When I was young I would go to the circus twice a day, everyday. It was very cheerful.

So today was an unbelievably random day.

I love sensible days, when it looks like rain and I grab my umbrella, and then use it. Days like that are fantastic. Especially with my umbrella, which is permanently borrowed from some unknown person. It's quite ridiculous, and that makes it awesome. It's black, and the inside is patterned with the ever-classy cartooned cosmetics (perfume, lipstick, mirrors, roses) the outside has a fluffy pink be-gloved hand spritzing some perfume into the air.

I love my students. You're probably saying, Janine, shut it, we know. I gush about them quite a bit. But today. Today, was special (and I'm not being sarcastic).

Let's start from the beginning. Because of my sunburn I've been sleeping funny, guh I'm an idiot. So when I woke up this morning, I was very confused. I did recognize the gray day, so I grabbed my umbrella and scooted out the door. My first lesson of the week is Monday mornings at 7:20 am, and it's always a bit hit or miss. They're great students, but sometimes I'm a questionable teacher.

But today we were on fire. We all had great weekends and lovely stories to tell. Then we began an in depth discussion of being economical with the truth. Which turned into the classic "lie of omission". The big one, was Jezisek. Jezisek (for you non-Czechs) is the Czech holiday gift-giver. Much like Santa Claus, he is believed in by children as the bestower of awesome Christmas goodness, until eventually you realize that it's acutally your parents and you realize that sometimes adults lie . . . the lie of omission or a white lie.

I got to thinking about when I realized about Santa Claus, and there was no big epiphany, or tragically scarring moment when I realized I couldn't trust my parents. I just began to understand, and I ask you, is this our fall from grace, our loss of innocence . . . ohhh I'm deep. Kidding.

But back to my awesome students. The title of today's blog comes from a gentleman who decided to play teacher today, and wrote an English word on the board that I did not know "weir"

1. a small dam in a river or stream.
2. a fence, as of brush or narrow boards, or a net set in a stream, channel, etc., for catching fish.

Later, we were playing the "liar" game, wherein each person writes an even number of sentences, half true and half false. The group then asks questions to convince the writer that all the sentences were true. I like to start out with "I'm fluent in Hawai'ian." This gentleman, however, chose "When I was young I would go to the circus twice a day everyday." And when we, was a class, erupted in laughter, he responded "It was very cheerful". His favorite act, the tightrope walkers.

Not sure why that was so funny, it just added to the strangeness of my day, which included reading a morbid Jack London short story (The Law of Life), being convinced to teach (after the lesson) one of my students words you wouldn't say in front of your grandmother, having cars drive through puddles and get me and my pants soaking wet, admiring my ridiculous sunburn, sitting under a bug-infested tree and remembering that today, is only monday.

Yeah, like I said, random.

Thus concludes the blog-stravaganza . . . I made up for lost time with these, now didn't I?

Konopiste and Folkovy Kvitek

I think as humans, we strive to not be average. I think it's important to a lot of people to be good at one thing, even if it's something quite some and insignificant, or something one might not be too proud of having a talent in.

For example, there was a time when I was great at French (then I tried it again in College). A time when I was quite skilled at the piano (then I heard other people play). A time when I had fantastic ability to negotiate in Human Rights courses, write last minute Music History papers and sing the heck out of an aria . . . but alas, that was college. I can type fast, though I make lots of mistakes. I was great at customer service, and then I got Lyme disease and also realized customer service makes you hate yourself. I was never very good at working at the bank.

I've come to realize that my highest talents lie in the less traditional skill sets. For example, I can fall down and do "almost no" to "quite ouchy" damage to myself. I can drop things, I'm fantastic at sleeping in and being the opposit of a morning person, I'm great at running into the wall. Oh and for some uncanny reason, I can sunburn like it's nobody's business.

This past weekend was another lovely one, weather-wise, in Prague. It rained a bit on Friday, so I went to see Star Trek (umm, Czech movie theaters are complicated!). And Saturday Marcela, Kate and I headed to Konopiste (near Benesov) to see a folk music festival called "Folkovy Kvitek" which means "folk blossom" according to an online dictionary.

