home sweet home

I know I said I was going out with friends, and I am but I just HAD to know what they said about New Hampshire. And summoning all my native knowledge, I figured out how to answer the questions right to get NH. Most of what I found I liked. Freedom: Good. Independence: Good. "Live Free or Die" motto: GOOOOOD! The thing about Libertarians, that doesn't really fit, they aren't real New Hampshirites. But the worst part? Look at the last line, that was a low blow. I don't find jokes about the Old Man funny. Bastards. Ok well except one: "Did you hear they came up with a new name for the Old Man on the Mountain? Oh yea, what is it? Cliff."

You're New Hampshire!

You're obsessed with independence, and may even be a libertarian. For
you, freedom means doing whatever you like without worrying about the petty concerns of
others. You're a big fan of throwing out slogans that threaten those who might infringe
on your freedom. And yes, everything is set in stone for you. You built your house on the
granite. Sadly, your greatest material inspiration recently fell down and can never be
rebuilt.

Take the State Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

not quite indiana jones...

Wow this is embarrassing, I’m not even a state… Well, I guess it could have been worse, I could have been a Southern State… (It was a joke, don’t post nasty comments, it was a JOKE!!)

You're Puerto Rico!

While you refuse to pay taxes, you sometimes wonder if the consequences
of this are taking away all of your potential power and influence. But every time you
think about offering to pay taxes, you realize how little cash you have on hand to begin
with. Most of the folks around you look down on you and your state of limbo, but you're
trying to play both sides of the coin to your full advantage. Out of the clear blue sky,
you just became a huge fan of the Montreal Expos.


Take the State Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Ok, last quiz, I’m going out to see some friends…

i couldn't agree more...

You scored as Indiana Jones. Indiana Jones is an archaeologist/adventurer with an unquenchable love for danger and excitement. He travels the globe in search of historical relics. He loves travel, excitement, and a good archaeological discovery. He hates Nazis and snakes, perhaps to the same degree. He always brings along his trusty whip and fedora. He's tough, cool, and dedicated. He relies on both brains and brawn to get him out of trouble and into it. Indiana Jones 75% Batman, the Dark Knight 75% The Amazing Spider-Man 71% William Wallace 58% Maximus 54% Lara Croft 54% Captain Jack Sparrow 46% James Bond, Agent 007 46% Neo, the "One" 46% The Terminator 33% El Zorro 25% Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com

merry christmas!

My friend Tsvetana and I made Krichim's first punk snowman on Christmas Eve. It's name was Снеженайтор (Sneshanator). Unfortunately, in Bulgaria, snowmen have the same life expectancy as in America and he was quickly demolished by local hooligans. I hope you had a better Christmas than Снеженайтор. Come back tomorrow to read my New Years resolutions! 

technical difficulties

I lost my links. It will be back soon. Sorry if you are dying to read someone else's blog, Slate Online or Buzzflash, they'll be back soon...

frustrated with bulgarian

Top Ten List of Why English is Awesome:
10. There are no rolling Rs.
9. Passive tense. At some time in your life, your butt will be saved by it.
8. Indirect object, direct object: yeah they’re the same.
7. No gender agreement (kinda like my life…).
6. The biggest vocabulary in the world!!
5. At the most, in any tense, there are only two conjugations.
4. Most of the world’s movies are produced in English.
3. What other language has “onomatopoeia”?
2. Definite article: “the.” Always. Don’t take that for granted.
1. And the number one reason why English is awesome: I totally get it!

help make us # 1!

New goal for the week: I want this site to show up on the first page when you Google “Andrew Hamilton.” I know it’s not much, and I will of course pursue my continuous goal to be the best Peace Corps volunteer EVER and teach my students to love and understand English but everyone needs a hobby right? Anyway, I know this can be done. Did you know that there is even a job for this? I think it’s called a Search Engine Accelerator or something lame like that. So next question: does anyone know how to go about doing this?

