As far as I can tell, one of the major distinguishing characteristics of this country is it's lack of alarm clocks. Today, as on every day until this one, I woke up at four in the morning with the uneasy knowledge that I didn't have an alarm clock. An alarm clock is a comforting thing, sitting like a good friend by the side of the bed, making sure that you sleep as long as possible, but no longer.
Of course, the sound of an alarm clock going off is enough to annoy the %$#@! out of someone who didn't even know they had %$#@! in them, but aren't most good friend that way? In any case, that's not the point.
I tried to find an alarm clock today. I walked half a kilometer down the street, stopping and checking every shop I passed. I found fake Rolex watches, jeans that would never fit me, leather stripper boots galore, and even some Fender guitars selling for the dubious price of $250. No alarm clocks.
I take that back. I did find one alarm clock. There was an alarm clock that also had a temperature display. It's digital screen was huge, something like 5" x 7". There were two problems however. One was that it cost just under $30 (T30,000) and the other was that it was powered by two AA batteries. There's no way I'm going to buy an alarm clock for thirty bucks just to have it go through batteries like a baby goes through diapers.
Crossing the street here is like playing frogger, or so I've been told. I know what crossing the street is like, but I'm a little scetchy on what exactly frogger is. If it's anything like crossing the street, it involves attempting to cross multiple lanes of speeding deadly objects which may randomly swerve in any direction at any time. Because of this I try not to cross the street much, but at times it can't be avoided. Coming to this internet cafe, for instance, involves crossing four lanes of traffic. That's without counting the sidewalk, which is often used as a lane.
My students are really shy. I don't know if it's a first day thing, or a first week thing, or if I have suddenly turned into an intimidating hulk and don't know it, but they just don't want to talk. Actually I'm fairly certain I haven't turned into a hulk, so forget that last one. Their shyness is a definite problem though, because the less they talk the faster class goes. I spend my time trying to figure out how to get them to say more, and how to say more myself. I'm constantly looking at the clock and stretching each segment of class as much as I can. They say I still talk fast, but I'm afraid if I talk any slower I'll fall on the floor and start convulsing with seizures.
I just taught my first children's class. They were absolute demons for the other teacher when I observed him, but they were very well behaved for me. I don't know, maybe they're just setting me up for something. I try to be entertaining and patient while sticking to the lesson plan, maybe that approach is working. I messed up on their class though. They were supposed to do grammar worksheets, and I assumed I wouldn't have to do much as they were working. Because of this I didn't pay much attention to what was on the sheets. Unfortunately I printed off the wrong sheets. It was ok though, I had them do the one relevant page then played hangman for the last five minutes of class. No harm done, except for the fact that they now think I haven't the foggiest idea what's going on. I suppose that I really don't have the foggiest idea, but you never want kids to know the truth, right?
Forget you guys, I'm going to watch Red vs Blue for the rest of this time.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
A series of unrelated thoughts
Twenty-five cents, that's how long I'll be on this computer. I know it's odd to measure time by money, but that's the way it works at an internet cafe.
I take back what I said about America chasing me here. There's still plenty of the wild, messy, chaotic Mongolia, I just wasn't looking looking in the right places. Today (Sunday) I went to several markets to stock up on food. I got bread, milk, mayo, cheese, cabbage, hot peppers etc. I got some of the local staples (for vegetarians) on Friday: potatoes, onions, carrots and a 20 pound sack of flour are under the kitchen sink. I even have a batch of gluten made! :)
....I just had to pay more, I guess I couldn't do everything I had to do in half an hour. Oh well.
Anyway, picking up where I left off, prices for local things (like potatoes and cabbage) aren't bad. Potatoes, for instance, are 30 cents per pound. Prices for imported things, like German corn flakes and Russian cheese, are jaw dropping.
Last night the teacher who's on his way out threw a party of sorts and invited the students and church members. They stayed up all night eating and watching movies (Forest Gump is good, dang). The point of all this was to make him tired enough so that he could sleep on the plane.
