The End

I haven't been able to sort through my emotions this week (although they swung between contentment and crying at the Academy twice). It may be a month or more before I'm able to assess my near-year here. That may come out as a blog post. If not, thank you for reading. It's been a vaguely narcissistic blast.

                                                                      *   *   *

Things I'm going to miss about Georgia (an incomplete list):

• Marshrutkas. They're like buses, but faster and they stop wherever you want them to! Unlike buses,  the mentally ill, substance abusers, and punk-ass teenage boys don't get up in your face. Also, marshrutkas have a social code of conduct that is strictly abided by - no smoking, if you're standing and carrying bags someone who's sitting will hold them for you, children will be looked after, etc.
• Entreé. A French café chain that is super delicious, super convenient, and carries my (second) favourite English newspaper, Financial. If I was ever going to eat bread again, I'd want to bring all theirs home with me.
• The mountains and hills of Tbilisi. Tbilisi is snuggled between mountains, in the valley of the Mtkvari River. Having a a view of both those things outside my bedroom window made me feel incredibly lucky. (On top of all the other things that regularly made me feel incredible lucky).
• Nabeghlavi. My favourite Georgian mineral water and cure for most stomach-related illnesses - not to mention hangovers, if you're so inclined.
• The Messenger. It was a pleasure going to work most days, thanks to my fun-loving and generous co-workers. I learned so much about Georgian politics and society - this job was absolutely invaluable. 
• The Police Academy. There was heat and air conditioning, a pool and gym, internet, and good friends. I practically lived at this place.
• Black currant juice. The best.
• Payboxes. A paybox is a machine, found usually in convenience stores and Metro stations, where you can pay your bills, top up your Metromoney card, place bets, buy rail tickets, put credit on your phone, and do a million other things. I'm not looking forward to returning to my cumbersome pay-as-you-go phone in North America, which requires a credit card, the last four digits of my (now non-existent) social and a phone call to T-Mobile to top up.
• Luca Polare's hot chocolate. Basically a chocolate bar and some cream melted in a pot.
• Using Georgian words in text messages. Instead of writing the finger-cramping "tomorrow", I write kval. Instead of "the day after tomorrow"? Zeg.
• The jewelry at Kinos Sakhli. In between the souvenirs and questionable art on the steps of the old cinema house, you can find wonderful, eclectic and often handmade jewelry for excellent (and negotiable!) prices. 
• The feeling of bliss upon entering Batumi. The beach atmosphere is instantly calming - no wonder it's the most popular vacation spot in the entire country.
• Platinum Popcorn's creamy dill flavour. There's no better accompaniment to second-run movies and rock-hard seats at the Kolga English theatre.
• Roasted mushrooms with cheese, peasant salad with walnut paste, shotispuri, strawberries from Kakheti, Adjaruli khatchapuri...
• Maniacal dreamboat Giorgi Targamadze. Hellooo, nurse!
• Georgian hospitality. Of course. Of course! What else is there to say about the family that took me in for nine months, the colleagues who pay for my marshrutka ride without saying a word, the friends and students who force-feed me, the strangers who help me with my bags, the innumerable people who took me under their wing when I was an overwhelmed Georgia newbie... it's unparalleled.

And then there are the people. A few thank-yous:

U.K. - role model; recipient and source of awful jokes

T.H. - rival in a fashion cold war; sounding board for my girliest pursuits

H.G. - a source of strength when I had none; an unlikely kindred spirit

C.R.O'N. - muse for the goofiest aspects of my personality; unfailing listener

M.H. - force of nature; source of wisdom

R.E. - salvager of my 2012; intellectual font for a parched mind

P. (MLR) - sparring partner; blog encourager

And to my host family, my colleagues at both the newspaper and the Academy, my students - thank you for building me a new home.

Vignettes

Dracula came up in one of my classes recently. A student said that he admired the real Dracula - Vlad the Impaler - because he was a great warrior who fought for his religion. I told him that was the most Caucasian thing I'd ever heard.

