phone doesn't work here and I cannot pick up on a network. Frustrating but I was just as quickly given a Georgian SIM card. I talked with Dag on Skype and the world seems to be all in place.

Not having slept for 24 hours, I've done remarkably well. Completely mystified by the height of the light and power switches. They're clearly made for three year-olds.

A Pocket Guide to Western Greenland, Version 20.11

2011-03-11T04:44:00.000-08:00

Available on amazon.com and for Kindle

Everything you always wanted to know about living and teaching in Greenland (but were afraid to ask).

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5" x 8" (12.7 x 20.32 cm)
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90 pages
ISBN-13: 978-1460924020
ISBN-10: 1460924029
BISAC: Travel / Polar Regions

Everything you always wanted to know about living and teaching in Greenland is a pragmatic, primer guide to living and working in Western Greenland.

Includes the real 411 on *culture * politics *people *language *communications *transportation *cities *weather *food *shopping *money *health *safety *sex *stuff *teaching *jobs. Now with pages of vital links, addresses and numbers to help you find what you want.

Rome and Malta 2011

2011-03-09T02:25:00.001-08:00

Innvandrere til Norge er ikke invaders (full article) and your e-mails and comments

2010-09-16T23:38:00.000-07:00

The piece that I wrote for yesterday's Dagbladet caused quite a reaction. That was to be expected. Other than a few interesting hate e-mails, the response has been positive. The comments on Dagbladet have been constructive and informative. I was contacted by NRK radio to do an interview, and would've attempted to do it in Norwegian as I believe passionately in the power of discussion and debate in a free society. I had to remember that I've only been learning Norwegian for a year!

If I had more skill in Norwegian, I would glady take on some of the more hateful and generally racist things that have been emanating from the Frp. It stings when you have worked very hard to be in a place, to learn a new language and to pay taxes, and a portion of the population tells you we don't want you here.

Some of the (many) e-mails I've received have told such heart-breaking stories about experiences with Norwegian bureaucracy that my experience pales in comparison. Immigrants with advanced degrees who cannot find work. Dis-jointed families waiting for visas. Norwegians citizens with foreign spouses who gave up and moved out of Norway. My spouse and Norwegian family are very good people who I love and care for very much, and for that reason, we choose to make our home in Norway.

There has been some general comment that I was too harsh and perhaps disrespective to Norwegians. If I would've had more space, I would gladly extoll the virtues of socialized medicine and retirement, two areas that have reached crisis stage in my country. However, there have been some days this last year that moving back to the US seemed like the only option, and we questioned why it was so difficult to assimilate here. I've lived for extensive periods in many other countries, but some Norwegians have made assimilation nearly impossible. Once again, I'm from the United States. Imagine the difficulties for Africans or Asians who try to assimilate in Norway. There is no voice for them.

The original piece was actually twice as long (and reprinted here in its entirety) and much more descriptive and informative about my experience but was shortened for publication. Additionally, I wasn't attempting to compare the US and Norwegian immigration systems. The US is a substantially larger country that is based on immigration. Norway's real experience with immigration is really just starting, and will only increase as Europe continues its painful transition to a fully-integrated continent. Europeans will have to stand together if they want to matter in a world ruled by much larger entities. It won't be easy, but it will happen.

For the record, I've taken zero out of the Norwegian state (other than the forced Norwegian and assimilation classes, which I'm trying to test out of, thus saving the Norwegian state money). That's a point of pride with me.

Thank you for all your responses and comments. Norway's democracy is alive and well.

Innvandrere til Norge er ikke invaders

"Innvandrer" på norsk høres nesten ut som “invader” på engelsk. De fleste av historiens erfaring med ordet, fra vikingene til Irak, har som regel vist seg å være en ekkel opplevelse for alle involverte. Jeg er ikke norsk, men jeg kan lese norsk godt nok. Jeg er en homofil amerikaner som giftet meg inn i kongeriket av brunost og olje. For ett år siden skrev jeg en artikkel for en annen norsk avis der jeg sa at Norge kan håndtere noen flere innvandrere. Ett år senere, er jeg ikke så sikker. Norge har skapt et innvandringssystem som garanterer at førstegenerasjons innvandrere er annenrangs borgere. Det endeløse byråkratiet. De velmenende lovene som for det meste virker som unødvendig ekstraarbeid. Den subtile, og ikke-så-subtile, diskrimineringen. Systemet er ment å heve deg opp, men det virker heller motsatt og tvinger deg ned.

Det skulle vært relativt enkelt å passe inn. Jeg er hvit, utdannet, har bodd i utlandet i mange år, er rimelig attraktiv og har alle tennene mine. Jeg er en lærer med 15 års undervisningserfaring med engelsk og humanistiske fag. Fag som Norge trenger. I løpet av en relativt kort periode kan jeg snakke grunnleggende norsk. Likevel sliter jeg som mange andre innvandrere.

Det er en oppfatning om at innvandrere og asylsøkere ankommer, og blir gitt leiligheter og poser med penger. Du kan ikke jobbe, ta norskopplæring eller forlate landet før visumet kommer. Norsk byråkrati er en kafkaesque reise inn i det absurde. Det er en forvirrende verden av forkortelser og kontorer: NAV, Tingretten, Udir., Skatteetaten, NOKUT, UDI. Papirer blir borte, duplikater må være levert og forsinkelser er regelen, ikke unntaket. UDI på engelsk betyr egentlig "usually delayed indefinitely". Jeg har blitt så paranoid av papir at jeg kopierer ting i tre eksemplarer og har et arkivsystem som ville utfordre Vatikanets bibliotek.

Norges system kan virke utformet for å redusere problemene med innvandring, men det er ikke utformet for å oppmuntre det nyttige som mange innvandrere har å tilby. For å være en utenlandsk lærer i Norge, må du gå gjennom en vandelssjekk og få utdanningen din godkjent (NOKUT). For meg betyr dette å sende mine fingeravtrykk til FBI og få tak i forseglede vitnemål.

Når NOKUT er fullført, må du gå gjennom Utdanningsdirektoratet (Udir.), som er nesten den samme prosessen en gang til. Begge etater utelukker ikke at det kan ta seks måneder for HVER prosess. Jeg kjenner til forsinkelsene, og vet at denne prosessen vil ta år. Norge trenger lærere, men ikke mange lærere ville hoppe gjennom disse ringene. Jeg ville har gitt opp for lenge siden hvis jeg ikke var en rimelig god lærer som ikke gir opp (eller sykemelder meg). Dette er godt som gull i Norge.

I USA er det en synke- eller svømmetilnærming til innvandrere. Ingen er tvunget til å lære engelsk. Enten lærer du engelsk og trives, eller du ender opp på gata. Sult og hjemløshet er kraftige motivatorer. Nordmenn ville aldri tolerere dette i sitt sosialdemokrati, men igjen ville ikke amerikanere tåle den nesten endeløse inngripen og papirarbeidet som norsk byråkrati innebærer. En ny innvandrere som ikke kommer fra EU må gjennomføre 250 timer norskundervisning og 50 timer med norsk assimilering innen tre år etter ankomst. Standardboka er På Vei, som mange innvandrere har gjennomgått flere ganger. Det er ikke mange norske lærebøker der ute. Det 50 timer lange norsk assimileringskurset er delt i to 25-timers (en uke) kurs. Hva består de siste 25 timene av? En gjentakelse av de første 25 timene. Stort sett er det å bli behandlet som barn og halvtullinger som er det mest fornærmende. Det er nannystaten på syre.

På overflaten ønsker Norge at innvandrere assimileres og det kreves derfor at de tar språk- og kulturkurs. Men det er ikke et nødvendig kurs for nordmenn for å lære dem å ønske velkommen de nye borgerne. Hvorfor skulle det være det? Det er mitt land. De skal lære seg å passe inn. Innvandrere møter subtil diskriminering; den lavmælte panikken i heiser sammen med folk med en annen hudfarge, blikkene fra mennesker når du ikke ser ut som eller oppfører deg norsk, små bemerkninger nordmenn gjør bak lukkede dører.

Den ikke-så-subtile diskriminering i Norge er mer skummell. Åpne angrep i redaksjonelle tekster ment som konstruktiv kritikk. Nyhetsbyråer sier i det uendelige at migrantene begår forbrytelser og får deg til å tro at nordmenn er dydige helgener. Utleie til en utlending er uaktuelt for noen. Jobbsøknader i Norge oppfordrer aktivt mennesker med innvandrerbakgrunn til å søke, men nesten alle med et ikke-norske navn går under S for "SØPPEL". Det er et hierarki, og du må ikke gå ut av det. Utenlandske ingeniører (hvite) arbeider med olje og infrastruktur, svenskene jobber på hoteller og serverer deg mat, ikke-europeere kjører drosjer, og andre tar vare på barna dine, de syke og eldre, eller rydder gatene og plukker opp søppelet ditt. Det er ingen måte å gå opp i det norske systemet på. Norge er for nordmenn, eller det sier i alle fall Frp.

Det finnes noen høytflyvende innvandrere, og NRKs endeløse forsøk på å framstille Norge som et flerkulturelt sted er beundringsverdig. Jeg får en litt kriblende følelse når jeg ser den lurvete gruppen av innvandrere i slutten av hvert 17. mai tog. Vi er desperate etter å passe inn hvis vi bare får muligheten.

Det er ikke mange innvandrere som klager. Jeg har møtt mange, noen av dem kommer fra steder hvor klager forårsaker problemer, eller verre. Tommelfingerregelen er å holde hodet nede og ikke si noe dårlig om sitt nye hjemland. Mitt lands erfaringer med innvandring har vært et humpete og noen ganger voldelige eventyr, men USA absorberte nesten 1/3 av Norges befolkning da nordmenn ikke var så rike eller arrogante. Nordmenn kunne være litt mer tolerante.

Dette kan virker utakknemlig overfor Norge. Ingen liker en sutrende flyktning, men jeg er ikke en flyktning. Jeg er en homofil mann fra et stort og relativt velstående land, som kom til Norge og giftet meg med en nordmann. Hvis jeg er den sutrende, er det tusenvis av tause innvandrere som ikke tilfeldigvis er hvite eller i det hele tatt har en stemme. Enda verre, det er tenkelig at den elendige servicen og forsinkelser innvandrere gjennomgår, rett og slett er fordi nordmenn vet at innvandrere ikke vil eller kan klage. Selv om de gjør det, hvem bryr seg? Ingen lytter likevel.

Amerikanere som står overfor andre klagende amerikanere (eller de som ikke er enig med dem), skriker, "Love it or leave it!" Hvis det bare var så enkelt. Etter alt papirarbeidet, ventingen i kø, norskopplæringen og det faktum at jeg virkelig elsker mannen min, ønsker jeg ikke å forlate Norge. Innvandrere tilfører noe til kongeriket av brunost og olje. Neste gang du snakker i telefonen, slår på datamaskinen, eller bruker Google eller Yahoo!, husk at innvandrere hjalp deg dit. Innvandrere til Norge er ikke ''invaders''. Innvandrere til Norge er annenrangs borgere i sitt eget nye land.

September 16, 2010, Dagbladet - Absurd innvandrings byråkrati - Absurd Immigration Bureaucracy

2010-09-16T05:33:00.001-07:00

"Immigrant" in Norwegian sounds strangely like “invader” in English. From the Vikings to Iraq, invaders have usually turned out to be a nasty experience for all involved. I'm a gay American who married into the kingdom of brown cheese and oil. In my year in Norway, I've learned one thing: Norway has created an immigration system that guarantees immigrants are second-class citizens.

It should be relatively easy to fit in. I'm white, educated and lived abroad for many years. I'm a teacher with 15 years of experience. I can speak basic Norwegian. Yet like many immigrants, I struggle. There's an image that immigrants and asylum-seekers are given apartments and bags of money. You can't work, take Norwegian or leave the country until that visa arrives. Norwegian bureaucracy is a Kafkaesque voyage into the absurd. Papers get lost and delays are the rule, not the exception. UDI in English really means “usually delayed indefinitely”.

Norway's system isn't designed to encourage the benefits that many immigrants offer. To be a foreign teacher in Norway, you must go through a criminal check and have your degrees verified (NOKUT). When NOKUT is accomplished, you must go through the UDIR, which is very much the same process. Norway needs teachers, but knowing delay times, this process will take years.

Norway, on the surface, wants immigrants to assimilate. In the United States, there's a sink or swim approach to immigrants. No one is forced to learn English. A new non-EU immigrant to Norway must complete 250 hours of (mind-numbing) Norwegian instruction and 50 hours of (useless) Norsk assimilation within three years of arrival. It's the nanny state on acid. It's insulting to be treated like children and half-wits.

Immigrants face subtle discrimination. That's fine. We're not children. The not-so-subtle discrimination is more scary. Open attacks in editorials posing as constructive criticism. Renting to a foreigner is a no-go for some. Employment applications actively encourage people with immigrant backgrounds to apply, but nearly anyone with a non-Norwegian name goes under S for “soppel”. There's a hierarchy, and you mustn't step out of it. Swedes=waiters, non-Europeans=taxi drivers, everybody else=caregivers/maids. There's no way to go up in the Norwegian system. Norway is for the Norwegians.

The United States absorbed nearly 1/3 of Norway when Norwegians weren't so rich or arrogant. Norwegians could be a bit more tolerant. It's imaginable that the wretched service and delays immigrants go through are simply because Norwegians know that immigrants won't, or can't, complain. Even if they do, who cares? Nobody is listening anyway.

Many Americans, when faced with other complaining Americans (or ones who don't agree with them), yell, “Love it or leave it!” If it were only that simple. Immigrants add something to the kingdom of brown cheese and oil. We're not “invaders”. We're second-class citizens in our own new land.

Wedding Pictures

2010-08-01T13:16:00.001-07:00

Walking, or Being Pushed? Pg. 4 - June Yeareah

2010-06-21T13:54:00.001-07:00

Ten Literal Literary Deaths - April Yareah, pages 6-7

2010-05-27T14:07:00.001-07:00

The Girls of the Oil, by Isabel del Rio

2010-04-05T13:27:00.000-07:00

My editor, Isabel del Rio, from Yareah magazine (now promoting the artwork and words of artists and authors from 50 countries!) in Spain has a new book out, and it's a good one. The Spanish synopsis talks about painters and sculptors before 1789, and it has something rare in art books: a feminine prospective. Other works from Isabel include the novela "Ariza".

Dag Sings the Norwegian Birthday Song on a Train from Venice

2010-03-04T00:03:00.001-08:00

Birthday trip to Venice and Ljubljana, Slovenia

2010-03-03T23:48:00.000-08:00

We Raised an Incredible Amount of Money for South Africa

2010-02-17T01:15:00.001-08:00

The Simpsons and VERY Funny Show about Norway by Way of Ogdenville

2010-02-01T09:02:00.000-08:00

2021 Coming to Homerica

Very funny work from my English class! From Vegard and Vetle

2010-01-16T07:54:00.001-08:00

Holiday Spectacular, 2009

2010-01-09T10:46:00.001-08:00

1/4 It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Chacha Chaudhary! January Yareah magazine

2010-01-03T23:51:00.000-08:00

Every Saturday morning, kids and parents across America know one thing: It's cartoon time! Parents sleep while kids zone out to an uninterrupted frenzy of kid shows, including superheroes. Mine were the Super Friends. Vaguely based on a United Nations-like confederation, the Super Friends were dedicated to fighting the Legion of Doom. In full superhero apparel (a cape made out of a bath towel and aluminum foil bracelets, à la Wonder Woman), I'd put down my bowl of Cap'n Crunch cereal (so sharp it would rip the roof of your mouth) and in pure childhood innocence, extol, “In the great hall of the Justice League, there are assembled the world's four greatest heroes from the cosmic legends of the universe; Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, Aquaman. Their mission: to fight injustice, to right that which is wrong and to serve all mankind!” It was as close to nirvana as a kid could get. Watch it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0Tsut72X48

Wikipedia says superheroes usually have things in common: 1. Extraordinary powers and skills and/or advanced equipment 2. A strong moral code 3. A motivation 4. A secret identity 5. A costume 6. An underlying theme that shapes the hero's persona 7. Allies 8. Enemies 9. Independent wealth or an occupation that allows for minimal supervision 10. A headquarters or base of operations 11. A back-story, most involving tragic elements and/or freak accidents that result in the development of the hero's abilities. Follow these elements, and you have a superhero.

In the United States, superheroes were white, professional, middle to upper-class and male. Think Superman. With changing social mores and ethnic composition, American superheroes have morphed into women, minorities, homosexuals and the disabled. Think Wonder Woman, Firestorm (African-American), Atom (Asian), Blue Beetle (Latino), Apollo and Midnighter (gay, and so progressive that they're married and have an adopted daughter), and Daredevil and Oracle.

Superheroes reinforce national identity, a common history or a shared enemy. Not all reside in the United States. If they did, the world would be in trouble if a global calamity struck and the United States was wiped off the planet. In South America, there's the Cabellero Rojo, who defends the Argentinian innocent in Buenos Aires. Captain Chile works out of Pancho City (Valparaiso), helping to defeat unemployment and high fuel prices. Venezuela has Martin Valiente, Peru has Capitan Leo. Not to be outdone, Brasil (no captain, as he was never in the army) fights politicians on the other side of the border.

North of South America, Costa Rica has the very feminine Kinetics. Mexico has a bewildering array of wrestling superheroes (Neutron, Santo, Tinieblas), who battle evil monsters and vampires when not in the ring. Canada, influenced by Great Britain, France and a larger English-speaking nation to the south, produced Johnny Canuck and Canada Jack. Appearing in World War II, they added their powers to the Allied war effort.

Across the pond, the Europeans have a bewildering array of national superheroes. In Spain, el Guerrero del Antifaz deals with the consequences of a mixed Muslim/Christian identity, fighting each at various times in his crusade. El Coyote moved to Mexico to defend Spanish/Mexicans against US colonialism. Superdupont, protector of France and all that is France, has the unique ability to cure gonorrhea with a ray from his hands. Britain's Olympians (a British Justice League) almost destroy London when two of their members duel, while SuperGran uses a magic bike and tea to fight crime. Cúchulainn (Ireland), Dukse Drengen (Denmark), Octobriana (Russia), Kaptain Sverige (Sweden), de Moker (the Netherlands), Asso di Picche (Italy), and Kapteeni Hyperventilaattorimies (Finland) seem lesser known than Pippi Långstrump (Sweden), Baron Münchhausen (Germany) and TinTin (Belgium). They're not your standard superheroes, but all are unique with superhero traits. Most recently, Captain Euro and his ally Europa work for the Twelve Stars organization, which defends the security of Europe and the values of the Union. They're both multilingual, obsessed with information technology, are in peak physical condition and attempt diplomacy over violence.

