In which the author carves out residence

I am back in North Dakota and installed in my brother’s basement, where I am functioning, at his request, as “more of a resident than a guest.” This means I buy my own toilet paper.

I’ve been back 12 days now, and have not experienced the fearsome Reverse Culture Shock that I was thoroughly prepped for upon my leaving Prague. This is disappointing, as I was planning on blaming this malady for all my eccentric behavior. Now I’ve got no excuse. Perhaps because I didn’t experience any Culture Shock when I got to Prague, I’m left with nothing to reverse.

“Shock” seems to denote “surprise,” and being absent for two years from a place I’ve lived 25 years was not quite enough time for me to forget what the first place was like. Nothing in North Dakota has taken me by surprise, except for the excess of water. 😦

It’s still the quietly friendly place I remember. Unfortunately, all my stuff is still packed away in boxes at my parents’ and I don’t have a job and I’m living in a basement, but none of that was surprising.

While none of those things are bothering me (yet), they do make for some repetitious conversation. I would say 94% of all my conversations since returning home have followed these lines:

Person: Oh! You’re the one who was over there teaching in Czechoslovakia!

Me: Yes! (sort of)

How long were you there?

A couple of years.

Wow! So what are you doing now?

I’m living in my brother’s basement.

Have you got a teaching job lined up for the fall, then?

No, there aren’t many elementary openings in the area, so I’ll just look for a regular-type job here shortly.

Oh, I see. Well, my aunt/cousin/daughter-in-law got on the sub list and she subbed for two/four/sixteen years and she finally got in to the system there! So maybe you could look into that!

Yes, that’s always an option.

Well, I’m sure your parents are real glad to have you back.

I think they are!

*Pause*

*Repeat*

Sort of makes me feel like I need to hurry up and get a job. I do not, however, easily succumb to peer pressure so I think I can remain in the ranks of the unemployed for another month. Blaming it, of course, on reverse culture shock.

What I have done since I’ve been back is to read The Elements of Style by William Strunk, Jr. It is, according the back cover, “the most trusted writer’s guide to American English.” And it has paralyzed me almost to the point of aphasia. If I do manage to pound out a semi-legible thought, I am seized by the compulsory desire to recast it. Because, as Strunk so blithely put it, “The interposed phrase or clause needlessly interrupts the natural order of the main clause. Usually, however, this objection does not hold when the order is interrupted only by a relative clause or by an expression in apposition, etc.”

When I’m not feverishly recasting my sentences so the appositive clauses interpose the antecedent gerunds, I’m worrying about comma placement. I used to think I had a good handle on comma placement. This is not so. Now that Strunk has informed me of this, I am so paranoid about commas that I think I’ll just start using semi-colons instead!

If I could summarize Strunk’s main points, they would be:

1) Commas–Use, ’em.

2) Conciseness–Don’t go on and on about something and use a lot of words or trite phrases to say something that could be said, in short, in a couple of words or well-chosen bullet points. That is to say, more words about something doesn’t actually mean that your reader is going to understand it better. Or, to put it another way, writing a lot of words can actually muddle your meaning, rather than make it clearer. Strunk just hates this sort of thing.

3) Cause–If you’ve got something to write about, then explain it clearly and concretely and be done with it. If you are simply seized with the compunction to blather a bit out of boredom, then go eat a doughnut or something. I feel Strunk would not approve of Dave Barry. (But I do!)

I think length requirements on college papers have created a culture of blatherers. I know I got pretty good at stretching a single idea into a robust paragraph without adding any more actual information. I’m still pretty good at that. (As is evidenced by the entire contents of the RPD Blotter. What is my cause in writing this particular entry? Nuthin’. I’m just putting off revising my resume. Dang reverse culture shock.) I also recall producing some first-class drivel when it was my turn to write the editorial column at the Red & Green, our college newspaper. I didn’t actually have anything to say, but there was this 30-column-inch space reserved for whatever thoughts happened to be bouncing around in the ol’ noggin that week. After reading some recent editorials in other publications, I don’t think I’m the only newspaperperson to have had this problem.

That’s pretty much what I got out of it. That, and a recasting headache.

—————————————————————————

As I said earlier, the water in ND has risen to historic levels. The city where I attended university is badly flooded and the city where I am now also flooded, but not as badly. For the first time ever, they had to open the gates of Garrison Dam to let some of the water out of Lake Sacagawea. The extra water coursing down the river channel caused the flooding in the second city. Here’s the water coming out of the dam. I tried posting some Never! Before! Seen! Footage! but I can’t figure out how to upload videos on this site. Just imagine this with more noise.