I went to bed around 2 a.m. When I woke up and left the building around 10 there they all were, packed in a van. His flight had been cancelled, so now he needed to crash and sleep all day. He also needed my keys.
I surrendered the keys.
Tomorrow I will teach all of my classes. These will be my first classes, but it isn't really a big deal. The classes are really small, so it's more of a group atmosphere than a 'get up there and be a talkbox' atmosphere like the Korean school. I think I'll wear my suit just to keep it a little more formal.
The main problem here is the lack of students. Please pray for the school, and for me, so that I will be a good enough teacher to encourage enrollment through word of mouth. Also, pray that I'll be able to witness tactfully, as direct evangelism is against the school's charter.
Stories will be coming soon, I just need to settle in enough to write more than a series of unrelated factoids. Brandon (the other teacher) and I are headed out to Terelje (a national park about an hour from the city) next weekend. I'll take the camera and post pictures.
-by the way, a guy tried to pickpocket me today. I need to look less like a tourist.
I take back what I said about America chasing me here. There's still plenty of the wild, messy, chaotic Mongolia, I just wasn't looking looking in the right places. Today (Sunday) I went to several markets to stock up on food. I got bread, milk, mayo, cheese, cabbage, hot peppers etc. I got some of the local staples (for vegetarians) on Friday: potatoes, onions, carrots and a 20 pound sack of flour are under the kitchen sink. I even have a batch of gluten made! :)
....I just had to pay more, I guess I couldn't do everything I had to do in half an hour. Oh well.
Anyway, picking up where I left off, prices for local things (like potatoes and cabbage) aren't bad. Potatoes, for instance, are 30 cents per pound. Prices for imported things, like German corn flakes and Russian cheese, are jaw dropping.
Last night the teacher who's on his way out threw a party of sorts and invited the students and church members. They stayed up all night eating and watching movies (Forest Gump is good, dang). The point of all this was to make him tired enough so that he could sleep on the plane.
I went to bed around 2 a.m. When I woke up and left the building around 10 there they all were, packed in a van. His flight had been cancelled, so now he needed to crash and sleep all day. He also needed my keys.
I surrendered the keys.
Tomorrow I will teach all of my classes. These will be my first classes, but it isn't really a big deal. The classes are really small, so it's more of a group atmosphere than a 'get up there and be a talkbox' atmosphere like the Korean school. I think I'll wear my suit just to keep it a little more formal.
The main problem here is the lack of students. Please pray for the school, and for me, so that I will be a good enough teacher to encourage enrollment through word of mouth. Also, pray that I'll be able to witness tactfully, as direct evangelism is against the school's charter.
Stories will be coming soon, I just need to settle in enough to write more than a series of unrelated factoids. Brandon (the other teacher) and I are headed out to Terelje (a national park about an hour from the city) next weekend. I'll take the camera and post pictures.
-by the way, a guy tried to pickpocket me today. I need to look less like a tourist.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Inbound
I sat in the airport and munched on my subway sandwich, the last subway sandwich upon which I would munch for some time. A man in a suit sat on a seat facing mine. He was tall and blond, and looked like he wasn't paying attention to much. His suit looked too nice for the flight, a disheveled bunch of returning Mongolians, tired international travelers and hyperactive Korean tourists.
I decided to chance it.
"Hi" I said. "Are you going to U.B.?"
He stared at me. "Hmmm?" he said. The sound seemed to come not from him, but from around him. His accent was vaguely British, but not quite. It is the kind of accent that you get when someone learns to speak British english, starting from some other European language. I decided to think of him as Danish.
"Are you going to Ulaanbaatar?" I asked.
"yes" he said.
"I'm curious" I said. "Why would someone going to Ulaanbaatar be wearing a nice suit? What are your plans there?"
"Oh, I'm coming straight from the office" he said. "I'll look like you after I get to the hotel and change. I'm just checking out the country for a few days."
"Oh" I said.