Keep going around the globe. Egypt has Jalila. Turkey has Karabasan. The Philippines has Darna. Australia's Captain Koala works with Australian, Japanese, New Zealand and American intelligence to fight gun runners. New Zealand's Southern Tribe, a group that was abducted at birth, fights terrorism in the southern hemisphere. The Golem of Israel fights the Nazi's. Science Wonder Boy of China is based on technology from Japan. The Cayman Islands' Fishkar seeks revenge on industrial polluters. Indonesia has a large array of male and female superheroes, including Godam (The Hammer), who looks strikingly like an Indonesian Superman. Japan has so many superheroes that they're a universe onto themselves. Last but not least, India's Chacha Chaudhary (Uncle Chaudhary), an elderly gentleman with a red turban, and an institution in India, fights crime with his friend Sabu while driving his red convertible. The universe, at least the human one, seems to have no lack of superheroes. Perhaps because we need them. They are what we aspire to be, and fight evil and dark forces like we do. They empower children and adults alike to be better.

I could never decide if I wanted to be Aquaman or Wonder Woman. Either way, I wanted to be part of the Justice League. Every time I see a general assembly of the United Nations, I wish, somehow, all of them could be given bath towel capes and aluminum foil bracelets. Maybe they'd relax a bit. Then they could begin each session with a new motto, “Our mission: to fight injustice, to right that which is wrong and to serve all humankind!” It seems a much better way to start the day then figuring out how to outwit and combat each other.

"Superhero by Country." An International Catalogue of Superheroes. 29 Jan 2009. Web. 9 Dec 2009. .

1/4 Hope is Here, December Yareah magazine

2010-01-03T23:50:00.000-08:00

My favorite place in all of Norway is on the second floor of the Nobel Peace Center in Oslo. The Norwegians call it Nobel Field. 96 digital displays on bending plexiglass rods flow among 1,000 LED lights that respond to human movement like blades of grass. The displays tell the stories of 84 men, 12 women and 23 organizations that have won the Nobel Peace Prize.

I'm always humbled when I stand in this space. It has the feel of a playful church. There's a hushed atmosphere, but the space, even with the heaps of cold technology, is incredibly human. Children play while adults reverently look at the screens. I contemplate each display and wonder what made these people give so much; what made them evolve into what they eventually became. I'm sure they didn't intend to become great. I'm even more sure they had secrets which would make us think they were very human. Somehow, though, their ethics evolved into the highest virtues of humanity: self-sacrifice, the struggle against inequality and adversity, and the pursuit of peace.

There's one screen I always pause at in veneration: Dag Hammarskjöld. In 1961, he was the posthumous winner of the Peace Prize. A Swedish diplomat, a son of a prime minister and the second secretary-general of the United Nations, Hammarskjöld died in a plane crash attempting to make peace in the Katanga crisis. When I was a boy, I was fascinated by the name HAMMARSKJÖLD. It sounded exotic, Scandinavian and powerful. As a young man looking for gay-identified (or possibly gay) heroes, I studied Hammarskjöld. He evolved into a complex man who gave his life, whether by destiny or through personal ethics, to the service of humankind.

I read Markings, a collection of Hammarskjöld's writings that was published in 1963. Even as a young adult, I could understand his battle between human desire and ethical service. Hammarskjöld had ethics, in abundance. Hammarskjöld wrote, “No peace which is not peace for all, no rest until all has been fulfilled.” His ethics evolved from a quiet boy in Uppsala to an unselfish man who most likely was assassinated in the pursuit of peace.

President Obama comes to Oslo on December 10 to accept the Nobel Peace Prize at Oslo Rådhus (Oslo City Hall). In a hilarious but respectful recent Jib-Jab video parody of “Super-Obama” (http://sendables.jibjab.com/originals/hes_barack_obama), the president tackles health care, the economy, climate change, pirates, and even saves kittens in trees. The parody flashes the news HOPE IS HERE! Hope is a fragile thing, even if it's false. Obama receives the Peace Prize not so much for what he has done, but what he has the possibility of doing. That's hope. Obama's evolving. Some would say that the presidency of the United States isn't the place to evolve. Hammarskjöld, and the Nobel Peace Prize committee, might have thought differently. After eight years of another American president whose ethics evolved into disaster, the world could do much worse.

15/12 - 1MUA Lesson Plan and Writing Assisgnments

2009-12-11T00:29:00.000-08:00

TWO ASSIGNMENTS ARE DUE ON DECEMBER 18.

View "Commericals". You now have a choice of doing a print campaign (one page) in English for a Norwegian product. Brown cheese? Bergan's of Norway? Oil? Be creative.

You can either do:

Print campaign AND one essay from the writing assignment list.

OR

Choose TWO essays from the writing assignment list. They're due by December 18!

On Dec. 18, we'll watch the rest of Pleasantville and play ENGLISH TRUTH OR DARE! I'll bake as well:)

WRITING ASSIGNMENT

Writing topics: Choose TWO of these topics from the movie. In TWO well-formed one-page essays using Pleasantville, discuss the topics. Use specific examples to support your idea. From: http://onlinecollegedegree.org/2009/05/20/50-banned-books-that-everyone-should-read/
1950's – Discuss what Norway will be like in fifty years.
Television – What role does television play in society?
Innocence – At what age do children became adults?
Television Set - Technology will destroy or save us. Which statement is correct?
Book Burning – Is there a time when censorship should be allowed?
Brother-Sister Relationship – Discuss a story that happened with a sibling when you realized you were part of a family.
Individuality – Is it better to be an individual or part of a group?
High School Basketball – Some say sports help people learn teamwork and responsibility. Others say sports enforce conformity and destroy independence. Which is correct?
Art – Discuss one piece of artwork that you like or dislike and why. Identify the artwork/painter.
Adam And Eve – Some believe in Evolution and some believe in Creationism. Which view do you believe in and why?
Painting – Using one specific piece of art, discuss what the painting represents to society. Identify the artwork and painter.
Trivia Contest – Some say tests are useful in school and some say they're not. Which is correct?
Acceptance Of Change Some change is good while others say it's bad. Which view is correct?
Old Love – If you could change one moment in your life, what would it be and why?
Teen Movie – Review one “teen movie” and discuss its strengths and weaknesses.
Casual Sex – Some say sex education should be taught in schools while other say it should only be taught at home. Which is correct?
Alternative Reality – Write an alternate reality for Kongsberg.
High School – In the United States, many believe home schooling is better than public education. Which view is correct?
Censorship Is there a time when censorship should be allowed?
Bully – Retell a story of when you were bullied or have bullied someone.
Slut Why is it considered acceptable for a man to be a “lady's man” while woman who are strong or independent are considered “bitchy” or “slutty”?
Self Image – If you could change one part of yourself, what would it be and why?
Mother-Son Relationship – Discuss a story between you and your parents that has helped shaped the person you are today.
Intolerance – Discuss examples of intolerance in Norwegian society.
Utopia/Dystopia – Is it possible for humans to create a utopia? Why or why not?
Premarital Sex – Discuss the difference in attitude between the United States and Norway in marriage and unwed parents and children.
Catcher In The Rye – Discuss one banned book. Where and why was it banned?
Small Town – Is it better to live in a small town or a big city?
Discrimination – Discuss discrimination in Norway. Does it exist and where?

10-11/Dec.- 1MUA - Pleasantville - Movie Guide and Writing Assignments

2009-12-10T00:38:00.000-08:00

Pleasantville - 1998 – Directed by Gary Ross
Plotline: Although David (Tobey Maguire) and his sister Jennifer (Reese Witherspoon) are twins, they lead dramatically different high school social lives. Jennifer is concerned mainly with her appearance, relationships and popularity, while David has few friends and cannot even drum up the courage to talk to a girl on whom he has a crush. He spends most of his spare time on the couch, watching television. Jennifer, on the other hand, is more assertive and at the beginning of the film makes a date with Mark Davis, one of the most popular boys in school.
Their mother (Jane Kaczmarek) leaves Jennifer and David alone at home while she heads out of town for a rendezvous with her boyfriend (who is later revealed to be nine years younger than she is). The twins begin to fight over the use of the downstairs TV; Jennifer wants to watch an MTV concert with Mark, while David needs the TV in order to watch a marathon of his favorite show, Pleasantville.
Pleasantville is a black-and-white '50s sitcom similar to Leave It To Beaver or Father Knows Best that centers around the idyllic Parker family—George (William H. Macy), his wife Betty (Joan Allen), and their two children, Bud and Mary Sue. David is an expert on every episode and wants to watch the marathon so he can win a trivia contest. During the fight between David and Jennifer, the remote control breaks and the TV cannot be turned on manually. A mysterious TV repairman (Don Knotts) shows up uninvited, and quizzes David on Pleasantville before giving him a strange-looking, retro-styled remote control. The repairman leaves, and David and Jennifer promptly resume fighting. However, through some mechanism of the remote control, they are transported into the television, ending up in the Parkers' black and white Pleasantville living room. David tries to reason with the repairman (who communicates with him through the Parkers' TV set) but succeeds only in chasing him away. David and Jennifer must now pretend they are, respectively, Bud and Mary Sue Parker.
Breakfast in the Parker house is promptly served by stay-at-home mother Betty, and consists of generous servings of bacon, eggs, waffles, pancakes, ham, honey, sausage, and other fatty foods. Jennifer is disgusted at the thought of eating so much "animal fat." On the way to school, the pair watch as a group of firemen rescue a cat out of a tree, and Jennifer meets Skip (Paul Walker), the captain of the basketball team and her soon-to-be boyfriend. David tells her that they must stay “in character,” she must make small-talk with her three monochrome friends and not disrupt the lives of the Pleasantville citizens, who do not notice any physical differences between the old Bud and Mary Sue and David and Jennifer. In order to keep the plot in line, Mary Sue agrees to go on a date with Skip, although the two have very different ideas of what a date constitutes.
The date between Skip and Mary Sue turns out to be the first catalyst for change in the town. Skip has no knowledge of sex until Mary Sue introduces him to it. The plot of the traditional show is further thrown out of sequence when Bud’s boss Mr. Johnson (Jeff Daniels), who runs the soda shop, becomes dissatisfied with his boring, mundane life, confiding in Bud that the only time of the year during which he is happy is Christmas, due to the fact that he gets to paint something new every December 3rd for the Christmas mural in his shop's window. Bud initially attempts to convince him to carry on, saying that even if Mr. Johnson does not like his job, he should still do it anyway, but David soon realizes his error and gives Mr. Johnson an art book, encouraging his true passion.
Meanwhile, Skip tells the other boys about sex, and soon the teenagers begin to experiment, leading to a sort of sexual revolution. Betty is curious and, knowing that her husband would never do any of the things, (leading to a sex talk between Betty and Mary Sue), accidentally starts a fire outside of their home.
Bud, realizing the firemen have no other experience than fetching cats out of trees for neighbors, teaches them how to put out fires and is awarded a medal. He is thus noticed by a beautiful cheerleader named Margaret (Marley Shelton), who bakes him oatmeal cookies -- cookies she was supposed to bake for a boy named Whitey (David Tom). Bud’s act of heroism has inadvertently changed the storyline, but he seizes the moment and asks Margaret out for a date. When the TV repairman returns and berates him for altering the show so much, Bud turns off the TV, relinquishing his ability to go home in the process.
Pleasantville soon begins changing at a rapid pace. Double beds become available in stores, colored paints available to buy, students engage in sexual displays in public, and Pleasantville's beleaguered wives become tired of their household duties and begin to think, causing their husbands to reel in shock at their behavior. Meanwhile, things about the town which have changed from the original plotline begin to develop full and vibrant colors, rather than remaining black and white. The mayor, Big Bob (J.T Walsh) notices these changes and becomes concerned. He recruits George Parker, as a respected citizen, to the Pleasantville Chamber of Commerce to help normalize the town again, along with groups of other citizens who remain black and white. At this point, Betty has become "colored" as well and is afraid that George will hate her. Bud helps her to conceal the color with her old make-up, which is still black and white.
People in Pleasantville begin to explore hidden abilities and revel in their new freedoms. Mr. Johnson begins to paint, while Betty finds that housework no longer interests her. The basketball team loses their first game (previously, not only had they never lost, but they had never missed any shots), while students begin visiting the public library and reading books recommended by Mary Sue and Bud. Ironically, Mary Sue/Jennifer, who had never shown any interest in school, finds she likes reading so much that she rejects Skip in favor of a book by D. H. Lawrence, and finds her own color.
Gradually, more objects begin turning multicolored, including flowers and the faces of people who have experienced bursts of passion or change. The only people who remain unchanged are the town fathers, led by Mayor Big Bob who sees the changes as eating away at the moral values of Pleasantville. Certain youths, such as Skip and Whitey and their friends, also remain unaffected. They resolve to do something about their increasingly distant wives and disaffected youths. A town meeting is called. Betty falls in love with Mr. Johnson and leaves George for him, no longer wishing to hide her colored face.
Behavior similar to Nazism, as well as racial segregation and subsequent rioting similar to that of the African-American Civil Rights Movement, soon reach Pleasantville, touched off by a nude painting of Betty on the window of Mr. Johnson’s soda shop; the window is smashed with a park bench, and the soda shop is destroyed, piles of books are burned, and anyone who is "colored" is harassed in the streets. Bud earns his color by defending Betty from a gang of thugs led by Whitey.
He begins to grow from a quiet loner into a strong leader, advocating resistance to the new "Pleasantville Code of Conduct", a list of regulations preventing people from visiting the library and Lovers' Lane, playing loud music, or using paint colors other than black, white, or gray.
In protest against the mundane Pleasantville outlook, Bud and Mr. Johnson paint a colorful mural on a brick wall, depicting Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech, winged books rising from piles of burning literature, men and women dancing together to rock music, and other things relevant to the changes in their world. For this they are forced to spend the night in a jail cell. Bud is visited then by George, who wonders why Betty has changed, after he reveals he hasn't eaten in a very long time because he doesn't know how to cook. Bud simply replies that "people change," to which George wonders aloud if they couldn't just change back to the way things were.
Bud and Mr. Johnson are brought to trial in front of the entire town, with the monochrome citizens on the ground floor as witneses, segregated from the "colored" residents who are made to sit on a balcony as democratic voters.
George gains his color when, in the courtroom, he cries for the loss of his wife after Bud helps him realize the truth about what he actually misses (Betty herself, not the tasks she performs). Mr. Johnson is repentant and tries to haggle with the Mayor, but Bud speaks out, finally arousing enough anger and indignation in Big Bob that the Mayor himself becomes colored as well.
With this, the entire town becomes colored—and the people of Pleasantville are finally introduced to the rest of the world. Televisions at the television repair shop now display full-colored images of various scenic vistas around the world, such as the Pyramids at Giza and the Eiffel Tower, and Main Street, which had previously been a circuit that led back to its beginning again, now leads away to other streets, and ultimately to other towns and cities as well.
Jennifer chooses to stay behind in this alternate world for a while, planning to go to university out of town as Mary Sue Parker. David returns using the remote control and finds his mother crying in the kitchen, distraught over her predictable, middle-aged life and her failed relationship with her junior lover. She complains to him that her life was not supposed to run this undesirable course.
David replies, saying, "It's not supposed to be anything." The movie ends with a cut back to Jennifer/Mary Sue, reading a book to a sweetheart on the university steps, and with a shot of Betty and George, reunited; however, when Betty turns to look at her husband, it is Mr. Johnson who appears in his place.
CHARACTERS
Tobey Maguire as David. David is the boy of the film who feels out of place in the 1990s at the beginning of the film and is more at home in the dream world of Pleasantville. After being transported into the world which he idolizes, David begins to realize that the perceived happiness in Pleasantville is not nearly as fulfilling. He eventually sees Pleasantville not as the utopia he once imagined but as a dystopia as the freedom of choice and expression is severely limited. His transformation happens as he evolves from dreamy outcast to leader of the changes that take place in Pleasantville.
Reese Witherspoon as Jennifer. Jennifer, David's twin sister, is in many ways the opposite of her brother. She is initially dismayed at the absence of sex in Pleasantville, but her own personality asserts itself, and she sparks the initial changes in the town. As the story continues, she begins to understand the limitations she has placed on herself in her own life. Her reading of a D.H. Lawrence novel signified her effort to change herself, and thus, by the end of the film she decides to stay (for a while) in a place where she has changed and to attend college.
William H. Macy as George Parker. George is the stereotypical 1950s working father with the cue "Honey, I'm home" (a play on the now famous "Lucy, I'm home" directly from the show I Love Lucy). He is very averse to change and when the town begins to change, he does not know how to cope. He remains black and white through nearly the entire film until David helps him realize how much he really loves his wife.
Joan Allen as Betty Parker. Betty starts as the typical 1950s stay-at-home mother but evolves in emotions much more quickly than her husband. This causes conflict starting with her change from black and white to color. Her love triangle with Bill Johnson also becomes an issue showing that such taboo events did occur even in 1950s culture.
Jeff Daniels as Bill Johnson. Bill starts the film completely unable to do anything that is not specifically defined in his repetitive list of tasks. This changes however when David inadvertently teaches him a small level of autonomy. This autonomy progresses and Bill begins acting out his desire to be creative and paint. Bill evolves into the central revolutionary in the film going so far as to paint a nude mural of Betty Parker on one of the diner windows. After the town turns fully Technicolor it is revealed in the last shot that George is replaced by him sitting on the bench next to Betty.
J. T. Walsh as Big Bob. Big Bob plays the town's mayor with McCarthy undertones. He is the most reactionary in the town and decides that colors are indecent. Many subtle references to Triumph of the Will are made in the closing court scene with Big Bob playing the lead. Even he turns to color as he expresses fierce anger towards David. Upon seeing his new face he flees the court room in shame leaving the town to its own devices, ultimately freeing it. This was actor J. T. Walsh's final film as he died of a heart attack shortly after filming.
Don Knotts as the TV Repairman. Don Knotts plays a small but memorable role as the TV repairman granting David his wish of being part of Pleasantville.
Jane Kaczmarek as David's Mother. David's mother is not Betty. She never cooks or cleans.
VOCABULARYsitcom diner bowling
malt shop soda shop simulated reality
original sin mural spatial loop
remote control jukebox alternate dimension
SYMBOLS
rain books apple color
flower umbrella rainbow
fire broken window library

rom Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pleasantville_(film)
and Internet Movie Data Base: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120789/

WRITING ASSIGNMENT

Writing topics: Choose TWO of these topics from the movie. In TWO well-formed one-page essays using Pleasantville, discuss the topics. Use specific examples to support your idea. From: http://onlinecollegedegree.org/2009/05/20/50-banned-books-that-everyone-should-read/
1950's – Discuss what Norway will be like in fifty years.
Television – What role does television play in society?
Innocence – At what age do children became adults?
Television Set - Technology will destroy or save us. Which statement is correct?
Book Burning – Is there a time when censorship should be allowed?
Brother-Sister Relationship – Discuss a story that happened with a sibling when you realized you were part of a family.
Individuality – Is it better to be an individual or part of a group?
High School Basketball – Some say sports help people learn teamwork and responsibility. Others say sports enforce conformity and destroy independence. Which is correct?
Art – Discuss one piece of artwork that you like or dislike and why. Identify the artwork/painter.
Adam And Eve – Some believe in Evolution and some believe in Creationism. Which view do you believe in and why?
Painting – Using one specific piece of art, discuss what the painting represents to society. Identify the artwork and painter.
Trivia Contest – Some say tests are useful in school and some say they're not. Which is correct?
Acceptance Of Change Some change is good while others say it's bad. Which view is correct?
Old Love – If you could change one moment in your life, what would it be and why?
Teen Movie – Review one “teen movie” and discuss its strengths and weaknesses.
Casual Sex – Some say sex education should be taught in schools while other say it should only be taught at home. Which is correct?
Alternative Reality – Write an alternate reality for Kongsberg.
High School – In the United States, many believe home schooling is better than public education. Which view is correct?
Censorship Is there a time when censorship should be allowed?
Bully – Retell a story of when you were bullied or have bullied someone.
Slut Why is it considered acceptable for a man to be a “lady's man” while woman who are strong or independent are considered “bitchy” or “slutty”?
Self Image – If you could change one part of yourself, what would it be and why?
Mother-Son Relationship – Discuss a story between you and your parents that has helped shaped the person you are today.
Intolerance – Discuss examples of intolerance in Norwegian society.
Utopia/Dystopia – Is it possible for humans to create a utopia? Why or why not?
Premarital Sex – Discuss the difference in attitude between the United States and Norway in marriage and unwed parents and children.
Catcher In The Rye – Discuss one banned book. Where and why was it banned?
Small Town – Is it better to live in a small town or a big city?
Discrimination – Discuss discrimination in Norway. Does it exist and where?

