The Token American

It’s a big confidence booster to be in a room where people are speaking English and to know that you speak better English than everybody else there. I don't want to brag or anything but it happens to me all the time.

Unfortunately, that’s not necessarily one of the perks of being an expat because the moment people start speaking in the local language, my language skills are easily the worst in the room. My terrible Macedonian is most likely the reason my host mom learned so many of the English words she did. One of the words she says most frequently is “understand.” She’ll ask it at the end of a discussion to make sure that I have a vague idea of what she said, and I usually just say yes. She probably knows that, which is why I’m sure she messes with me sometimes by cursing at me or trash talking my hometown, but I wouldn’t know for sure because I never learned any curse words since I don’t have a potty mouth.

In contrast, one of the benefits (sometimes) of being a foreigner is that you are automatically cool and interesting. No matter how off-putting or weird you are, this is your chance to be the popular kid because everybody wants to know about you. They bombard you with conversation, touch your hair (because it’s a different color so it must feel different), and constantly ask about the way things are in America (I’ve come to dislike these questions because I just don’t know the answer. America was a long time ago).

Aside from finally knowing what it’s like to be popular, there was one other thing that I was able to cross off my bucket list during my time here. It doesn’t really have anything to do with being here, but I’m gonna write about it anyway.

A series of events transpired on a somewhat stodgy summer day—in fact, I think it was two summer days because nothing much got accomplished that first day—that led me one step closer to being an official adult. Although, I am still a few steps away from becoming a full-fledged grown-up, I am quite proud of my recent development. That development was updating my antiquated signature. To most of you, recreating your signature may sound idiotic. You may think ain’t nobody got time for that. But, yes, it seems that everybody do got time for that because I can't think of a single adult I know that still has the same signature they used when they handed in their math test to Mrs. Pelling in the 6th grade.

This brings me to the word of the blog. This word is not one that is used all that often, but when it is used, it is always important. The word is:

потпис (potpis) - signature

So now instead of asking people for their John Hancock (because that sounds…weird), you can ask for their potpis. Looking at it now, people may think you’re saying pot piss. That’s at least as weird as John Hancock, so maybe let's all just agree to say signature.

Hmm, what else can I tell you about to help you procrastinate for a little while longer? You guys want to talk about manikins? Macedonia is renowned for its manikin population, at least among Peace Corps Volunteers. Macedonia humbly boasts the most diverse collection of manikins in the developing world. Maybe even the universe. You are more likely to see a manikin sporting a wig than clothing. They have obese manikins, toddler manikins, amputee manikins, and the list goes on. Some are appropriate, but many you wouldn’t see in the states. Just the other day, I saw a child manikin while walking through the mall in Skopje. It was wearing nothing but underwear and a belly shirt. It felt so wrong to look at it just standing there in the window so I had to look away. But the only thing there was to look away at was one of the topless nippled manikins. OK, this is getting uncomfortable. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. Let’s change the subject.

One of the more normal manikins...on the right.

So, how ‘bout that Barcelona-Madrid match the other day? Did anyone see that? I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but soccer is pretty much the go-to sport here for most athletes, so if you want to watch some live sports, most likely that’s gonna be the one.

A while back, I went to one of the soccer tournaments up at the high school. By the time I got there, there was standing room only. It seems the only thing Macedonians show up to on time are soccer games. It was fine though. I didn’t mind standing—at first. From this experience, I only have one piece of advice for anyone planning on attending a soccer match in Macedonia. Unless you like having sunflower seeds thrown on your shoes by a middle-aged man with a stout belly that presses more firmly against your forearm as the game progresses, you should sit.

How do you eat sunflower seeds? This is how to eat sunflower seeds Macedonian style, I think:
Step 1 - Hold the sunflower seed “hotdog style” between your thumb and index finger.
Step 2 - Keeping the sunflower seed in your fingertips, bite the end of the shell to crack it open.
Step 3 - Magic happens. I’ve never really mastered this step, but this is where the insides are supposed to fall into your mouth and you can discard the shell without ever putting it completely in your mouth.

Olives are eaten in a similar style as this, but that’s all I want to say about that.

Well, It’s rainy season again, which means that you need to start checking the seats and windows of buses before you sit down. If you make a hasty decision, it may be the wrong decision—that is if you appreciate staying dry during bus rides. With that reminder, I’ll leave you all.