He got up and left. He seemed perturbed by the whole exchange. I found this odd, since it seemed perfectly natural for two English speaking people headed for Mongolia to... speak English. Perhaps that norm had changed.
"Excuse me, you are going to Ulaanbaatar?" asked a Mongolian woman across from me.
"Yes" I said, cautiously.
She proved to be much more friendly, asking me questions and telling me about her travels. She had been a student in France, and was now working there. She too had a vaguely European accent.
Dang.
The flight took off at 8:30, soaring into the darkness and taking a wide arc to avoid North Korean airspace. Tensions had been relatively high over the past week, and planes were being cautious.
The Danish / English guy sat in front of me, oddly enough. Over the course of the next hour he proceeded to consume large quantities of every liquid imaginable. I watched as he downed two glasses of orange juice, three glasses of water, two beers and a large glass of wine.
Holy cow, I thought. How big is this guy's bladder?
The flight attendants came by with meals. "Seafood or pork?" they asked. "Seafood" I said, hoping that "seafood" didn't mean shrimp. It did. She then turned and asked the same question to the lady next to me in Mongolian, and I understood it! Well, sort of. All I really understood was "Elder sister (garbled) -unidentified possessive noun-'s meat (garbled) pig's meat -question tag-? But hey, it's better than Korea.
Around ten, as the interwoven harmonies of Supertramp's "Goodbye Stranger" played on my CD player, we crossed into Mongolia. Looking out the window I saw a solitary light in the darkness below.
'What in the name of ramen noodles is that?' I thought. How much has this country changed? We're over the eastern gobi.... there shouldn't be lights out there.
At that moment Danish guy's bladder finally got to him, ruining the moment.
As we descended over U.B. an unfamiliar scene met my eyes. Neon lights blinked from amid a tangled web of streets. A vast sea of smaller lights coated the valley. The lights seemed to be one clearly defined thing, as if someone had taken glow in the dark paint and splattered it along the length of the valley. It's edges were crisp and bright.
As the plane landed I realized that what people had told me was true after all. This really wasn't the country of my youth any more. Riding to the school that would be my home for the next several months we passed forests of billboards, supermarkets with signs in english, and brightly flashing neon lights. The city had grown beyond it's original bounds to an absolutely astounding degree, swallowing up the places where my family had once picnicked on Sabbath afternoons.
Gone were the solitary old men in traditional dress, walking with their hands clasped behind their backs. Gone were the small roadside shops. Gone were the dilapidated Russian cars. Gone were the smells.
That's the saddest part. What has a place become when it has lost it's smell? I came here to escape America... and it has followed me.
Oh well. I suppose if there's no where for me to hide from my fears, I'll just have to face them.
-writing from an internet cafe, I'll post later, but I'm going to return to the 'write first in notebook' system to save time-
I decided to chance it.
"Hi" I said. "Are you going to U.B.?"
He stared at me. "Hmmm?" he said. The sound seemed to come not from him, but from around him. His accent was vaguely British, but not quite. It is the kind of accent that you get when someone learns to speak British english, starting from some other European language. I decided to think of him as Danish.
"Are you going to Ulaanbaatar?" I asked.
"yes" he said.
"I'm curious" I said. "Why would someone going to Ulaanbaatar be wearing a nice suit? What are your plans there?"
"Oh, I'm coming straight from the office" he said. "I'll look like you after I get to the hotel and change. I'm just checking out the country for a few days."
"Oh" I said.
He got up and left. He seemed perturbed by the whole exchange. I found this odd, since it seemed perfectly natural for two English speaking people headed for Mongolia to... speak English. Perhaps that norm had changed.
"Excuse me, you are going to Ulaanbaatar?" asked a Mongolian woman across from me.
"Yes" I said, cautiously.
She proved to be much more friendly, asking me questions and telling me about her travels. She had been a student in France, and was now working there. She too had a vaguely European accent.
Dang.
The flight took off at 8:30, soaring into the darkness and taking a wide arc to avoid North Korean airspace. Tensions had been relatively high over the past week, and planes were being cautious.
