Writing, writing, writing

I studied English in college because I like to read. It's that simple. When you study English in college, people frequently assume you want to be a teacher. They ask clever questions like, "Do you want to be a teacher?" I did not want to be a teacher; I just liked to read. Now I'm a teacher (of more than nine years), and it is very fulfilling.

When you study English in college, you get to write. A lot. I didn't mind because I wanted to improve my writing skills. While most of my papers were probably mediocre, I enjoyed writing enough to accept an offer for a part-time job as a technical writer during my senior year (Thanks, Scott!), and I continued at it for a year after college. I think I was a decent writer, but it gave me no great pleasure, and I never aspired to write more than what was required.

Quantum leap 15 years forward (Make the sound, Doug.), and writing has become one of the most satisfying things I do. I enjoy searching for the perfect combination of words and sentences to capture what I am thinking and feeling. I like grammar and the mechanics of constructing sentences and paragraphs. And I love reading my final product; in fact, I usually read and reread what I've written more than a dozen times simply for the pleasure of reading something I constructed (and to check for mistakes - I detest mistakes!). Also, since I discovered a super simple method to teach it (Thanks, Jill!), I really like teaching writing to my elementary school student. It is all very satisfying.

The problem is, for someone who claims to like the process and end product so much, writing isn't an easy, carefree process, especially when I'm not inspired, so I don't do it very often. Also, out of all the different types of writing, I don't write fiction because it's difficult and intimidating (witness my spectacular failure at last year's NaNoWriMo) because there are simply too many variables and choices that are totally up to me to decide. What is right? My reticence notwithstanding, I would love to add the ability to write fiction to my set of skills. What is a writer to do?

The answer came recently when a friend asked me to write a story just for her. In a couple sentences, she framed the parameters of the story by identifying the characters and the story ending, leaving the genre, content, and setting up to me. I thought on it for a week or so, then after a spark of inspiration came, I laid on my bed with my laptop one Saturday afternoon and in several hours pounded out a 5,000 word short story, and I liked it.

I could enumerate all the ways it was a rewarding experience, but I'd rather just state two happy discoveries.

• I found my fiction writing groove, and suddenly I believe I can do all the unique parts of fiction I previously doubted I could do. 
• Writing for someone else, at their request, was the key to quashing my fear and prior inability to write because it narrowed my focus by removing some of the thousand decisions you have to make when you write, and I had a patron (instead of just passive readers) who would specifically approve or disapprove what I wrote.

It gave me a smashing idea. I would like to practice writing again, but my old self doubt about writing fiction is waiting in the wings, I fear. I believe I can overcome it with another dose of outside inspiration. Another friend recently offered to hand make something to the first few people who expressed an interest on her Facebook page. I'm making a similar offer now.

If you are interested in your own short story, and you're game to overlook my shortcomings, complete the following two steps:

1. Email me or post online a unique picture of you and me (or at least me - because I'm just that vain). Unique means I probably don't already have a digital copy of it, and the older, the better.
2. Choose two characters (they don't have to have names) and a story start or ending, and send them to me in an email. 

I'll write the first five successful applicants a minimum 4,000 word short story by the end of this year. Then I'll cross my fingers and hope you like it. I'm not doing this for my own self-aggrandizement. Rather, I expect to find people who appreciate writing and handmade things. Is that you?

Your turn, my turn

As the weather has turned so spring and pleasant (unlike still snow plagued Utah), I spent an afternoon studying Korean and visiting with friends in the small neighborhood park around the corner from my apartment. Like parks at home, this one had a pair of swings, a few sets of monkey bars, benches, several seesaws, a slide, and a merry-go-round. A few hours passed and the park grew busy with a dozen or so elementary age children. After watching a couple children trying to turn their friends on the merry-go-round, I thought it was time to be a hero. I excused myself from chatting with my friend and told the kids to all hop on while I gave them a spin.

We may have had a language barrier, but they immediately understood. Looks like fun, huh? This ride was old and in need of some oil, so it didn't go as fast as I've liked, but their screams of delight and the looks on their faces told me they were having fun.

Of course, after I turned them, it was time for me to have some fun. I ordered them all off the merry-go-round and told them it was my turn. Language differences aside, they understood again and made a valiant effort to turn me for a minute or two. It was pretty cute.

And that's how I spent my Sunday afternoon.

Tablet goodness spotted in the wild

With so many great tablet options coming out this year, I'm anxious but patient to get one of my own. Here in Korea where iPhones seem particularly popular, I've seen very few iPads but increasingly more Galaxy Tabs and what might be other iterations of tablet goodness.