My time as a PCV is done, and once I get over this stupid illness that decided to torment me during the final days of my service, I will be heading out on a trip to explore Europe. My first stops will be in Bulgaria, Romania, Moldova, and Ukraine before heading to Spain at the end of December. If any of you have plans to be anywhere in Europe in the next couple of months, let me know because I may be in the area.

Stay classy world.

Battle of the Bills

The people of Macedonia are in a constant battle with their currency--the denar. The current exchange rate of the denar is roughly 54 to the dollar (in case you were wondering). That probably tells you something about the economy, but seeing all of those digits in my bank account sure does make me feel rich anyway.

There are 1, 2, 5, 10, and 50 denar coins that nobody ever wants to be in possession of. And if they do come into ownership of a few, their goal is to dump them on the first unfortunate individual they get the chance to. I won't lie, I've deliberately partook in this inane activity as well. But mostly in a positive way, I think, by paying with exact change when I can. Like everyone else, I am simply not a fan of the coins--except for the 50 denar coins. Those silver disks of denar are downright dope. Probably because you can actually buy something with them and you're not weighed down by carrying a battalion of coins with you. Plus, there's no jingle jangling going on in your pockets while you're walking, which some people may like but I'm not a big fan of. I find that it interferes with my ability to ninja.

Remember when I said there were 1, 2, 5, 10, and 50 denar coins? These are it.

The banknotes are even worse (not for ninjaing, for the currency battle). There are 10, 50, 100, 500, 1000, and 5000 denar notes. Nobody ever has anything larger than a 1000 denar note though. Actually, nobody ever has anything other than a 1000 denar note. And these people that carry around their 1000 denar notes are constantly trying to get change for it or obtain smaller notes in some conniving way. They'll buy a burek and small carton of yogurt (a common breakfast combination) for 70 denars and pay with a 1000 denar note. Then they expect the person behind the counter to have change for them, which they never do because I don’t know why. Still, people are always paying with these larger notes, which wrecks havoc on the tills at these establishments. The cashiers end up having to run around to a few stores in the area in order to get the necessary change to give the paltry patron.

Consider yourself lucky. Most people never see one of them there 5000s. I've only ever seen one myself.

For the customer, this is better than going to the ATM if you ask me. You get a product you want, plus you are able to get rid of a hefty 1000 denar note and gather a temporary collection of smaller bills (for your sake, hopefully there were no coins given to you with your change).

Unlike the coin situation, the practice of paying for excessively small purchases with excessively large bills is one that I do not participate in (except for at bus stations). Having seen the dire need for smaller bills, I usually only withdraw 100s and 500s from the ATM unless I'm expecting to spend over 1000 den somewhere. Boy, are people happy to see those smaller notes. Please don't praise me. I'm just doing my small part to help out in this currency combat.

All this money talk is making me feel like studying Macedonian (probably because I know that it will lead to me getting a large signing bonus at my next job). Since I’m in the mood now, we should go over the Macedonian word of the blog. The word is:

пари (pari) - money

Speaking of пари, it’s time I start earning mine by going back to school (because we all know how instrumental I am in the proper running of the school). School started a couple of weeks ago, and entering the beginning of the school year made me think back on some of the good times I’ve had in the classroom with the students and my counterpart (the English extraordinaire. Seriously, this guy speaks English more good than I do).

This is unnecessary since 97% of the people that read this blog have probably met my counterpart in person.

It seems as though all of my favorite moments in school happened during the same week. I mean, any week where you get to flip off your students, stick your tongue out at them, and make a bunch of 18 year olds dance to “Head, Shoulders, Knees, & Toes” all in the name of education, is a good week at school.

Just like in America, there is a holiday at the beginning of the school year--Independence Day. It has been celebrated on September 8 since 1991 when Macedonia gained its independence from Yugoslavia. Instead of providing you with a thorough description of the celebrations that carry on throughout the day (since if I did that, there would be pretty much nothing to write about), I will inform you of another way to make money.