 

A poem: not by me (Which means you might actually want to read it!)

I leave tomorrow in the AM for North Dakota. I’m flying standby courtesy of my uncle! He works for an airline, so he gets these buddy passes that allow his closest and dearest relatives (hee hee) to fly very affordably, as long as there’s an open seat. He recently assisted his niece on the other side in going to Spain. In honor of this she composed this most excellent poem.

May I present, for your reading pleasure:

Ode to the Buddy Pass

By S. Carlson (that’s a pretty common name, so I don’t feel like I am subjecting her to any weird stalkers, even though I’m sure there will be many after this poem hits the web)

 

O, buddy pass, my loyal pal,

Most faithful of all friends–

When I’m with you, my wallet smiles;

On you my trip depends.

Perhaps a time or two you thought,

“Today I shall just see

If she’ll survive a bump or two

Or maybe even three–”

But, Buddy Pass, of this I’m sure:

You do not smile with glee

When all those flights have come and gone

And left behind just me.

Nor do I think that you find joy,

When you choose me a seat

Not by the handsome Welsh man, no–

By the one who smells like feet!

You are not amply joyous

If I sleep on airport floor–

Or eat nutritious supper straight

From the vending machine door.

You don’t delight in failed plans,

But surely you do know

that inconvenience means adventure–

Ol’ Chesterson says so.

You help me build my character,

You help to save me money.

You give me seats in Business Class–

O, Buddy Pass, my honey!

Today, for you, I sing this sone

Of love and loyalty:

You are my dear,

You are the only Delta pass for me!

 

Spine-Tingling Tales of Grammatical Unrest

This month, I have been waging war on the phrase “me and my dad” (or derivatives thereof). I wish to rid this pronoun misuse from everyday fourth grade conversation.

The battle proceeds in the following fashion:

Miss C: How was your weekend?

Student: Well, me and my baby sister…

Miss C: My baby sister and I…

Student: Yeah! Me and my baby sister ate…

Miss C: My baby sister and I…

Student: Huh?

Miss C: You want to say, “My baby sister and I.” You and your baby sister are the compound subject, so you need to use a subject pronoun to replace yourself. “Me” is an object pronoun. So you want to say, “My baby sister and I.”

Student: She’s not your baby sister.

Miss C: *sigh*

Yup. But it’s getting better. I think they are mostly convinced that they should use “I” at the beginning of sentences and “me” in the predicate. This is not to say they consistently do, but they’re at least aware of it, and I’ve seen some self-correction. They are less enthusiastic at following the other subject/object pronoun distinctions.

Sentences like this cause them to make faces: “The policeman and they talked for an hour.” or “The librarian and we searched for a good book.”

“That sounds funny!” they say indignantly.

“That’s because you’ve said it and heard it incorrectly for so long that you don’t recognize the correct form,” I explain patiently. Then we review the finger rule wherein one finger covers up the first part of the compound subject and you read the remaining part to see if the pronoun makes sense.

In the last sentence, you’d cover up, “The librarian and,” and read, “____ searched for a good book.” The correct pronoun is clearly “we.” “Us” did not search for a good book.

It took some time, but they have grudgingly accepted the fact that I, you, he, she, it, we, and they are the only pronouns you may use in the subject, and me, you, him, her, it, us, and them must be used only in the object. There has, for the last week or so, been an uneasy grammatical truce in our classroom. They fill in their workbook pages correctly, but not without saying, for the record, “It just doesn’t sound right.” Their heads are convinced, but their hearts are not.

But the other day all their suppressed fourth grade grammatical angst rose to the surface in open protest. It happened when I tried to introduce the generally benign pronoun “whom.”

They absolutely balked.

This final assault on their 10-year grasp of the English language was not to be borne.

Whom?? Miss C, are you kidding?? We know that this word is strictly reserved for the King James Version of the Bible and has not one iota of bearing on our conversation or writing. This word is an affront to everything natural and right in the English language.

“Who is a subject pronoun. Whom is an object pronoun,” I read from our Easy Grammar book. “Do not end a sentence with to, for, with, or at. Use whom after to, for, with, or at.”

They stared at me in disbelief–as though I was speaking French, or had grown another head. Their frowns deepened and several in the back shook their heads in serious disapproval.

I read a few sample sentences: “For whom is that gift?” “With whom will you stay?” Noses wrinkled and a murmur of displeasure rumbled through the classroom. As I was reading, I could hear several quiet voices inserting the prepositions at the end of the sentences anyway.

Miss C: At whom was the dodgeball thrown?

Kid: (quietly) at

Miss C: With whom are we going to the zoo?

