The other night, a couple of us went to see some friends perform at a gig in Sofia. The show was good enough that my friend asked me if the band we went to see – Black Hole – was going to open for AC/DC when they play here in a couple months. But, enough about the show. The real highlight was the bathroom issues I had.
After a long walk to the very swanky club where the show took place, I headed straight for the toilet. In front of the clearly marked restrooms was a large foyer-type open area with numerous well-appointed sinks. The ladies’ room was on the left, and the men’s room was on the right. Perfectly sober, I made my way to the men’s room, entered, saw three urinals, picked one, unzipped, took care of business, zipped up, and headed out. In the foyer-type area, I stopped at one of the sinks and washed up, and then joined my friend inside.
When the band went to intermission, I headed back to the restroom to relieve myself again. I again chose one of the urinals immediately inside the door. As I was standing there doing my thing, two guys came in, bypassed the other two urinals, and headed deeper into the restroom. Two things struck me as strange: first, that the guys weren’t using the urinals; and second, that, whenever the door opened, the girls washing up and checking their look in the mirror had a straight shot into the men's room and could see me peeing. Anyway, as I continued about my business, I started looking around. Among other things, I noticed there was a towel rack and a roll of paper towels next to each urin…oh, crap these aren’t urinals, they are sinks! Too late to do anything about it, I just finished up and left the restroom hoping the guys who had come in had somehow been oblivious to my idiocy (in my defense, the sinks and urinals were the same basic shape and size and at the same height ... the only real difference was the motion sensors).
After the show, my friend and I headed back to the restroom one last time. We entered, and what did he do? He stepped up to one of the sinks and started to unzip. Luckily, I was there to save him from making the same mistake I had made. After telling him what I had done, he couldn’t stop laughing. He was still laughing about it the next day. So was I. But I can only imagine what the Bulgarians were thinking about the strange guy who was peeing in the sink.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
And you are lynching negroes
As I drifted in and out of consciousness during a recent meeting, a colleague got my attention by apologizing to me before he started telling a joke. I’m still not quite sure why he told the joke other than to highlight some hypocrisy, but the version he told went something like this (translated to English): “An American and a Russian were having an argument related to the Cuban missile crisis. After listening to the American for some time, the Russian simply said, ‘And you are lynching negroes.’” This was a popular Soviet joke during the Cold War, and, all other arguments aside, it was a fair point. At that time, our preaching about freedom - when Black Americans were still being denied basic civil rights - reeked of hypocrisy.
Yesterday, after returning home from a quick trip to the store, my thoughts returned to the civil rights movement. More specifically, I thought about Jackie Robinson and the strength of character he must have had.
On the way back from the store, I had walked past a dozen or so men of various ages playing soccer. The youngest of the group is a senior at our school and a “student” of mine. I use the term student loosely because, like an inordinate number of the kids here, he generally refuses to study and only comes to school to hang out with friends and belittle others. In addition to grossly underachieving academically, he frequently teases me and intentionally mispronounces my name, which he did upon seeing me and sarcastically shouting, “Hello, my friend!”
After I responded by saying, “Здрасти (Hi),” he asked, “Как си? (How are you?)”
I said, “Добре, а ти? (Good, and you?)”
He responded as he usually does by saying, “Very good. Very, very good.”
He then turned to his friends, nodded his head in my direction, and said something to them which made them all laugh.
As I was walking away, first one and then another of his friends said, “Homosexual bitch,” which drew even more laughter.
I pretended not to hear them and continued on my way. Initially stung by their words and laughter, the sting quickly turned to anger and it took everything in my power not to turn around and go back and hurl insults right back at them. I was still contemplating going back and confronting them when I started thinking about Jackie Robinson. How many times had he endured painful insults? And how many times had he refused to stoop down to the level of those insulting him? That was enough to convince me to stay home, but what I couldn’t reconcile was why I was so upset.
Being called a “homosexual bitch” doesn’t particularly bother me. The words in and of themselves aren't that offensive. And, being straight, the expression doesn't fit and just sounds foolish. Moreover, I generally don’t care about and can easily disregard the excited utterances of ignoramuses. Thinking it through, what bothered me was the intent more so than the content. What bothered me is that a kid I’m trying to help had such little respect for me that he would attempt to humiliate me in front of his friends, none of whom had ever met me, and that they all bought into it. The question is “Why?” Why are those people who need help the most the most unwilling to accept it? Why is it that those people who would benefit the most from change cling the tightest to the status quo?
This is a kid who has “studied” English for at least eight years, yet he still doesn’t know the alphabet and only knows a few words and common expressions. And he hasn’t learned a whole lot more in any of the other subjects he’s studied. In this regard, he is not unusual. Teachers gave up on him (and others) long ago, allowing him (and them) to skip class altogether or to play cards or ping pong instead of continuing trying to teach. It’s a classic case of the inmates running the asylum: the kids refuse to learn, are disruptive in class, break the powerless teacher, and are thereafter permitted to do whatever they please.
Enter the naïve and optimistic American who sees a group of drowning students. In an attempt to save them, he throws out life preservers. But instead of grabbing onto the life preservers and swimming for the safety of the boat, the drowning students pull other drowning students away from their own life preservers and pull yet others off the boat and into the water to drown with them. But are they really drowning, or has the American simply misread the situation? And, even if they are drowning, who is he to try and save them?