     ///

On April Fool's Day, my host father told me that one of the higher-ups at the Police Academy had called, saying "something about Eshli's visa being revoked...?". I briefly fell for it even though I don't have a visa, but in my defense I'm still scarred from my experience in the US.

     ///

A topic I find fascinating is the way that each generation interacts with technology in new ways, and how that technology influences their brains. There's a good reason why young people find touchscreens, smartphones,  video games, and internet searches effortless - we've been raised on those patterns and so our brains instinctively know how to "solve" the mystery of usage. The same goes for previous generations with technologies that were new then. See Stephen Johnson's Everything Bad is Good for You or Lewis Padgett's "Mimsy Were the Borogoves".

Anyway, one day I saw my 20-month-old host sister expertly remove the SIM card from her mother's phone and I was terrified. I wonder if that's the way my mother felt when she first watched me use a PC as a child.

     ///

On the E60, the highway between Gori and Tbilisi, there are a number of signs that tell you how many kilometres until you reach any number of notable cities. Tbilisi is never on those signs. Instead, as I wonder how much longer until I'm home, I'm informed of the distance to Baku, Yerevan, and Tehran. (It's only 1200km from Tbilisi to Tehran, if you're curious).

     ///

I went to Turkey over Easter, and toured the Black Sea coast there. It looks very similar to Georgia, but is greatly improved by the lack of Soviet bloc apartment buildings. Also, lentil soup. Is it weird that one of my favourite foods is lentils? 

In Turkey, seven people asked to take photos with me (mostly young women wearing headscarves). The Blonde Mystique at work!

     ///

I spent ten days in Egypt and a day in Jordan last month. I rode a camel and a 4x4, went snorkeling and scuba diving, saw the Pyramids and the Sphinx, drove under the Suez Canal, hiked Petra, got a tan, and was notified, vigorously and often, of my deviant sexual proclivities by angry Egyptian hustlers and taxi drivers when I refused their services. When informed of a particular oral activity that I supposedly partake in "all day long", I really wanted to turn back to him and say, "Buddy, who has the time?"

     ///

Returning to Tbilisi from a recent trip to Batumi, I was overcome with a strange feeling. Although I'm content to leave Georgia in two weeks, I'm very much looking forward to coming back. I don't know when or under what circumstances, but I really want to visit Tbilisi again and be overwhelmed with the memory of my time here - my routine, my haunts, my friends, my Georgian life. I want to bring someone along with me and point out the monuments to my year here. I want to see what's changed, and what's stayed the same. I want to feel at home again, even after an absence. I can't wait. 

My laptop, my laptop, why hast thou forsaken me?

I'm making a real effort to keep updating this blog, even though (1) nothing exciting is happening, (2) I have a bad case of the February blahs, and (3) I've lost all access to my laptop.

Let's address those things in reverse order.

3. I am losing my mind without my own computer. I have to remember all the passwords to my social networking sites. I can't access any of my files, so I can't share anything or get to my teaching resources. I can't upload the photos I've taken recently. I can't download new episodes of my favourite podcasts, or any podcasts at all, which have been my lifeline to pop culture civilization. I can't veg out in my room watching movies, which means I've been ripping through the books I brought at a dangerous pace. I feel like I've lost a limb, or (more accurately) part of my brain.

I get the impression that if you're older and are reading this you think I'm an ass. Fine, although in my defense, my generation has had our brains Mimsy Were the Borogoves'd and we can't function in your primitive Boomer world.

Oh god, now I'm just being mean. Laptoooopppppppppp, come baaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

2. I always get the February blahs. It's not S.A.D., February is just terrible no matter where I am. Here's why February is the worst:
     a. Valentine's Day, obviously.
     b. The bloom is off the rose, re: winter. Remember when everything was white and sparkly and the ice and snow reflected Christmas lights and good cheer? Was that only two months ago?
     c. It's the shortest month, but manages to drag on like it's the longest month.
     d. I don't know anyone who has a leap year birthday, which would really liven the joint up.
     e. No statutory holidays in Georgia, while Ontario only recently got one - and it's called Family Day. How stupid is that? February 15th should be a Canadian national holiday (Flag Day - it's already there on your calendars!) and there should be red and white fireworks and tobogganing and hot toddies. THAT'S a holiday!