"it's a small world after all"

As much as I hate the Disney ride, I think it is an apt description of what I have come to realize lately. The world is small. Though we number in the billions, humans are connected in amazing ways. And why not? We are more alike than we are different. Though as an anthropologist I have tended to look at the differences between people, in actuality I end up finding more similarities.
First, musical connections. Tonight, I had dinner at a colleague’s house. I was dreading going out: we had a bad snow storm today, it was a depressing Sunday, shut in my apartment all day making lesson plans. But I got on my hat, gloves, scarf, thick wool socks, new Bulgarian boots and jacket and walked into the cold. When I got to my colleagues apartment, before I even got in, I could hear the 80’s hard core rock pulsating from within.
This isn’t the first time I have encountered this. I only knew two Bulgarians before I came to Bulgaria, both of them were from college. One of them roomed with a team mate of mine. His name was Ognan and he was a scary fellow. Long black hair, lots of Megadeath T-shirts, black leather gloves, you get the picture. And I thought it strange. This guy comes all the way from Bulgaria, and he is obsessed with 80’s heavy metal. But once I came here, I realized it wasn’t an aberration. Bulgarians, men especially, love heavy metal. I am a big Punk fan myself (enough so to be that kid in high school with spiked green hair, but that’s for another posting…) but this music is too much for me. I feel like ol’ grandpa Andy, “why can’t you play your music at an appropriate level?”
But back to my visit. So there I was outside my colleague’s apartment as Slayer pounded my temples. I stepped inside, preparing myself for a night of “Headbangers Ball.” Fortunately, my colleague’s husband turned down his music, but not before showing me his collection. I kid you not, he had hundreds of CD’s. I asked him later what were his favorite bands and he listed off “Megadeath, Slayer, Sepultura, AC*DC, Pantera, Metallica” and too many others to mention. My colleague’s husband and Ognan aren’t alone in their adoration of this music. Many Bulgarians are infatuated with, if not 80’s Heavy Metal, then at least 80’s music. My host brother in Krichim is a huge Metallica and, oddly enough, Chicago fan. Let me tell you, after a few Rakiyas there is nothing better than belting out “You Are my Inspiration” into the early morning.
Another weird connection: work. My colleague’s husband works for a factory just outside of Bobov Dol that makes liquid oxygen and nitrogen (which now that I think of it kinda makes me nervous. Aren’t those really combustible? Like mushroom cloud combustible?). Anyways, the company is called SIAD and from the first time I saw the logo on a truck I thought it looked like the logo of a factory I used to work for while I was in college. So in my best Bulgarian, I took a long shot and asked him if he knew Praxair, this company I used to work for. He said, “oh yeah, SIAD used to be called Praxair.” So I told him about my old job, and my colleague laughed and said, “you two are colleagues.” It made me smile: here I am living seven time zones away from home having dinner with a guy who works for a factory in his hometown, that also has a factory that I used to work in, in my hometown. It was like when I spoke with another colleague who used to be in the Bulgarian Army during the Communist Era. We were on a bus somewhere and he commented, “here is where we used to train with the Warsaw Pact to fight NATO.” And I realized that there were places back home where my father had trained with NATO to fight the Warsaw Pact. At the same time, my father and my colleague were training to kill each other.
I don’t have a succinctly defined opinion on globalization. I think that we should strive to preserve cultural diversity but at the same time I think we must strive to connect our human race. I think here in Bulgaria, though things are going slowly, we are moving in the right direction. After 50 years of isolation, Bulgaria is moving away from isolation. Though 80’s death metal still grates on my nerves, I was happy to get invited tonight to a rock concert in the summer. I am also glad that I am now working with my colleague instead of wondering if someday I will have to kill his son. And though every time I hear that song it brings back bad memories of getting stuck on that damn ride and hearing “it’s a small world- it’s a small world- it’s a small world” over and over again, it truly is a small world after all.