The Danish / English guy sat in front of me, oddly enough. Over the course of the next hour he proceeded to consume large quantities of every liquid imaginable. I watched as he downed two glasses of orange juice, three glasses of water, two beers and a large glass of wine.
Holy cow, I thought. How big is this guy's bladder?
The flight attendants came by with meals. "Seafood or pork?" they asked. "Seafood" I said, hoping that "seafood" didn't mean shrimp. It did. She then turned and asked the same question to the lady next to me in Mongolian, and I understood it! Well, sort of. All I really understood was "Elder sister (garbled) -unidentified possessive noun-'s meat (garbled) pig's meat -question tag-? But hey, it's better than Korea.
Around ten, as the interwoven harmonies of Supertramp's "Goodbye Stranger" played on my CD player, we crossed into Mongolia. Looking out the window I saw a solitary light in the darkness below.
'What in the name of ramen noodles is that?' I thought. How much has this country changed? We're over the eastern gobi.... there shouldn't be lights out there.
At that moment Danish guy's bladder finally got to him, ruining the moment.
As we descended over U.B. an unfamiliar scene met my eyes. Neon lights blinked from amid a tangled web of streets. A vast sea of smaller lights coated the valley. The lights seemed to be one clearly defined thing, as if someone had taken glow in the dark paint and splattered it along the length of the valley. It's edges were crisp and bright.
As the plane landed I realized that what people had told me was true after all. This really wasn't the country of my youth any more. Riding to the school that would be my home for the next several months we passed forests of billboards, supermarkets with signs in english, and brightly flashing neon lights. The city had grown beyond it's original bounds to an absolutely astounding degree, swallowing up the places where my family had once picnicked on Sabbath afternoons.
Gone were the solitary old men in traditional dress, walking with their hands clasped behind their backs. Gone were the small roadside shops. Gone were the dilapidated Russian cars. Gone were the smells.
That's the saddest part. What has a place become when it has lost it's smell? I came here to escape America... and it has followed me.
Oh well. I suppose if there's no where for me to hide from my fears, I'll just have to face them.
-writing from an internet cafe, I'll post later, but I'm going to return to the 'write first in notebook' system to save time-
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Pictures!
Ok, let's play a game. This game is called WHERE'S CHRIS!? It's kind of like Where's Waldo, except that I won't help you out by wearing a red and white turtleneck. Apperantly I like hiding in pictures, but trust me, I'm there.
Ok, maybe I'm not actually in this picture, but hey! There's a cute girl, so what do you want? We learned that we were both 21 year old seniors, and she said that means we're 'friends'. I learned that in Korea classmates are referred to as friends automatically. Odd thought.
Where's Chris? Chris is hiding behind some random Korean people on top of the wall of a 17th century fort!
Actually I don't think I'm in this one either. This is the top of the mountain we were climbing. It was sooooooo hard to get some of the people in the group up to the top. They were ridiculously scared of... rocks.
Where's Chris? Chris is hiding behind random cute girl.
Now Chris is checking the elevation with his GPS (a little over 500 meters... not much)
This is a picture of us doing spiderman poses. Try to find the American! (hint: Americans need lots of personal space, this tends to push them out of the picture). They called me spiderman because I supposedly look like the guy who played spiderman... and because I climb rocks. Personally I think the whole thing is kinda dumb
Ok, maybe I'm not actually in this picture, but hey! There's a cute girl, so what do you want? We learned that we were both 21 year old seniors, and she said that means we're 'friends'. I learned that in Korea classmates are referred to as friends automatically. Odd thought.
Where's Chris? Chris is hiding behind some random Korean people on top of the wall of a 17th century fort!
Actually I don't think I'm in this one either. This is the top of the mountain we were climbing. It was sooooooo hard to get some of the people in the group up to the top. They were ridiculously scared of... rocks.
Where's Chris? Chris is hiding behind random cute girl.