1. This is how bored I am - I work out five days a week. Going to the gym is the most boring thing in the entire world, but I do it (or go swimming) most days because what else am I going to do?

Things less boring than going to the gym:
     a. An entire two-semester economics course
     b. The magazine selection at a dentist's office
     c. Watching TV in a language you don't understand
     d. Your extended family (I know this one's a stretch, but I'm making a rhetorical point here).

In an effort to be less bored, I've been trying to plan some trips. Or, get someone else to plan trips for me, because February has sapped my interest in planning, dreaming, believing, getting out of bed, etc. A Georgian I know wants to take me and a couple of other foreigners to Baku, Azerbaijan. I'd love to go, but the visa is expensive ($120-150). My Georgian friend called the Azeri embassy, who told her that discussing the price of visas is a "sensitive matter" not suited to the telephone, so she should have tea with one of their consuls and "talk it over" it in person. She thinks that Azerbaijan is corrupt enough that she can get us a group discount on visas. Stupendous.

Also stupendous was the time when a car, parked directly below my window, had its alarm go off in the middle of the night. It was one of those alarms that alternates between a series of horrible patterns and tones. The next morning someone had pelted the car with tomatoes. Sweet revenge!

The other day, I saw a very confused stray dog in one of the subway stations. I'm afraid this marks the beginning of Tbilisi's stray dogs mastering the Metro, like they do in Moscow - which is exactly like Rise of the Planet of the Apes, but with rabies.

Do you remember how the government of Georgia financed a Hollywood movie about the August 2008 war with Russia, starring Andy Garcia as a very melodramatic Misha Saakashvili? Of course you do. Well, Russia has financed its own movie about that conflict. It's called August Eighth, and its plot revolves around a divorced woman who sends her 7-year-old son to Georgia to be with his father, but must make her way into a war zone to find him once all hell breaks loose. Obviously this is a more audience-friendly story than the Georgian film, which is about some dick American war reporter played by Rupert ("who?") Friend. The Russian film is also co-written by an American, and has been picked up for distribution by 20th Century Fox.

Oh, and there are giant fighting robots in it.

Just like in the real war.

Five Days of War US box office gross: $32,296
August Eighth US box office gross (estimated): A billion

How I pay the bills

I'm back from an extended absence once again, although this one was a little less intentional. I've had a surprisingly dark return to Georgia which, in concert with a broken laptop screen, has conspired to keep me away from my blog.

I've also been stupendously busy. And I don't mean busy in that, "SIGH, I AM JUST SUCH A BUSY PERSON" way, which implies an utter lack of time management skills and a disregard for other people, but in an "I work four jobs" way.

My second term in Georgia has been marked by a burst of ambition that saw me tell more than one person I was going to pick up yoga. I don't make New Year's resolutions, but I do tend to say stupid shit in January, which is essentially the same thing.

This ambitious kick has prompted me to add, in addition to my teaching position at the Police Academy, an editing position at an English-language newspaper, regular tutoring, and freelance English stylist work. Oh, and I'm a voice-over artist now, too.

So I'm getting to know the marshrutka system really well, and walking a lot, and filling the time I'd otherwise spend surfing the internet or watching videos on my laptop. (Which isn't to say that there's not a laptop screen-sized hole in my heart. Because dammit, I was in the middle of season 3 of Scrubs!).

I had a delightful exchange with a cab driver last week. It was very Georgia. I had caught a taxi home from a friend's apartment, when he hit a big pothole and completely blew out a back tire. He tried to get me to wait for him to change it, but it was late, and snowing, and we were stopped in the literal middle of the embankment highway. So I hailed a new cab.

Normally taxi drivers like to test the limits of my Georgian, but this guy was silent. It wasn't until we got to my place when this exchange took place:

Me: რამდენი ლარი? (How many lari?)

Cabbie: шесть.

Me: шесть?

Cabbie: шесть.

Me: ბოდიში, ვარ ენგლისური. რამდენი? (Sorry, I'm English. How many?)