The festival was on the grounds of a castle called Konopiste. It has been around since the 13th century, and was converted to its' current style by Archduke Franz Ferdinand. That's right, Archduke "I'm going go get myself assassinated in Sarajevo by the Black Hand and start World War I" Franz Ferdinand. It's now a museum, and though we didn't go inside, the outside is beautiful, has a bear in the moat (actually so do lots of Czech castles and my googling wouldn't tell me why) and some killer peacocks.

After we explored the castle we grabbed some bench space and sat down to enjoy some great Czech Folk music. Now this wasn't traditional Bohemian or Slavic Folk music, but folk, country, bluegrass etc. It was lovely! Very few songs were sung in English, but that's alright because we were able sing along to the melodies of some familiar songs (like The Rose) and hear some others that were really familiar but we couldn't quite figure out. The musicians were amazing, and there was a contest for kids, the 12 finalists played.

The festival provided me with ample time to pick up on a few Czech words that I know; and another thing I'm excellent at, people-watching.

Later, when Kate and I decided to head home, (Marcela, the awesome lady, stayed until 2 am!) we took a 2-3 km jaunt through the countryside (complete with fields of yellow flowers, not dandelions) and enjoyed a nice train ride home with a lovely view of Bohemia.

The sunburn comes into play with the deceptively scorching May rays, and me not taking Marcela's advice and using some of her sunscreen. Now I have raccoon eyes and some extremely strange tan lines on my back . . . like I said, I've got skills!

Check out these pictures and tons more that I just posted on my picas page, linked over there ----->

Gosh I'm a dork.

You're making a camel out of a mosquito

I absolutely love idioms. Because they're fun. Because they're amusing. Because they make no sense. Because they give me an excuse to show Monty Python's Dead Parrot sketch, a scene from Patch Adams and assorted scenes from my mother's and my guilty pleasure favorite NCIS (check out Ziva idioms, they're hilarious).

I have a few awesomely fantastic advanced student that are translators that do mostly scientific and legal translation work. So they want some general conversational English; cause, you know, legalese isn't really conducive to chit chat. Because conversational English all over the world consists of so much slang and idiomatic phrases, we thought this would be a fun, and entertaining place to start.

One of the students, in our first lesson, mentioned that she thought English was a logical language, to which I replied "wtf?". But she went on to conclude that the tenses, grammar and its usages made good solid sense. This hearkened me back to my French I and II classes, when conjugating verbs was like putting together a puzzle, before all that irregular mumbo-jumbo. She recently noted that idioms make things slightly less logical.

We recently covered proverbs, and I learned this gem "You're making a camel out of a mosquito" which is the Czech equivalent of "You're making a mountain out of a molehill". And in one of those awesome and insane moments, things from my work life, crossed over, directly, into my personal life.

You see, last Sunday evening I scheduled myself for some much needed "skype" dates with my parents and my good friend DRJ (whose blog is linked).

I had the window open to create a lovely breeze in the room. One of my "beefs" with Czech apartments is the lack of screens on the windows, meaning that a window left open lets in all sorts of things, beyond a breeze.

Not sure if many of you know this, but I have a thing . . . about bugs. Spiders, and the way they move, give me the creeps. Mosquitoes (aka Minnesota's second state bird) make me want to claw my eyes out. Ticks . . . well they give you Lyme Disease. Flys, well, they're just gross. I've blogged about them before (that's right, this girl's been out in the blogo-sphere hitting up the interwebs.)

Not sure when or how it started, maybe the neighbor boys threatening me with worms in the hair on rainy mornings at the bus stop. Maybe I had a tragic bug swallowing experience that I have since repressed due to trauma. Maybe watching Arachnaphobia with my Dad (bad move on his part . . . kidding!). Maybe it was going to camp for a week and my brothers hiding extremely detailed and life-like rubber bugs EVERYWHERE in my bedroom, like a terrifying welcome-home present. Regardless, whatever the reason, bugs and I, we do not get a long.