HOLIDAY ASSIGNMENT

Choose ONE of these books. RESEARCH why this book has been banned and where. In a two-page essay, discuss where this book has been banned, why this book has been, and what was the conclusion of the book banning. DUE FIRST WEEK OF SCHOOL IN JANUARY.
Protect the Children
These books have all been at the heart of controversy over their appropriateness for children and youth to read.
1.Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger. Frequently a target of censorship, this classic coming-of-age story of a teenage boy in New York is often banned due to the language and sexuality–particularly a scene with a prostitute.
2.The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. Offensive language, in particular, one very racially-charged word, is the usual reason given for banning this book, which has been controversial since it was published in 1884. Twain’s famous story highlights the friendship between a white boy and a black man in a book that attempted to challenge the racism Twain saw around him.
3.Forever by Judy Blume. Blume is frequently the target of censorship as many of her books deal with teen issues revolving around becoming a sexual being. Forever documents a high school girl’s loss of virginity and delves into the emotional aspects of her choice.
4.The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman. This fantasy novel says much about friendship and loyalty, but it also says plenty about not following a religion blindly. Many have seen the book as anti-religion and have banned the book.
5.Lord of the Flies by William Golding. Most who oppose this book claim the violence, language, and the implication that man is little more than an animal as the reasons. The book depicts a microcosm of society played out on an island populated by young boys stranded there and trying to survive. The struggle between good and evil and the exploration of human nature can force readers to examine themselves in ways that may not feel comfortable.
6.The Harry Potter series by JK Rowling. Some parents object to the magic and wizardry that is at the heart of the Harry Potter books. Because of their objections, many schools and libraries have banned these books.
7.Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson. A powerful book that explores friendship, life, and death, this book is often banned due to what some feel is offensive language and scenes of witchcraft which some believe promotes disobeying authority as well as anti-religious sentiments. Oddly, the theme of death, which is a major element in the novel, is also used as a reason to ban this book.
8.James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl. This book depicts a child who lives under the oppression of mean caretakers and relies on his creativity and an alternate world in order to survive. Those opposed to the book dislike the violence, language, and disobedience towards adults.
9.And Tango Makes Three by Peter Parnell and Justin Richardson. This children’s story tells of two male penguins at a zoo who care for an egg together. Despite the reality that male penguins bond together to care for their eggs in nature and that the two characters in the book are based on actual penguins from the Central Park Zoo, the idea of two males creating a family has forced many to ban the book due to reasons of homosexuality and anti-family issues.
10.A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle. The bonds of family and friendship are at the heart of this novel, but it also highlights the battle of good and evil and brings in supernatural spirits, therefore making it a target for those worried about the religious implications they feel the novel makes.
11.The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier. Selling chocolates as a fundraiser at school not only sets off fictional turmoil in this book, but it also prompts parents to challenge the book. Reasons given include language, violence, resisting authority, and sexuality.
12.The Giver by Lois Lowery. The award-winning book that depicts a society driven to maintain an amazing amount of control over its members, including euthanasia and suicide. Some parents have reacted strongly to these themes in the book and have taken the book as an endorsement for killing.

Religion and Politics
Banned by governments, taken off shelves at libraries, and removed from schools, these books have been contested because of the way they portray religion or politics.
13.The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie. This book of magical realism describes a battle between God and the devil through the depiction of two men who go through fantastical journeys. This book was so reviled by several governments and religious leaders in Asia and the Middle East that a fatwa was issued against Rushdie, who had to live in hiding for many years in order to avoid being killed.
14.A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. Irving’s book is a powerful one that highlights the loyalty and bonds of friendship and family in a poignant and humorous manner. Some feel that the stance Irving takes on religion and opposition to US in Vietnam are reason enough to ban this incredible book.
15.The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. When this book was originally banned in California for obscenity. However, there is evidence that shows the censorship was lead by wealthy landowners who did not want their treatment of their workers to become highlighted from the very realistic accounts in Steinbeck’s novel.
16.Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriett Beecher Stowe. When this book was published in1851, it was criticized by slavery supporters and described as a false depiction of slavery. The importance and relevance of this novel has survived the censorship it has experienced to allow current generations to learn from their ancestors’ mistakes.
17.The Lorax by Dr. Seuss. On the surface this book seems it should be included in the Protect the Children section, but the reason this Dr. Seuss book is banned has more to do with adult issues. The book is an allegorical story describing the effects of poor stewardship on the Earth. Those opposed to the book, specifically some in California, feel it shows an unfair portrayal of those in the logging industry.
18.The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown. This popular thriller is a work of fiction, but that doesn’t mean any less to those opposed to it. Catholic leaders have banned The Da Vinci Code for what it sees as its anti-Christian sentiment and for the portrayal of Christ in a physical relationship with Mary Magdalene–even having children together.
19.1984 by George Orwell. Perhaps one of the most famous dystopian novels written, 1984 was published in the early part of the 20th century with a warning to society that has become eerily true. The book has been banned in the past due to pro-communist sentiment and sexuality.
20.Animal Farm by George Orwell. This satirical allegory was initially banned in the Soviet Union because of its anti-Stalinism, but has also been challenged in America by parents fearful that their children will be exposed to the communist sentiment expressed in the introduction and the text.
21.Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift. Underlying themes in this famous work include political corruption, anti-war sentiments, and the injustices of colonization. It’s no wonder this book has been banned in several countries and Swift had to publish it anonymously.
22.Candide by Voltaire. Politics, war, colonialism, and religion are all sharply skewered with the satire in Candide. Since it’s publication in 1759 through the 20th century, this book was banned by several countries.
Sex
Perhaps the most popular reason a book is banned or challenged, the following books all portray sexuality in a way that has made some uncomfortable.
23.Lady Chatterley’s Lover by DH Lawrence. Lawrence’s book tells the story of an adulterous love affair and includes explicit sexual language. It was banned in the UK and Lawrence eventually published in Italy, where the first edition sold out immediately.
24.Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. Miller’s novel was banned in Great Britain and the US due to the sexuality described in the book. Miller eventually had his autobiographical account of living in Paris published in France.
25.Fanny Hill by John Cleland. Considered the first erotic novel published in English, Fanny Hill describes the sexual exploits of a woman who begins with selling her virginity and eventually ends up a prostitute by trade. Besides the typical sexuality described in the book, there are also instances of homosexuality (both with men and women), masturbation, and sadomasochism.
26.Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. Whitman published several versions of this book filled with his poetry that often celebrates sexuality, both homosexual and heterosexual. From the late 1800’s to the present day, these poems have faced challenges to be read.
27.The Great Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald. New wealth, old relationships, and a society trying to find itself are at the center of this novel. Opponents of this work cite sexual references and profanity in the book.
28.Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. Huxley’s dystopian view of society depicts adults dulling their senses with pacifying drugs and casual sex. What Huxley uses as a tool to illustrate what he felt was wrong with society is exactly what those opposed to the book latch on to when challenging it.
29.The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Hosseini’s beautiful book of friendship and loyalty examines the life of two boys in Afghanistan who come from two widely differing classes. Besides the Afghanistan government’s upset over the content of the book, others around the world have challenged the book due to claims of offensive language and a sexually explicit scene in which a young boy is raped.
30.Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes. This touching story of Charlie, a mentally challenged young man who participates in a scientific experiment to raise his intelligence, portrays the awakening both intellectually and emotionally of the man. A part of this awakening includes exploration of his sexuality, which has prompted many to want the book banned.
31.The Awakening by Kate Chopin. Chopin’s short novel tells the tale of a married woman who discovers herself and explores her newfound freedom through bucking societal expectations, having an adulterous affair, and eventually opting for suicide as a way to preserve her freedom and not become a slave to a life she detested. Opponents object to the sexuality.
32.Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert. Trapped in a loveless and unfulfilling marriage, Madame Bovary engages in adulterous affairs in an attempt to find happiness. The sexuality in the book prompted many countries to ban the book on the basis of its being immoral.
33.Rabbit, Run by John Updike. The main character, 20-something Rabbit, runs to escape the constraints of family life and becomes involved with a prostitute, an ex-girlfriend, and others as he deals with the issues surrounding his marriage. A direct result of the oppressive social atmosphere of the 1950’s, Rabbit, Run includes many sexual depictions that offended quite a few people.
34.Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank. This classic autobiography is taught in almost every school in America, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t faced its challenges. Parents have protested against this book as being too sexually charged, pornographic, and even claiming it was too depressing to be taught.
35.Lolita by Vladmir Nabokov. First published by a pornographic press in France, Nabokov explores the life of Humbert Humbert, a pedophile who runs away with the 12 year-old daughter of his landlady. The book was banned from many countries and still experiences challenges today.
Race and Gender Issues
Racism or the treatment of women are the driving forces behind having these books removed from the public eye.
36.To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Racism, language, and a rape scene are the usual culprits when banning this book. In reality, Lee was highlighting the rampant racism of her time in this much beloved book in an attempt to change the wrongs she saw in society.
37.Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. Steinbeck’s portrayal of an unusual friendship between two men, one of whom is developmentally challenged, has prompted many to oppose the book due to the language, social and racial implications, and violence in the book.
38.The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Some of the reasons this book is challenged include the violence, profanity, and sexuality in the book, including a rape scene, but most importantly are the race relations that Walker depict. Racism is difficult to face for many and the reaction to ban literature that depicts it is a strong one.
39.I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. Sexual content, racism, offensive language, violence are the most popular reasons this book is challenged and continues to be today. Angelou’s autobiographical book is both shocking and beautiful as she recounts the experiences of her early life as she endured racism, abuse, and other challenges she eventually overcame.
40.Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Perhaps one of the most surprising books on banned book lists, Little Women is a very wholesome depiction of a family of four sisters who struggle in poverty but are rich in love and familial ties. The reason the book is challenged may be based on what some view as punishment of the one character who has a strong feminist approach by her marriage to a boring and much older man.
41.Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. This anti-war satire is surprisingly not challenged due to that theme, but because of the depiction of women in the novel. The word "whore" is used frequently and there have been claims that the book promotes misogyny.
Multiple Reasons
Sometimes a book is so controversial or so powerfully written that it hits people on several different levels. These books have been banned for many different reasons, usually including profanity, violence, and sexuality.
42.Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. Perhaps the most ironic banned book situation, Fahrenheit 451 deals with the issue of censorship in a dystopian society that sends firefighters out to burn down houses discovered to have books inside. Those opposed to this book claim various reasons for banning it including profanity, portrayal of smoking and drinking, and anti-religious and anti-establishment sentiments.
43.Native Son by Richard Wright. Violence, sex, and profanity are the reasons this book is frequently banned. The hard depiction of life in the novel highlights the hopelessness and racism suffered by one man and illustrates what happens to a man caught in a society that marginalizes him.
44.Beloved by Toni Morrison. Morrison’s book about an escaped slave who rears her children in a world of fright and lack of freedom includes instances of violence and sexual abuse. On the surface, the book may appear to contain gratuitous scenes, Morrison ties everything together in a cautionary reminder for society to heed the mistakes of the past.
45.As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. This masterpiece of American literature explores the physical and mental journey of those oppressed by a life of poverty. The reasons many feel the need to ban this book include the references Faulkner makes to masturbation, abortion, and questioning the existence of God as well as profanity.
46.One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kessey. Telling the story of a group of mentally ill patients in an oppressive hospital, this story explores what happens when someone stands up to that oppression in order to create a more equanimous situation, moral choice everyone must face, and forming friendships despite hardship. Those opposed to Kessey’s novel claim it glorifies criminal activity, is "garbage," includes bizarre torture, bad language, bestiality, and promotes secular humanism.
47.The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. This dystopian story tells of a society run by men that remove all freedom from women and class them according to what purpose they can serve for the men. The story is told from the perspective of a handmaiden, or a women who is used solely for providing babies to wealthy couples. Those opposed to the book claim it is anti-Christian and pornographic.
48.In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. This true story details the violent murder of an entire family by two criminals in search of money that they were wrongly informed existed at the family’s farmhouse. This book is considered to be the first true crime book, and upon its publication, many were appalled by the violence depicted in the book for what seemed no good reason.
49.Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. Vonnegut’s book about a time-traveling prisoner of war who has no control of where he will end up next has faced challenges against what opponents feel is unnecessary sex, violence, language, anti-religion, torture, ethnic spurs, and misogyny.
50.East of Eden by John Steinbeck. The battle of good and evil in humanity is the major theme in this powerful novel that parallels the book of Genesis in the Bible. The book has been challenged as an obscenity that is ungodly.

2009-12-03T00:58:00.000-08:00

Hope is Here, pg. 13

2009-12-02T13:30:00.001-08:00

2009-12-02T06:04:00.000-08:00

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Pop Princess, og. 6

2009-11-10T03:29:00.000-08:00

Emile Zola, Meet Paris Hilton, pg. 13

2009-10-06T22:16:00.000-07:00

A Visit to Oslo

2009-10-05T12:18:00.000-07:00

There's Room For a Few More On Your Ark (English og Norsk)-Reprint from 9/12/09 Lagaandelsposten, Norway

2009-09-24T23:49:00.000-07:00

I'm a seasoned traveler and don't look at places through rose-colored glasses, but Norway suits me just fine. The people are kind. Everywhere you look, there's a lake, a mountain and a tree. My love of the outdoor life gets fed every week when we go hiking or skiing. Throw in the fact that I'm married to a very kind and good-looking Norwegian man, and have married into possibly the the kindest family in the universe, who wouldn't want to immigrate to such a wonderful country? In a way, Norway is a refuge for me. Considering my nation doesn't even have gay marriage (and where it does, it holds on by a thread), Norway's passage of gay marriage in June of 2008 was a progressive victory for equality and humanity. Even with the prices, brown cheese and strange fish products that should be put in a shallow grave in the backyard, Norway is an incredible place to live.

It's no wonder why people would want to immigrate to Norway; it's rich, stable and safe. With GDP purchasing power that ranks 7th in the world, (USA: 10th, Sweden: 23rd, Denmark: 28th), an effective government and one of the lowest crime rates in the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), the Norwegian way of life is a model for the world.

After having lived for nearly two years in Danish culture and society (Greenland and Denmark), I'm very familiar with Janteloven, the quiet reality that most Scandinavians try to pretend doesn't exist but still has a major role in Norwegian and Danish society. While Norway is progressive, it has a conservative streak that focuses on unspoken tradition. I break Janteloven everyday; I can't help it. I'm an American, and we're raised, for the most part, to be individuals.

I may be lucky to have met such a good man, or to have been born in a rich English-speaking country, but I'll integrate into Norway, sooner or later. I'm a white Anglo-Saxon American male who speaks fluent English and has a good base in Danish. With a little luck and a bit of hard work, I'll learn to speak passable Norwegian, although comprehending someone from Olesund might take a bit longer. I also look Norwegian, even though I'm short and can't ski very well.

Other immigrants to Norway aren't so lucky. We joke in America about “model immigrants”, mostly Indians and Asians, who open 24-hour convenience stores, speak poor English, but work hard, send their kids to the best schools in America, and within one generation, leap into the American dream. Does Norway, a land that's 95% homogeneously Norwegian, have a model immigrant?

It might surprise you who is immigrating to Norway. Hint: it's probably not who you think. There's no model immigrant, and if there is, it's, statistically, a white European. Go down to your local police station and find out. Every Tuesday morning at the Kongsberg central police station, people line up at 8:00 AM to do battle with the lengthy immigration process. As a recent convert to the halls of Norwegian bureaucracy, I know it well. The system, much like the American immigration process, can be overwhelming. As I wait for my turn, the room has Mexicans, assorted Europeans and a few Asians (mainland Chinese and Filipino) and one African. The only Norwegians are the clerks, who admittedly are always polite and friendly, and people getting driver's licenses and passports. The Mexican, Filipino and Norwegian babies all smile and grab at each other. They have no idea that place of birth has determined their fate in life. As the office is only open on Tuesday in Kongsberg, you take a number and wait your turn like everybody else. The wait can be lengthy.

There's a myth that immigrants are invading Norway, and are somehow sucking the life out of the system, using valuable resources. The same arguments that Norwegians use: They're not like us. They're taking our jobs! They'll overwhelm us. They don't learn Norwegian (English). They abuse the social system. Americans have thrown around for ages. Even worse, the specter of racial politics has entered Norway. If history has taught the human race anything, racial politics is a bad, bad thing.

They're not like us. The idea that Asians and Africans are overrunning the system doesn't hold up under scrutiny. Workpermit.com, in a report about Norwegian immigration numbers for 2006, stated there was a net migration of 23,700 people to Norway. While 6,800 immigrants came from Asian countries, the majority were European, with 15,200 (including 7,400 Poles, 3,400 Swedes and 2,300 Germans) immigrants. Many people complain about the invasion of Eastern Europeans, but they are European Union citizens. They have every right to live and migrate (more or less) throughout the Schengen area. They share, like you, the common heritage that's European history.