Tonight on a short subway ride in Seoul, I spotted two lasses engrossed in their own toys and couldn't help but stare and stare, a habit I try to avoid because I don't care for all the stares I usually get myself as a big, bearded non-Korean. The gal on the left is playing a game on what I originally suspected to be a 7 inch Galaxy Tab, while the gal on the right was watching a movie or perhaps, more likely, a Korean drama, on a larger device I could not place (don't believe it was an iPad).

Beyond the drooling the devices in the wild induced, I was struck that they were being used by two young women - OK, two, young, attractive women - not who you typically picture as the early adopter types.

My favorite new digital tool

While I typically reserve this blog for posts of an exploratory nature, I want to plug my new favorite digital tool: Dropbox. Dropbox is a file hosting service which allows you to store your files online and synchronize them across computers. Basic accounts come with 2GB free storage.

I have two computers in separate locations at my current job, one in my classroom and one in the communal teachers' room.  Where other teachers shuffle documents and PowerPoint presentations between their computers with USB flash drives, files saved in my Dropbox folder on one machine are 1. automatically backed up online and 2. automatically appear in my Dropbox folder on my other machine. It's terribly convenient.

It's also useful to work on things at home without the worry of remembering to copy and transfer them with a flash drive.

Often, I find myself working at other computers which don't have my Dropbox folder installed. No problem. I go to the Dropbox website, access my account, and I have access to all my synchronized files. Cool, huh?

I've persuaded two coworkers to start using Dropbox, and like me, they've become pretty vocal about how much they like it. If you use it to backup some of your important files (2GB is nice, but hardly enough for everything these days), I suspect you'll like it, too.

Disclosure: if you click Dropbox here and you create and an account and download the Dropbox folder utility, you'll get 2GB free storage plus 250MB additional storage, and I'll benefit with an additional 250 MB, too, and I will love you more than I already do. Or, just go to www.dropbox.com and follow your own path.

Whatever you do, I'd love to hear what sort of digital tools get you excited.

Sunday afternoon snowfall

My thready plans to venture out on Sunday crumbled in favor of staying inside to clean and decompress ahead of the last full week of teacher training at work.  My solid plan to drive my scooter to work to pick up some papers to correct in the afternoon vanished when I looked out the window and discovered falling snow.  Instead, I took a short walk to the neighborhood market for a snack.  The wonder of the quiet inspired me to take out my camera and record my walk home.

Hard-boiled

Before I took my morning shower Friday before work, I put a pot of cold water with 7 eggs on my gas stove and turned the flame on high, figuring I'd have some nice hard-boiled eggs ready to eat by the time I was done with my typical 10-12 minute shower.

Eleven hours later, my work week was finished. I was feeling fine because my lessons have been going well, the Korean teachers we're teaching are fabulous, and before I left work for the day, I'd mastered the line dancing steps to Good Time (by Alan Jackson) ahead of my next dance class with four of my stupendous female coworkers. I drove my scooter downtown to fill up with gas before I started to wonder what I'd eat for dinner, when I suddenly remembered with great horror that I'd never turned the gas off or taken the eggs of the stove!

Scrapping plans to pick up some dinner on the way home, I immediately turned for home and tried not to imagine all the terrible things that must have happened in my apartment while I was blithely having such a good day at work. All the water would have long ago boiled away and the eggs must have been cooking in a dry pan all day. How would the apartment smell? The pan was likely ruined. Would my place be filled with smoke? Was there a fire? Were my multiple computer hard drives, which contain the things most meaningful to me, destroyed? Why, oh, why, was I so foolish? Surely the worst must have happened, and I vowed to never, ever speak of my idiocy to anyone.

I arrived home and dashed up the single flight of steps to my second floor abode, fumbled with the keys, and opened the door to...nothing. No smoke, no odor, nothing. Without removing my shoes, I strode across the kitchen to find my pot of eggs still on the stove and the dial still turned to high, but no flame. Removing the lid, I found the water still at the level it was when I originally filled the pot, and the water was cold. Removing one egg and cracking it open with one hand in the sink, I found the egg was hard boiled and a bit mushy, indicating it was overcooked. So, what happened?

The eggs were cooked, even over-cooked, but most of the water remained in the pot. The flame on the stove was high and strong before I took my shower, but somehow it went out. The pot wasn't burned and my apartment didn't stink of burning or gas. The only other key to my apartment belongs to belongs to my employer, who holds the lease on my apartment, but while they were here fixing my washer the day before, I don't believe they returned the following day, and if they did, why was the dial stilled turned to high? Hmmm...