As past house-mates know, I generally shy away from shuffling rodents and insects off the mortal coil unless I actually have to, I leave that to the more manly or more logical and rational (ie Miss Madeline and not DRJ) people. Like recently the large spider that just "appeared" in the corner of my bedroom late one evening. I nearly died of fear, and allowed my lovely and awesome flatmate to bludgeon it to death with a nice black shoe.

On this specific Sunday I was not plagued by spiders, but rather insects of the mosquito-like flying variety. They came into my room, and stayed. Hanging out in high corners and flying around and around and around and around. At first, during my conversation with my parents, I thought they would leave. But they didn't. The bugs (we'll call them Pavel and Martin) decided they enjoyed the minimalist interior decorating that is Chez Janine, and wanted to stay.

Conversation with Mom and Dad ended, and I called DRJ on skype (which including an amusing moment where our internet freaked out and began skipping as he was mid-word, and didn't stop until I took the battery out). I tried to stay calm, but the bugs were still bothering me.

Nearly 3/4s of the way through our chat, I had had enough. I stood, placed my laptop on my dresser, turned up the volume and began to circle my room on the hunt. I was armed with only a flip-flop sandal, the dry sarcasm and schadenfreude of my skype-friend, and my wits. Needless to say it was an epic battle . . . but flip-flop willed out.

Eventually Martin (the little one) settled on a spot high above my desk. With some quick thinking I launched my flip-flop against the wall, effectively killing him dead as a doornail and adding some new shoe shaped art to my otherwise blank wall.

Later, Pavel, the pesky large one, proved to be more of a problem. After hours (probably twenty minutes) of circling, I felt I had exhausted my efforts. I tried waving him towards the window, turning off the lights, changing the lighting situation to see if he'd be attracted to something away from the ceiling. But nothing worked. I followed him around and around, as he flitted from corner to corner and wall to wall.

By this point, Pavel was exhausted and my neck was sore from constantly looking "up" at the ceiling. In a rare moment of luck for me Pavel took off from the wall, and headed right towards me. I'm guessing he was living on borrowed time and tired of keeping body and soul together, he knew the end was nigh. I like to thing he wanted to give me some satisfaction in his last moments (or he really was a vicious bug and wanted to kill me or something). Finally, with some dive-bombing (on Pavel's part) thwacking and flailing (on my part), Pavel dropped like the flying bug that he was, and died on my wall.

I like to think Pavel and Martin died good and heroic deaths fighting for dominance in a world ruled by humans terrified of something 1:1 trillionth (I made that up) of their size.

Now, though I sat under this tree today in the square and I feel like their are bugs crawling all over me . . . I think Pavel and Martin may be exacting their revenge.

Some assorted miscellany

Prague Spring . . . is exquisite.

But first, there are some random and strange things I wanted to mention.

Like, you see the strangest things while waiting to catch a bus from a train station. There is this couple, and they look like a bunch of complete hicks, straight out of South Dakota, USA or something. The man wears a cowboy hat with a giant raccoon tail hanging off the back and is a huge fan of those leather-string ties that my Grandpa adored (so that always makes me smile). He and his wife also rock cowboy boots, plaid shirts and general hick-ness that you can see but can't quite describe.

Also in view of these Czech hicks was a fuchsia Ford Fiesta (the European fraternal twin of the Escort) with a giant United States Marine Corps sitcker stuck to the driver's side door . . . I'm like bwuh?

Oh and around the corner from that was a small shop with a large American Confederate flag flying above the entrance.

I have more of these little gems for your reading pleasure.

Do you have any mustard?

I stink, I'm horrible, you should hate me . . . for reals. It's been weeks. If any of you are still out there, and have given up hope, I apologize. Go read Jenny's blog about her fascinating experiences in China (she's much better than me!) or try to navigate you way through the awesomeness that is George's blog (though it is in Czech so a few of you may have a problem with that). Or for something completely different, read Durge's blog about his insane experiences in Seminary or JD's blog, which I have recently linked-to, about his life and awesomeness in Australia.

