Train Tracks

In a recent post I mentioned the Mix CD Exchangaganza. Here's what I came up with, music to listen to on the train.

Josh Garrels - Restless Ones
U2 - Beautiful Day
Lynard Skynard - Sweet Home Alabama
The Eels - Rotten World Blues
Johnny Cash - Folsom Prison Blues
Martin Sexton - Freedom of the Road
Jack Johnson - Breakdown
Bonnie Summerville - Winding Road
Simon and Garfunkle - Homeward Bound
Little Feat - Oh, Atlanta
The Red Hot Chili Peppers - Road Trippin'
The Allman Brothers Band - Midnight Rider
Muddy Waters - All Night Long
Credence Clearwater Revival - Proud Mary
The Beatles - Daytripper
Coldplay - Clocks
Theivery Corporation - Lebanese Blonde
Cake - Long Line of Cars

some wisdom

I just finished reading Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, for the third time. It starts a little slow, but in the end it's got more truth in it than I know what to do with. I often read parts and thought to myself, that's something I want to share. Here are some of them:

"I am reminded of this precious instruction [when you encounter another person...you must think, what is the Lord asking of me in this moment, in this situation?] by my own great failure to live up to it recently. Calvin says somewhere that each of us is an actor on a stage and God is the audience. That metaphor has always interested me, because it makes us artists of our behavior, and the reaction of God to us might be thought of as aesthetic rather than morally judgmental in the ordinary sense. How well do we understand our role? With how much assurance do we perform it? I suppose Calvin's God was a Frenchman, just as mine is a Middle Westerner of New England extraction. Well, we all bring such light to bear on these great matters as we can. I do like Calvin's image, though, because it suggests how God might actually enjoy us. I believe we think about that far too little. It would be a way into understanding essential things, since presumably the world exists for God's enjoyment, not in any simple sense, of course, but as you enjoy the being of a child even when he is in every way a thorn in your heart." (page 124)

"A good sermon is one side of a passionate conversation. It has to be heard in that way. There are three parties to it, of course, but so are there even to the most private thought - the self that yields the thought, the self that acknowledges and in some way responds to the thought, and the Lord. That is a remarkable thing to consider." (page 44)

"I believe I have tried never to say anything Edward would have found callow or naive. That constraint has been useful to me, in my opinion. It may be a form of defensiveness, but I hope it has at least been useful on balance. There is a tendency among some religious people even to invite ridicule and to bring down on themselves an intellectual contempt which seems to me in some cases justified. Nevertheless, I would advise you against defensiveness on principle. It precludes best eventualities along with the worst. At the most basic level, it expresses a lack of faith. As I have said, the worst eventualities can have great value as experience. And often enough when we think we are protecting ourselves, we are struggling against our rescuer. I know this, I have seen the truth of it with my own eyes, though I have not myself always managed to live by it, the Good Lord knows. I truly doubt I would know how to live by it for even a day, or an hour. That is a remarkable thing to consider." (page 154)

winter blues

They were putting up the Christmas lights on Andrassy this afternoon. It’s dark out now at 4:30 in the afternoon. These days I’m sleeping with two blankets and a duvet (and I’m the king of not needing blankets). I’ve started growing in my winter beard because my face is getting cold.

Winter in Budapest is long, dark, and cold, and I’m afraid it’s here. We were teased with a few warm days this weekend, but it was hard to enjoy because you get the feeling winter’s going to lay down the hammer any moment. Last year was a bit tough for me, and I think a lot of it has to do with the dark more than anything. Budapest is in the far eastern reaches of its time zone so it gets dark quite early in the evening. (How on Earth are we in the same time zone as Paris? Look on a map – we are not close! It’s silly!) This is the big change from the Michigan winters, which don’t seem so bad now (Michigan being on the far western side of its time zone). And, thanks to the worldwide conspiracy to start classes at institutions of secondary education at an absurd hour, I still sleepwalk to school through the pre-dawn darkness. It’s hard to get out of bed in the morning, and after school all I want to do is go home, put on my pajamas, and huddle under a blanket until 6:00 pm when I want to go to bed.