If you want to get in the kid making industry, Macedonia is the place to go. Due to the low fertility rates in certain regions of the country following the socioeconomic transition after Macedonia gained its freedom, the big man upstairs (no, not god. the guy that works upstairs in city hall) decided to start paying women that birthed multiple youngins (the PM talked about how successful this was in his Independence Day speech, which is why its being written about here. Just in case you were wondering where the hell this was coming from). Supposedly this was to keep their population from declining, but I’m pretty sure it was really just a ploy to make the big man upstairs pleased, if you know what I mean.

I don't know why, but this part always gets saved for last. It's time to talk about the English word that my host mom knows. The word that my mom knows is money. I know that I told you I wasn't going to make it the same as the Macedonian word of the blog again, but I'm lazy. You should have known it was gonna happen.

Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! Macedonia now airs live NFL games.

Stay classy world.

Football, Christmas, and Other Things Worth Celebrating

The only way you can convince yourself that these next few paragraphs are still relevant enough to read is that football season is officially about to start again. Football is pretty much the only sport that I’ve continued to follow while I’ve been here. I wish I didn’t have to specify what I’m talking about when I say football, but I know that I need to. I don’t mean soccer and I don’t mean rugby. I mean good old American football.

I was watching the Ravens-Patriots game (now last season), and the link I found online was run by some channel called Sky Sports from the UK (completely not not illegal). Now I don’t have a problem with the UK showing NFL games on the telly, but I was really disappointed at the cast they had commentating. There was an English guy, a Canadian fellow, and a hack American football player (this guy named Moore that was a tight end for the Browns for a couple of seasons) commentating on the game. I mean, what the hell is a Hamilton Tiger-Cat anyway? “The Hamilton Tiger-Cats are a professional Canadian football team based in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, founded in 1950 with the merger of the Hamilton Tigers and the Hamilton Wildcats.”1 That’s what a Hamilton Tiger-Cat is.

The reason people that don't live in America call the sport American football is because it's American (it’s definitely not because the rest of the world calls football what Americans call soccer). I don't know what these Canadians and Brits are doing in a studio talking about football. The only good English football player I know of is Osi Umenyiora, and the best Canadian player in the league is probably Shaun Suisham and he's a kicker. I guess Canada does at least have that going for them because they have had a few good kickers and punters in the league over the years.

With that said, I’m pretty pumped about the upcoming season. Just don’t expect me to watch any streams of the games that are from Sky Sports because British or Canadian accents are not something that I wish to start associating with football.

You may have realized that the title mentioned something about Christmas. That’s because I wrote this back in January. There is a good reason I waited until this exact moment to post this, but I’ll let you fully consider that matter on your own time. Right now I don’t care to delve into that subject with you.

I will tell you the Macedonian word of the blog though. Christmas is a big holiday here. It is celebrated very differently than in the states. There is no exchanging of gifts or singing of Christmas carols. But families do gather together to break some bread (literally) and enjoy each other's company. The Macedonian word of the blog is:

Божиќ (boszik) - Christmas

I really gotta stop using ж in the words I choose.

There is one Christmas story that I want to share with you all. Here it is.

First of all, merry Christmas to everybody who I may have missed saying that to back in December. There is this person who shall remain nameless (because I don’t know this individuals name) existing in Kratovo that has a very rudimentary understanding of the Christmas tree. In all actuality, I’m sure that there are many individuals in Kratovo that share this basic comprehension of the Christmas tree, but there is only one person that I would like to call out on it.

Christmas trees simply do not belong on the roof of a vehicle. Not once, not thrice, but on two separate occasions I saw this. The first time I happened to witness this outlandish act, I was under the false impression that the tree was being transported home and it just happened to be decorated already. The second time, however, I was not so foolish. It was very apparent to me that the roof of the car is where this tree was intended to stand.

I was waiting at the bus stop on a blustery December afternoon, and I must have seen this car drive idly by at least three times while I was there. Kratovo has one main road that basically does a lap around the center of town, and it is my genuine belief that this individual was on an excursion around town solely to exhibit the captivatingly placed Christmas tree atop their vehicle.

That’s not the only weird thing you’d see around Kratovo though if you stuck around throughout the holiday season. The same people that think you will get sick if you go outside with wet hair after a shower, sit in a cold room with a t-shirt on instead of a sweater, not wear socks around the house, be in a place with 2 windows open or a window and a door open, drink a cold beer in the winter…sorry I started to get a little carried away there. Anyway, the same people that believe those things are the people that are perfectly fine with practicing the age old tradition of jumping into freezing cold water in the heart of winter to get a cross and win a television, a nice chunk of change, and bragging rights for the year. Plus, it is symbolic of Jesus being baptized.