Cabbie: English? I thought you were Russian! Six lari.

The only English-speaking taxi driver in Tbilisi and we sat in silence the entire ride.

Normally, I would have taken a marshrutka from my friend's apartment home, but the last time I tried to do that I was mistaken for a prostitute. I was waiting by the side of the road (first mistake), looking absolutely ravishing in my winter coat and plastic grocery bag (second mistake), when a Jeep pulled up beside me and the two men inside asked me something in Georgian. Thinking they were asking for directions (sidebar: Obviously the blonde girl is the best person to ask in Tbilisi, oy), I asked them if they knew English. The younger one did, and asked if I'd like a ride. Thinking to myself that Georgians are such nice, thoughtful people, I politely declined and went back to waiting for the marshrutka. A few seconds later, the driver got out of the Jeep, and approached me, saying in broken English, "$100".

I didn't quite get it.

"Uh, no, no thank you," I said, a tad confused.

"$150."

"No..." It started to dawn on me.

"$200."

Now I got it. And I was pissed. I told him no again but he wouldn't leave. That's when I snarled "შენი დედა!" (literally, "Your mother", a vulgar Georgian curse and delightfully appropriate in this situation).

Now he was confused. Like it never crossed his mind that I wasn't a prostitute. I pointed towards his car and told him to fuck off. He ambled away.

Later, my host mother told me she had been propositioned at the same intersection.

Eshli once again

Hi gang.

I realize it's been a while. In my defense, I spent a month in Canada on vacation, and there is nothing less motivating than being on vacation. My greatest source of stress was fighting with my brother over who got to borrow my mom's car. That, and failing to knock off my entire vacation To Do list (I never do - but then again, perhaps "Watch the entirety of The West Wing" was a little ambitious).

What went undocumented on this blog were the two weeks prior to my vacation, a whirlwind of exams, marking, parties, goodbyes, and setting up my next term. If I recall correctly, this was also the time of the Tbilisi International Film Festival, where I saw an excellent German film with a cop-out ending (The Day I Was Not Born), a Georgian documentary that failed to live up to its potential (Generation of Tomorrow), and Cary Fukunaga's Jane Eyre (FASSBENDER!). That fortnight also saw my installation as the new copy editor of The Messenger, Tbilisi's only English-language daily. I start on Sunday, and with any luck jet lag won't impair my mental faculties. Speaking of jet lag, I can't remember half of the interesting stuff I intended to write about. So here's some filler:

Things that have changed in Tbilisi in the month I was away:
- McDonald's Value Menu items now cost 1.90GEL, up from 1.80GEL
- The 105 marshutka has been upgraded to yellow vans with Metromoney card readers. I almost missed  it yesterday because I was looking for an old, beat-up, white Mercedes. One of my friends theorized that this slow roll-out of upgrades is heralding the ultimate piece of marshutka technology - a goddamn route map. I'd call that naive, but hey, Google Maps came to Georgia last fall so clearly anything is possible
- There are new signs in some Metro stations, with bus routes and notable nearby sights. One of them listed a "trade centre" near Station Square. It took me nearly ten seconds to realize this was Georgian-to-English translation for "shopping mall". A month in Canada has made my mind slow; next thing I know I'll be saying things like, "Well, it's reasonable to assume..." (Reason and assumptions are not to be relied upon in Georgia)

Things I forgot about:
- Smoking indoors
- The absurd speed of drivers here (see also, their ability to chat up a girl on their cell phone, while using the other hand to steer, honk, signal, switch gears and adjust the radio. True story).
- A lack of personal bubbles in public
- What it's like to be stared at unashamedly
- The way people go out of their way to help you (a special thanks to the teenage boy who carried my luggage up two flights to my apartment without my asking; also, the taxi driver who hailed me a new taxi when he realized he didn't actually know where he was going, then didn't ask me for any extra money)
- Enrique Iglesias

Countdown

Kristen,

I realize I've forgotten to formally announce my Christmas vacation dates. I'll be back in Canada from December 18 - January 17. This means I'm leaving Georgia in less than two weeks!