The United States has enjoyed borderless travel between states since its creation. Many Europeans would say they enjoy the borderless world that's Schengen. Schengen doesn't just mean unimpeded travel; it means people have the right to choose where they want to live and work. The American experience with immigration and the free flow of humans hasn't been easy, either. Each wave of immigrants, from Italians, Irish, Jews, Mexicans and Muslims, has shocked the system and faced incredible resentment from the native population. It's been bumpy, problematic and sometimes chaotic and violent, but they did (or will) fit, and added what it means to be American. Immigrants aren't like you at the moment, but given enough time, they'll become like you, and help to define what it means to be Norwegian.

They're taking our jobs! Immigrants build, paint and remodel your houses, fix your toilets and sinks, take care of your children and elderly, pick your fruit, and provide the lowest cost labor available for what's left of Norwegian industry. Like America, immigrants do the jobs that many Norwegians would find distasteful, low-paid or unworthy of their stature.

Norway needs bodies. Skilled labor is greatly needed in Norway, where the unemployment rate is still one of the lowest in the OECD. However, whatever the law is in Norway, finding a job is a difficult prospect. The employment process is geared toward local talent, with most candidates pre-selected before the position even reaches the newspaper or job website. The ability to speak Norwegian is the ultimate bar to employment. Immigrants are not taking your jobs. If they are, they're usually ones Norwegians don't want.

They'll overwhelm us. The human race is, in the age of quick travel and communication, on the move, but the CIA Handbook ranks Norway 47th in the world for net migration (people coming in versus people leaving). While immigration numbers may seem vast for Norway, they pale in comparison to Germany, France or the United Kingdom, where mass immigration (invited in Germany's case, former colonization in the latter two) has never overwhelmed the dominant culture or language of all three. Germany's experience has never been one of integration or assimilation. France's has been assimilation at any cost. The United Kingdom has attempted integration with reasonable success. All three, though, still have large pockets of unintegrated and ghettoized immigrants. Norway's immigrants, for the most part, eventually melt into larger communities. The areas of Oslo that are heavily foreign are small in comparison to the Oslo metropolitan area. That cannot be said for Berlin, Clichy-sous-Bois in Paris or in Birmingham, Manchester and Bradford in England.

It's no secret that immigrant numbers for Norway have dramatically jumped in the last two years, but Norway is not alone. Norway's immigration numbers are not that off the mark (per capita) compared to immigration figures in smaller countries in the European Union. A rough comparison of OECD data from 2007 (the last year available) shows that countries with populations twice the size of Norway took in twice the amount of people. Austria (pop. 8,210,000, inflow: 92,000), Belgium (pop. 10,414,000, inflow: 93,400), Sweden (pop. 9,059.000, inflow: 99,500) and the Czech Republic (pop. 10,211,000, inflow: 102,500) had nearly twice as much foreign population inflow as Norway (pop. 4,660,000, inflow: 53,500). By comparison, Ireland (pop. 4,203,000) had a foreign population inflow of 89,500. Even with a record number of asylum requests, most are not getting in. According to Norway's own information, Norway.org, 60% of asylum seekers to Norway are rejected.

The American Association of Retired People (AARP) estimates that by 2050, the number of people in Norway over 67 will double. Norway is getting old, and the oil isn't going to last forever. Someone needs to work and support the pensions that Norwegians have come to love and expect. With negative population growth, those babies need to come from somewhere.

They don't learn Norwegian. Experience in America shows that children of immigrants usually adapt linguistically within one generation. For the most part, this has been the same experience in Norway. Previously waves of immigrants have not resulted in children unable to speak Norwegian. There are no large clusters of foreign-tongued communities. There's also a myth in Scandinavia that everyone speaks English. That is, in reality, not the case. Norwegian, a difficult language that is full of regional accents, takes time to master. Most immigrants to Norway, unlike immigration to America and the English language, have never heard or read Norwegian. However, to have access to economic resources in Norway, it's imperative to speak Norwegian. There can be no greater impetus to learning a language than the prospect of employment and food on the table, and that is the case for Norwegian, too. While it may not be perfect Norwegian, it's functional and about communication. Norwegians, fortunately, are also used to many different accents in Norwegian, and can tolerate mistakes. Diana Ross aside, it takes time to be able to say, “Jeg er norsk.”, but immigrants do.

They abuse the social system. Immigrants do not have instant access to health care, economic assistance or even the possibility of work while their permits are being processed. I cannot work, or use Norwegian social services, including Norwegian courses, for up to six months while my resident and work permit is being processed. Even more strangely, I cannot leave Norway for the period. If I do, I must wait three months to re-enter, and that is coming from a nation that has a non-visa agreement with Norway. Permit fees and wait times are substantial. A family reunification application fee (3,000 Kr.) is nearly equal to the average yearly income of someone from Somalia, Liberia, Burundi; double that of Congo, and three times that of Zimbabwe. Some permits can take up to a year to be processed.

While the American experience with immigration may be different than the Norwegian experience, it doesn't discount the fact that our nations, for the most part, are substantially richer and more peaceful places to live than large portions of our planet. Like Americans, Norwegians seem to forget. Mass migration from Norway was the norm in the not-too-distant past. There are many people in Norway who can still remember the war, and a time when Norway was a relatively poor nation. Even more remember the economic chaos of the 80's.

My nation took in considerable numbers of Norwegians when Norway wasn't chosen by the United Nations as the “best place to live on Earth.” In time, these Norwegians added to the vibrancy and charisma of what it means to be an American. Norway hit the geographic lottery and developed it's oil resources with an effective and clean government. Not every nation has been so fortunate. It may seem that Norway is being overwhelmed, and there'll be short-term difficulties. However, these immigrants will help ensure that Norway has a viable future. Norway, a land of incredible beauty and kind people, can be a beacon of hope and tolerance. There's room for a few more on your ark.

Det er plass til noen flere i arken din

Jeg er en erfaren reisende og ser ikke steder gjennom rose-farget glass, men Norge passer meg helt fint. Folk er snille. Overalt hvor du ser, er det et vann, et fjell og et tre. Min kjærlighet til friluftslivet får næring hver uke når vi går fotturer eller skiturer. Ta også med det faktum at jeg er gift med en veldig snill og pen norsk mann, og har giftet meg inn i kanskje den snilleste familien i universet. Hvem ville ikke ønske å innvandre til et slikt flott land? På en måte er Norge et fristed for meg. Tatt i betraktning at min nasjon ikke engang har homofilt ekteskap (og i de statene der de har det holder det så vidt). Norges vedtak om homofilt ekteskap i juni 2008 var en progressiv seier for likestilling og menneskelighet. Selv med de høye prisene, brun ost og merkelige fiskeprodukter som bør settes i en grunn grav i bakgården, er Norge et utrolig sted å bo.

Det er ikke rart at folk ønsker å immigrere til Norge; det er rikt, stabilt og trygt. Med BNP kjøpekraft som rangerer som nr. 7 i verden, (USA: 10, Sverige: 23, Danmark: 28), en effektiv regjering og en av de laveste kriminalitetsratene i Organisasjonen for økonomisk samarbeid og utvikling (OECD), er den norske levemåten en modell for verden.

Etter å ha levd i nesten to år i dansk kultur og samfunn (Grønland og Danmark), er jeg godt kjent med Janteloven. Den usagte realitet at de fleste skandinaver prøver å late som ikke eksisterer Janteloven har fortsatt en viktig rolle i det norske og danske samfunnet. Mens Norge er progressivt, har landet et konservativt trekk, som fokuserer på usagt tradisjon. Jeg bryter Janteloven hver dag, og jeg kan ikke hjelpe det. Jeg er en amerikaner, og vi er for det meste oppdratt til å være individualister.

Jeg er kanskje heldig som har møtt en så god mann, eller som har blitt født i et rikt engelsktalende land, men jeg skal integreres i Norge, før eller senere. Jeg er en hvit, anglosaksisk, amerikansk mann som snakker flytende engelsk og har et godt dansk språkgrunnlag. Med litt flaks og litt hardt arbeid, vil jeg lære å snakke farbar norsk. Å forstå noen fra Ålesund kan ta litt lenger tid. Jeg ser også norsk ut, selv om jeg er kortvokst og ikke er så god til å gå på ski.

Andre innvandrere til Norge er ikke så heldige. Amerika har vitser om "modellinnvandrere", for det meste indianere og asiater. "Modellinnvandrere" som åpner døgnåpne butikker og snakker dårlig engelsk. Men de jobber hardt, sender barna sine til de beste skolene i USA, og innen en generasjon tar de spranget inn i den amerikanske drømmen. Har Norge, et land som er 95% homogent norsk, en "modellinnvandrer"?

Det kan overraske deg hvem som er innvandrende til Norge. Hint: det er sannsynligvis ikke hvem du tror. Det er ingen "modellinnvandrer", og hvis det er det, er det statistisk sett, en hvit europeer. Gå ned til din lokale politistasjon og finn det ut. Hver tirsdag morgen på Kongsberg politistasjon, stiller folk i kø kl 8:00 for å kjempe med den omstendelige innvandringsprosessen. Systemet kan være like overveldende som den amerikanske innvandringsprosessen. Jeg venter på min tur, og i rommet er det meksikanerne, diverse europeere og noen asiater (fastlandskinesere og filippinere) og en afrikaner. De eneste nordmennene er betjentene, som riktignok alltid er høflig og vennlig, og gir folk førerkort og pass. Alle de meksikanske, filippinske og norske småbarna smiler og griper etter hverandre. De har ingen anelse om at fødested har bestemt deres skjebne i livet. Ettersom kontoret kun er åpent tirsdag i Kongsberg, må du ta deg et nummer og vente på tur som alle andre. Ventetiden kan bli lang.

Det er en myte at innvandrere invaderer Norge, og suger goder ut av systemet, ved å tappe samfunnet for verdifulle ressurser. De samme argumenter som nordmenn bruker: De er ikke som oss. De tar våre jobber! De vil overvelde oss. De lærer ikke norsk (engelsk). De misbruker det sosiale systemet har amerikanerne brukt i årevis. Enda verre, spøkelse av rasistisk politikk har kommet til Norge. Hvis historien har lært menneskene noe, så er det at rasistisk politikk er en dårlig, dårlig ting.

De er ikke som oss. Ideen om at asiater og afrikanere oversvømmer systemet holder ikke ved nærmere ettersyn. Workpermit.com, i en rapport om norske innvandringstall for 2006, uttalte at det var nettoinnflyttingen på 23.700 personer til Norge. Mens 6.800 innvandrere kom fra asiatiske land, var de fleste europeiske, med 15.200 innvandrere (inkludert 7.400 polakker, 3.400 svensker og 2.300 tyskere). Mange klager over invasjonen av østeuropeere, men de er EU-borgere. De har all rett til å leve og migrere (mer eller mindre) i hele Schengenområdet. De deler, som deg, den samme felles kulturarv som er europeisk historie.

USA har hatt gleden av grenseløse forflyttinger mellom statene siden etableringen. Mange europeere ville si at de nyter en grenseløs verden i Schengenområdet. Schengen betyr ikke bare uhindret reisevirksomhet, det betyr også at folk har rett til å velge hvor de vil bo og arbeide. Den amerikanske erfaringer med innvandring og fri flyt av mennesker har heller ikke vært lett. Hver bølge av innvandrere; italienere, irlendinger, jøder, mexicanere og muslimer, har sjokkert systemet. Disse innvandrerne har møtt utrolig harme fra den innfødte befolkningen. Det har vært humpete, problematisk og ofte kaotiske og voldelige. Innvandrerne tilpasset (og tilpasser seg) og vil bidra til hva det betyr å være amerikansk. Innvandrere er ikke som deg for øyeblikket, men får de nok tid, vil de bli som deg, og hjelpe til å definere hva det betyr å være norsk.

De tar våre jobber! Innvandrere bygger, maler og pusser opp huset ditt, fikser ditt toalett og dine vasker, tar vare på barn og eldre, plukker din frukt, og tilbyr den billigste arbeidskraft tilgjengelig for det som er igjen av norsk industri. Som i Amerika, gjør innvandrere jobbene som mange nordmenn ville finne usmakelig, lavtlønnet eller under sin verdighet.

Norge trenger kropper. Faglært arbeidskraft er mangelvare i Norge, der arbeidsledigheten fortsatt er en av de laveste i OECD. Men uavhengig av lovverket i Norge, er det vanskelig å finne en jobb. Ansettelsesprosessen er rettet mot lokale talent, med de fleste kandidatene er forhåndsvalgt før stillingen når avisen eller jobbnettstedet. Evnen til å snakke norsk er den ultimate hindringen for sysselsetting. Innvandrere tar ikke jobbene fra nordmenn. De tar som regel de jobbene nordmenn ikke vil ha.

De vil overvelde oss. I en tid med rask reisevirksomhet og kommunikasjon, er menneskerasen på flyttefot. Uansett har CIA Handbook rangert Norge på 47. plass i verden for nettoinnflytting (folk som innvandrer vs. folk som utvandrer). Mens innvandringstallene kan virke store for Norge, blekner de i forhold til tallene for Tyskland, Frankrike eller Storbritannia. Masseinnvandring i disse landene (invitert i Tysklands tilfelle, og tidligere kolonisering i de to siste) har aldri tatt over den dominerende kultur eller språk for disse tre landene. Tysklands erfaringer har aldri vært integrering eller assimilering. Frankrike har vært assimilering for enhver pris. Storbritannia har forsøkt integrasjon med rimelig suksess. Likevel har alle tre fortsatt store områder med uintegrerte og ghettofiserte innvandrere. Norges innvandrere smelter, for det meste, til slutt inn i større miljøer. Områdene i Oslo med mange utlendiger er små i forhold til Oslos storbyområde. Det kan ikke sies om Berlin, Clichy-sous-Bois i Paris eller i Birmingham, Manchester og Bradford i England.

Det er ingen hemmelighet at innvandrertall for Norge har økt dramatisk i de to siste årene, men Norge er ikke alene. Norges innvandringstall er ikke så ulike (per innbygger) i forhold til innvandringstall i mindre land i EU. En grov sammenlikning av OECD data fra 2007 (siste år med tilgjengelige tall) viser at land med befolkninger dobbelt så stort som Norge tok inn dobbelt så mange mennesker. Østerrike (8.210.000 innb., tilførsel: 92.000), Belgia (10.414.000 innb., tilførsel: 93.400), Sverige (9.059.000 innb., tilførsel: 99.500) og Tsjekkia (10.211.000 innb., tilførsel: 102.500) hadde nesten dobbelt så mye utenlandsk befolkningstilstrømning som Norge (4.660.000 innb., tilførsel: 53.500). Til sammenligning hadde Irland (innb. 4.203.000) en utenlandsk befolkningstilstrømning av 89.500. Selv med rekordmange asylforespørsler, får de fleste ikke oppholdstillatelse. Ifølge Norges egen informasjon, Norway.org, får 60% av asylsøkere som kommer til Norge avslag.

The American Association of Retired People (AARP) anslår at innen 2050 vil antall personer i Norge over 67 år dobles. Norge blir gammelt, og oljen vil ikke kommer til å vare evig. Noen trenger å arbeide for å bidra til framtidens pensjoner som nordmenn er glade i og forventer å få. Med negativ befolkningsutvikling må barna nødvendigvis komme fra et sted.

De lærer ikke norsk. Erfaringer fra USA viser at barn av innvandrere som regel språklig tilpasser seg i løpet av én generasjon. For det meste har dette vært den samme opplevelsen i Norge. Tidligere bølger av innvandrere har ikke resultert i at barn ikke klarer å snakke norsk. Det er ingen store klynger av utenlandskspråklige lokalsamfunn. Det er også en myte i Skandinavia om at alle snakker engelsk. Det er i realiteten ikke tilfelle. Norsk, et vanskelig språk som er full av regionale dialekter, tar tid å mestre. De fleste innvandrere som kommer til Norge, i motsetning til innvandringen til Amerika og det engelske språket, har aldri hørt eller lest norsk. Men for å ha tilgang til økonomiske ressurser i Norge, er det viktig å snakke norsk. Det kan ikke være større drivkraft til å lære et språk enn utsiktene for sysselsettingen og mat på bordet, noe som er tilfellet for nordmenn også. Selv om det kanskje ikke er snakk om perfekt norsk, dreier det seg om det funksjonelle og om kommunikasjon. Heldigvis er nordmenn vant til mange forskjellige norske dialekter og kan tolererer feil. Med unntak av Diana Ross, tar det tid å kunne si: "Jeg er norsk.", men innvandrere gjør det.

De misbruker det sosiale systemet. Innvandrere har ikke umiddelbar tilgang til helsetjenester, økonomisk hjelp eller får mulighet til å arbeid mens deres tillatelser behandles. Jeg kan ikke arbeide, eller bruke norsk sosiale tjenester, inkludert norskkurs, i inntil seks måneder mens min bosettelses- og arbeidstillatelse behandles. Enda mer underlig er det at jeg ikke kan forlate Norge for en perioden. Hvis jeg gjør det, må jeg vente tre måneder på å komme inn igjen, selv om jeg kommer fra en nasjon som har en ikke-visum avtale med Norge. Tillatelsesavgifter og ventetider er betydelige. Avgiften for en familiegjenforeningssøknad (3.000 kr.) er nesten lik den gjennomsnittlige årlige inntekt for noen som kommer fra Somalia, Liberia, Burundi, dobbelt så mye som fra Kongo, og tre ganger så mye som fra Zimbabwe. Noen tillatelser kan ta opptil et år å behandle.

Den amerikanske erfaringer med innvandring kan være annerledes enn den norske erfaringen. Likevel skjuler den ikke det faktum at våre land, for det meste, er betydelig rikere og fredeligere steder å bo enn store deler av planeten vår. På samme måte som amerikanere, ser nordmenn ut til å glemme. Massemigrasjon fra Norge var normen i ikke altfor fjern fortid. Det er mange mennesker i Norge som fortsatt kan huske krigen, og en tid da Norge var en relativt fattig nasjon. Enda flere husker det økonomiske kaoset på 80-tallet.

Min nasjon tok imot et betydelig antall nordmenn den gangen Norge ikke ble kåret av FN som "det beste stedet å leve på jorden”. Med tiden bidro disse nordmennene til livligheten og karismaen ved hva det betyr å være en amerikaner. Norge vant det geografiske lotteriet og utviklet oljeressursene med en effektiv og ren regjering. Ikke alle land har vært så heldige. Det kan se ut til at Norge blir oversvømt, men det vil være kortsiktige problemer. Imidlertid vil disse innvandrerne bidra til at Norge har en levedyktig fremtid. Norge, et land med utrolig vakre og snille mennesker, kan være et fyrtårn av håp og toleranse. Det er plass til noen flere i arken din.