But this year’s going to be different. I have a plan to beat the winter blues: music and books. This started last spring when my friend Sam said, as he prepared to leave Budapest for Duke Divinity School, he regretted not getting season tickets to the Budapest Festival Orchestra while he was here. I said, that sounds like a good idea, and bought two on a whim. In hindsight it’s one of the best decisions I’ve made here. The group is outstanding (Ivan Fischer conducting), and their performance of Mahler’s 5^th Symphony was in the top five of concerts I’ve been to. And since I got two tickets I get to invite different people to go with me each time. It’s a regular night out that forces me back into the real world and buoys my spirits for days.

The concerts have rekindled my love of orchestral music and inspired me to purchase a few CDs. I picked up some old standards, Beethoven’s 5^th and 6^th performed by the Berlin Philharmonic (Herbert von Karajan conducting) , some unknown (to me) stuff by a favorite composer, Mendelssohn’s “Scottish” 3^rd Symphony and “Italian” 4^th Symphony performed by the Gewandhausorchester Leipzig (Kurt Masur conducting), and that same Mahler’s 5^th, but this time by the Vienna Philharmonic conducted by Leonard Bernstein. I’ve been listening to them all the time and they’ve been uplifting.

Later this week I will gather in Brno, Czech Republic with my Teach Overseas colleagues from all over Central Europe to celebrate Thanksgiving together. It’s a wonderful get-together because of the fellowship, relaxation, and (in large part) the food. This year we’re doing a Mix CD Exchangaganza, which means the 16 people participating will all make 15 copies of a mix CD and trade them with the other participants. So, later this week I’ll be getting 15 CDs worth of new music! Of course, it means I’ve been wracking my brain for the last month trying to craft my mix. I can’t wait!

And finally, one of the joys of teaching literature has been rediscovering some of the great stuff I teach. Watching my students encounter these characters for the first time, whether it’s Atticus Finch, Ebenezer Scrooge, or somebody in between, lets me have that experience all over again. I come home wanting to prepare lessons because I like these books so much. Now if only I could find a way to motivate myself to do the grading!

These are some of the reasons I’m optimistic about my second winter in Budapest. It’s still going to be long, cold, and very dark, but I think I’ll just put the kettle on for a cup of tea and make the best of it!

fall break

I'm halfway through the first half of the year. This fall I've felt like I'm in a Star Trek episode, specifically one of those strange ones where they mess with the space-time continuum. Somehow it feels like I've been back in Budapest for about two weeks, but that it's also been about two years since I left my family and Seattle. So, what to do? Go to England, that's what. It was a great week complete with lots of laughs, a few pints at the pub, plenty of the English language (spoken, written, even sung!), many reunions with good friends, and one very difficult goodbye. A few years ago I was very blessed to spend a summer living with the most English man you could ever imagine and his wonderful wife. Tony is no longer with us, but I'm thankful I had the opportunity to know him and look forward to seeing him again someday.

free write

Though I haven'’t been writing much lately, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I know it'’ll come as a surprise to some of you folks, but I do that from time to time. It'’s been rattling around without making much sense and I'’m not sure this will be clear, but after watching an old movie tonight I feel like getting some of it out. (There I go again, starting with an apology. They tell you over and over in English Comp and Speech 101 never to begin with an apology, but I still keep doing it.)

In a recent spree of film watching I'’ve taken in Cool Hand Luke, a new documentary called Freedom'’s Fury, and tonight Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (among others). Between those thoughtful films, the recent political happenings in Hungary, the struggles of my friend Hiwa, and other things I've been tossing around questions of freedom and justice a lot. Before I get ahead of myself let me tell you about Hiwa.

I met my friend through some contacts at church. A Kurdish refugee from Iran, his story is an amazing one involving a dramatic escape from Iranian authorities looking for him because of his work with the underground democratic movement. Hiwa's dream is to go to college in the USA and become a lawyer. Last year I started tutoring him once a week to help him prepare for the Test of English as a Foreign Language.

A few weeks ago I got a very excited phone call from him telling me that he had found a way to America. A Hungarian university in Budapest partners with Texas Christian to offer a five year English-language program for a BA in sociology. Students spend three years here taking English classes as well as the regular curriculum and finish with two years in Texas. Hiwa found out about this program on a Monday, visited to find out more information on Tuesday, gave them an application on Wednesday, was accepted on Friday, and started classes on Monday. In a week his entire outlook on life changed.