One of my teacher trainees recently told me I look like Colombo in my new cashmere coat. This mystery may take such a hard-boiled detective to explain why my quest for eggs for breakfast didn't lead to the disaster I feared at the end of my most excellent week yesterday.

Pocket performance

Before I got on the bus to Osan today to order some custom cowboy boots, I ate lunch at a tiny Korean-style cafe in the bus terminal. When I went to pay, I didn't have enough money, so I begged the ajumas' patience while I stepped out to withdraw some cash from the ATM right outside the door. An ajuma is a middle age, motherly Korean woman, and there were three running this cafe. When they saw the ATM not cooperating with my request, they kindly repeated, "Daum, daum," next time, next time. They even helpfully motioned me out the door. It was endearing.

But I had a secret. I recently bought an emergency keyring cash capsule where I store a spare 10,000 won bill (about $10). As I resisted their charity and reached into my pocket, they were confused and their forgiving reassurances increased in pitch. "Jahm kuh manyo," I had to repeat, motioning them to calm down, as I retrieved my keys, unscrewed the capsule, and withdrew the spare bill to their approval. "O-ah!" they cheered in Korean fashion, taking the capsule from my hand to inspect it as they nodded in understanding and explained to each other what magic I had wrought.

Noticing the clock, I had to go, but I couldn't resist a departing flourish to my captive audience. "Sa-ee pen issoyo?" I asked, feigning nothing to write with as I grabbed my chest and pockets searching for a pen. "Issoyo!" one woman cried, reaching behind her for a pen. "Aniyo," I assured her, reaching for my keys again. I removed the matchstick-length telescoping keyring pen I bought the same time as the cash capsule, extended the pen, and demonstrated its purpose to their renewed oohs and ahhs.

Then I grabbed my bag and exited the stage, er, the cafe. Performing is fun.

NPR Under Fire After Canning Juan Williams

The very best line from this article about Juan Williams' firing from NPR for speaking of the fear he feels when he sees "people who are in Muslim garb" in airports comes from this deliciously alliterative quote from Mike Hukabee.

"NPR has discredited itself as a forum for free speech and a protection of the First Amendment rights of all and has solidified itself as the purveyor of politically correct pabulum and protector of views that lean left."

FoxNews.com - NPR Under Fire After Canning Juan Williams

Boran

I took a Sunday ride on my scooter, anxious for some mild adventure, reminiscent of the times I struck out on unknown back roads when I lived in Gapyeong.  A road out of town turned into a highway, uncrowded this weekend before Chuseok.  The signs told me I was headed to Cheonan, but since I wasn't so adventurous to drive the 32 kilometers to get there, after a while, I sought an exit or turn-around to go home.  Upon finding one, I thought instead to take the village road before me and explore some more.  After all, the great adventures come when you alter or scrap your original plans, right?

Small houses and schools and shops lined the narrow road that wound through this rural place.  I could spot no signs identifying where I was as I drove at a leisurely pace, still encountering little traffic and few people.  I felt no danger, but as so often happens in this country, I felt like I was intruding or venturing into a forbidden place.  What Koreans I did encounter stared, of course, but only out of harmless curiosity.  Often I thought to turn back, but I couldn't answer the "Why?" that came into my head next, so I kept driving.

Almost time to harvest

Rice fields appeared and buildings became fewer and fewer as the road further narrowed and followed a small river. I drove up as the river ran down, and I noticed the grains on the rice stalks turning from green to yellow and growing heavy.  In some place, random swaths of stalks had fallen, indicating it must be close to harvesting time.  The fallen stalks used to appear man-caused to my inexperienced eye, but it's so haphazard and common, I guess it must be natural.

As the road switched back and forth over the river on narrow, precarious bridges with mere three inch barriers on the sides, I wondered if I'd be able to find my way out of this Greek maze.  Too bad I forgot my yarn.  Parts of me hoped I'd get lost or that my scooter would break down and that I'd be forced to stumble through my broken Korean and ask for some help.  Better than changing your plans, the real great adventures come when your plans fail and you get in trouble, I say.  As long as you come out alive and with your important body parts intact, you get to tell the best stories later.