Now Chris is checking the elevation with his GPS (a little over 500 meters... not much)
AAAAAnd picture at the top (random note: the woman with her arm out was having panic attacks up there, she was soooooo afraid of heights).
This is a picture of us doing spiderman poses. Try to find the American! (hint: Americans need lots of personal space, this tends to push them out of the picture). They called me spiderman because I supposedly look like the guy who played spiderman... and because I climb rocks. Personally I think the whole thing is kinda dumb
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Answer to prayer
Hey! no more kimchee stains on my notebook! Apparently kimchee stains only soak through two pages. Take note.
Yesterday something happened to me which has never happened before.
Ever.
I learned that I was stuck in Korea till at least Thursday. I then learned that the ONLY other teacher at the school (who got there two weeks before I will and is a college student) is my boss, and gets paid more than I do. Of course they didn't tell me the second part, but I read it in the policy manual. Last, I learned that I have to negotiate the subway and find the Mongolian embassy on my own instead of having someone take me there.
All this was enough to trigger a neurochemical crash that was completely disproportional to the trigger: trouble focusing my thoughts, anxiety so strong I could feel my skin tingling, a weight of depression like a grizzly bear parked on my shoulders.
That part has happened before. Actually, it happens enough so that I'm annoyed by it more than anything else, because it makes it hard to function normally. I responded by praying for God to help me, and show me something I needed to know. I then opened my Bible to a random place. It opened to the crucifixion, an odd place perhaps, but odder things have proven to be exactly what I needed to read. I read about the crucifixion and resurrection, and the importance of the whole plan of salvation helped put my life in perspective and remind me of my goals.
That part has happened before too. Though I may not always turn to God when I have a crash, I certainly do it more often than not. Usually it encourages me and reminds me of how much God cares for me, but the underlying problem remains. A neurochemical crash is a lack of energy, a lack of the ability to feel some way other than depressed and scared. It usually takes me two or three days to get back to normal.
This time, as soon as I finished reading I felt dead tired. I didn't bother going to bed, I just took my glasses off my face, put my head down and fell asleep with my glasses still in my hand.
That's weird enough. Usually I find it very hard to sleep when I'm anxious. However, it does happen occasionally. Usually I wake up feeling groggy and numb, with a faceless anxiety staring in my face as my thoughts reorganize.
This time, however, it was different. I woke up, started making supper, and slowly realized I was fine! I had energy; there was no throbbing pain of anxiety in the back of my mind. My problems were still there, but they weren't problems any more. I was excited about the idea of finding my way through Seoul! I didn't care that the other teacher was my boss. I stink at organizing things anyway, and if he was scheduling classes and planning events it would give me more free time.
THAT has never happened before, ever. It's especially odd considering the fact that the problems were still there. It was like shooting myself in the leg with a nail gun, falling asleep with the nail still in my leg, and waking up to find the nail gone, with unbroken skin where it had gone in. It simply doesn't work that way.
I've been praying lately, asking God to help me with my anxiety and depression. Now I know He has, and will. Now more than ever I know God will be with me through this year of missions.
Yesterday something happened to me which has never happened before.
Ever.
I learned that I was stuck in Korea till at least Thursday. I then learned that the ONLY other teacher at the school (who got there two weeks before I will and is a college student) is my boss, and gets paid more than I do. Of course they didn't tell me the second part, but I read it in the policy manual. Last, I learned that I have to negotiate the subway and find the Mongolian embassy on my own instead of having someone take me there.
All this was enough to trigger a neurochemical crash that was completely disproportional to the trigger: trouble focusing my thoughts, anxiety so strong I could feel my skin tingling, a weight of depression like a grizzly bear parked on my shoulders.
That part has happened before. Actually, it happens enough so that I'm annoyed by it more than anything else, because it makes it hard to function normally. I responded by praying for God to help me, and show me something I needed to know. I then opened my Bible to a random place. It opened to the crucifixion, an odd place perhaps, but odder things have proven to be exactly what I needed to read. I read about the crucifixion and resurrection, and the importance of the whole plan of salvation helped put my life in perspective and remind me of my goals.