Then, two weeks later, the bottom of his world fell back out. The university kicked him out because he had no money to pay tuition. He was under the mistaken impression they were giving him a full scholarship. Now we'’re back to square one, trying to improve his writing and vocabulary enough so he can think about applying to a school in the states. It just doesn'’t seem fair. He doesn'’t have the freedom to pursue his dream because he doesn'’t have the money.

This was bouncing around my head when I watched Cool Hand Luke on Sunday, a movie about freedom. Paul Newman'’s character is a chain gang convict who refuses to let the guards control his mind and his will. His determination and fight are the only things he has left, and he uses them to subjugate the authority of the guards. The classic example is when his crew is told to tar a road, and instead of taking their time the work as hard as they can and finish the job several hours early. The guards don't know what to do so they give them a few hours off of work. Luke exercises the only bit of freedom he has by doing what the guards ask the way he wants to, and the other guys love him for it. Of course in the most poignant scene in the film, when the guards do finally break him, he calls out "“Where are you now?"” wondering why his compatriots have deserted him in his time of greatest need. Like Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption, Luke does the little things he can do to make himself feel normal and free, if only for a moment.

The other movie I saw this weekend was a stirring documentary about the 1956 Hungarian Olympic water polo team. I won'’t go into the complex details of the politics, but the short version is that three weeks before the games were to begin the Hungarians started a revolution, overthrowing the puppet Soviet government and declaring the country a democratic republic. During the brief period the Hungarians controlled the government the team left for the Olympics in Melbourne, and while they were there Soviet tanks rolled into Budapest and crushed all resistance. The twist of fate came when the USSR and Hungary drew each other for the semifinal match of the tournament. It was a rough and violent match (dubbed "the bloodiest game ever") that obviously carried great added significance. After the games finished the water polo team (along with other Hungarian athletes and many regular citizens) had to decide if they wanted to live in the once again Soviet Hungary or defect. The sacrifice they had to make for freedom -– never seeing their family again, or giving up an incredibly promising water polo career because it wasn'’t a big sport in the US -– was the most difficult part of their experience for me to imagine. (Trivia note: The documentary is narrated by Mark Spitz, whose childhood swim coach was one of the Hungarian players who defected.)

Sunday was also election day in Hungary, for the local government positions. The conservative party nearly swept the board, losing only in parts of Budapest and other major cities. This is due in part to the new fiscal reforms introduced by the liberal national government, but mostly to the scandal surrounding Prime Minister Gyurcsany Ferenc (see my recent post). Now he'’s called for a parliamentary vote of confidence which will be taken on Friday. He'll win easily because his party still controls the legislature, and their coalition partner hasn'’t dumped them yet. However, a lot of people are upset and talking about "revolution."” They seem to think he should be removed for stomping on their right to know the truth with his lies.

And tonight I watched Mr. Smith, a movie that hits many of these themes and more. Naive replacement Senator Jefferson Smith goes to Washington with big ideals about what America is all about, and he gets disillusioned by the control big money has over the political process. He doesnÂ’t give up, though, and fights back by convincing others to return to those ideals. And what are they, the reason he gives Senator Payne to explain why "“lost causes are the only ones worth fighting for?" He says it'’s "“love thy neighbor."” That'’s the value he'’s pushing.

I guess freedom is the right to do what you want to do so long as it doesn't violate the freedom of others, the point where justice comes in. According to Frank Capra and "“Mr. Smith" justice means loving others, not putting yourself first. I've heard people talk about positive, restorative justice, which works to right systemic wrongs, not just prevent new ones. We must have freedom from persecution, but also freedom to follow our dreams. I'’m not sure this all makes much sense (there I go with the apology again), so maybe somebody out there can tell me what I'’m trying to say. What I do know is that as a creature made in God'’s image I have a hardwired longing and need for shalom, for peace and justice, that includes freedom for all.

liar, liar, pants on fire

First of all, Budapest is not in flames. As far as I can tell the protests and demonstrations are relatively small-scale and lead primarily by more extremist elements of the population, not the majority. Most people seem upset, but not very surprised by the scandal. The problem is that the Prime Minister of Hungary lied to the people. A lot. And then he got caught on tape talking to his party members about it. I find the whole situation quite interesting because his speech was actually a call to change the way his party had been operating (as far as I can tell). He admitted that he had been lying to the people and not been doing his job so that things would change (presumably because of pressure from Brussels and the EU). Most of my students (the easiest Hungarian group for me to survey for their opinion) want him to resign, but a small number see him as somebody who was trying to stand up to the system. Anyway, the bottom line is I'm not running off to Vienna for my safety. I'll keep an eye on things, but I'm not too worried.