Kid: (quietly) with

Finally, a girl in the front row moved her head side to side in a classic “whatever” and said, “Uh, uh, uh, Miss C. I will NEVER say that. My family does NOT talk like that! I don’t care if it’s wrong.”

My other girl’s voice rose in assent, “It sounds too fancy.” The boys voiced their agreement or nodded vigorously.

It was outright grammatical mutiny.

The only ones who didn’t seem to be phased were my two Polish boys and my South Korean. They just chalked it up as one more mystery of the English language.

Perhaps I will just cut my losses and drop it, being content with “My sister and I ate pancakes for breakfast.” But…I may dare to ask, “For whom were those pancakes made?”

And then I’ll quickly run away, to avoid 10 Easy Grammar books being chucked at my head.

 

Which contains details of Miss C’s final travels

Last weekend, I braved the rain and the onset of a cold (or Lyme’s disease…who can say…) to view, with me own eyes, the epicness that is The Slav Epic.

What’s this? You are not familiar with this series of 20 massive canvases depicting turning points in Slavic history painted over the course of 16 years by world-famous Czech artist, Alfons Mucha?

No worries. Neither was I a mere two years ago.

I read about them in my guidebook last year and wanted to see them, but never got to it, and it’d been on my list all of this year, so finally, at the eleventh hour, I headed into the yonder in hot pursuit of said elusive artwork.

Fifteen of the paintings are displayed in a crumbling castle in the obscure town of Moravsky Krumlov in southeastern Czech Republic. (For me, this little detail just increased their appeal.) The other five are somewhere in Prague.

I couldn’t find anyone to take the 3+ hour trip with me (surprise, surprise) so I boarded the bus to Brno by myself in the early hours of Saturday. After I took my seat, I launched into a fit of coughing–a throaty, phlegmy cough–guaranteed to cause potential seatmates to look for another. I don’t like sharing bus seats. Unfortunately, the bus was quite full, and the seat next to me was taken by a middle-aged, scruffy-looking nerf-herder who proceeded to speak to me in Czech. At first, I smiled politely and said, “Omlouvám se, mluvím trochu česky.” (I’m sorry, I speak little Czech.) This did not dissuade him from converstation, nor did it cause him to slow down or speak more clearly (he was a bit of a mumbler). So I followed up with, “Nerozumím česky.” (I don’t understand Czech.) Still no change. “Moje česky je moc špatné.” (My Czech is very bad.)

All of these statements were said with such poor grammar and in such a putrid accent as to leave him in no doubt of their truthfulness. However, throughout the 2.5 hour ride he continued muttering in my ear and looking at pictures of naked women in his newspaper. I’m rather glad I didn’t know what he was saying. Finally, I just feigned sleep, offering up a juicy cough now and again, hoping to create the impression of contagious upper respiratory infection.

It was raining steadily in Brno, where I was to catch another bus to Moravsky Krumlov, an hour away. The departure bus stop was about half a kiliometer from our drop-off point. But I could see the train station from where I was, so I decided to take a train on account of my knowing where the trains were and having only a slightly damp Google maps print-out to help me find the bus stop.

The train slogged through the wet and fog, and I opened the window to stick my head out, savoring the joy of an unexpected train ride. Finally, the train screeched to a stop at a bright yellow station boasting “Moravsky Krumlov” in foot-high white letters. I disembarked and headed into the surprisingly modern-looking station to get the afternoon train schedule. The kind lady printed off the return times, which I pocketed, and I marched confidently out into the rain.

To the rear of the station were rolling hills topped by farmland. In front was an industrial park, the gravel road leading to it covered with relaxing snails. There was no town, no crumbling castle, no Slav Epic in sight. I wandered back to the station and poked my head in. A couple were at the window, apparently not pleased with the train times they were being given. I tapped the lady and asked, “Kde je centrum?” (Where is the city center?) Between her and her husband, they led me to understand that the city center was five kilometers away (they motioned generally down the road) and that a bus would be at the station in about 10 minutes which could take me to the center. I found out later that these buses only come every few hours, so it was lucky I was there!

The lady chit-chatted with me for a bit and I learned that she was a preschool teacher and I told her that I also taught small children in Prague and that I was from the United States and I was here to see the painting by Alfons Mucha. This was probably the most extensive converstation I have ever had in Czech, outside of class. I was rather proud.

I was the sole passenger on the bus that dropped me in the center of the town square. Moravsky Krumlov was a mess of puddly road construction. There weren’t any people about and the one restaurant I found that looked open was actually reserved for a wedding later that afternoon.

So I ate my other Corny bar and the bag of chips I had been saving, and headed to the castle.