Lost - Pg. 10

2009-09-08T08:38:00.001-07:00

A Viking Weekend

2009-08-31T07:40:00.000-07:00

Our Big Fat Norwegian Wedding

2009-08-31T07:39:00.002-07:00

Wedding Ceremony

2009-08-31T07:39:00.001-07:00

We're getting married! Vi gifter oss!

2009-08-20T23:16:00.001-07:00

It's been such a long time since I wrote anything on here, but I wanted to announce that on Monday, August 24, 2009, we're getting married with a reception to follow.

After two years and the ups and downs and life, it seems things have come full circle. I wish my mother had lived a few more months to see this moment in my life, but she'll be there in spirit.

The book...slightly delayed but still on track. An honest account of what happened over the last two years, including all your favorite characters like the dastardly Danes and the grievous Greenlanders, will be published, with a bit of luck and elbow grease, by the end of the year.

Dag and Chuck's EXCELLENT Adventure

2009-07-31T15:15:00.000-07:00

The Lost Children of Greenland and A+B=C (pages 20 and 21)

2009-07-06T09:54:00.001-07:00

Queer Eye for the Vampire Guy - Page 11 and The Language of Insult - Page 24 & 25

2009-06-18T08:15:00.000-07:00

Fjord-A-Mania!

2009-06-15T03:40:00.000-07:00

Something extraordinary to put on here...releasing my mother's ashes on the cliffs of Howth on the Irish Sea

2009-06-04T03:38:00.000-07:00

The Blog Is Closed

2009-05-10T22:57:00.000-07:00

As part of the cleaning and sweeping out of my life that's been happening lately, the blog is closed, at least until September.

Have a wonderful summer.

Images from Norway

2009-05-07T12:49:00.000-07:00

These wonderful pictures come from Dag's niece, Line. They make me happy just looking at them.

Workers of the World Ignite!

2009-05-01T05:56:00.001-07:00

I was warming up for my run and out of the blue, I heard a brass band playing beneath my window. I looked out, and a collection of rejected socialists and communists had formed for a march for Mayday. Nothing like a thoroughly discredited social system to get the day going. There's a worker's museum underneath my window (next to Cafe Bissau, where every African in Copenhagen seems to gather on Friday night) and it must have been a natural place for them to start.

Reds flags afurled, they were led by a brass band, who played an interesting medley of songs from the sixties and other pieces that sound so fabulous with brass instruments and socialists.

I thought what the hell, and I joined in because I loves me a parade! We went up to Norrebro, where the immigrants live (and the scene of firebombs, burning cars and police skirmishes), and then I went for my run around the lakes.

Absolute highlight of the day was seeing someone dressed like Darth Vader, accompanied by two Imperial Storm Troopers. I have no idea what that meant but it was HYSTERICAL to watch people's reactions. There also seems to be some type of graduation day going on, because it seems there's massive amounts of alcohol being bought by I swear, kids that look like they're 12 years old.

It should be an interesting night as I go out with friends and then come back to the drunk Africans who inevitably fill my street every Friday night and go until 9 AM tomorrow.

I leave shortly for Norway and peace. That's worth more than anything to me right now.

Remarkable Fun!

2009-04-28T01:32:00.000-07:00

Sometimes in life you just need to get on a trampoline and then eat massive amounts of ice cream.

Sushi, John Waters and Japanese Tourists

2009-04-26T02:03:00.000-07:00

John Waters is possibly one of the best Americans icons still alive.

On Friday, I went out with the very funny Mel from the embassy (who's basically my boss) and we had rapid sushi before going to see John Waters (yes, of Hairspray and Divine fame) give a "dirty and filthy" performance at a cool space near Tivoli. The best line...son to dad, "Why is Mommy crying?" Dad to son, "Because you're an asshole!"

On Saturday, I went out with other friends and the only rule we had was one beer, and then on to the next place. My Danish friend is absolutely hysterical and we met up with a friend of his who I think I scared beyond belief (he was several beers behind us). Somehow the night ended with Japanese tourists, newlyweds and me throwing water balloons from my hotel window on the obnoxious bar patrons of a pub below my hotel (they go until 9 AM EVERY Friday and Saturday...it's incredible). Juvenile? You bet!

I'm on my way to a BBQ.

I Run and Run, and then Run Some More

2009-04-24T08:42:00.000-07:00

View of my hotel, the flower market in Israel Square across from my hotel, and some of all the baziilion bikes that run down pedestrians and generally make life hell for everyone in Copenhagen

It's been a good week. I'm determined to run at least two miles a day (about 3.5 KM), but it BURNS! I'm so out of practice, but it's coming easier everyday. Then I go back and do ab work...and pushups:)

OK, maybe I just want to look better, but it certainly doesn't hurt my outlook on my life. I'm also the only one who runs with sunglasses (the sweat keeps rolling down my head, making for a nice sheen, but those suckers don't fall off).

It's been a month since my mother died. I miss her. I can't bring myself to delete her blog off of here or to remove her from my messenger list. My life is alll moving toward something, but I'm unsure what it is. There doesn't seem to be any rush as it works itself out.

I've tried to reconnect with people, strengthen relationships and cultivate new ones. Then again, I've had to get rid of ones that simply have run their course. I've become fascinated by the term emotional vampire, and getting rid of narcisstic individuals who only see the bad in everything. I may be the shameless king of self-promotion, but I'd break my back before I'd get on a rescue boat before someone else.

Some people are incapable of emotion, and they are not needed or wanted any longer and have disappeared. Life is just too short to deal with them anymore.

I dare to say it, but I'm actually starting to enjoy my life again. I go out quite a bit and have friends in Copenhagen. Free at last, my mind has cleared and I've been sweeping out quite a bit of the dust. Maybe that's why I've been so inspired to run lately. It gives me clarity and that little waist I love so much.

Disillusionment in Denmark and Gentle but Giant Norwegians

2009-04-20T08:15:00.001-07:00

I find myself thinking a great deal lately; about the past, the present, the future.

I wake up early in the morning and think for about an hour. Then I work on the last ELF project, usually at my hotel. There's little point in going all the way across town when I can do the same in my room, in my underwear, rather then putting on pants. Then I go running and exercise, then do small errands.

Then again, there is something to be said for wearing pants.

I've started teaching Lithuanians and Latvians English for free to make up some of the time for ELF. The Danes aren't particularly nice to them, and they're excellent students. All part of the ELF full-service package.

I had dinner with a friend from Greenland and we talked about getting American teachers in Greenland...it will happen...we just need to be a bit more creative. I realized that while Anguti and Juliette was my swan song, I'll finish this and hopefully establish this process for them.

It all seems to come and go and swirl around in little bits. I have a permanent wrinkle on my forehead, much like a Klingon, from overanalyzing everything. It wasn't there two years ago when I started this project. The last of my things are permanently moved or thrown out from he who isn't named. I could barely bring myself to give him a goodbye hug this morning, as I most likely will never see him again, and didn't. I wished him luck and hope he's happy and finds someone else to control. I'm so tired of lugging around things and long to dump most of it anyway, and I felt nothing this morning. They really go hand-in-hand. What I used to think was Danish exceptionalism is really much like the rest of the world, but with better-designed chairs. That despicable, dishonest and unworthy Danish landlord, one of the biggest lowlifes I've ever met, really was the turning point.

I'm dumping much of the past as well, as I don't really care about it anymore. The shocking behaviour of my younger sister on the day our mother died, creating another battle that will run for thirty years if I'd let it, really summed up reality. The house in the suburbs and Gymboree isn't enough. I guess zooming around the world with a smack of Mother Teresa isn't enough, either.

I've managed to get two other pieces published outside of Greenland. This came about without too much work on my part. I'm writing a piece about vampires now (and it's very different than I'm sure what you're thinking). I'll post them when they're published on June 1.

Mostly, I wonder where it's all going. I wonder about Norway. I wonder about America. I wonder about Romania. I long to get away from this past in Denmark. Mostly, I want some stability while still trying to finish this project on a high note. As always, everything will work itself out one way or the other, without me worrying about it so much.

Speaking of Norway...Dag. Sweet Dag. I've been making a concerted effort not to write about such a private person, but something clicked for me last time I was in Norway. He's easily the most masculine man I've ever met, and his love of the outdoors and gentle nature...he's not like anyone I've ever met. I want to be outside with him...somewhere, anywhere, without people and with nothing but nature and peace. That was completely shelved in my previous life. He's a real man with values who cares more about small animals than what's in his closet. One of his arms equals my leg. He's not a vacuous creampuff without any substance. There's something to be said for feeling safe with someone that big around you, but he's a gentle giant, and I feel very protective when I'm around him as well. I've haven't idolized him, showered him with gifts (other than some much needed new underwear) or gone stupid.

I do, however, like him for being so real. OK, and maybe his chest. It's incredible.

Spiders, Feathers, Bunny-Mac Ho-Ho, Crazy Ski Games and Return to Copenhagen

2009-04-15T02:43:00.000-07:00

I'm back in Copenhagen after a wonderful Easter in Norway. I realize I don't talk much anymore about my personal life, and perhaps that's the way it should be. Dag is a good man who shares my love of the outdoors. That's enough. All I can say is while I love Copenhagen for it's cosmopolitanism, I worship Norway for it's frontier feel and for the ability to be outside in some of the most beautiful nature I've ever seen. I find such unmatched peace there. I'm also so invigorated by skiing. I simply love it but wish I was better.

The highlight of the trip was Dag's very kind and very funny family. Also, a kid who was the only who heard me yell OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD when I whipped down a hill at unbelievable speed but then laughed as he realized I hadn't fallen over. He told his family...that American is learning to ski and we should give him a medal.

I will say that for Easter, Norwegians love crime shows on the radio, trivia games at night, and crazy competitions. They also love the chocolate, and massive amounts of it. The crazy competition involved shooting darts, throwing wood, hammering nails and filling water bottles, all on skiis. I was terrified that I'd look like an ass, but I finished, and then realized how fun it was. I improvised with a kitchen funnel to fill the bottles from the frozen creek. OK, I slightly cheated, but Norwegians are born with little skis. It's the law in Norway.

Still, I love Norway very much. To understand that little spiders in the snow need to be saved. To see birds and beauty in a feather before seeing the sign for the kroner. To understand that stuffed rabbits really can dance. To realize that crying makes you stronger...that is the sign of a true man. A gentle giant. I'm very fortunate to have met someone so real.

Norway

2009-04-06T00:07:00.000-07:00

Life is returning to normal.

The new site for teachers in Greenland is up and running. www.teachingreenland.blogspot.com I went to a happy hour at the embassy, and it was very, very good to see Obama's and Clinton's pictures on the embassy wall where the faces of Bush and Uncle Dick sat for eight years.

I'm enjoying working at the home-rule office very much. It's possibly the most beautiful space I've ever worked in.

After a 12-hour delay (SAS...the new Air Greenland?), I arrived in Oslo from Copenhagen. We spent the weekend at a hotel in Oslo, where we worked out together daily and went to the national museum. I have a few ELF'y things to do with a school in Norway, and then we go for peace and reflection at the cabin in the mountains. The Scandinavians are nutty about religious holidays, and Easter is a four-day affair in Norway.

I've posted a few photos of Dag with a hat I brought him from New Mexico. I'll be off the Internet and email until at least April 14. A very peaceful Easter.

Some Good News...We Made The Cover of P-I

2009-03-31T13:25:00.000-07:00

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

2009-03-25T14:11:00.000-07:00

I always pondered what Kundera meant in that title. I had always perceived it as the idea that someone had become so detached from moral responsibility or concept of attachment to anyone or anything that he simply became unconnected to the real world.

Perhaps that's what has happened to me.

I usually don't backtrack and think too much about the past, but these two weeks have been, mildly put, surreal. Death is the great equalizer, but it also is a great force for disturbance and chaos. People meet the challenge, or they fall and demonstrate the uglier side of humanity.

About 2:30 AM on St. Patrick's Day, I got THE call from my older sister. People always say they know it before they pick up, and I did. All I could was OH NO OH NO. My mother had cried wolf so many times that when she really was sick, none of us truly believed it, and she died rather alone, in a hospital. I feel terrible. Are we horrible children? Perhaps. No, not really, but like grown children everywhere, we had gone through quite a bit with my mother, and I tried my best to make her life as comfortable as possible. I was and am living my life. All those Christmases in other countries...all that time. Maybe I should have come home sooner. The last time I saw my mother was two years ago, when I flew her out to Seattle and treated her like a queen. That's how I want to remember her.

The last time I talked to her, she was having a problem with her cable, and I made the problem go away, said I loved her and I would call the next day. One thing led to another and I didn't call until three days later. She must have thought everyone had abandoned her. However, she was a very stubborn woman with a particular mean streak when she wanted to be difficult, and anyone who is reading this who crossed her path in the wrong way knows she could be simply impossible. No one is a saint, including me.

Within 10 hours (it seemed so much shorter than that, but that's how long it took to pull it together), Elizabeth/Betsy and I were on our way to New York. Delta Airlines was pure evil, wanting to bankrupt my airmiles AND charge a fare. United was simply amazing and cordial. When we arrived at O'Hare, I telephoned my younger sister, who essentially abandoned us and said she wanted nothing to do with it or us.

Most people would be shocked to read such personal information, but my younger sister left us high and dry. I'm still confused as to why.

We met my older sister at our Mom's house, and it was beyond depressing to stand in your childhood home in a ramshackle, rundown part of Buffalo, NY and realize that life had passed and the house was gone. My mother died with a total of four dollars to her name and substantial debt. I tried my best to make her life more comfortable, and she did the same for me in Greenland, but I'm amazed that she kept everything going under such conditions. There was no will, no executor, and we discovered that the house now belonged to the county. We had to get everything out within a few days.

The next day I went and made arrangements for the body while my sister and Elizabeth began to strip down the house. We donated whatever useable tissue (the body, is, afterall, just that). There was confusion over the the funeral home, and my mother's body went to the wrong funeral home. There really is no plan sometimes but the one you make up as you go along. Who knows how to plan a funeral before it actually happens? I did my best to honor my mother and be respectful, but I was just in shock from my younger sister, the house and the sheer chaos of it all.

Because of Elizabeth/Betsy, we managed to break down the house and had nearly everything gone within three days. It was unbelievable how much Elizabeth did, but you almost need a third party to come in and direct you because you cannot focus. The only thing I could do was get out my bank card, and it made many problems go away. Every two minutes, the phone would go off or a neighbor would come in, and most of the grieving process is TALKING to people, when all you really want is for them to say THAT SUCKS, leave and to be alone to think and take in what's happening to you.

My mother had an old dog named Sheba, who she loved very much and was very worried what would happen to her after she died. I was at such a loss as to what to do that I realized not only would I have to cremate my mother, but have a dog killed in the same week. I couldn't do it. Elizabeth/Betsy came to the rescue and found a no-kill shelter and we're crossing our fingers that's she'll get adopted. We updated her vaccines, had her cleaned and shaved, and she looked like a new dog. She's safe and being taken care of and I'm unsure what else I could've done.

My mother didn't want a service, but a service is about the living. I got so many calls from my mother's kind friends at her swim class at the YMCA, I realized I had to do something. The Y cordially agreed to have a service at the YMCA. Yes, a memorial service at the YMCA. It went so well that I think the near no-plan worked because it was so Buffalo. Gaelic music, Buffalo food. It was almost festive and how I want to be remembered, It turned into a time to remember, and people brought food and I made a movie of her life, and even my younger sisters husband came. My father was there as well, and people I hadn't see in ages appeared out of nowhere. I had a hard time with the eulogy, but it was a good service and felt as if we had some closure.

I picked up my mother's ashes and was unsure what to do with them, so we agreed that I would take them to Ireland and set her free. She would have loved that. I put her in a Lord and Taylor bag, carried her on the plane, and put her in the overhead. It was SURREAL.

I arrived back in Copenhagen and moved to my new place. It turned out to be a disaster. I somehow stupidly got roped into paying a full month's rent even though I was only there from the last week of the month, and discovered there was some very strange things going on. The very shifty landlord turned out to be the most insulting Dane I've ever met, and when I asked for a contract in English (I saw major problems down the road), he went crazy and sent me a nasty email attacking my character. Frankly, I just didn't need any more crap and said that's enough. I packed my bags (again), went out, and found a new place to live. This is Copenhagen, and that's not easy, but I did it. I wanted to get as much distance as possible from this man. So I paid the rent anyway because I'M HONEST and spent a total of three nights at roughly 225 USD a night.

Karma is a bitch, and this man and his deeds will catch up with him.

I scrambled and scrambled and found a temporary place at a hotel in central Copenhagen near Norreport station and Claudio's. Speaking of Claudio, he's been a real friend to me and we're at peace with each other now. My sister Paula, and even my brother Kevin, stepped up and we pulled together. I didn't want to see my sisters and brother go through any more, and I stepped up and was the dutiful son. And sweet Dag in Norway, with his kind words and well placed emails of support at just the right time. I'm also incredibly touched by my friends around the world who said such kind things, and the power of Facebook. The embassy also deserves a very big and kind thank you, for giving me the extraordinary gift of being in America at the right time.

Mostly I cannot thank Elizabeth/Besty, who saved us and got us organized. She's my sexless wife for all extents and purposes.

I look at my Mom's blog now (she took off her avatar but I wish I could hear her voice) and sometimes I called her cell just to hear the recording. I guess everybody does that. I really do miss her, and mostly miss just calling her and talking about nothing. When she was was lucid, she was amazing, but the last two months were hell for everybody.

So two weeks, death, chaos and 10,000 dollars later, I'm trying to get my head together. I'm tired. Very tired. I start in earnest on Monday for the Greenlandic home-rule government and need to get myself together and focus to finish this fellowship and to finish it correctly. I've got to recover and refocus. Reading this, it seems so mixed up and not my usual writing, but that seems to be me right now. It's going to take a little time, which I don't have much of now, to pull it all together again.

Glory Ann McCauley, 1945-2009

2009-03-19T05:06:00.000-07:00

My mother died on St. Patrick's Day. She was 64.

My mother always had a gift for the dramatic (yes, now you know where I get it from), and died in her sleep in the early morning of the holiest of Irish holy days. Even more extraordinarily, I am in the United States and managed to get to Buffalo on the same day with my eternal friend, Elizabeth/Betsy.

I cannot thank the embassy in Denmark enough for this amazing gift they gave me. Elizabeth/Betsy has simply pulled us all through and got us organized.