year two

Here we go again. I'm back in Budapest with my spirits buoyed by a wonderful summer back in the States. The scariest part of the summer, though, was how much I missed Budapest! I've wisely been warned that the places I come from will never feel like home again. I've been thinking about home a lot this summer (see one of my June posts). I brought my copy of Barnes' book (Searching for Home) back with me since I didn't get to read it this summer. Maybe that'll help me better understand this feeling of "in-betweenness" I have. But now that I'm back I'm caught up in writing syllabi, organizing the Bazis (my residence), and all the other stuff of living. Year two - I'm off and running.

called out

I don't play this game much, but this is one I like. So, my answers to some random questions...

One book that changed your life: A lot of books qualify (the Bible, anyone?), so I'll go for something early on and say The Grapes of Wrath. During my junior year of high school my English class read The Great Gatsby, which I had done the year before at my old high school. Ms. Sylanski let me read a novel independently and write a paper on it and I chose "The Grapes." The experience contributed to my choice of college major (English), college (Calvin), and current vocation (English teacher - thanks for remembering, Bethany).

One book you have read more than once: I guess they probably want the one you've read the most, or something like that? The Killer Angels, by Michael Shaara. It was my "home from school sick" book (and then movie, after Gettysburg came out).

One book you would want on a desert island: Raft Building for Dummies? No, probably something like The Brothers Karamazov. I've now read it twice (once in class with Ericsson!) and still don't feel like I've scratched the surface of it. Besides, it takes forever to read!

One book that made you laugh: Most recently it was The Undertaking, by Thomas Lynch. I love dark humor.

One book you wish you had written: Anything by F. Beuchner qualifies, but top choice would be Telling the Truth. It's pretty brilliant and the man can turn a phrase!

One book you wish had never been written: I'm not sure I have the right to say this since I've never read it, but my choice is Left Behind (and all the other drivel it spawned) for theological and aesthetic reasons.

One book that made you cry: Though it started slow, Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, brought on a few tears at the end. (Your choice did too, Bethany.)

One book you are currently reading: I finished Going Nucular, by Geoffrey Nunberg, this morning, so now it's To Kill a Mockingbird (since I have to teach it in a few weeks).

One book you have been meaning to read: According to my half.com wish list, the two books I've been wanting for the longest are Lolita, by Nabakov (can't believe I still haven't read it yet), and The Atoms of Language, by Mark. C. Baker.

One book you wish everyone would read, and why: I'm stuck on this one. I guess, probably, the Bible. It's the book that has most influenced western culture, and it's a pretty good story too.

Honorable Mentions (you guess for which category): The Chosen (Chiam Potok), Master and Margarita (Mikhail Bulgakov), The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (C.S. Lewis), Walden (H. D. Thoreau), Exclusion and Embrace (Miroslav Volf), The Lord of the Rings (Tolkein), Budapest: A Critical Guide (Andras Torok), The Crucible (Arthur Miller), The Brothers K (David James Duncan), Where the Wild Things Are (Maurice Sendak)

I'm not tagging people, but I would love to hear from any and all of you with your answers.

teaching america

One of my favorite classroom activities is something called a song cloze, which consists of me picking one of my favorite songs, finding the lyrics online, creating a worksheet with most of the lyrics and blanks for the rest, playing the song a few times for my class, and then discussing the new vocab and the meaning of the song. My friend Amy claims that America by Simon and Garfunkel is the greatest song for a song cloze because it can be connected to just about any lesson topic you can think of. I'm not sure I agree, but I'm not sure I disagree either. Upon hearing her make this bold claim I started to work up a lesson on it in my head. Actually, now that I'm back in the states for the summer I've been thinking a lot about how I'm going to teach differently next year. One thing I regret from my first year of teaching in Budapest is how much I relied on my own ideas and activities. My teaching was ok this year, but it would have been so much better if I'd had more conversations with Amy and other great teachers. So, in the spirit of being more collegial, anybody have some great ideas for teaching ESL or literature?