We are here, in part, in the hopes of forging new friendships, but the reality is not everyone wants us here. We are also here trying to make a difference and improve people’s lives, but, again, not everyone sees it like that. Whereas most people are welcoming, curious, and friendly, some are inhospitable, disinterested, and hostile. These people like the way things are, and they view us as a threat to their way of life. To them, we are outsiders who have no business being in Bulgaria. They view us not as potential new friends but as enemies. And no matter what we do or say, they won’t acknowledge let alone appreciate any of it. As far as they’re concerned, we’re still lynching negroes.
Yesterday, after returning home from a quick trip to the store, my thoughts returned to the civil rights movement. More specifically, I thought about Jackie Robinson and the strength of character he must have had.
On the way back from the store, I had walked past a dozen or so men of various ages playing soccer. The youngest of the group is a senior at our school and a “student” of mine. I use the term student loosely because, like an inordinate number of the kids here, he generally refuses to study and only comes to school to hang out with friends and belittle others. In addition to grossly underachieving academically, he frequently teases me and intentionally mispronounces my name, which he did upon seeing me and sarcastically shouting, “Hello, my friend!”
After I responded by saying, “Здрасти (Hi),” he asked, “Как си? (How are you?)”
I said, “Добре, а ти? (Good, and you?)”
He responded as he usually does by saying, “Very good. Very, very good.”
He then turned to his friends, nodded his head in my direction, and said something to them which made them all laugh.
As I was walking away, first one and then another of his friends said, “Homosexual bitch,” which drew even more laughter.
I pretended not to hear them and continued on my way. Initially stung by their words and laughter, the sting quickly turned to anger and it took everything in my power not to turn around and go back and hurl insults right back at them. I was still contemplating going back and confronting them when I started thinking about Jackie Robinson. How many times had he endured painful insults? And how many times had he refused to stoop down to the level of those insulting him? That was enough to convince me to stay home, but what I couldn’t reconcile was why I was so upset.
Being called a “homosexual bitch” doesn’t particularly bother me. The words in and of themselves aren't that offensive. And, being straight, the expression doesn't fit and just sounds foolish. Moreover, I generally don’t care about and can easily disregard the excited utterances of ignoramuses. Thinking it through, what bothered me was the intent more so than the content. What bothered me is that a kid I’m trying to help had such little respect for me that he would attempt to humiliate me in front of his friends, none of whom had ever met me, and that they all bought into it. The question is “Why?” Why are those people who need help the most the most unwilling to accept it? Why is it that those people who would benefit the most from change cling the tightest to the status quo?
This is a kid who has “studied” English for at least eight years, yet he still doesn’t know the alphabet and only knows a few words and common expressions. And he hasn’t learned a whole lot more in any of the other subjects he’s studied. In this regard, he is not unusual. Teachers gave up on him (and others) long ago, allowing him (and them) to skip class altogether or to play cards or ping pong instead of continuing trying to teach. It’s a classic case of the inmates running the asylum: the kids refuse to learn, are disruptive in class, break the powerless teacher, and are thereafter permitted to do whatever they please.
Enter the naïve and optimistic American who sees a group of drowning students. In an attempt to save them, he throws out life preservers. But instead of grabbing onto the life preservers and swimming for the safety of the boat, the drowning students pull other drowning students away from their own life preservers and pull yet others off the boat and into the water to drown with them. But are they really drowning, or has the American simply misread the situation? And, even if they are drowning, who is he to try and save them?
We are here, in part, in the hopes of forging new friendships, but the reality is not everyone wants us here. We are also here trying to make a difference and improve people’s lives, but, again, not everyone sees it like that. Whereas most people are welcoming, curious, and friendly, some are inhospitable, disinterested, and hostile. These people like the way things are, and they view us as a threat to their way of life. To them, we are outsiders who have no business being in Bulgaria. They view us not as potential new friends but as enemies. And no matter what we do or say, they won’t acknowledge let alone appreciate any of it. As far as they’re concerned, we’re still lynching negroes.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Recipe #9: Гювече (Gyuveche)
A recipe for гювече (gyuveche) is an oxymoron. That’s because гювече is named for the small ceramic dishes in which it's traditionally cooked and served and not its ingredients. And there really isn't a recipe for гювече; it is traditionally made with whatever is on hand ... although it does usually include alternating layers of cheese, vegetables, and meat.
If you don’t like the idea of cooking without a recipe, here’s one which will fill up 2 pots and feed 2 people.
3 tomatoes – diced
1 onion – diced
2 bell peppers – seeded and diced
2 hot peppers – diced
3 cloves garlic – diced
1 cup of cooked meat – diced (you can use whatever you have on hand including sausage, chicken, ham)
1 cup of grated or crumbled сирене (feta cheese)
1 cup of grated кашкавал (yellow cheese)
2 eggs
Directions:
Chop or dice everything you want to put in. Make alternating layers of cheese, meat, and vegetables, and finish with cheese. Bake in the oven at 200º C (375º F) for 30 minutes or until the cheese is melted. Then crack an egg on top of each dish and cook until the egg is the consistency you like.
If you don’t like the idea of cooking without a recipe, here’s one which will fill up 2 pots and feed 2 people.
3 tomatoes – diced
1 onion – diced
2 bell peppers – seeded and diced
2 hot peppers – diced
3 cloves garlic – diced
1 cup of cooked meat – diced (you can use whatever you have on hand including sausage, chicken, ham)
1 cup of grated or crumbled сирене (feta cheese)
1 cup of grated кашкавал (yellow cheese)
2 eggs
Directions:
Chop or dice everything you want to put in. Make alternating layers of cheese, meat, and vegetables, and finish with cheese. Bake in the oven at 200º C (375º F) for 30 minutes or until the cheese is melted. Then crack an egg on top of each dish and cook until the egg is the consistency you like.