I’ve never seen any religious practice carried out quite like this one. It goes down at many different locations (pools, rivers, lakes) on January 19th all around the country, and I’ve had the privilege of watching it in Kratovo the last two years. This most recent winter was quite frigid here in Macedonia so prior to the participants recklessly leaping into the town pool, inches of ice had to be ferociously chipped away to make space for this event to go down. What the funk!

On a more pleasant note, possibly one of the best practices of the wintertime is eating pastrmajlija. That thing I wrote about in my second post. Having pastrmajlija and gazoza (a "carbonated aromatised refreshing non-alcoholic drink with a pear aroma."2 I had to look that up because I wasn't sure how to describe it.)  early on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon is equivalent to Americans getting a few pizzas delivered and enjoying them at home with some coke (the cola kind, not cocaine. Unless you’re into that kind of thing, in which case...never mind.) and a movie.

That's what your average pastrmajlija looks like

That’s pretty much all I have to say about wintertime activities here.

I suppose I'll wrap this up with the English word that my host mom knows. There was a period where I spoke mostly English at home, and I was really surprised and pleased that we could actually have conversations with each other like that. She may not be able to say a great deal in English, but she can definitely understand a lot. Even now we still greet each other in English sometimes. Well, mostly I do that but she can. She'll say, "Hello. How are you?" And if I ask her, she can respond with "good" or "bad." She may know more English than I know Macedonian now.

Stay classy world.

Works Cited
1. "Hamilton Tiger-Cats." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation. Web. 22 Jan. 2015.
2. "Gazoza." Prilepska Pivarnica. Prilepska Pivarnica. Web. 22 Jan. 2015.

Medical Mayhem

I don't know how many of you have ever had an MRI or know what it sounds like, but it is torturous. I had been having knee pain for quite a while, and it was getting pretty bad, so I ended up going in for an X-ray to get both of my knees checked out. The results were a little wishy-washy so the next step was for me to hop in this MRI machine. I had to lie there listening to this contraption while being bombarded with sounds of humming, roaring, buzzing, and chinging like a rogue car alarm for almost 45 minutes. I did have these bulky headphones on with classic rock songs whispering in my ears, but even those didn't come close to blocking out the sound of this beastly machine.

Because the music from the headphones wasn't doing the trick and the sounds were beginning to make me feel a bit anxious, I ended up having to entertain myself. And that is how I created the story "Jangor: A Robot's Tale." Please read the following paragraphs out loud using your best robot voice (even though Jangor is referred to as a man, both male and female robot voices are appropriate to use. also, there are no humans in this story so only the third law of robotics applies here).

"Oh tartles!" cried Jangor as he scurried toward the electric fence that surrounded the entire estate. He had been spotted by the guards manning the searchlight, and, in his current state, they were much faster than he was. Now all of the alarms around The Farm were raging. Jangor reached inside his chest compartment and dug around for an explosive he had made from various parts he managed to find around The Farm over the last few weeks. As he scanned the yard for more guards coming from other directions, he closed the compartment and hurriedly slid the explosive into the barrel that slightly protruded from his chest (that gives a real meaning to barrel chested, am I right?). So far, most of his parts hadn't been harvested, leaving him largely operational. Besides the wiring in his left arm and his left eye, which was given to one of the older diving models that recover significant articles lost at sea, he possessed all of the other essential components that he arrived there with.

The guards were quickly gaining on Jangor as he threw himself over the ditch filled with water from the latest rain. After being at The Farm for only six weeks, he could already notice the stiffness of his joints from the early stages of oxidization. That's the disease that took both of his grandparents, and he was becoming worried that the same thing would happen to him if he didn't get off The Farm soon. That's why it was so important to him that his escape attempt was successful.