A place to stop and write

Still driving up and wondering if I'd ever reach a dead end, the river returned to a stream returned to a brook, but the road continued, and so did I.  Since the weather was so pleasant, and I'd brought my writing book, I thought about stopping to write at one of the elevated communal platforms I passed that are common in the country.  They provide shade and a common gathering place on hot summer evenings for adults to talk and gossip.  I worried though that would constitute trespassing, so it wasn't until I spied a granite picnic table beneath a tree that I finally stopped to write.

A dozen Koreans have walked or driven by in the last half hour.  As often as white foreigners like me stand out and draw attention here, they're also ignored.  I am completely convinced after spending several years in this country, that I have the power of invisibility at certain times, but I am not unique.  There is something in the Korean culture that can make Koreans blind to people and things that are different.  Whether it's because they're uncomfortable or just unaware, there are times you can float through this place unseen.  It's a wild thing to experience.

If I get lost going home, I hope they see me.

After arriving safely home

Right before I got back on the highway, I was still burning to know where I was.  I passed a gang of six elderly Koreans chatting with one another on a raised communal platform, like the one in the picture.  I screwed up my courage and turned around to ask them the name of the village.  Whereas you can usually count on Koreans my age and younger to know a little English, these seniors likely wouldn't have known enough to help me if I couldn't piece together the right words.  I pulled up, they all stared, and I said, after greeting them, "Yeogi irrum mweoyayyo?" which was the best way I could think to ask, "Here name what is?"  "Boran," one man freely offered (think "bow-rahn").  At last!

He and the others threw a lot of Korean at me I didn't know, but I was able to understand enough to answer where I lived, where I'm from, what I do, and where I work.  We shared a lot of smiles, I wished them a happy Chuseok, and I drove away laughing hysterically (once I was out of sight) at the thrill of communicating (communicating!) with some locals.

And because the Koreans in Boran saw me.
*

Hunting for Androids in South Korea

Motorola Motoroi

I received my alien registration card in the mail three days ago, long before I expected it.  So, I started shopping for a Motorola Motoroi at SK Telecom stores and discovered it's hard to find because, purportedly, it has been discontinued.  By the time someone helped me find one last night, I'd lost my desire for the Motoroi.  It looks way too much like my Omnia and if I'm going to buy a new phone, I want a new phone.  With the Motoroi fading in popularity, I spent the afternoon Friday researching two other options.

Samsung Galaxy S

The Samsung Galaxy S (no add-on names here) was released here earlier this year, I believe.  I also found this phone hard to find when I started shopping, because it's so raging popular.  While the Galaxy here just has a 5 MP camera and no flash (Motoroi has 8 MP and a flash), it's thinner, sexier, and it has a front facing camera.  Actually, a surprisingly large number of non-smart phone phones have front facing cameras here.  I've observed in the past Korea leads the US in cell phone technology, but since I returned it appeared to me they're trailing us now thanks to the iPhone, which doesn't appear to be nearly as popular here, and Android, but with the proliferation of front facing cameras (and I've seen many people making video calls with them in the wild.), I'm withholding judgement on the front runner.

So, I want the Galaxy S, but (and this is a big but) I'd have to pay full price: $825!  The Motoroi I found is on sale for $215 and Koreans can buy the Galaxy for about the same price, but I have to pay full price because I'm a foreigner.  Isn't that crazy discrimination?  I pushed hard to make sure I understood this correctly.  I've never heard of such a thing.  In spite of the contract, this rule is based on the fact that foreigners like me too often leave before the contract is up, allegedly.  I was told I could go online to find a used Galaxy S, but given its popularity I doubt it'll be too much cheaper.  It's logical to think I could buy a Galaxy S from the States, but I'm learning Korea is so bloody restricted to only their home grown or approved phones, it's hard to believe it'd work.  So, overpay for a used Galaxy S to get my Android fix?

Samsung Galaxy Tab

While I was researching, I also investigated the Galaxy Tab (click the drool-worthy link).  I thought I found it had been released here in the spring, but I was wrong.  Something about a stolen picture of the Tab being released in China and Samsung delaying the release to redesign it somehow was the explanation I got when I complained.  Doesn't make any sense, but it remains unavailable.  Too bad.  I was in the market, I'll have money very soon, and I got a little worked up that I'd be one of the first to have a super sweet, big Android device in my hands soon.  Dammit.  With every major carrier in the US selling them soon, perhaps it'll be Tabs across America when I return.

For now, I remain phone-less.  I may settle for buying a used, boring phone to hold me over until I make a decision or have better choices.  I just want my Android.