a bit of silliness

My friend Sam told me about an article on pipe smoking, a pleasure he and I occasionally partake of. I guess that makes us seekers of truth, according to Michael Foley. My Dad told me about a silly mug that I might have to give him for Christmas. And there's a rather funny album that's been floating around for a year, but I was recently reminded of just how odd it is. Try listening to some of the clips; my favorite is "Jump!" Also, why didn't anybody tell me "Grey's Anatomy" was set in Seattle? I've been hearing about this show all year, but nobody thought about mentioning that? I watched the first two episodes tonight and I like it, but those scenery shots of the Emerald City... beautiful!

more sports

Mark Galli has written the article I'’ve been waiting a long time to read. In the latest issue of Books and Culture his piece, "“On a Pass and a Prayer: Why we no longer believe in sports but should,"” lucidly explains why we need sportswriting, or what he calls "“stories about the games themselves, and their heroes, when men and women act out great dramas, games of tragedy and hope, meaningful precisely because they transcend the usual social calculus."

Full disclosure: I'’ve harbored dreams of being a writer for Sports Illustrated since I was old enough to read the magazine. I love the drama and mystery of sports, punctuated by glimpses of unmitigated grace cutting through our obsession with justice and getting what we deserve (what else can you call it when your winning goal comes from an unintentional deflection off the opposing defender?). Don't get me wrong -– when my Dodgers or Nittany Lions play better than their opponents and still lose I get as mad as everybody else. But that'’s the nature of grace -– our conceptions of justice must always be tempered by humility because God'’s grace means people don'’t always get what they deserve. As an admitted devotee of sports and sportswriting I knew I would like this article going in.

Galli works on a few important themes, starting with the idea that the often miraculous nature of sports is good for us as people who suffer from "“a widespread loss of transcendence."” I don'’t use that word miraculous lightly. It'’s easy to explain away just about everything, but what else do we call it when something entirely unbelievable happens? Sports is one realm where things that have absolutely no business happening take place with some regularity!

When my Dad and I watch sports we have this reccurring conversation: when the situation gets dire (down 3 games to none in a best of seven series, down 5 points with 15 seconds left and your best three-point shooter fouled out, backed up on your own 30 yard line with enough time left for just one play, etc.) Dad declares with certitude that the game is over. I predictably respond by calling him a pessimist and running down the possibilities for a comeback, far-fetched may they be. He then claims he'’s not a pessimist, but a realist. Of course, he'’s almost always right. But those exceptions (most notably the Saturday afternoon Kordell Stewart and Michael Westbrook broke hearts all over the Great Lakes State) are enough to remind me that these things do happen. In response to Al Michaels'’ famous question from 1980, yes, I do believe in miracles. As Christians we have to answer yes.

But sports? Aren'’t we getting a tad too excited about them here? Galli says it better than I can: Â"what goes on between the foul lines or end zones is real, and that the symbolic participates in a deeper reality... sports are a dimension of play, and play an expression of Sabbath, an activity that cannot have any socially useful purpose lest it become just another bit of work. Play is a celebration of the seventh day of creation, an activity in which we live out the imago Dei and create our own bounded but free worlds. Play points back to the culmination of creation and forward to the time when all existence will be nothing but a Sabbath."

If, as Galli suggests, in sports we are reflecting our creator by creating our own worlds -– worlds with joy, grace, pain, miracles, and tragedy, just like our own world -– sports do matter. I love trying to view social issues through the lens of sports (which Galli argues is the direction most sportswriting is going), but we can also appreciate sports and the stories of sports on their own merit. It's popular in some circles to talk about God'’s relationship to this world in terms of a story. I love the idea (of course I do -– I'm an English major), and look for connections between our stories (in literature, film, life, and, of course, sport) and The Story. It'’s those connections that give the drama of sports so much value.

"the fringes of english usage"

One of the joys of being back in the US has been regular access to some quality National Public Radio programming. Today, on Talk of the Nation, Neal Conan hosted a segment with three language experts (Grant Barrett - a lexicographer, Geoffrey Pullum- a linguist, and Martha Barnette - co-host of a radio show on language). The particular focus of the conversation was the internet's impact on language, though they did a fairly poor job of staying on topic. Pullum came off as a bit of a snob, and he didn't do Barrett much credit in his response on LanguageLog. I think the best part of the conversation was when Barrett and Barnette touched on the passion people feel about language. Pullum misunderstood that Barrett's encouragement to one caller to "keep fighting" was simply his way of telling her not to stop caring about language. So I echo that admonishment to you, my faithful readers.