But I got to thinking about my blog and how stinky I am and how long it's been. And feeling guilty or something. So I've decided to do a literal posting extravaganza. If only because I want to try (in some way) to keep a record of these experiences . . . maybe even just for me. Anywho . . . this could be long.

Kate and I were discussing, over a fantastic pitcher of sangria, blogging last night. And we both agreed that it's hard to write about work and life, because things are starting to be day to day. The experiences are nothing new or special . . . But to counteract that, we both have moments where we stop and think "what the hell, I'm in Prague" and that's pretty awesome. Not that I'm more awesome than you, person not in Prague reading my blog, but just a little. It's like, I was in Dresden doing Visa related things (more about that later) and I turned to my travel and getting a Visa buddy Jessica and said: "How weird is it that we're sitting in a courtyard outside the Czech embassy in Dresden?" And she said "It's crazy, let's take a picture of you sitting in Dresden, worrying about your visa". It's not something I ever really saw myself doing, but here I am.

So first thing's first. The jobby-job. At the beginning of February, just after I finished at OxfordTEFL I interviewed at a few language schools and was lucky enough to quickly find a job at Channel Crossings though it's all in Czech so, whatever. I'm probably biased, but I think it's a pretty great school. I teach mainly General and a little smattering of Business English. I have individual, pairs and larger groups of students.

I love teaching and I love the variety and I adore my students. They're a diverse group.

The 8 year-old girl who loves the movie Mamma Mia! and got really excited when I was humming the melody to "Take a Chance on Me". She can't really sit still, is a little spoiled, has a picture of Hannah Montana as her screensaver on her cell phone, loves it when she wins Memory (in Czech: Pexeso) and gets annoyed when I don't let her do the awesome word-search aspect of the worksheet first.

The early 60s gentleman who works as a Judge of some kind who, when asked at 7:20 on Monday morning, is always either satisfied or unsatisfied with the events of his weekend, usually because of football.

His co-hort is one of my favorite students, a Librarian (with something complicated between a Master's and PhD) who is shy until she starts laughing and then it's my favorite thing ever.

I have two girls who take lessons together, who have none each other forever, and who are generally awesome. They think I'm funny (looking, haha) and love it when we do episodes bast on TV shows.

I have a few conversation lessons which have been all about idioms recently, and one of my students loved the phrase "He fell out of the ugly tree as a child and hit all the branches on the way down" or some variation thereof.

They're fascinating people, and I think I learn so much in my lessons, from my students (gosh, does that make me sound cheesy? Yes, Janine, it does) and about myself. There's a natural language barrier, which can be frustrating and intimidating at times, but also just fun to listen to (I like the sound of Czech, there's something very beautiful about it). Off topic.

But I work all over the city. One student is taught at their flat in a part of town filled with beautiful old houses, most likely occupied by the upper-middle class 100 years ago. Now they're a bit like the homes near and around Summit Avenue in St. Paul, mainly converted to apartments. Another pair works in an area of the city called Vinohrady. Home to quite a few Expats (not me). It's a beautiful and seemingly quieter are of town (also, apparently considered rather bourgeois) that was once covered with vineyards. Elsewhere, I teach in a building called Nile House, which is so modern and snazzy I'm not sure that it fits in anywhere. It's right next to a building called The Danube (or Danube House, not sure) . . . hmm.

I also teach at TV Nova a semi-popular Czech TV station. It's in an area called Barrandov, which is essentially like the Czech Hollywood, or the really the anti-Hollywood. If you search it on IMDb.com you'll find a whole plethora of movies that were filmed there. I don't teach Czech TV stars, but they're great people. And I did get to go into a building where they used to animation in the 70s, and there were tons of original drawings all over the walls, like a Kindergarten. It's days like this I wish I had a camera phone.