I'm really, really looking forward to a vacation. I was sick for the entire month of November, and I'm still nursing a congested chest and accompanying cough. I also chipped a tooth and have no idea how I did it. My hair is a split-end ravaged, scraggly mess. My clothes are stained, worn, and boring. I'm starting to grow a unibrow. Let's not even talk about my feet.

I also have moments where I suddenly remember something about home, some convenience or service or experience I'd forgotten exists. This happened most recently on Sunday, when I was watching a movie. Two of the characters ordered Chinese delivery. Chinese delivery! Cheap, delicious Asian food that comes to your house! Flabbergasted, I said aloud, "Oh yeah, that's a thing that exists!"

So clearly I'm looking forward to a return to cushy Canadian life. As I type this, though, I feel tremendously guilty for being able to just escape back to the developed world - my students and Georgian friends and family can't do that. If they want to use a microwave they have to invest a month's wages into buying one. If they want their freshly-laundered clothes to dry they have to hope it's not going to rain. I've had many conversations about quality of life, average income, and what middle-class Canadians possess - and it never fails to surprise Georgians. It's not just that Canadians have more; it's that our frame of reference is different. "How much does an average flat cost in Canada?" is a question I hear a lot. Putting aside issues of size and city and amenities, my answer has to re-frame the question: "Most Canadians buy houses. Apartments are generally rented." And how do I answer a question about people trying to bribe police officers out of traffic tickets? "It doesn't happen" doesn't sound like it can be the truth. But that's how these conversations go. No matter how livable, how modern one's life in Tbilisi is, Georgia is still a developing country. And so our conversations always start as a clash of perspectives.

Here's something to cheer us all up: this weekend, Georgia won the Junior Eurovision contest. (If you're not familiar with Eurovision, good grief, and also read this). Their entry was a five-member girl group called Candy, singing a song called "Candy Music" (this is about the level of sophistication you can expect from all Eurovision contestants, youth or otherwise). Here's the video of their winning performance:

Also, I'd like to thank the city of Tbilisi and all federal government buildings for putting up Christmas lights, trees and other decorations well over a month before Georgian Orthodox Christmas, because they're helping me get in the mood for Other Christmas.

A social experiment

Public displays of matrimonial commitment and their effect on incidences of sexual harassment: A case study

by AE Challinor

Introduction

Within the Orthodox Christian church and some East Asian cultures, it is tradition for married individuals to display their status with a band of precious metal worn on the third finger of their right hand ("ring finger"). This differs from non-Orthodox Christian and secular Western traditions, in which rings of commitment and legal or religious matrimonial status are worn almost exclusively on the ring finger of the left hand. When representatives of these two traditions meet, confusion as to an individual's romantic, social - or even economic - availability is possible.

The author (and subject) commonly wears a two-tone gold signet ring on the third finger of her right hand. (See Figure 1). In the past, this has led individuals from Orthodox or Eastern cultures to inquire as to her marital status and/or the whereabouts of her husband. As the author currently resides in the Republic of Georgia, an primarily Orthodox state, this confusion has been made acute. 

Figure 1

In an interview with a Georgian chiropractor in Los Angeles, California (conducted in August of 2010), the author was assured that "Georgian men will love you". This hypothesis has since been proven incorrect (paper forthcoming).

While the subject's peers have suggested the use of this ring as a form of "protection" against unwanted attention, this raises the question of the effectiveness of a ring on the "marriage finger" as a communications tool. Does a wedding band prevent uninvited romantic attention, sexual harassment or meddling from mother-surrogates? Similarly, does its absence encourage these same behaviours? This paper seeks to determine the effect of presumed wedding bands on the beliefs and attitudes of strangers in Orthodox Georgia.

Hypothesis

Subject will experience more romantic and/or sexual attention when the third finger on her right hand remains bare. The null hypothesis (H0) will be rejected.

Methodology

For a duration of fourteen days, subject removed ring from the third finger of her right hand, leaving no rings on any finger.

A control was previously conducted, for a duration of 2.5 months, during which the subject wore the stated ring on the stated finger in the stated state.