Pillows and self-serve soda

On Thursday, I took a few hours off work and rode the to Daejoen, a city of 1.5 million 45 minutes east of Gongju.  With the results of my AIDS/drug test in hand, I traveled to the immigration office to submit an application for my alien registration card.  I representative from the school usually submits the application on behalf of foreigners or at least accompanies them to the office, but I've done this enough times, even by myself, I felt confident I could do it on my own.  My motivation to get my application submitted is that I can't get a "hand phone" until I have my AR card.  After an unusually long wait of two hours, I got my application submitted.  The immigration officer said it will take 10 days to process, mail, and receive the card in the mail (I assume business days), which might turn out to take longer because of the upcoming Chuseok  holiday (Sept. 21-23). 

My secondary purpose in going to Daejeon was to go to Costco.  From the two times I went to Costco in Seoul several years ago, I learned that much of what they carry is customized to the Korean customer base, but they also carry many things we want and expect them to carry in the States, like Lifetime tables and chairs.  I planned to just browse the store to familiarize myself with what they carry, but I hoped to find a few things I've been unable to find on my "to buy" list, like pillows and sheets.  It's tricky to explain how Korean pillows and sheets differ from American pillows and sheets, but I don't care for them here.

To my eyes, the massive Costco building I saw is a heartwarming tribute to American consumerism and capitalism.  Korea has their share of homegrown and outside megastores, but Costco screams, "You need our reasonable quality stuff, and you need them in large quantities, and we're even going to charge you a membership fee to get in the store, so you'll lust after our stuff more by thinking you're missing out if you don't have a card."  THAT'S America.

After entering the building and showing my membership card, I walked through the big screen TVs and stopped to don a pair of 3D glasses to watch my first 3D large screen television.  It was pretty cool.  Past the electronics, I found the bedding, and it was all Korean styles until I discovered a large bin selling two packs of queen size Sealy Posturepedic pillows.  Amazing!  I might have danced a little jig on the spot.  I was additionally pleased they were so cheap, just 15,900 won (about $16).  I just bought a pair, though I wanted four, as I had to consider how to carry everything home on the bus.  Unfortunately, they didn't sell pillow cases to match the pillows, and I doubt I'll find them here.

Aside from a 20 pack of dish towel size towels, that's all I bought.  It was tempting to buy more, but as I learned here last time around, it doesn't do much good to shop too often where you have to buy in large quantities if you don't have your own ride to get it home.

As you'll be able to tell from the pictures, the food court at the end of the store is nearly identical to those back home.  I smiled when I saw they offered bulgogi bakes along with chicken bakes, so I had one.  It was outstanding, sort of like a Philly cheesesteak sandwich.  

The best part of my journey came when I ordered my food and was offered an empty soda cup.  When I first came to Korea eight years ago, I was a little obsessed with finding self-serve fountain drinks.  They were practically impossible to find, so I had to settle for fountain drinks from McDonald's and KFC and canned soda, something I hated at the time but have since accepted.  When I saw these twin soda machines, I smiled.  "It only took me eight years to find you," I thought in a trembling voice, as I contemplated kneeling in homage.

And now I finally know I can get a self serve fountain drink in Korea whenever I have two hours and about $16 in bus and taxi fares to spare.  If I go, at least I'll have the chance to buy two more pillows, huh?

I found salt!

After four years' absence and after completing the requirements to get my teaching certificate (and getting it!), I returned to Korea to teach.  Frantic preparations the weeks leading up to my departure included stuffing and organizing all my possessions into a 10x30 storage unit, and with the recent changes in my family and the acquisition of better furniture, more books, and hoards of teaching supplies, that was not an easy or quick task.  Fortunately, everything seemed to come together in the final week, and what was once a stressful rush to pack and prepare for the flight and to be away from home for a year turned out to be relatively routine.

Now I've been in Gongju, South Korea for nearly two weeks.  The whole experience of being back in this strange country has been surreal.  The food is great, my Korean has quickly returned, and it almost feels like I never left.  The monsoon season is nearly over, so it's still oppressively humid and rainy.  My small two bedroom apartment has air conditioning, mercifully, but not much else, so I wrote up a list of things I need: a fan, western bedsheets and pillows, towels, dishes, computer speakers, an extension cord, and salt.

This country certainly has salt, but in the same manner we all crave the brands and styles of our home country, I wanted an inexpensive pair of salt and pepper shakers, an almost impossible thing to find.  One by one I've found most of the things on my list (but not a fan, yet!), but I'd almost resigned myself to asking for a pair of salt and pepper shakers from home.  Then I went to Seoul on Sunday to meet a good friend, and I wandered into Shinsegae, a massive department store, and while strolling through the ethnic section of the grocery store in the basement, I was stunned to discover...