It's strange seeing your mother dead, as we never if ever talk about death. I managed to see her before she was cremated. She really did look like she was sleeping. Some may be surprised at the incredible honesty in this blog, but that's been the nature of me, and that's been the nature of my relationship with my Mother. She kept me alive in Greenland with endless packages and support, and once I had survived and gotten through, it seems she had given up.

Before my Mother died, I said all I needed to say, and she knew I loved her very much.

My mother prepared as much as she could, and things were relatively organized. We donated as much tissue and parts as possible. That's what we do. Everything in life can be reused, and to find the people who needs these things. It is, afterall, not my mother, but a truly generous gift that may make other's lives better.

In a bid to save my mother's dog and birds, we've found a no-kill shelter and had a spa day to spruce her up. We think she'll be saved.

At the end of her life, my mother expressed the idea that her life didn't matter, and the estranged relationships with my siblings caused untold stress and derision for all of us. I hope and pray that over time, people will remember the good. Her life did matter. She was a civil war re-enactor (yes, one of those people who run all over Gettysburg), an avid swimmer (and her friends at the YMCA have been incredibly kind) and finished a book, a history of the McKernan Family, available online at http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/425237

As we go through what seems like endless piles of paper and the remains of a life, I realize how lonely it must have been in the end for her, and the endless questions of why didn't I call more or why didn't I try to make her life more comfortable. Perhaps the living have the luxury of asking such questions.

There will be a celebration of life ceremony at the Buffalo Delaware Avenue YMCA on Friday, March 20, at 12 to 2 PM. The ceremony will be in the Quaker tradition, and a reflection of life rather than of death.

No flowers necessary. Mostly, read this, go outside or pick up the phone and tell someone you love him or her. Go and plant some flowers or help someone who needs help. Get up and live and make someone's world a little better today. That would be the best memorial. I'll post the death notice later.

Bye Mom. I love you very much.

My Strange but Curiously Interesting Life

2009-03-13T18:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder how strangely and unique it's all become.

Whales in Greenland, chopping wood in Scandinavia, fresh flowers in New Mexico, academia in Denmark. The speeches have gone well, and the site for new teachers will be up and running by next week.

It is, as the proverbial son said, strange to come home. It reminds me of the Taliban fighter the Americans caught who was American but couldn't speak English after living with Afghanistani's for so many years. He couldn't speak English.

The one picture may be blurry, but my best friend Elizabeth/Betsy bought me three bunches of flowers, the most beautiful thing in life after fresh milk, and I nearly sunk into them from their beauty, luxuriousness and life. Things like that are expensive and difficult to come in Greenland. The sheer abundance of food and choice in America still amazes me, even in these horrible economic times in America (and things are very bad in the United States now).

I keep touching life (no pun intended) wherever I see it, because after Greenland, animals, plants and humans mean so much more to me than they did before and that's saying something, because they meant to me everything before I left.

They are, truly and very much so, the only essence that's worth fighting for on our planet. Life is so fragile on our planet. We take it for granted but after Greenland, I've realized more than ever how delicate it is, and also how brutal and harsh it can be. It does survive, but life makes choices you can't control.

It all is, well, simply amazing.

Singing with Puppets on Greenlandic TV (in Greenlandic)

2009-03-10T10:34:00.001-07:00

What a strange and wonderful life I have:)

The Blog Goes on Holiday and The Making of Anguti and Juliette-There's Still Hope in Greenland

2009-02-19T22:35:00.000-08:00

This vid is interactive! Click on it and leave a comment or idea...it's strangely fun!

We did a good thing here. The embassy, the American people, Morten Christensen, ASK school. We all did it together. I'm very proud of all this, but mostly of the kids who completely pulled it out and made this such a success. This is the last bit and now we can let this rest. It's very, very fun to watch, though. So much work went into this whole process and now I'm moving on to the next project.

The blog will be shut down for a few weeks unless something extraordinary happens so I can enjoy a little R&R before moving on to institutionalizing American teachers in Greenland.

Very kinds regards and thanks to the students at ASK. You restored so much goodwill and faith in people, especially in me.

Yet MORE News Coverage on Nuuk TV

2009-02-18T18:29:00.000-08:00

We're Pregnant, Fighting Bad Ju-Ju, Dead People Make the Best Neighbors and other interesting stories...

2009-02-18T18:04:00.000-08:00

It's been quite awhile since I wrote anything horribly interesting other than I'm fabulous and blah, blah, blah...it's hard to keep up when your an icon in Greenland:)

First and foremost, friends in Greenland are having a baby! I've been breathless to tell people but they finally announced on their blog so I'm in the clear. Rene and Camilla in Maniitsoq are expecting...hurrah! Golly gee, Batman! Finally, another thing they can check off on the 100 Things to do With A Gay Guy Before You Die list (make cookies....check...make jewelry...check...have fabulous instant baby sitter who can change diapers AND bake bread...check!).

Yesterday I shipped off the last of my things to Denmark...54 kilos and it cost nearly NOTHING (the ships go back empty after bringing every match, egg and beer in sight)...I'm still in shock how cheap it was. Yet it's done, but I managed to disperse nearly 200 kilos (yes, I've kept track) of books, materials, candy, glow-in-the-dark necklaces and all the other junk I had sent here all around Greenland.

I came back from a hellish experience with Greenlandic medicine today (enough said...I'm fine but trying to take advantage of free medical health care) and was so riled that I was completely miffed to find MASSIVE black birds going ga-ga in my garbage. The lids are strong enough to withstand Arctic winds, but those birds managed to pry it on and strew trash all over my yard and balcony. They were having a black bird party and were rolling in trash. They're completely not intimidated by humans (Greenlanders won't kill them, unlike mostly everything else) and I did a little uga-uga dance to get them out of my yard. I really had to move to scare them off.

The things you see when you don't have a camera.

I want to kill one of the little bastards (not really, but I was PISSED), but I thought killing a massive black bird right near a graveyard is BAD JU-JU! EVERYONE who visits me says they see ghosts, but I love living downtown and it's so quiet. Dead people make the best neighbors. I also haven't killed anything knowlingly since I was a little boy and stepped on ants (still apologizing for that). The birds gone, I went around picking up trash in the the frozen tundra, sinking in deep snow and wincing at the -25 weather.

Bad Ju-Ju my ass! Black birds are annoying everywhere.

Sooooooo I'm moving on to other projects. I always have projects. Some are on the back burner, others come forward. An exciting life change is in the works. We'll see how it all works out. Phase II of the ELF Greenland project is about to commence, and we'll see if I can hit this one out of the park as well. It seems everything has come full circle, and now it's time to move on and do even more.

I realized over the past few weeks of going non-stop on the play was how much I enjoy being alone again. I'm not taling about a relationship. I'm talking about being alone, by myself, alone time...thinking or reading or writing. Only up to about a month ago, I had this urge to be around someone all the time, to talk on the phone, to send emails. I've been so busy that I only just realized how much I enjoy being alone again.

Soon I'll be back in Scandinavia for a bit. Then it's onto the next phase.

More Pictures from Anguti and Juliette

2009-02-16T13:31:00.000-08:00

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow. We Were a Smash Hit! (photos by Leiff Josefsen/www.sermitsiaq.gl)

2009-02-15T10:17:00.000-08:00

They were an unqualified success. The room and the kids were full of pride, well-being and accomplishment. I nearly cried when I saw the sheer exhuberance and exhilaration at having finished such an incredible amount of work. The Royal Shakespeare Company it wasn't, but then it wouldn't be Greenlandic. It was, very respectfully, a very Greenlandic tale. There was completion, and follow-through. By working together, we pulled it off.

Looking at the photos and seeing the sheer delight of the audience and the cast, the pride of the parents and the kids, tickles me to no end. We made this happen, and in three languages!

If this is my swan song in Greenland, my last major effort to do something incredible, I don't know how I could top this. The credit goes to the thirteen kids who stuck together, tolerated our constant nagging and pushing and saw all their hard work come to fruition.

I still get a chill seeing them proud of something. It was worth all that I've gone through in Greenland to see that shining moment of what dedicated teachers, and a little bit of money and a few friends, can do.

I realized last night that all my work, pushing and constant management and nurturing of friends, contacts and limited resources had almost succinctly come to this one night...it was as if everything I had been working for was rolled up into one hour.

Moreover, and this breaks Danish social law, I'm a good man who was has been going down the wrong path for the last two months. I cannot be callous or cold, or for that matter, very selfish (even if I do endlessly and shamelessly self-promote myself). My road to self-fulfillment is assisting others in finding theirs.

We're teachers. We might be meglomaniacs, but were one of the last lines of defense for humanity to find what it wants to be.

If anything, this experience has given back my sense of purpose that was so ruthlessly lost in November. That's a very precious gift and something I'll remember these kids for for the rest of my life.

A very, very cordial thank you to the American people for funding the project, our friends at the American embassy, the parents, the students and staff at ASK and all our friends and supporters in Greenland, especially Sermitsiaq, KNR-TV, Atlantic Music and Maik's Corner. A very big thank to Morten Christensen, the co-producer, who has such great promise and has been the anchor these kids have needed for years.

Mostly, I want to thank the kids. They're the ones who deserve the praise. Parting is such sweet sorrow, but it's the possibilities for the future that offer endless redemption.

Qanorooq, Greenland's nightly news, 10.2.09, Anguti and Juliette

2009-02-11T11:30:00.000-08:00

Qanorooq, High Drama, and Reconnecting with Greenlanders

2009-02-09T12:26:00.000-08:00

Qanorooq (Greenlandic nightly news) came and did a piece about us. The national hospital imploded today so we're on tomorrow night, but it should be a good story nevertheless.

After the journalist left, it was difficult to get everyone focused so we could rehearse. We finally gave up and said to come back after lunch. By then, they were tired and it was difficult to nail down a scene. I want it to be good. Hell, I want it to be great. As we came to a scene were someone suggested that the kids smoke, I simply said no and end of discussion. I heard "Fuck ..." I'm not feeling too swell and broke teaching rule number one...CONFLICT WITH A STUDENT IN FRONT OF OTHER STUDENTS...and said, "Who said that? Did you just say fuck you to me?" I said we're done for today and everybody go home.

We're all exhausted, and like every production, if we just had one more week to practice. We pulled this off in less than a month (they've had the script for two months and memorized the lines but couldn't move forward until I got to Nuuk). That's quite a feat, anywhere, not just Greenland. We've driven them to work harder, to show up every weekend, to work afterschool and out of class. To work, work, work.

After rehearsal and the awkward dismissal, Anguti (Sikki/Romeo) came over to put these pictures on my computer. I felt awful for clearly acting like an uptight school marm (the fuck was FUCK THIS, not FUCK YOU, and reconfirmed by the Danish teacher). God knows I've said it a few times in my life, and wish I would have had the balls to say it a few more time when it was needed. As he was leaving, I gave him a small English/Danish dictionary as a peace present, and he turned and said, "Sometimes Morten and you forget we're only fourteen years old."

It struck me and waves of sadness at never having kids, wasted time with useless relationships and how I forget that things mean different things to different people... my heart sank to my shoes. I know that most Greenlandic kids see things that most kids in the developed world don't, but to be reminded that maybe I'm an ass sometimes as well was a bit humbling, and I realized all over again how tough it is to live in Greenland with a crumbling system, the weather from hell and costs that make you want to kill yourself (and many do).

I've pushed them so hard to do more. Maybe I've pushed too hard, as even I'm exhausted, but they can do more, and most people don't want to see that. As I was looking through his pictures, shot with a fourteen year old's eye, I remembered that different things are important to them, and how tough it is to be an awkward, hormonal young teenager. Forget trying to put on something in a third language...it's tough just to get through the day. The pictures of the younger kids staring at them and their work, realizing that we were creating role models, nearly had me fall over.

We're pushing them perhaps to advance our own agendas (to be seen, to invite the right people, to correctly market the hell out of it to advance the politically correct agenda, to show that something works in Greenland, to say how fabulous we are that we got these kids to go this far...really, it might be one of the most selfish acts of all).

I simply haven't given them enough credit. They are, afterall, the reason we did all this, and they've worked harder perhaps than they ever have in their lives.

Qanorooq (National News), One Week to Opening Night and the Scenery is Complete

2009-02-08T12:21:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, the national news is coming to do a piece on us. We cut it close, but after a slave-driving weekend, we finished the scenery. I've never seen Greenlandic kids work harder. Friday's practice went very well, and except for a few minor errors, it actually worked. The kids were excited and treated it like the real thing, and everyone pulled together. We're practicing all week on projection and stage placement. It's not going to be half-bad:)

The back mural is simply art. I've never seen anything so lovingly made and detailed...it IS Greenland While no one will be able to see the incredible detail, it's a real thrill to see the student pour so much into it. She's somehow figured out how to put the northern lights into a bucolic scene of images of Nuuk. Most people will simply stare at the detail when they see it.

As we left yesterday, there was sheer frustration that we would never finish. They were exhausted but I kept pushing. We worked for hours trying to get it done, but it isn't easy making even simple scenery. It looks so simple but it's complicated to do.

When we finished today, we all sat and I actually think I saw PRIDE coming through at what they had accomplished. Nobody wants to push them to do better. I'm actually going to miss them.

Team-work, responsibility, hard work. THOSE are the things we all should be teaching our children.

Confessions of a Travelling Teacher-Reprint-Paasissutissaq-Information (PI) January-March 2008 (English, Greenlandic, Danish)

2009-02-08T11:55:00.000-08:00

Practical Ideas for the Classroom-Reprint-Paasissutissaq-Information (PI) October-December 2008

2009-02-08T11:42:00.000-08:00

I'm Schvitzing Like A Haza, Paparazzi and Swooning Girls, the David Hasslehoff of Greenland. Sweet Text Messages and A Crying Baby

2009-02-05T17:47:00.000-08:00

We transformed the stage today and practice for live people (lower grades) for the first time tomorrow!

We've put massive amounts of work into the last few days to pull this play off, and I'm convinced that it just might work. It won't be the Royal Shakespeare Company, but it'll still be amazing to see kids in the Arctic pull this off. It's about the experience and what we've accomplished. If anything, it's incredible to see the response (something GOOD in Greenland). It's the FIRST time anyone has tried such an idea in Greenland. Empowering people takes a little bit of hard work and a lot of them doing it all by themselves.

BUT DAMN! I'm tired. Putting this on is a bucket of work. It's more of a management exercise, but it's a rush to see the kids growing up and taking responsibility. We've had tears, we've had fights, we've had yelling (IT'S THE THEATER, BABE!), but most of it has been a sheer thrill to seem them work and own this project. I also think I've somehow reconnected to Greenland through these kids, and know how freakin' hard it is to exist here and the daily crap you have to go through to get anything done.

From teaching them how to dance, showing them how to tie ties, it's been a personally very rewarding experience. The alternative artist comes out in one, the leader of the group emerges, the prima donna in another. Ones who thought they couldn't do anything realize they can, while others have made leaps in English. The scenery is fantastic, and in order to save money, we've handpainted most of it (downtown Nuuk), and people walk by and simply stare and understand. It fascinating to watch. Younger kids rush in to see our work, older kids stare and see that this can be done.

I took Anguti (Sikki) and Juliette (Nete) for dinner to thank them for their incredible amount of work (and more marketing...we went to one of the better restaurants in town so people could see them out), and Sikki has his own little fan club everywhere we go. Pre-teen girls swoon over him and call his name. I thought a pack of them at the restaurant were about to descend on him, Beatle-esque style, and eat him alive. He absoultely relishes it. Nete is an absolute firecracker and reads on breaks. We're sending her to the beauty salon before the show. It's all very normal teenage school life, but this is Greenland, and that means something. This CAN work. It just takes time and dedication.

As we were coming out of the restuarant, I ran into Rasmus from Qassigianguit which nearly shocked me (a very long way from Nuuk). It seemed like everything had come full circle

We're all recognized wherever we go from the article AND from me being on TV AGAIN this week. Kids yell my name wherever I go now (said like this CHARS-A). It's amusing! I am the David Hasslehoff of Greenland (from Facebook fame). I swear, as Brita said, the box set will be coming out soon. I'm on LIKE ALL THE TIME NOW (it's Nuuk, so that's not that impressive), but mostly it's the goodwill that this has generated that's the best applause possible. Even if it absolutely SUCKS, we tried, and that's half the battle in Greenland. We had an ice cream party with MASSIVE amounts of sugar (they're getting tired and sugar always works to rally the troops), and played the pieces we're using in the play. There's one cue song where everybody yells GET TO THE STAGE!!!!

It cracks me up. Also, the mayor (prince) and Friar Laurence actor, Mads, who plays both characters, delivers his lines in this monotone stretch that just cracks me up everytime I hear him. I have to turn my head away everytime he says his lines because I can't stop laughing at how funny he is. He asked if should change and I said NO!, don't change a thing.

Lately, a new friend in Denmark has been sending such incredibly sweet and encouraging text messages that have been so nice to receive, I had to mention them on here again. It's marketing, babe!:)

A strange incident brought me back a little bit closer to reality. As I was walking home from a long day of working at ASK, in the dark, I came down the hill to my house and heard a baby crying. It's only -3 which isn't so cold for Greenland, but it was disturbing to hear the sound nevertheless. As I got closer, I realized a baby had been left outside in a carriage on a seldom-used road. There were lights in the house it was parked outside from. It was simply alone, outside, in -3 weather. Much like the drunk teenager who passed out in the snow last year, I thought, OH CRAP, I have to be an intruding asshole again.

You don't leave babies outside in Greenland. They die rather quickly. I called a friend and asked what I should do, and then I realized I had to find the parent/s. Ughh. Dark. I waited about 5 minutes to see if someone would come, and was tempted just to pick the baby up to see if I could get it stop crying. As I was about to go and knock on the door, a neighbor came out with her two kids and I spoke in Danish and said something about a crying baby. She clearly look disgusted (not at me) and went and loudly knocked on the door of her neighbor. The neighbor came out and looked as surprised as we did, and the only word I understood in Greenlandic was BABY.

The woman looked surprised and I realized she had FORGOTTEN her baby outside. If it had been a few degrees colder or windy, that baby would have been gone in no time flat. This is a harsh land. Things are tough here. It's not all gumdrops and fairy tales just because it's Nuuk. There's good, and there's bad.

Sermitsiaq Article-June 2008

2009-02-04T10:02:00.000-08:00

Reposting for storage purposes

A Weekend of Revelations and Clean Underwear, The Really Good Kind

2009-02-01T18:51:00.000-08:00

I wonder if Anguti and Juliette is my swan song in Greenland. As I contemplate the next move for my life, and mainly the completion of this phase of my life, I wonder where it's all going, or if I even should try to direct it any more. It seems to have a life of its own:)

The kids are putting their hearts into it, and when I hear things like, "This is good for Greenland." and "We usually don't see so much energy." from people on the streets of Nuuk, I know we must be doing something correctly. The article generated waves of goodwill and curiosity. There isn't much to get people excited about in Greenland, and we're doing something good. For all the energy and effort I've put into Greenland, this might be the reward. I've survived. For all the drama, expense and sheer hell at moments, I've survived.