But my students area all fascinating. They've got "spunk" if you will. They poke fun at me and my own self-deprecation. Specifically my inability to draw, which would be a useful skill, my recent and painful spelling issues, my clumsiness (I like to toss white board markers up in the air but then they fall down). They answer questions sarcastically and hate when I sit and wait for them to answer a question (relish the silence). They love and hate talking about themselves and become embarassed-ly amused when I force them to "really enunciate" and exaggerate intonation like "Really! No! Are you serious?" (just think obnoxiously and fake-ly enthusiastic).

One of my favorite moments has been leaving things written on the easel pad (some don't have white boards, but rather large pads of paper). For example, at TV Nova, we were practicing intonation in one of the intimidatingly awesome glass-walled conference rooms. To demonstrate this we often draw lines above the sentence to dictate the rise and fall of the pitch. One question my students and I left up was "Do you have any mustard?" A week or so later we go the response "Yes we do."

Gosh, how boring and picture-less. This post has been a long time coming . . . but there you go. More to follow.

Your name is Rio but I don't care for sand

So remember that time I promised to blog a whole bunch? And remember that time that I didn't?

Yeah, I stink.

So I promised last time to write about some more of the course an my days as "tourist" girl. So here goes.

The thing about Prague, is that it has quite the reputation for its' nightlife. Seriously, it's where all the cool (and not so cool) kids come to party. And despite the social butterfly status I like to think I maintained whilst at college, I'm currently moonlighting as a 65 year-old woman, have been for the past year or so. But there was something about the blend of people on my course that inspired us all to, literally, stay out till the sun came up. And despite being on the young end of our small-group spectrum, I tended to be one of the first in bed, at home a-snoring. So my nights ending in sunrise were quite rare, but I was still a night owl (just a responsible one, I promise).

See bar close in Prague is . . . well, that's kind of a hazy detail. Some kick you out at midnight, some at 4:00 am, some . . . we're not sure if they kick you out or close around you, and some just stay open forever . . . literally.

We had a handful of places we chose to imbibe in. There was the Konvikt (which is home to George and the whole fantastic group of people and just lovely), The Bulldog (they kick you out somewhere around 12:00), The Sherlock (again, hazy on the closing time), The Vagon (which means wagon en Espagnol), and of course, Futurum.

The last two weekends of the course we all decided we had night fever courtesy of the BeeGees and spent our time literally, dancing like fiends. Futurum is the Czech sister of Lucerna, a very large club near Wenceslas Square. The difference between the two being Futurum was roughly 3 blocks from our flat and also no skeezy English boys, unless we invited them, of course.

It's dominated mainly by Czechs, but the music is fantastic. I mean they played ABBA at least once a night (and that makes things good). They have 70s-80s-90s night with classics like MIB, Barbie Girl, anything by The Venga Boys, a 70s German disco sensation called Ra-Ra Rasputin (by a band called Boney-M, and they were on drugs, fo shiz).

And then of course . . . who can spend time in a European disco (or any disco for that matter) without hearing the fantastically well-composed and written Dragostea Din Tei. For those of you that don't speak Romanian, it means love under the linden tree. And for those of you that don't have a clue what I'm talking about, it's numa numa. I actually got to watch the video, which was 3 guys standing on a plane wing wearing large silky shirts and dancing in a slightly strange manner. Oh and if you don't know what numa numa is . . . just go on youtube.

Very few songs can bring me back to my misspent youth like "Barbie Girl", except maybe some Shakira or "Call on me". But the dancing and ridiculousness was fantastic . . . and made for some exciting weekends.

We also spent some time at the Vagon, which was literally around the corner from Oxford. It's more of a rock-pop club, and they have life music till midnight. We saw a killer Janis Joplin cover band (the lead singer was attempting to recreate full Janis affect with her alcohol intake). Another time we saw a group of 15+ Czech gentlemen, in full rockin' beards, reading something (not a one of us spoke Czech so we're a little unsure of the point) in unison. I also once left my TP Log (basically everything important for the course) hanging out on a table next to empty beer glasses and a full ashtray . . . talk about Professional Awareness and Development.