Being sure to keep a safe distance from the electrical fence that had been the death of many of the robots during escape attempts, Jangor began to slow down and lean over. Aiming towards the base of a fence post, he fired the explosive. Upon impact, sparks instantly shot out at him from the wires connecting the posts, and they encompassed the entirety of The Farm as they spread throughout the fence. The fence rocked and roared violently causing wires to tear apart and the circuits to trip. Fortunately for Jangor, the backup generator had been damaged by the recent rainstorms, so he now had the protection of darkness to aid him in his escape. And now that the electricity was out, he was more confident in getting past the fence.

Jangor had also been lucky enough to be equipped with night vision by his previous owner just before arriving at The Farm. Because night vision technology had only recently been introduced to the general robot population, he was the only robot at The Farm that had it. But since wiring had been taken from Jangor's left eye, the night vision was only fully functional in his right. Once his night vision had activated, he took one look at the fence to see where it had been cleared and he bolted toward the broke down section right where the explosion had hit it.

The guards were closing in quickly with their stun guns unholstered. Jangor approached the fence, and as he prepared to jump to avoid anything that was still holding on to any bit of electrical charge, his right knee hinge became stuck, probably from the oxidation, and he fell over.

That's as far as I was when the MRI scanner turned off because most of the time it was hard not to picture a car alarm going off in the middle of a packed parking lot. Or even worse, parked next to the curb outside of an apartment building at 3 in the morning. Feel free to make up whatever ending you want for Jangor. I like to think he survives though.

By the end of my MRI, my left leg had fallen asleep. But it didn't have the typical sensation of a limb that had gone numb so I wasn't aware of it until I climbed off the table and nearly fell flat on my face. I don't think the technician noticed what had almost happened, but I immediately hobbled and hopped to the wall and leaned against it while I tried to think of a way to stall because they were rushing to get me out so that another patient could come in. I still had to get my shoes on so I was able to waste some time doing that. It was a struggle though. I could barely get my foot in my shoe, let alone try to bend over and tie it. Eventually I just sat down on the ground to put my shoes on. But I did manage to make it out of the room before they started yelling at me. I'll call that one a success.

After all of this MRI crap, I ended up having a couple of weeks of physical therapy. In the meantime, I was posted up in a hotel room in Skopje. While I was chilling in the hotel room, I watched a lot of CNN. During the Oscar Pistorius verdict (now you know how long ago this happened), I noticed quite a few important looking people not paying attention to the judge. I'm pretty sure I even saw one guy doing a crossword puzzle. But that's not nearly as bad as the guy that was playing Candy Crush on his smartphone. Seeing that kinda made me want to be a lawyer again. Something to think about anyway.

Another lovely memory I have in my hotel room is having the cleaning lady almost come in my room while I was naked. It's almost a blur now, but I will try to recall the moment as best as I can for you. I had just got out of the shower and I was getting my daily CNN fix. I was leisurely rubbing myself down (no, not that way you sickos) so I was unclothed a little longer than I had to be, and just as I was doing the finishing touches, I heard a key quickly being shoved in the keyhole. I stepped back behind the corner of the wall to make sure I had some coverage and I started making a bunch of noise so that she would know I was in the room and just leave. As quickly as the door had opened, it closed, and it wasn't touched by anybody but me for two days.

In the end of all of this medical madness, I got a knee brace to wear on each knee while I'm exercising, shoe inserts that I probably don't use as often as I should, and a kick-ass set of exercises and stretches to do every other day. It sure beats surgery...I think.

Dealing with all of this medical stuff made me think about getting old, and I think I was drawn to this facet of aging because I happened to be getting ready for bed when I was thinking about being old. When you get old, there are many things in your life that change. One of those being your bed time routines. Instead of brushing your teeth, you take them out. You don't wash your face anymore but you do have to take your hearing aids out. Gotta make sure you go pee right before bed so that you can sleep for at least two hours before you have to wake up and go again. And instead of saying your prayers to whatever god you talk to, you pass out before you can even remember your god's name. But you do snore loudly and mumble rubbish to nonexistent people. I can't wait to get old.

I don't know how, but I almost forgot to include the Macedonian word of the blog and the English word that my host mom knows. Since I'm feeling lazy, I'm gonna make them the same word this time. But I promise I will only do this once:

старo (staro) - old

On a separate note, my host mom just celebrated the 10th anniversary of her 32nd birthday. Happy belated birthday my Macedonian mother!

Also, sorry for not having any pictures this time. That's my bad.

Stay classy world.