...a pair of salt and pepper shakers!  I nearly stumbled, I was so surprised to find precisely what I'd envisioned in my quest.  What surprised me even more, though, was the price: $4.25!  This disposable, picnic set never runs more than $2.00 at home in the States (does it?), but you can bet I bought it anyway for the inconvenience in money and waiting it would have cost me to order from home.  Still, it seems a little pricey, right?

The next morning, it was all worth it as I sat and ate my hard boiled egg for breakfast with real salt and pepper. {contented sigh}

Tasty video nuggets

How many times have we all set an ambitious goal to do some specific, productive thing every day and then failed? Other than eating, sleeping, and spending special time alone in the water closet, I can't think of anything I'm disciplined enough to do every day.

I recently threatened an overwrought, well-meaning aunt I'd create a new blog to hide my cries for help. You know, so nobody would hear my cries for help.

It's complicated.

To create an artificial sense of accomplishment and to at least satisfy the desire to create a new blog, I created a new blog.

The new blog is a place to post a new, fun video clip every day.

Ahhhh....that's a nice, artificial sense of accomplishment.

Now, can I actually do it every day? I've got two remaining fingers on my left hand to count how many things I do every day, so I says, I say, "Yes!"

No words

MANtage

YouTube was made for Barats and Bereta.

Get inspired

I can't decide if this two minute video montage of 40 inspirational movie clips is more inspirational or humorous. Whatever it is, it's short and fun to guess which movies the clips come from and whether or not you've seen them.

The editor shares his story and transcript here.

Kermit and Joey

Over the past two years I've been surprised to discover how Sesame Street is no longer the universal part of childhood it used to be. Whenever I find a reason, cultural, educational, or otherwise, to reference the iconic show to my students, I get dumb, blank stares.

Unable to connect with my students over MY favorite childhood TV show, I've taken to scouring YouTube for memorable Sesame Street clips. This first clip is my favorite. Of course, the Cookie Monster gimmick is cute, but the final seconds where Kermit and Joey kiss and make up is endearing.



Two is better than one, so I present another classic Kermit and Joey clip. As they count their way to 20, it's especially cute how Joey tries to change the subject by commenting on Kermit's eyes. In the words of one YouTube commenter, it's like she's stalling because she can't remember what number comes next.

Feliz Cumpleaños

Originally uploaded by digitalnut One day a couple of weeks ago, while waiting for the lunch bell, I asked my 3rd grade class if they'd like to learn how to say anything in any language. New to my games, their answers were a blend of yeses, nos, and uncertainty. Perfect.

I said, "Ask me how to say anything in any language."

They said, "How do you say anything in any language?"

I said, "Anything in any language," and waited.

Some got it, but most did not. Before everyone caught up, I said, "OK, this is real. Now I'll teach you how to say, oh, happy birthday in Spanish."

I said, "Ask me how to say happy birthday in Spanish."

They said, "How do you say happy birthday in Spanish?"

I said, "Happy birthday in Spanish."

Most everyone got it by now, and there was laughter all around. As we waited for the lunch bell, we practiced other random phrases in random languages. Their eyes lit up with mischievous glee when I suggested that they wow their parents with their new found skill. I've been amused to hear, with varying degrees of success, how their own stunts went.

Fast forward to last Thursday when I was sitting in restaurant recounting this tale to a friend, also a teacher. At the very moment when I said, "How do you say happy birthday in Spanish," an old woman carrying a baby walked by our booth. I believe she was Mexican.

Overhearing but misunderstanding the context of my question, she paused and turned to us and sweetly interjected, "Happy birthday in Spanish is Feliz Cumpleaños," and then walked away.

I love helpful people.

Boom De Ah Dah!

Color me giddy that I found the expansive Discovery Channel Boom De Ah Dah! commercial on YouTube.

It's especially enjoyable if you follow and love, as I do, some of the shows in the clip, like Dirty Jobs, Man vs. Wild, and MythBusters.

And who doesn't love Stephen Hawking? See him in the last 6 seconds.

Cool.

Weekly recap

With a great week of blogging in the bag, here's a recap of posts.

Story of the week: The party is over

Picture of the week: Korean bathroom instructions

Video of the week: Brian & Katie's evolution of wedding dance

Link of the week: TV buff goldmine