Lately I've been enjoying the Gambrinus and rugby matches at Fat Boys a pub near Old Town Square. It's full of lots of yelling rugby fans and my very quiet and very serious rugby fan flatmate. Near that is The Chapeau Rouge . . . yeah.

But the thing about Prague nightlife, is it's hidden in in its own way. In such a contrast to Minneapolis (where when you walk down first ave, you are spat upon by "ladies" heading to the club) in some parts of Prague, you have to search it out. For example, I walked past Futurum multiple times on my way to Tesco, but it's in the basement of an old theater, so I had no clue it would be there. That's not to say the clubs are all underground or you have to be apart of some special group (seriously, this is me) to participate. It's just, (as Kate & I were discussing) often quite literally below street level. The Vagon is under the local KFC. And that's kind of fantastic, and interesting.

There was a day, after a long evening out, that we decided to play tourist. We wandered down through an area called Kampa, which is an island that was submerged in a flood in the last decade. (My new photo up above is from this day and this area). Then to the base of the bridge, up the stairs and across the Vltava to Old Town Square to check the clock and other shopping moments. The amusing part of the day was the "hungover" part. Amusing because I busted out my good camera to take some scenery photos (for Chanida & others) but I kept my sunglasses on because the clouds were toooo bright. Needless to say, almost all of the pictures I took that day were just a twee bit over exposed.

There was this man in a square just off of Old Town, playing what I later deduced to be a hurdygurdy. And if you've never heard one, it's hauntingly beautiful. But he was aged and bearded and smiling and singing old Czech folk songs in an eerie voice for all to enjoy. I stood as long as I could and took as many pictures as I felt comfortable with. But I was on YouTube and I found this.





That's him. I didn't take the video.

One of my favorite parts of Prague is the Charles Bridge (and yes it's tourism central) but I like it for the people watching, and for the memories. Images of myself, T & K walking across and taking photo after photo of the Organ/Monkey Grinder man who's still there. Or walking arm and arm through the bitter and painful cold with choir boys and best friends and some of my favorite moments imprinted in permanence.

But there is a venerability to that piece of architecture, and yes I do mean venerability. It has known, and knows and will forever know the stories told upon its stones. The changing of seasons weathering its cobbles and statues. The rhythm of cartwheels and horse hooves and footstep after thousand of footsteps.

I think, there is something whimsical and yet weighty to think of the yarns those weathered pieces of rock could spin, and the secrets it will eternally keep.

Check out my Picasa page (linked to the right) for some of my photos. More on the job status later . . .

Peace out . . . no seriously.

Now young lady, what did you learn in school today?

So, I've been a little lax on the whole "blogging" thing, and for that, I sincerely apologize. I'm taking a page from Jenny's book, and updating you on the goings-on. (BTW for a witty and amusing look at train-travel across Siberia and all that entails, check out Slow Train to China which is, Jenny's blog.)

Lots and lots and looots has happened since I last posted about my changing taste buds (or tast, come on people, correct me when I can't spell the most basic words). So we'll start from the beginning. Actually no, I'll try to give dates and such, or not.

So firstly, I want to mention, that with great sadness, I mourn the loss of my jaunty cap. I am quite sad to say that it became lost in the ether on my way to work one day (more on that later.) I do recall removing the hat from my over-stuffed coat pocket, but I have no recollection of placing said hat upon my head to keep my earsies warm. And this hat was quite lovely indeed. It was black, almost like a beret, but not quite. It was cozy and covered my ears nicely and made me look quite Parisian. Though that Parisian-ness was lost if your eyes were to gaze upon my "Swedish Cheeks" (because I'm Swedish) and because my cheeks turn bright pink in the cold Prague day. Needless to say, I am quite upset, and had to resort to "the babushka" a few times recently, because my floppy earlobes couldn't handle the cold. There is only one teensy, weensy bit of photographic evidence of said hat.
And to express how genuinely upset I was at the loss of the hat, I will tell you that I downloaded above photo off of a friends facebook and edited it for size and clarity. Cause seriously folks, I'm upset.