sport preoccupation

I know I've only been blogging about soccer lately, but I'm a firm believer that sport is a fascinating barometer for social trends (in addition to being a lot of fun). For example, on the New York Times World Cup blog they refer to a depressing story about how simply being a fan can be dangerous in some places. Some of my friends tell me I should stop wasting so much of my time following sports. Maybe they're right, but I know what I'll be doing tomorrow morning at 7:00 AM Pacific.

npr is the best

"Dutch Fans Go Pantless Over Beer Logos"

confounded and confused

Yesterday I got to worship at Sanctuary, the church my sister and brother-in-law attend. I've been there several times and I know a handful of people there. We were a little late getting there (I made my parents wait until halftime of the Australia-Brazil match before we could leave), but the service hadn't started. We parked across the street and as we walked over we heard a hearty yell. The pastor, Randy, called out, "Hey! You're not supposed to be here - you're supposed to be in Europe!" He greeted me with a warm hug, which was followed by another from the worship leader, Pete. We quickly found some seats as Randy greeted the congregation and Pete asked us to stand.

Then, in one of those "is this really happening" moments, I heard the first few chords of the opening song, and I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, shout for joy, or collapse out of sheer emotional exhaustion. It was a song written by my friend Ron that has a great deal of meaning for me. As I sang it lustily I was filled with gratitude (because I was once again worshipping with a community I knew and understood), sadness (because I miss the people I shared that sang with at Calvin), joy (because this song, of all they could have chosen, was the one that welcomed me back to the States), and many other emotions.

The song was a microcosm for the rest of the service. We did many things that seem as familiar to me as breathing, said words I've repeated countless times (Heidelberg Catechism Q&A 1!), and sang songs that are a part of me to my very core (Praise to the Lord the Almighty, God be merciful to me, I could sing of your love forever, even the doxology!). Yet, I hadn't had the chance to do any of those things in corporate worship in almost a year. Yes, my church in Budapest is wonderful and I'm not complaining about it. However, Sanctuary is part of the same tradition I am. It feels like home to me in a way that I don't think my little Scottish Presbyterian church ever will.

At church yesterday I was incredibly grateful for this sense of community and place, but the more I think about it the more I'm confused by it. Is this a good thing? Am I somehow reinforcing the division in the body of Christ by acknowledging these feelings? I want to go back and read M. Craig Barnes' Searching for Home again, because I think he gets at this idea. It's especially strange because I've been so frustrated at this very same tradition lately. Mary and the smart people who comment on her blog (she's smart too, incidentally) have had an interesting discussion of the issue, so I won't add to it. I will say, though, that despite many people from my denomination's inherently flawed approach to scripture I love this tradition of which I'm a part. Even though some of my brothers and sisters may find me more worthy of being a denominational leader simply because I have only one X chromosome, they are still my brothers and sisters. For better or worse they are my community, the group that defines home for me. Now the question is... which one is it? For better or worse?

monday morning... midfielder?

My World Cup addiction started in 1994. That was the year the world's best invaded the United States and everybody was talking about Thomas Brolin, Gheorghe Hagi, Hristo Stoitchkov, Romario, and Roberto Baggio. Or at least I imagine everybody was. You see I wasn't in the States in June of '94 - my family was taking advantage of my Dad's sabbatical by spending six months in Australia. While I was disappointed about missing the chance to go to a match, I couldn't really complain. I was in Australia, after all! My solution was to get up at 5:00 every morning to watch a match and a half before school every day. I fell for the passion of the Nigerians, the professionalism of the Swedes, the precision of the Dutch, and (of course) the underdog determination of the Americans. And the great matches... Italy v. Ireland, The US v. Brazil (an overtime match that my mom, bless her, let me skip school to finish watching) , Brazil v. Holland, Bulgaria v. Germany, and Brazil over Italy in the final.

It was all over for me - I was hooked. But while I was overseas for my formative world cup experience, this year was my first chance to enjoy the world cup while living in a real soccer crazy country. You can walk down the Vaci Utca in Budapest and literally not miss a minute of play because every cafe and restaurant has the match playing. Little coffee shops who look like they're barely scraping by suddenly have 64 inch plasma screens hanging up outside! Last week the Czechs embarassed the US, while I watched on a giant screen in the main square of Budapest with hundreds of other people. My students could talk about nothing else the next day.