That part has happened before too. Though I may not always turn to God when I have a crash, I certainly do it more often than not. Usually it encourages me and reminds me of how much God cares for me, but the underlying problem remains. A neurochemical crash is a lack of energy, a lack of the ability to feel some way other than depressed and scared. It usually takes me two or three days to get back to normal.
This time, as soon as I finished reading I felt dead tired. I didn't bother going to bed, I just took my glasses off my face, put my head down and fell asleep with my glasses still in my hand.
That's weird enough. Usually I find it very hard to sleep when I'm anxious. However, it does happen occasionally. Usually I wake up feeling groggy and numb, with a faceless anxiety staring in my face as my thoughts reorganize.
This time, however, it was different. I woke up, started making supper, and slowly realized I was fine! I had energy; there was no throbbing pain of anxiety in the back of my mind. My problems were still there, but they weren't problems any more. I was excited about the idea of finding my way through Seoul! I didn't care that the other teacher was my boss. I stink at organizing things anyway, and if he was scheduling classes and planning events it would give me more free time.
THAT has never happened before, ever. It's especially odd considering the fact that the problems were still there. It was like shooting myself in the leg with a nail gun, falling asleep with the nail still in my leg, and waking up to find the nail gone, with unbroken skin where it had gone in. It simply doesn't work that way.
I've been praying lately, asking God to help me with my anxiety and depression. Now I know He has, and will. Now more than ever I know God will be with me through this year of missions.
Monday, September 22, 2008
And forgive us our blog posts, as we forgive spammers... oh wait
My notebook is still covered in kimchee, but now I'm writing on dried stains instead of trying to read through wet ones.
I'm getting tired of English, or at least of thinking about English. I hate having to run through everything I say before I say it to make sure the words are on a preschool level. I like to swing English around like a girl in a nightclub, leaving it feeling sweaty, breathless and perhaps slightly violated. You just can't do that with a preschool level vocabulary.
Perhaps I shouldn't say that anyway. I've never been to a nightclub, and I'm sure the list of girls I've left feeling sweaty, breathless and slightly violated is very short indeed.
Last night I/we (you don't know the 'we') went to Myeong-dong, which can be thought of as downtown Seoul. I followed a bunch of girls around as they shopped for clothes. There were sooooo many lingerie shops! I thought Koreans were conservative! On top of that, half of the stuff in there was for guys! O.o? Bleh! I don't care HOW much my future someone likes that stuff, I am NOT wearing it. Well, maybe, if she really likes it.... depends on what she's wearing...right, TMI.
Oh, I had a point in all this. I've been dragged into Victoria's Secret before, and noticed that the average girl in there is BUTT UGLY. I'd say about a three out of ten. the girls in the stores here seem to average about a six or seven. What does that say about the culture of youth? Nobody over here is a hundred pounds overweight, years on the wrong side of 40 and shopping for overpriced lacy butt-floss!
I would like to thank Kate for adding the term butt-floss to my vocabulary.
After shopping we got Krispy Kreme donuts. Right, that kind. We could have gotten Dunkin Donuts, but Krispy Kreme is better in my opinion.
To all my coffee addicted friends: you would love it here.
You know, I'm going to have some weird adds once google's bots scan this post for key terms.
Pictures soon, though probably not from Myeong-dong. Laterz!
I'm getting tired of English, or at least of thinking about English. I hate having to run through everything I say before I say it to make sure the words are on a preschool level. I like to swing English around like a girl in a nightclub, leaving it feeling sweaty, breathless and perhaps slightly violated. You just can't do that with a preschool level vocabulary.
Perhaps I shouldn't say that anyway. I've never been to a nightclub, and I'm sure the list of girls I've left feeling sweaty, breathless and slightly violated is very short indeed.