It was a sad bit of castle; the walls were chipped and peeling, the grass and trees were overgrown and a disused fountain languished in the courtyard. But indeed, the 15 canvases were inside in all their impressive largeness.

I’m afraid I don’t have much of an artistic vocabulary, so I can’t give an accurate description of said paintings, but I may offer that they were very big and I liked them quite a lot. (Some more than others.) This is one of my favorites. It’s St. Petersburg at the moment the announcement was made that ended serfdom. Mucha was going to make it a joyous scene of celebration, but he visited Russia in the 20s and was much depressed by the country’s bleakness.

I also liked this one. (These aren’t my photos. There was a hefty fine for photography.) The man on the chair by the sea is the dying Jan Amos Komensky. Considered the father of modern education, he fled what is now Czech to escape religous persecution. He died in Amsterdam, never returning to his beloved homeland.

The canvases, as I said before are pretty big. This one is a little hard to see, but you can tell the lady to the left of the painting is size tiny.

Yup. After admiring the art for much longer than was absolutely necessary (it was warm and not raining and the seats were comfortable and I was reading a good book), I pulled up my hood and wandered back into the rain, found a restaurant that was open and ate a lovely fried cheese. Then I meandered to the bus station with plenty of time to catch the bus to Brno. (I decided against venturing out to the countryside train station again.)

When I got the bus station (more of a shelter actually) it seemed strangely deserted. I couldn’t find the sign for Brno. I tapped on the window of a bus parked off to the side, which contained a snoozing driver. “Kde je autobus do Brno?” I inquired. He shook his head and said something about the vlak (train). After lots of gesturing on my part, and very patient repeating on his part, I came to understand that buses did not go to Brno, only trains.

By the time we got that established, it was too late to get to the train station. So I had to wait two hours until the next train. This caused me to miss the bus in Brno, so I bought a train ticket (considerably more expensive) and then the train was delayed almost an hour.

So my trip was extended a bit, but I met some very kind and helpful people and had more than a few chances to butcher the lovely Czech language. All told, it was a very nice outing.

It was perhaps my last jaunt outside Praha until the final departure. ‘Twill be a bittersweet good-bye for sure. I don’t like saying good-bye, so I haven’t really let it sink in that I’ve only got 1.5 more weeks here. But it’s true. In only 11 days, a most interesting chapter in my life will be snapped firmly shut. And I will be off to the vague reality of whatever lies ahead.

 

How to get more hits on your blog

So this new blogging site has a fun statistics page wherein self-seeking bloggers like yours truly (hang it all!) can view the number of times her blog has been viewed per day and subtly preen herself on the increased number of readers. 

It also lists the terms that people typed into search engines which caused one’s blog to pop up and the searcher to subsequently click on it.

And I am here to tell you that if you want your page views to double, just mention Serbia in one of your posts. Apparently there are a LOT of people out there trying to figure out what the heck is up with Serbia.

 On a day chosen sort of at random, here are the searches that resulted in a hit on my blog.

serbia	87
serbia map	34
map of serbia	12
serbia on the map	6
sırbistan haritası	3
map of bosnia and serbia	2
serbia map major bodies of water	2
what balkan nation split into 6 little countries?	2
rpd blotter	2
bosnië en herzegovina old map	2
bosnia and serbia map	1
map of bosnia herzegovina major water bodies	1
srbia mapa	1
map of montenegro and surrounding countries	1
where is bosnia and herzegovina located on a map	1
serbia on map	1
srbija, črna gora	1
srbsko	1
did us get involved bosnia balkans	1
serbia, map	1
srbija	1
crime debrovnik, croatia 2011	1
serbija	1
map serbia	1

 (My favorite search term thus far is not on here. It was: “mexicans greeting each other.” I am proud that ye ol’ Blotter was called up to answer that timeless inquiry.) 

Now, I would by no means exploit this (As the Serbian boy in FM#2’s classroom might) but it has crossed my mind that with all the mention of Serbia in this totally non-Serbian-related post, even MORE Serbian-querying people will be lured into the dark recesses of the RPD Blotter.

I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Someone searching for “croatia a-1 expressway south of split” or “serbia map major bodies of water” is probably not going to spend much time perusing entries devoted to Joe Rider and the wonders of PoDunk once they realize that this particular blog contains negligible information on either expressways or major bodies of water. And even if they were somehow drawn into the labyrinth of archives, it doesn’t bring me any closer to making this a lucrative hobby. But still…it’s fun to see the little bar graph go up…

So…Serbia, Serbia, Serbia!

And…just for the record: 4.5 days left of my fifth year of teaching!