I've just spent the morning watching Andrei Shevchenko remind the world he's one of the best in the world and can carry the Ukraine to the second round by himself if he has to. With all the color, pageantry, and excitment of the players and fans, it's the most exciting sporting event in the world (with apologies to March Madness). I can't wait for the knock out rounds!

reflections at 34,000 feet (or 10,363 meters)

[editor's note: this post was written on Friday, June 16]

I love flying. I know the seats are small, the food is bad, the company can be strange, and it’s terrible for the environment, but having twelve hours during which it’s literally impossible for me to be always doing something or always going somewhere isn’t such a bad thing. Lufthansa, whose fine service I’m enjoying, now has wireless internet on its flights (for a small fee), but I’m resisting the urge. In a few hours I’ll really want to know how the soccer is going, but even that can wait until I get to LA. I’m cut off from the world by 6 miles of air, and it’s finally given me the chance to reflect on a few things.

My music choice at the moment is “Hit the Road, Jack” by Ray Charles. There’s no better song for making an exit, and that’s what I’m doing. Yesterday I finished my first year at Kossuth Lajos Muszaki Kettannyelvu Szakkozepiskola (and that’s the first time I’ve gotten the entire name of the school down from memory!). I’ll be back next year, of course, but for now I’m heading back to the world of baseball games, good Mexican food, Mom’s home cooking, and English! I don’t know what I’m going to do when confronted with the reality that I can understand everybody around me and they can understand me right back.

I don’t know how I’ll respond to what some call reverse culture shock, and from what people tell me I won’t even be consistent in my response. The same grocery store that I love one day because I have so many choices might be debilitatingly overwhelming the next. So, for those of you who will see me soon, please have patience! But enough of that for now – I’m going home and I couldn’t be more excited.

The last few weeks have been overwhelming in their own right. You may have noticed that the frequency of posts on this site has dwindled. I remember teachers telling me they looked forward to the end of the school year as much as we students did. I never believed them, and I was right. Now I know teachers look forward to the end of the year even more than their students do! As a student I just had to worry about my own exams and final projects. Now I have to create fair evaluations that allow my students to demonstrate their abilities. Then I have to be as objective as I can in administering those tests and grading those assignments. And finally, because of the way the education system here works, I have to prove to my administration that my appraisals are fair and valid. Then multiply that process by 110 (the number of students I teach).

I hope this doesn’t sound too much like whining. Even though I’m thrilled all that stuff is finished I know my students deserve nothing less. They (or rather most of them) have worked hard all year and need to be able to demonstrate that. Of course, that’s why it kills me when a good student walks into an oral exam and gets flustered by the first curve ball we throw and falls apart. Suddenly he or she can’t even remember how to conjugate “to be” when yesterday she/he was tossing around conditional progressives like a pro. Amid all the end of the year evaluations I also got to pass out my summer reading assignments. Yes, next year I’ll get to teach American and British literature in addition to English language classes. One of the summer tasks I’m most looking forward to is creating the syllabi – any suggestions?

As I look back on the year I’m thankful for how well things have gone in the classroom. My students were almost always hard working and diligent, and I think they learned a lot. I haven’t read their course evaluations yet, but I think they liked me a bit too! We had a great turnout for our end of the year cook out, and I was reminded how much I enjoy just hanging out with these kids (even when they're positively schooling me at soccer). I couldn't ask for any better students for a first year of teaching. I think I'll probably be posting a bit more on the transition as I adjust. Only six hours until I land in LA - I wonder what I'll think!

some randomness

It's been a busy few weeks and I haven't posted in a while. It's hard to believe I'll be heading for the USA three weeks from tomorrow. Year one of my great Hungarian adventure flew by! I've been reading The Ragamuffin Gospel, by Brennan Manning, and he quotes Robert Capon saying this:

"The Reformation was a time when men went blind, staggering drunk because they had discovered, in the dusty basement of late medievalism, a whole cellarful of fifteen-hundred-year-old, two hundred proof grace - of bottle after bottle of pure distillate of Scripture, one sip of which would convince anyone that God saves us single-handedly. The word of the Gospel - after all those centuries of trying to lift yourself into heaven by worrying about the perfection of your bootstraps - suddenly turned out to be a flat announcement that the saved were home before they started... Grace has to be drunk straight: no water, no ice, and certainly no ginger ale; neither goodness, nor badness, nor the flowers that bloom in the spring of super spirituality could be allowed to enter into the case."