Last night I/we (you don't know the 'we') went to Myeong-dong, which can be thought of as downtown Seoul. I followed a bunch of girls around as they shopped for clothes. There were sooooo many lingerie shops! I thought Koreans were conservative! On top of that, half of the stuff in there was for guys! O.o? Bleh! I don't care HOW much my future someone likes that stuff, I am NOT wearing it. Well, maybe, if she really likes it.... depends on what she's wearing...right, TMI.
Oh, I had a point in all this. I've been dragged into Victoria's Secret before, and noticed that the average girl in there is BUTT UGLY. I'd say about a three out of ten. the girls in the stores here seem to average about a six or seven. What does that say about the culture of youth? Nobody over here is a hundred pounds overweight, years on the wrong side of 40 and shopping for overpriced lacy butt-floss!
I would like to thank Kate for adding the term butt-floss to my vocabulary.
After shopping we got Krispy Kreme donuts. Right, that kind. We could have gotten Dunkin Donuts, but Krispy Kreme is better in my opinion.
To all my coffee addicted friends: you would love it here.
You know, I'm going to have some weird adds once google's bots scan this post for key terms.
Pictures soon, though probably not from Myeong-dong. Laterz!
Saturday, September 20, 2008
-wilt-
My pants are covered in kimchee. The notebook on which I write these blog posts is covered in kimchee. The only really surprising thing is that all this kimchee managed to cover my pants and notebook without any involvement from my unsteady chopsticks. I'm covered in kimchee simply because Korean food has a strong, innate urge to fly off of my plate and onto my clothing... or the floor... or my notebook. The only thing that really bugs me is the notebook.
I think God is making a point of humiliating me. I hope He knows what He's doing. I have never had a performance up front go worse than the one I just had. Seriously.
I was asked to play a song for special music. I have a policy of saying yes whether I feel like it or not, at least until there are a few things I regularly say yes to.
Oy.
I picked a song (As The Deer) and practiced it until I felt quite comfortable. Unfortunately I had to use an unfamiliar guitar during the church service. It's an odd guitar. Though it's an electric it has an open frame body, so that it's basically a board with strings on it, and detachable metal sides that form the outline of a body. The result is that it weighs about as much as a chickadee.
The strings felt like telephone poles, and didn't respond to my pick. My voice trembled, and though at first the mic was off fate was not in my favor, because someone turned it on.
I need a tail, so that I can tuck it between my legs.
The final blow came when I handed the guitar back. "I take it back" I said, referring to my statement that I thought the guitar was totally awesome. "No, no! You did fine!" he said.
Did I ask? You know things went poorly when everyone goes out of their way to say you did fine.
Anyway. I'm going to go change my pants and drag my emotionally exhausted self back into this building for Sabbath afternoon clubs. My friend from before (and the girl who I take to be his girlfriend, i.e. the girl from Connecticut) asked me to come, since I won't be here next weekend.
I think God is making a point of humiliating me. I hope He knows what He's doing. I have never had a performance up front go worse than the one I just had. Seriously.
I was asked to play a song for special music. I have a policy of saying yes whether I feel like it or not, at least until there are a few things I regularly say yes to.
Oy.
I picked a song (As The Deer) and practiced it until I felt quite comfortable. Unfortunately I had to use an unfamiliar guitar during the church service. It's an odd guitar. Though it's an electric it has an open frame body, so that it's basically a board with strings on it, and detachable metal sides that form the outline of a body. The result is that it weighs about as much as a chickadee.
The strings felt like telephone poles, and didn't respond to my pick. My voice trembled, and though at first the mic was off fate was not in my favor, because someone turned it on.
I need a tail, so that I can tuck it between my legs.
The final blow came when I handed the guitar back. "I take it back" I said, referring to my statement that I thought the guitar was totally awesome. "No, no! You did fine!" he said.
Did I ask? You know things went poorly when everyone goes out of their way to say you did fine.
Anyway. I'm going to go change my pants and drag my emotionally exhausted self back into this building for Sabbath afternoon clubs. My friend from before (and the girl who I take to be his girlfriend, i.e. the girl from Connecticut) asked me to come, since I won't be here next weekend.
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