Observations

Subject observed no change in attitude from either acquaintances or strangers when compared to the control period. A small sample of car horns heard while the subject travelled along public thoroughfares was inconclusive, as car horns in Georgia are often utilized in place of brakes. 

Results

No incidents of sexual harassment or romantic interest were observed. Failure to reject null hypothesis.  

Subject also reported that the finger that previously held her ring felt "slightly weird", suggesting potential for follow-up research in phantom ring studies. 

Conclusion

Subject incapable of giving it away.

Fakesgiving

Kristen, I'm exhausted.

Thursday was American Thanksgiving (as you well know), and the Americans who took me in when I was homeless this summer hosted a dinner. Somehow, the Canadian was enlisted to cook. Or I volunteered. I can't remember anymore, it's been a long week.

As Canadian Thanksgiving proved, acquiring holiday-specific raw materials is difficult in Georgia. So we had some ingredients mailed from the US, and we scavenged and we hoarded and on Wednesday morning I was an accomplice in the killing of a turkey.

That day, one Canadian omnivore, one American vegetarian, and two Georgians (their preferences go without saying) drove to a market, inspected half a dozen birds, and chose one to be our dinner.

I'm going to tell you this story, but first a disclaimer: I eat meat. I love eating meat. I am not one of those omnivores who gets sad at the thought of animals dying and then eats meat anyway because they can't help themselves. I am not one of those pee-pants who says, "I know I should be a vegetarian but I just like bacon too much!"

No.

I have no moral, ethical, or health qualms with eating meat. It's not a default for me; this is something I've thought about and I do happily.

Some of the more militant vegetarians and vegans claim that if meat-eaters could only see where their food came from, they'd stop eating it. Well, I saw where my food comes from on Wednesday. And it only re-affirmed my commitment to eating stuff with a face.

Here's how it worked: We went to a market where people (mainly women) from nearby villages had set up their wares - chickens, turkeys, pigs, ducks and a few rabbits. We went from stall to stall, weighing and inspecting the turkeys, inquiring after their age and negotiating prices. Once we found a suitable one, the woman at the stall took it to a butchering stand, chopped off its head, let it bleed out, and dunked it in a pot of boiling water to release the feathers. She then stripped its feathers, and brought it back to her stall to remove the insides and feet. I watched all of this. It really wasn't that gross - and I cannot handle gory movies, or even listening to stories of other peoples' bodily harm. It was interesting! It prompted me to research turkey anatomy!

I told my turkey story to one of my classes, and they were absolutely unimpressed. They were like, "You've never seen a turkey butchered? *Scoff*" It reminds me of the time when my host family asked me why I wasn't eating any grapes. I don't like grapes in Georgia because they have seeds and so are more trouble than they're worth, even though grapes are the candy of the fruit world. I am completely pathetic, I know. So I explained this to my family by saying, "Life in Canada is very easy..."

(I also saw an enormous hog butchered, as well as a couple buckets of its insides. The two massive sets of ribs reminded me of my brother, who eats like Jethro Bodine and is a barbecued ribs monster. Hi John!).

Anyway, Thanksgiving Day. With plenty of help, I cooked a meal for a group that included Americans, Canadians, an Australian and a Georgian. Everyone had a great time and the food was largely a hit (including our turkey who, in all the excitement, I forgot to name). Two minor issues: The fully-cooked turkey went missing for approximately an hour and a half, and one of the large windows in the apartment shattered. So, a totally normal, insane day in Georgia.

Ho Hum II

A few more snippets from my everyday life...

I was at a party on Saturday night where I saw a 2-year-old drinking beer. Don't worry - it was his birthday.

I love the way that, when a parent with a small child gets on a marshutka, the other people on board grab the child to steady it, and often put it on a nearby seat or lap while the parent climbs aboard. This is completely normal, the parent never blinks an eye, and there are no howls of "THAT MOLESTER HAS MY BABY!". It's accepted that the people on the marshutka are going to make your child safer, rather than place it in harm's way. It is, I think, the sign of a healthy society.