I liked the imagery.

Also, I recently codified my thoughts on chick flicks and a friend suggested I put them on my blog. There are eight requirements any romantic comedy must fulfill for me to judge it a good chick flick.

1) There must be something unique about the setting, concept, or idea of the film. Somebody can say "the film with the X" or "the one about an X" and know which movie you mean. For example, "the movie about the American movie star and the English bookshop guy" is obvious, but "the one about Cinderella" is not.

2) There has to be SOMETHING unpredictable in the movie. If I can tell you every major plot development after seeing the first five minutes of the film we're in trouble.

3) Dialogue, dialogue, dialogue! Chick flicks live and die by the realism and wittiness of their dialogue. If it's cheesy and trite they're awful, but snappy banter can save even a lukewarm plot.

4) It has to have realistic characters - none of those flat, one-sided, all-we-know-about-them-is-the-love-story characters, please. I want real people with real quirks and real emotional responses to real problems. I know realism isn't a hallmark of these films, and I'm not asking for every situation to be realistic (see number 1). However, given a few stretches for us to believe, the rest should be easy to accept. For example, when we believe that a rich businessman is willing to spend loads of money to hire one hooker for a whole week, it's not that difficult to imagine her slowly using the money to transform herself into a more refined woman.

5) It must have a good soundtrack. This is the most underrated part of a chick flick, but it's vital. These are movies about emotion and if the music doesn't set the right emotional tone you're sunk.

6) It has to have at least one pantheon-level repeatable line. There should be one that brings the film to mind whenever you hear it, regardless of context. In fact this is a good rule for almost all genres of movies.

7) They have to throw the guys a bone. It doesn't need to be something big, but few small "guy" moments in the film are must! Examples are the whole "Brooks Robinson is the greatest third baseman ever" subplot in Sleepless in Seattle, or the "Dirty Dozen" scene at the dinner table in that film (which I think is the single greatest guy moment in a chick flick).

and 8)... actually, I forget number 8. I'm sure it was something good. It's not a closed list - I take suggestions. Now you can decide for yourself if a chick flick passes the test. I've used a few of my favorites as examples (though I don't know if Pretty Woman is really a favorite of mine), but the archetypal chick flick is, and always will be, Casablanca.

crossing the abyss

I'm blessed to have a lot of really smart friends (see the links on my sidebar!). Another one has started a blog that I imagine will be some very interesting reading. She's just getting started, so welcome to the blogosphere, Jackie!

a trip to the embassy

Today I went to the US embassy for the first time, and it was an eye-opening experience. Let me first say, I was looking forward to this. I've seen enough spy movies with Americans diving into the embassy and safety at the last possible moment to be childishly excited by going there. As I walked in (through a massive security checkpoint where they took my computer for the duration of my visit) I imagined Matt Damon as Jason Bourne dodging through the building, trying to catch bad guys or something. I went to get some more pages put in my passport (it's full - how cool is that!) so I can go to the Belvedere Art Museum in Vienna in a couple weeks.

It was fairly busy, so I got to watch a few Hungarian people go through the security line in front of me. The guard was brusque and efficient with them, but when he heard my accent-less English he broke into a wide smile and started chatting amicably with me. He asked me where I was from, why I was in Budapest, and the other standard questions (as he took away my beloved laptop, probably to put some sort of spy tracking device in it...). It felt really good to be treated nicely.

In the waiting room they have a machine that gives you a number depending on which button you push. There were about two dozen people waiting, so I pressed the "US Citizen" button and settled into a comfy chair with my book (Open Heart by Frederick Buechner). Much to my surprise, I got to read all of about a paragraph before my number was called. When I got to the window I asked if there hadn't been some mistake. I was assured that all those people were Hungarians there to apply for visas, and I didn't have to wait for them. Again, it felt good to be kind of special, but also awkward.

I guess you can argue that, as an American, it's my embassy and I should be treated that way. However, that's the attitude of entitlement that really angers me about so many Americans. I wanted to say something - but how do you complain about something like that? So I leave it for you to decide for yourself. Maybe this is a symptom of a larger ideological problem. Or maybe I'm just overly sensitive.