I'm very proud of that. I doubt many people could have done what I did for all this time. Whether people believe it was really THAT difficult to live out of a suitcase for two years of your life with no permanent base, be isolated for months at a time, travel endlessly and deal with some rather strange situations, I say kiss my ass.

Personally, after what seemed a wasted Saturday in Nuuk, I thought I would have a wasted Sunday, but it turned out quite differently.

I spoke with a friend of many years for several hours and realized how happy I am for him and how I can say we truly have a friendship now. I did a "systems check" when I was speaking with him and realized I had no animosity or contempt for the past. It surprised me a little and I reveled in our ease of conversation and how much I still enjoyed talking with him. It was what it was and we both had moved on, and are much better for the experience.

I realized I don't really care much more about the past in Copenhagen. I must, as a new friend said, "let go" because it's gone and it's not coming back. People make choices and deal with their choices, whether they're imminently apparent or happen weeks, months or years later. I'm a good and kind man who dealt with a bad situation, and that's about it. I need to recover that goodness that I lost, but not much else. It's slowly coming back working on this project, and to realize how much anger and betrayal in me has bubbled over into my everyday life, and to let it go. For my long-suffering friends, that phase is over, and you'll no longer hear about it because there's nothing more to say.

A shared life with a good person is much more important than the perfect image. One victory of middle age is semi-clarity that death will catch up with you sooner rather than later, and it really is going by too fast. 30 years is a long time to be alone, and I'm not going to be alone for 30 years.

I've also made an acquaintance that's interesting. Actually, sweet, charming and interesting. I must remember my new mantra and not talk about the past. New acquaintances of the not so distant past are making reappearances. It's all unsettled, but in a way it's all very normal. As I talked to Elizabeth/Betsy tonight about the nature of middle age, being "boring" and relationships, I realized the nature of my stability is my inability to go under. I simply get back up and go on. Not because someone "changed" me, but because that's who I am. I always recover, and am better off than the person who knocked me down.

The greatest revelation of the weekend was that a leopard cannot change its spots, a tiger cannot change its stripes, but I can change my underwear. You get up, put on a fresh pair, and get to life. Either that, or you go out and get tons more...the good kind. I buy underwear like women buy shoes. The world looks a whole lot brighter when you realize you've got lots more fresh underwear in the drawer. An old pair of underwear are just that: old, boring, tired and nothing more than a dust rag.

That is, if you use old underwear for dust rags. I personally throw them in the trash and forget about them. I have enough baggage to carry around.

O Anguti, Anguti

2009-01-31T07:58:00.000-08:00

Anguti and Juliette Poster

2009-01-29T13:30:00.001-08:00

Anguti and Juliette-More Photos

2009-01-27T07:02:00.000-08:00

Unbearable Pursuits (from Nov. 20 2008 Economist)...Revisiting the Polar Bear Debate

2009-01-27T03:48:00.000-08:00

“WE DON'T have no vegetarians here,” says James Qillaq, a long-time resident of Kanngiqtugaapik in Canada’s Nunavut territory. North of the 70th parallel, where winter temperatures regularly drop below -30°C, “nothing can grow in the ground, so the only thing we eat is animals.” Inuit like Mr Qillaq have been hunting here for generations, and though sledge dogs and spears have been replaced by snowmobiles and rifles, the prime target remains unchanged: polar bears.

As if global warming weren’t problem enough, a row over how to determine hunting quotas has recently begun to heat up. Polar bears are divided into 19 distinct populations throughout the high Arctic, all in varying stages of distress. One of the most fragile is in Baffin Bay, where there are now only about 1,500 animals, down nearly a third from a count a decade ago.

This bunch has the added misfortune of straddling the border between Nunavut and Greenland: native people on both shores are eager to kill as many bears as they can. In the light of the declining population, Canadian scientists recommended that this winter’s hunt be limited to 64. But the Nunavut Wildlife Management Board—an Inuit-controlled body that makes the final recommendation—decided to set the number at 105. Then Greenland added another 68, for its own hunters. Together, this is nearly three times the sustainable harvest. Even without the rampant poaching that takes place in Greenland, 12% of the Baffin bears are set to be turned into blankets, mukluks and stews.

In Nunavut, mistrust of outside experts is huge. Tribal elders insist that they are seeing far more bears than ever before. Bear experts like Andrew Derocher of the University of Alberta acknowledge this, but explain that the bears are being pushed ashore as the sea ice disappears. With fewer opportunities to hunt seals, they venture closer to towns in search of garbage or unattended dog food—if not the dogs themselves. Treaties between Nunavut and the federal government make clear that science should not influence decision-making more than “traditional knowledge”, known as Inuit Qaujimaningit, or IQ. Scientists offer statistical projections and computer models; native hunters prefer IQ, which tells them that polar bears are everywhere. For its part, Greenland has been almost completely silent, refusing to release the most basic information about their hunters or their wildlife.

Both Nunavut and Greenland are relatively new to the business of self-governance. Denmark granted a measure of home rule to Greenland in 1979; Nunavut was established in 1999 along with a sweepingly powerful Land Claims agreement designed to atone for Canada’s previous offences against the aboriginal peoples. Separated in places by less than 40km (25 miles), Nunavut and Greenland have far more in common with each other than with Ottawa or Copenhagen, their respective capitals. Neither wants to be told how to handle resources on its home ice.

The fact that the Baffin polar bear population crosses a national boundary would suggest a need for the involvement of Canada’s federal government. But its environment minister is loth to intrude on Inuit privileges. Critics allege that he has spent C$900,000 ($729,000) to facilitate meetings of the so-called “co-management boards” that determine hunting quotas. The Canadian government funds only $150,000 worth of research on polar bears nationwide in a whole year.

Although Mr Derocher supports a limited amount of hunting, he notes that for a population in decline the sustainable harvest number is, by definition, zero. Polar bears are a long-lived species with a low reproductive rate, so recovery from overharvesting could take many decades. With the additional problem of climate change, any significant uptick might be impossible.

Mr Qillaq, who chairs the Kanngiqtugaapik Hunters and Trappers Organisation, laughs at the notion that hunting will harm the polar bear population. “Numbers are just numbers,” he says. “We live here, so we know what’s really going on in the north. We can hunt anytime we want, anywhere we want, no matter what anybody says.”

Sigur ros - Inní mér syngur vitleysingur - (Within Me a Lunatic Sings) and Gobbledigook

2009-01-25T19:12:00.000-08:00

Did you ever get the feeling you were born in the wrong place? Another AMAZING discovering form the Nordic world...Sigur Ros from Iceland. RUN, DON'T WALK and pay for the download. My hear rests in the Nordic world. I've never felt like I belonged and understood a people more than I do the Nordic people. Their sense of fair play, tolerance, equality and humanity astound me sometimes.

Much like I can't listen to Nordstrom anymore without being sad, when I hear Sigur Ros, I can only think of Norway and someone who gave me back some of my confidence.

The last verse on Inni mer syngur vitletsingur struck me dumb when I understood them...

My best friend no matter whatever happens
A bad break, we cry in each other's arms
I swallow tears and breathe air
When we meet
When we kiss
The lips burning, we hold hands
I see you wake
I see you naked
Inside me a lunatic sings

I Saw Jesus!

2009-01-22T15:06:00.000-08:00

...in a tortilla!

No, on Facebook.

The ELF hat is now on it's way to Tunisia. Jesus, the Tunisian ELF, is the next recipient of the official ELF HAT. After an INCREDIBLY amusing night talking on Facebook, I'm putting that sucker in the mail to spread ELF happiness. Thanks South African ELF.

Favorite part of the evening...he said in Macedonia, you say LELE when you don't know what to say. I said back HAKUNA MATATA...and he asked, Is that Danish? It was a very, very funny joke.

Then it looks like it's going to America...and on to somewhere else.

Today, I team-taught and then we went and had late lunch at Katuaq. It was a great lunch. After, we went to have Obama 44 at the local pub. It's a local brew made especially for the beginning of better times.

My last blog entry wasn't directed against anybody. Don't take it all so seriously:) I'm not.

I'm Freakin' Fabulous!

2009-01-21T13:02:00.000-08:00

Thought you might enjoy these pictures. It's been a great week!

The play is going well, Elizabeth/Betsy sent me the most amazing cashmere sweater for Christmas/Birthday (February 28...mark your calendars now, bitches!) that smells of mint and chocolate from all the chocolate kisses that were in the box. I've also been a busy boy:):):) People from my church really want my chili recipe lately. I can't print it fast enough. This hat came from the South Africa ELF. Get it? We're ELF's. I want to send it on to another ELF somewhere else in the world. Is it just me or am I cute as hell or what?

I call them (in this order) Don't You Totally Want to Do Me Chuck, To Hell With Passive/Aggressive Control Freaks Chuck and Nobody Knows I'm Gay Chuck.

Send those hate mails telling me to get over myself now!

Amarula, Dumb Questions, National Television, Anguti and Juliette, ELF Hats and My Face

2009-01-19T14:52:00.000-08:00

Pictures from scenery work day on Saturday. We found a solution to the balcony question (the kids thought of it) and worked out all the scenery. We found this incredible, relatively inexpensive fabric to unify the stage and help control lighting. I LOVE the leaf motif. Now we just have to work our asses of to get it done by February 14. Remember...this is the land were a beer costs 18.00 USD. We're pulling this off in the Arctic.

Stupid news...I did the worst thing imaginable...I did the weepy to the ex thing last night after numerous shots of Amarula.

I know, I know...STUPID! I'm completely at peace with him, want nothing more than a friendship, and you get a little booze in me and I turn into a school girl. I've been difficult to deal with, but at the end of the day, I just don't really care anymore. If anything, it made me really start to realize that maybe Copenhagen is not my future. It was a good experience and a disappointing ending. Mostly, I miss the moments of stability, having a very good person who fit me so well when we slept and making the dumb ass coffee in the morning. I loved that. That's about it. The book says all the things that I can't say here:)

I still can't believe we got as far as we did. We had a lot of fun:) Maybe it's time to come home. Maybe it's time to explore something else. I just don't know anymore.

Ughhh. The things you do when you don't have a power failure to save you from your own stupidity. I'm witnessing my slow downward slope of being back in Greenland. The end is in sight and I'm in Nuuk, but Greenland does something to people. I have to remember that. Mostly, I feel a little defeated. So much energy on Greenland. So much energy on my ex. Both seem to have come to naught.

I wanted to write more about my speech at the English education conference. Thinking back, I realized how little people have understand what an English Language Fellow is, or even what I was attempting to do. The limitations of a teacher traveling from place to place every six weeks; the sheer mess that's Greenlandic education. It's a miracle I didn't collapse. Everyone expected so much and I tried my best. Now that I'm winding down and seeing it through to the best of my abilities (I simply cannot travel anymore...it has warped all perspective of my former and personal life), it just seems like a big failure.

Instead of gleaning anything interesting, people asked DUMB (I'm sorry, but they were simply idiotic) questions like "If you met your Greenlandic dream man, would you stay?" and "If there were a Dane and a Greenlander in the room, who would you be more attracted to?" I don't think that was the exact question (I think it was a question of where would I live),but it get twisted into that. One woman in particular was simply rude and I should have told her that was enough, but as always, I try not to piss Greenlanders off by saying things like YOU'RE RUDE and BE QUIET. The whole night boiled into some stupid discussion about being gay (which I started with as a joke but ended up opening a whole can of DUMB ASS).

When Greenlanders are rude, they say, it's our country and we do as we please. These are isolated people who don't have connections with the outside world.

Today I was on the puppet show again...it was HIGHLY amusing to watch myself on national TV. It's probably one of the most enjoyable things I've done in Greenland. I had an interview, then I sang for the puppets, and then we played an
English language game. Next week: videos and origami!

Anguti and Juliette is rolling along...we've moved to the stage and the kids are FINALLY starting to memorize their lines. We've decided to go for comedy over high culture. If they can pull it off, I repeat, it will be a true testament to dedication and education. It's VERY difficult to put on a play in a second language, let alone try to do it in three. I'm delighted that these kids have gotten this far.

The ELF from South Africa sent me the nicest care package, out of the blue, to cheer me up and spread some of that ELF magic I seemed to have lost this year. It was so ridicouly sweet and unselfish that it summed up who ELF's are...very good people trying to do extraordinary things with very limited resources. Inside was an honorary ELF hat. I put it on while I was at Daddy's. I went to look at my face in the bathroom mirror. What was looking back was a haggard, tired face that's looks so much older than when I started in Greenland and with Claudio.

English Language Education Conference, More Greenlandic Television, Anguti and Juliette Rehearsals and Pizza Parties

2009-01-14T18:50:00.000-08:00

It's been a busy, busy week.

Tonight, there was a very nice dinner at the main hotel in Nuuk, where English teachers from all over Greenland are meeting. I was the guest speaker after dinner, and it turned into a very personal and nearly moving experience where I related my experiences of the last year and a half. I made a simple video to illustrate some of my experiences, and it was nearly heartwrenching to watch them of a place that I loathe and love at the same time. I've never been more honest (if such a thing were possible), but somehow the follow up discussion evolved into a strange discussion of sexuality and America's place in the world (where I simply said I have no idea any more). At one point, I was nearly sure that one of the participants was about to text her friend to get me a date.

Chris from U. and SuperMaja said the kindest and possibly the most inspiring comments about me, and redirected the conversation. We ended on an upbeat.

I sometimes forget that being gay means many different things to people and cultures. To me, it's a lifestyle choice as well as sexuality. To most, it's about pure sexuality. Still. it was uplifting to be so frank.

Yesterday, I did numerous hours of taping at KNR for the Greenlandic kids' show. There was an interview, a charming singing segment with me and the puppets, origami making and a HILARIOUS puppet dance number. I MUST GET A COPY as I've never laughed so hard in all my time in Greenland. It was exhausting, though. Tomorrow I'm going to go assist in editing and then give a seminar about practical ideas for English usage at the conference.

Last night, the cast came over for pizza and to watch the Luhrman version of "Romeo and Juliet". I whipped up all the pizza from scratch. The most exciting part of the evening was seeing the kids recognize their parts and identifying with them, and then REMEMBERING specific lines that they'll say. It was fantastic! WE had a grueling rehearsal this afternoon before the dinner. They're still fascinated by the props and the novelty of everything. They've only just settled down to the fact of how much work is ahead for the next six weeks.

However, it's really fun seeing them light up with the costumes, the props and their excitement (even if they're exhausted after the rehearsals). It makes me remember how I was when I first came to Greenland. We're on target and on schedule, but it's a BUCKET of work.

It's been a week since I left Denmark, but it seems much longer. I haven't had much time to absorb nearly anything that happened to me the last weekend in Copenhagen, but it was good, very good. I'm optimistic about the future, wherever it takes me. Things are meant to happen for a reason. I've come through a much better man, and I'm peace with today and with the past.

That's a good place to be. I found me again, but now I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed and take my dog for a walk. I'm just not sure where home is anymore.

My Friend's Kids in a Greenlandic Health Campaign...Cute!

2009-01-13T03:31:00.000-08:00

Busy Week Ahead and A Great Weekend Behind

2009-01-11T15:23:00.000-08:00

How does one live without a dishwasher, cable TV on a giant flat-screen TV, Internet at home and a three-headed shower that's single-handedly contributing enough carbon emissions to kill Brazil? This is Greenland. One month, it's utter hell. The next, it's luxurious. However, it will all pass at the end of February. It's 200 a day (yes, you heard me right...that's an astonishing rent of 6,000 USD A MONTH). This is not a cheap place to live. 10 months in Nuuk would cover 5 years of a MORTGAGE in Seattle. I guess, in a weird way, I should be more thankful.

I've managed two years in one of the world's most expensive places, and int he process, interacted with many, many Greenlanders. I only hope that I've made their lives a little better, or at the least showed them the world's a much larger place.

For now, I swear, my place in Nuuk is like crack. It makes up for sleeping in a closet for weeks and hearing drunk fishermen going at it all night. I've paid my dues.

After spending the day doing costuming, final script adjustments and other things for Anguti and Juliette, I went out on Friday to Daddy's with Morten. The 12.00 USD a pint beers gave me a shudder, and after two I went back home to contemplate my changed life and well, to drink cheaper beer.

In two months, I've gone from mild-mannered traveling teacher to absolute lunatic to the lowest pit of my life to me again. It really seems like a blur now. What's come out the other side is something completely different but adjusted. Not so up, not so down...maybe just normal:) Put more succinctly, It's like my life has had a big ol' enema. As a good friend was driving me to Kastrup on Tuesday, I was at peace with things. How did it all happen? How had I gone from such a neurotic, freakin' mess to hmm, well, Chuck again? Maybe because of Norway. Maybe because of one very special weekend. Maybe because I got a grip. Maybe just because.

I nearly committed professional suicide in the process, but somehow managed to hold it together.

Saturday night, I hung out with a friend, and Sunday I went to brunch with fabulous Inge, but sadly the restaurants were closed, so we came back to my place. I whipped up feta omelettes and hashbrowns, with ciabatta toast. We really gorged. After Inge left, other friends stopped by, and I whipped up stuff for them, too. It was brunch-a-rama day. IT WAS GREAT!

This week, we begin rehearsals in earnest. I'm almost ready to see the first real run-through, which, of course, will be a disaster! There's an English teacher conference, and I'll be speaking and leading a seminar. I'm also doing tapings for the puppet show again (fun for the whole family). I'm throwing a dinner party, and pizza and movie for 12 teenagers (Romeo and Juliet...the version with guns!).

It shocks me how normal and creative I can be in Nuuk.

The Nuuk Experience

2009-01-11T15:04:00.001-08:00

Katuaq (cultural center...the big wooden curved building), Main Street, new national bank (how Greenland could support another bank I'll never know but it's a symbol more than anything), Daddy's (once again, not a gay bar), the formerly tallest building in Greenland, the old harbor, and other assorted images of the Nuuk experience.

Hanging With My Dead Homies! Greenland Graveyard, Nuul

2009-01-11T14:55:00.000-08:00

I like my neighborhood very much. It fills me with all the beauty and sadness that is Greenland. The red building in the far distance is the old university. I live above the place called Maik's Corner. When I walk home and see all the crosses, it reminds of how fleeting everything is.