A sign of an unhealthy society is the way some Georgians have concluded that the best place to count their change or check their cell phone is in store entrances or at the top of stairwells. No, it is not the best place to engage in those activities, so get the fuck out of my way. (I suppose it goes without saying that I walk much faster than most Georgians. I walk faster than most people, so obviously nothing is different here. To put it scientifically, if you and all Georgians and everyone you know under 6'4" walks at average pace - 5kph/3mph - then I walk at approximately the speed of sound).

There is a restaurant I frequent so often that all the staff recognize me. I'm a regular. I love becoming a regular of places (see also Osaka in Springfield, VA; Go Sushi in Milton, ON; Raavi Kebab in London, UK). Here's how often I'm there: one of the waitresses changed her hair recently, I noticed, complimented her, and she wasn't weirded out by this. (I also have a schwarma guy near work. Yeah, that's right, I have a schwarma guy. On a related note, I may eat too much schwarma).

The atrocious state of Tbilisi streets and sidewalks has nearly destroyed two pairs of my shoes (one, a pair of heels, may be too far gone to resole). That said, I have not, as of this writing, fallen down an unmarked sinkhole or hidden staircase.

I've gotten used to the toe-mangling speed of the Metro escalators; they seem slow to me now. I'm worried I'm going to have some sort of fit of impatience if I take an escalator in Canada. (Ha ha ha, I hear you laughing, when is Ashley not having a fit of impatience in Canada!).

The following video appeared in my facebook feed today, and it's reminiscent of the degradation of my own English. As much as I'm learning English grammar and sentence structure as I teach it, I'm also spending most of my time speaking slowly, simply and, sometimes, in a strange Georgian/English/Georgian-accent-in-English hybrid: I say "yes?" at the end of most questions I ask, I've picked up the Georgian habit of saying, "Of course, Eshli, of course!" whenever I say something obvious, I sometimes drop articles and pick up incorrect syntax in an effort to make new speakers understand me by using their own butchered English, etc. It's a dangerous habit!

Anyway, comedy:

Ho Hum

I found an article from the New York Times Travel section that is the closest representation I've found to my life in Georgia. Read it here. (The caveat being that is was written in 2006, which is practically a lifetime ago in post-Revolution Georgia).

I was going to write something about how I haven't been doing anything exciting lately, so have nothing to share with you on my blog. But that undermines the honesty and purpose of keeping this blog - I have a job, and a routine, but those things exist in Georgia - and so the mundane is just as important as the spectacular when it comes to explaining myself.

So here's some of the mundane:

I experienced a couple of blackouts this week, which is unusual in Tbilisi (or, unusual in the central, important parts of the city - no offense Avchala!). If I still had a Twitter account, I would have tweeted: "Blackouts in Tbilisi. What is this, 1994? #tasteless #postrevolutionentitlementsyndrome"

Also, if I still had a Twitter account, I would tweet at Joss Whedon and ask him why he's thanked in the Acknowledgments section of my Cutting Edge Starter textbooks. That's an out-of-left-field mystery if I ever encountered one.

I had a disastrous Tuesday, that culminated in a hat trick of Tbilisi nonsense - not being able to find a specific store because of a lack of street signs, building numbers, and a strong enough command of Georgian; having to cancel dinner plans because the restaurant we had planned to eat at was shuttered, all online evidence to the contrary; and a taxi driver who ignored my directions and took me to where he thought I wanted to go, as opposed to where I explicitly told him to go. I've decided that if most cabs weren't stick shift, I'd just tell the drivers to get in the backseat because three months of living in this city has given me a better understanding of its geography than their qualifications (being Georgian, having a car).

It's possible that there is video of me shooting a modified M-4 on Georgian reality TV. There's a reality show being shot at the police academy, and they were filming some scenes in the firearms training simulator when a few of us teachers dropped by to check it out. Hopefully they won't use the footage of me because the "Hollywood" group is so much more attractive and melodramatic.

I found a fruit that looks like a lime on the outside and a tangerine on the inside, that's wonderfully bold and tart, and that makes the perfect addition to a gin and tonic.

...and now I have to catch the Metro, to go to tutoring, because that's Friday night in Tibs, homes.