Yet, beyond the loss of my silly hat, I'm actually quite happy. And you'll be shocked to find, that I am quite surprised at my current level of contented-ness. Well, surprised isn't the right word, more, startled. I didn't think things would workout for me quite this quickly, and that's something really fantastic. I was very sad that many of my new friends from the course would be leaving. But then again, they were off to have their own adventures, and we all need that from time to time.

So I have a calendar in my hands, and I know how to use it. Well, kind of. I already told you about Bratislava and its wonders. So I'd like to talk a bit about the course, and next time (soon, I promise) I'll talk a bit about my current life in Prague.

And now, for your reading pleasure . . . a list! (because I do love them so).

1. Children are really easily amused, and yet . . . not so much. A puppet can captivate, a song enthrall, and markers wreak havoc.

2. In my metaphor for life I stomp on my small problems to hear them crack (the sound of a twig breaking). I fully examine and climb over my big problems, usually resulting in some damage (like climbing over a fallen tree). I am apparently conservative (to which I replied "NO!" because I chose the right hand direction in the woods). I hide from encounters with the opposite sex, explaining my shyness with men (like an encounter with a bear). And lastly, my death will be un-pretty and involve taunting. Seriously.

3. Phonology is actually really fun (no, seriously, I wish I had worked harder on my IPA in college).

4. Conditionals are a fantastic way of talking about desperation in a relationship: "If you leave me I don't know how I will survive."

5. If you allow your students to write your horoscope, they will predict some quite amusing things: You will meet an old friend (In Prague, where my definition of old friend would be . . . huh?). You will meet a man, you will fall in love, you will get married. Sweet!

6. Nesmysl means nonsense in Czech.

7. Irish (Irish Gaelic) is way cool.

8. We all have Multiple Intelligences, In a score out of 20 I ranked
Musical: 20 (uh, duh)
Linguistic: 17 (but shouldn't I be a better writer?)
Interpersonal: 17 (which means I know how to deal well with others)
Visual-Spatial: 14 (which maybe means I can draw, but I can't, so maybe take pictures, or organize a room?)
Kinaesthetic: 10 (are we suprised?
Intrapersonal: 9 (I deal fine with others, just not with myself)
Logical-Mathematical: 7 (I think Mr. Butler, my Senior Year Math Teacher said it best, "Janine, how come you're not as good at math as your younger brother?)

9. And to finish . . . an amusing stole quote from part of a practice test, that is apparently stolen from an e-mail forward.

"His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a tumble dryer."
(the test was about verb forms).

And in addressing my apparent lack of self-awareness, I would like to quote Michael Scott (the Office): "I can't really explain it. He's always up in my business. Which is ebonics for being in my face and annoying the bejesus out of me. I don't understand how someone could have so little self awareness."

And yet, after the silly self-awareness tests, and counting the number of smiley faces I received in my feedback sheet, and trying to figure out if the look on my tutors' faces as I taught was out of disgust, confusion or just indigestion . . . I'm done. And I'm not just done. I'm done and I'm teaching, I have a job, I am teacher. And while forever and ever, I thought teaching was "not the thing for me". I distinctly recall Dr. B laughing at the very notion of my teaching. Here I am.

And this course, while full of the necessary teacher jargon, and silly feedback, and what will I work on next time; and the days when I felt so discouraged I was beyond recognition, and allowed my horrid mood to show through to the students, and nearly cried in front of the class . . . I made it. And I like to think, that in some way, I'm at least a decent enough teacher to have a job. And that maybe the students walk away with more understanding. (and granted, my teaching English across the world says a lot about globalisation but that's for another time). And sometimes they laugh at me, and sometimes I laugh at them, and it's good. Really good.

So I'm happy. And done with course.



Next time on Janine's blogging extravaganza . . . Magel dances multiple nights away, plays hungover tourist and gets herself a jobby-job.