Graveyards, Fabulous Apartment, Tragedies, Anguti and Juliette and the Future

2009-01-08T13:34:00.000-08:00

I safely arrived in Nuuk. It's pure ice and I slid all the way to my new place which I've affectionately dubbed Chez Tombstone. It's next to the old graveyard and old university in Nuuk (which is strangely pleasing). I like walking past the graveyard, especially at night. I'm not being sarcastic. I like it. The ground is so hard in Greenland that the best you can do is put a wooden white cross into the ground, so it looks like a yard sale for vampires.

Like many things in Greenland, it's feast after the famine time (there's more famine than feast, but I'll take it). My place in Nuuk is DA' BOMB! There's vaulted ceilings with skylights, a washer and dryer (an absolute luxury), a dishwasher, and a flat screen TV with surround sound that's bigger than me. The surround sound shakes the building. There's a large shower with three heads that spews buckets of hot water. Go climate change! More importantly, there's Internet and cable television! OK, I know you're saying...damn, that's sound sweet! What's he bitching about that life is so hard in Greenland? However, I've been out in the outback (Norway not included), and January/February is the time to enjoy Nuuk and the massive population of 15,000.

I've started running again at the office gym, even with this crap knee, and will be trimmer than ever in two months...and maybe even more muscle mass. Next week I'll be working with a teacher-education course and speaking one night at a dinner. I'll see many people next week from all over Greenland. It's going to be great.

There's a movie theater, friends, the possibility of having brunch, and restaurants. There's also traffic and people walking and movement. It's like paradise. I've been a very busy boy, and the days go by at the speed of light.

This is only for two months. Then everything will change again. Try to live out of a suitcase for nearly two years. You would go mad.

If anything, it makes me feel human, and things that most Americans take for granted are sheer luxuries in Greenland.

Lately, I've been so wrapped in myself and dealing with things in Copenhagen that I realized that I might have been a tad dramatic the last month. Norway certainly helped. I can't wait to go back:) I've shaked off the blues and realized I'm better off. Once I discovered that I had recovered, I opened my eyes to some sadness happening to my friends and family...

If I've ignored you or seemed to be distant, it's only because I had to get my head screwed on straight, and I apologize.

We started to really roll with Anguti and Juliette! (www.angutiandjuliette.blogspot.com) We have less than six weeks to put it on now, but we're on track. We all need to remember that's it a group of teenagers performing in a language not their own. If we get half way there, I'll be pleased as punch, but I'm beginning to think that it actually might be decent. It's fun working with these kids (half Dane/half Greenlandic). Romeo is so cute he'll make girls swoon. It's also amazing to see the kids realize that they can communicate in English (using Danish helps). When I cook, I cook. We're wrapping it all up in this Valentine's Day wrapper with Greenlandic content and the English, Danish and Greenlandic languages. Afterwards, there's a reception for the Nuuk community. It couldn't be more perfect. Morten (Danish colleague) has given his full support and we're working together to make something really happen. Teamwork, creativity, community, effort, dedication, English usage...we should have done this sooner.

We've got an INCREDIBLE amount of work to do, but if we pull it off, it might be one of the reasons why I came back for a second year.

Finally, the FUTURE.

Who cares? It will come soon enough:) The end of Greenland is in sight, and something foreign will probably reappear. It'll most likely have big arms.

Freakin' Fabulous Norway Part II - New Year's Eve

2009-01-01T07:20:00.001-08:00

Little House on the Norwegian Prarie and Corn-Fed Norwegians

2009-01-01T06:27:00.000-08:00

A New Year's Eve Cabin in the Woods, Singing Ice and Beefy, Sweet Norwegians

2009-01-01T06:10:00.001-08:00

A very cordial and peaceful 2009.

I had possibly one of the best New Year's Eve experiences I ever had in my life. We drove out to a cabin in the woods, where the temperature plunged to -20 (very Greenlandic, except in Norway). The sky and stars were so clear and stunning that night that is was all I could so not to cry my idiot head off at how beautiful it was.

The cabin was straight out of "Amazingly Cute and Charming Places in Norway That You Should See Before You Die" book (a personal favorite). There was no running water or electricity. IT WAS FANTABULOUS! We got water from the creek and did everything by candlelight or firelight. It was, as the saying goes, simply magic.

On the 30th, we drank and had a fabulous meal.

The next day, We went across a frozen lake for a hair-raising walk with the dogs. They SAID it was safe, but it kept cracking and making odd sounds (they called it singing, I called it HOLY CRAP). Actually, it was the ice expanding as it was very cold. Still, every time it creaked, I assumed the position and spread my body as thinly as possible to distribute the weight.

I met a very beefy Norwegian (no names or other information necessary) who knocked my socks off the last few days. He's so good-looking and beefy that I can barely speak when I'm around him (and I KNOW I'm sounding like an idiot when I speak). If anything, it's helped me get my self-confidence back and made me feel a WHOLE lot better about everything.

Some of my faith has even been restored in humanity:)

Mostly, I didn't spend New Year's alone (my resolution from 2008 in England). Once again, it wasn't the Christmas and New Year's that I expected but it was most assuredly what I needed. I'm not sure how I can ever thank such very, very kind people, who took in a very sad American and are sending back to Greenland a very well-fed and relatively happy guy who can look at himself in the mirror and say, "NOT BAD!". He also can face Greenland for the next six months.

I wonder where I'll spend New Year's next year? All I know is I've stopped planning and will let life take it's course. It seems to be going that way. Kazhakstan, here I come!

I owe these kind Norwegians an unbelievable favor and respect for their incredible kindness and humanity.

Happy New Year (in the woods)!

2008-12-30T02:53:00.000-08:00

There was yet ANOTHER mammoth family dinner (this time for sixteen people, on the other side of the family tree). I almost had a heart attack at the thought of four more hours of eating and drinking, but I was a trooper and sludged through as best I could:)

I spent a day shopping with Anine, my friend's teenage niece. She's very mature and funny and we had a great day hitting the malls. I got some fabulous new pants in the kids' department at H&M (I'm a size smaller than even this summer), spiffy new Bianco shoes and a wool sweater from Boys of Europe (I know! Does that store sound gay or what?).

The family finally left and we've had a relaxing few days. I took the train to Drammen to meet up with a friend for cocoa and a little more shopping (only a little, as Norway is nearly as expensive as Greenland). My friends FANTASTIC dogs have taken a real shining to me, especially Serta, who I now call me secret girlfriend. We do each other's hair, call boys on the phone and share our innermost secrets. BFF!

She also totally licks my face when I'm sleeping, but she's learning that I'm not a big fan of that. I've never been a big fan of big dogs, but there's something about this breed that's just amazing. Bernese mountains dog sweet, well-natured, protective and genuinely good dogs. I'm amazed at how gentle they are around kids and people.

Leaving today for a small cabin in the woods with my two friends and other friends, where we'll celebrate New Year's Eve, then back to Copenhagen on Friday and Nuuk next Tuesday. Happy New Year's to all.

May we all find peace.

The Eleven-Hour Meal!

2008-12-26T02:32:00.000-08:00

DAMN! I thought the Danes knew how to eat. They have nothing on the Norwegians!

Christmas dinner started at 1, and people kept arriving with their dogs. There were a lot of dogs, all of the same variety...BIG! Soon, there were so many people (from the Norwegian Defense Ministry, holistic healers, family...the list went on), and we all sat down for an extravaganza of food and drink.

The kitchen was set like a buffet with heaps of meats, fish (OK...the Norwegian really like fish) and vegetarian salads. I simply overdosed on the smoked salmon, which sat in heaps on a plate. The most amazing part were the endless variety of fresh, homemade breads. Then the aquavit started (Norwegians are crazy about it), and beer flowed, and then throughout the meal there were endless varieties of alcohol. We had creme brulee and coffee and teas and then talked and talked.

End of round one. Chocolates, candies, cakes...it went on and on:)

After all the dishes had been cleaned and reset, it was time for the SECOND meal, which really seemed a continuation of the first, and new meats and potatoes came out of the kitchen. Then it was time for yet ANOTHER dessert of ice cream and fruit from the summer marinated with some strong-ass cognac, and then all new alcohol like aperitifs, etc.

There was another round of late-night snacks but I gave up.

I was so stuffed and finally went to sleep about one after gorging myself for ELEVEN HOURS!

If you haven't had Christmas in Norway, you haven't lived.

It's a Hot, Tranny Mess Up In Here!

2008-12-26T02:25:00.000-08:00

I'm Back:) Freakin' Fabulous Norway, and a Happy Christmas to All.

2008-12-25T01:32:00.000-08:00

HAPPY CHRISTMAS AND A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR!

Many of you have asked, "Where's Chuck?" and "Has he fallen off the deep edge yet?" No, I haven't. Love has turned to indifference and pity for the pathetic, happiness into survival, hope into doubt and mistrust. I haven't collapsed, given up or died. I've just gone on as usual. I might have fallen down (literally), but my soul and character don't have to change. I'm not evil, or vengeful. I'm a good man who has a great resume and isn't trapped in a life that he doesn't want or defined by his things or his home. I will go on, and have. I'm not going to crawl under some rock and die. Maybe some people need to hear a good, hearty FUCK OFF, but that's about it. I'm going on.

If you don't want to hear it, then don't read it:)

Where to begin? It's always best to start at the beginning, or maybe at the end?

A recap of the month's activities...and in a nutshell, it's been one of the toughest months of my life.
1. Claudio. He's disappearing. No matter what I do, he's gone. He's graciously storing my things in Denmark until June, which is kind. We've both been trying to figure this all out. Mostly, we need space and time.
2. I got stuck trying to get out of Greenland for seven days, including a round of food poisoning (AIR GREENLAND SHOULD BE BROUGHT UP ON CRIMINAL CHARGES FOR ITS CONTEMPT OF ITS CUSTOMERS)
3. Greenland is a complete and utter disappointment. However, I will follow through and finish my fellowship to the best of my abilities in Nuuk. I have been traveling for a year and half and I'm done with exploring Greenland. I'm going to go back and put on the most amazing Romeo and Juliet and then teach my heart out in Nuuk, working and participating in as many teaching seminars as possible. I'll no longer be on the road.
4. The book is finished and will be out this summer.
5. I had a small car accident in Copehagen and damaged my knee, which slightly resembles hamburger.
6. There's an article coming out in the Danish press where I don't say very nice things about the Greenlandic education system or the Greenlandic home-rule government. I'm not a representative or the United States nor do I work for the the US government of American embassy.
7. I do, however, serve the United States and Denmark, and want to live in Denmark and am working to that end.
8. I quit smoking (yes, really). I haven't smoked in six weeks and am convinced that I finally have gotten the monkey off my back.
9. I've set out a work-out schedule like I did last year in Nuuk and will be trimmer and tighter than I am now. I'm down to about 62-63 kilos, and by June, I want to be in the best shape of my life.
10. My very kind friends and family all around the world, who came to my defense, if only to tell me this will pass. You were correct.

If you know me, you know that what I say I do.

OK, still with me? Now comes the happy part. A small miracle happened. I am in Norway.

I'm in Norway, with two very caring, loving men in a small city outside of Oslo. These men have opened their home and hearts to me, and I'll be eternally grateful and hope I can return the favor someday. There are other people coming and going all the time. I didn't get the Christmas I wanted, but I got the Christmas I needed. For the first time since FOAD, I slept for 8 hours two nights ago, and 10 last night. Through kind Danish friends in Greenland, I'm staying in a little cabin, next to their beautiful house, surrounded by beautiful trees and friends.

Since I've arrived, it's been a non-stop eating and drinking fiesta. These people are very, very kind, and every day, new treats and delicacies are rolled out that are simply amazing. I've fallen in love with cloudberries and Norwegian beer. They've had endless meat dishes but have managed to cook everything else vegetarian so I could eat it, and surprised me with soy sausages at the Christmas meal.

Christmas is a three-day marathon in Norway, and today is a 12-hour meal with smoked salmon and other Norwegian delicacies. I'm looking forward to it and nervous at the same time! The tree is a beautiful Norwegian pine with REAL candles (I'm still amazed). They have three massive dogs that are sweet and fun, and we take them to a horse track so they can run loose.

They've even tried to talk me into moving here:)

I miss my dog. I miss my life. I miss my own space. I almost gave up all of that for a man. I'm going to get it all back. With great upheaval comes great change and the realization that you don't need anybody but yourself to be happy. And my Danish has really come in handy in Norway. I can speak when I really want to, and understand if I really try.

Norway is splendid, and all the trees remind me of New York State and camping and times when I've felt very safe. Copenhagen is exciting, but it's not where I need to be right now, and as I've tried to mentally bury Claudio once and for all, this is where it's happened.

I have an interesting life with many options, and I didn't lose all this weight and stop smoking for no reason. I'm one cute, healthy, funny and sexy 41 year old who seems to be something of an exotic treat at the moment in Norway:) My heart is set on Copenhagen.

Anybody would be lucky to have me, and someday, one lucky man will.

Happy Christmas to all, and a blessed 2009. 2008 changed my life and good has come out of everything. To give up hope is to give up on life.

Greenland and Claudio will pass away. Otherwise, what's the point?

Greenland ELF Project in Art Nouveau

2008-11-25T14:33:00.000-08:00

Shutting Down for A While

2008-11-18T02:50:00.000-08:00

There's been enough drama to last a lifetime and I'm going to take a break with blogging. I'll be back up and running in January when I get to Nuuk. Happy holidays and email works, as always.

Happy thoughts.

The 90 Things I Like About Life in Greenland

2008-11-14T01:15:00.000-08:00

I wrote this last night before I talked to Claudio. It still holds true.

I realized that I haven't written anything funny or heartwarming in quite a long time. I sat down, and came up with...

THE 100 THINGS I LIKE ABOUT LIFE IN GREENLAND.

I like life in Greenland when...
1. Claudio sends an SMS out of the blue.
2. People in Nuuk and Copenhagen do their job.
3. I make a fresh bottle of no-calorie peach-passion saft.
4. It's Slik Night and I have candy from America.
5. Nive gets excited about stuff from Oriental Trading Company and Hello Kitty .
6. Nip/Tuck is on DR 5 and they show one of the surgeon's naked asses.
7. Rene and I are sitting at the Secret Handshake Club.
8. I open a box of food from Mom and know I'm not going to starve.
9. Brita and I have Kahluha night.
10. Georgetown makes a deposit in my account.
11. I count the spare Danish change in my pocket and realize I have $25.00 in my hand.
12. There's a fresh poo bag.
13. Jeppe and Maja teach me Danish.
14. The town store has a “tilbud” and I get something for half price.
15. People ask me if I'm with the CIA.
16. Pilu makes a joke that only an American can understand.
17. A new Economist arrives.
18. Claudio's friends send emails asking when I'm coming back to Denmark.
19. I'm on a boat and go out for a view and remember how beautiful Greenland is.
20. Someone gets how psycho difficult this is and sends me a “Keep up the good work.” comment on my blog.
21. I drink beer with Morten in Nuuk on a Saturday afternoon.
22. Johan gives me a hug for walking in the door.
23. Betsy and I talk on the phone even though it costs a fortune.
24. Lone tells stories about the old Greenland.
25. I give a kid a prize from the Dollar Store for correctly answering a question and the whole class breaks into envy.
26. The home-rule government has yet another scandal and Greenlanders sigh with disgust.
27. I walk into a room and people clap because Obama was elected president.
28. Lide and I have tea in the library.
29. I'm on television talking to puppets.
30. The kids progress beyond the simple present tense.
31. I make a new dish out of nothing and it tastes great.
32. Greenlanders still idolize America.
33. I read through the first real book I've written.
34. A gay Greenlandic kid doesn't kill himself.
35. My nieces say “I love you.” on the phone.
36. Someone from another weird, obscure place reads my blog.
37. I remember that D's aren't pronounced and that g's became y's in Danish.
38. Rene and I connect in a way that transcends being gay and straight.
39. There's an old-time movie in English on KNR.
40. My arrival in Nuuk is like the return of the prodigal son.
41. I walk into a seminar and people take notes.
42. The gym at my office is completely empty.
43. The hotel I'm staying at has breakfast included.
44. Air Greenland's planes land safely.
45. Cucumbers go on sale.
46. I realize I survived being alone.
47. Jay reads my blog and realizes I'm no longer or ever was an enemy.
48. My love of the Danish language and culture is fulfilled.
49. I manage to upload a video.
50. Heidi finds an article in the New York Times about Greenland.
51. Nordstrom is playing at an ungodly volume and I dance around my living room.
52. My sister sends me pictures of my dog.
53. Claudio tries to understand what I'm going through.
54. The sun doesn't come up until 10 AM.
55. I get an article published.
56. Greenlanders show their hopeless naiveté about how the world works.
57. The baby flies across the money pit on Gepetto.
58. The bread comes out of the oven that I made myself.
59. My travel bags yield up exactly what I need.
60. The weather is OK enough to fly.
61. The scale shows that I've lost nearly fifteen pounds since arriving.
62. Old friends and students find me on Facebook and are shocked were I'm living.
63. Lise and Rasmus get excited about their new school.
64. There's a hellish storm but the power never goes out.
65. I look at my resume.
66. Kevin sends me an email saying how much he misses me.
67. Inge and I have dinner and gossip over wine.
68. A Greenlander asks me a question in Danish and I understand.
69. We figure out how to beat the system and get cheap American goods to Greenland or Denmark.
70. Beer is on sale.
71. People in America say, “What do you need for the kids?”
72. I visit people's houses and their kids can't sleep until they give me a kiss and say goodnight.
73. I watch a movie in Swedish and can understand the Danish subtitles.
74. Camilla and I check off another item on the “100 Things to Do With a Gay Guy Before You Die” list.
75. The embassy in Copenhagen makes me feel important when I'm of no consequence.
76. Enough snow has fallen that you don't slip on the ice.
77. Greenlandic women ask me to have sex and I treat them with respect instead.
78. I send letters to kids in America from Santa Claus at the North Pole.
79. Tine smiles and realizes her English is excellent.
80. KNR has Danish shows that help me understand Danish people.
81. The Danish flag is flying equally with the Greenlandic flag.
82. I have scraps of food for the sled dogs.
83. A kid makes it out of here and reaches his potential.
84. Someone hasn't turned on the security feature on their wireless.
85. A good song comes on Boogie Mix on KNR/DR 1.
86. All my friends in Qasigiannguit and their children get together and we have dinner.
87. I figure out a way to connect with Claudio and my family even though I'm so far away.
88. My friends remember that I hate coffee.
89. I bring Danes and Greenlanders together.
90. I'm on the plane going to Denmark and home.
91.- 100. My friend Elizabeth/Betsy, who provides free therapy, guidance and still talks to me and tells me to go on after twenty years of friendship.

3:30 PM

2008-11-13T02:14:00.000-08:00

Yes, that's the moon.

School Entrance and a Classroom

2008-11-08T07:36:00.000-08:00