the US plot to derail my senior thesis, uncovered

A student at the other Dartmouth (UMASS-Dartmouth) was recently visited from agents from the Department of Homeland Security for requesting a book by Mao-Tse Tung through the college’s interlibrary loan system. Apparently this book was on some watch-list and he was investigated because he had spent “significant time abroad.” Is two years abroad “significant time”? And the agents brought the book to the interview and left without giving it to him. You know, now that I think about it, there were books I needed from the interlibrary loan system in college for my thesis and I could never get them. I thought it was because some lazy idiot at Princeton had just forgotten to return it, but maybe some federal agent in his office somewhere was leafing through Conrad Anderson’s original version of life in Ireland, holding on to just to piss me off. Oh man, I hope it gave him paper cuts…
  http://www.southcoasttoday.com/daily/12-05/12-17-05/a09lo650.htm

andy starts recycling

I’m in a writing funk. A friend emailed me and told me I was a good writer and that I should give up my plans to go to grad school and just travel to weird places and write. I wish he hadn’t done that. Now I can’t write. So until I can get out of this funk, I will post old stuff. I wrote this about a year ago, September 15, 2004 to be exact…

I was inspired yesterday by a story I heard on NPR. The big talk on Capital Hill the last couple of days has been whether or not anti-depressant drugs can cause suicide in adolescents. One of the parents talking had found his 12 year-old hanging from a rope in the garage. He said how he didn’t want to fight or say anything that would risk stirring up all those emotions, but he felt that his daughter’s memories were making him lobby for a change.
It seems like a great hook for a story. A man, a quiet man who peacefully keeps to himself, is reluctantly forced to fight a battle of some kind. It would be a better story if it was a battle he knew he could not win, where fighting the battle is what’s important. Kind of like the native tribes fight against the US government. I think most of them knew deep down that they wouldn’t win, but they tried nonetheless. They were left with only two options: sit around and become slaves, or fight and die. Sometimes simply fighting the battle is what is important. Win or lose, this man, this father is dealing with his loss and the memories of his loved one.
It’s like a cowboy (Think: “High Noon”) hiking up his gun belt, pulls down his hat and walking out the door to doom. It’s like that dream where I put on a plastic helmet and old metal canteen, roll up my sleeves and march out my front door to face the Nazi Panther division attacking my neighborhood. Is it the “kill or be killed” motivation? No, that’s when you are backed up against the wall and are forced to fight your way out. That’s too easy, too simple. You fight or you die, end of the story. No, rather I am talking when you have the choice not to fight. You will keep on living, actually life might not be that bad. But you will always know something is different, something is diminished.
I think we all must do this. We all must fight against the memories, the inevitable, the “dying of the light.” Like in that last scene of “For Love of the Game.” The main character Chapel is an aging major league pitcher in possibly the last professional game of his life. It is the last inning and he is mere pitches away from pitching a perfect game. And at that moment on the mound he realizes what he is fighting against. Losing the love of his life, age, injuries, the end of summer, the end of his career, and the end of the franchise. All things that are beyond his control. He could just pack it in and say “goodnight, good year and good life.” Instead he keeps fighting because he knows that simply by fighting he is making baseball and the world just a little bit better. It is an amazing thing when people know that they are going to fail, usually at great costs to themselves and yet still try because losing it all is better than living with only some of it.

наздраве! (cheers!)

I wanted to put this up earlier, but school has been kicking my butt this week. Here is a picture of my Krichim family last Saturday night as we got ready to eat. Mladen, my host brother, wanted me to point out that we are all in one room because it is too expensive to heat other rooms. He said we were like all the forest animals in the old man's mitten. 

should i go or should i stay?

Well the secret is out. The Peace Corps and I are deciding whether it is best for me and my mission here to move to another city. And it is turning out to be one of the hardest decisions of my life.
On one hand, the reasons to leave seem fairly straight-forward. Since I have arrived, the description of my job has done a 180. I originally came here to team-teach with a Bulgarian counterpart with a school director who was very excited to have me. My purpose was to be a native speaker to help the students with speaking, pronunciation, and general practice along with transfering skills to Bulgarian counterpart. Shortly before the school year started, however, my counterpart left for a better job and my director was replaced by another. And while two replacement teachers have come (and subsequently left after a few days), I am now teaching alone.
My kids are crazy. Literally. A month ago a student came in with a pizza and sat down in my class, all ready to wash it down with a bottle of beer. Yesterday I took a knife away from a student. He was brandishing it at other students and I decided to draw a line at open weapons in my class. Only one of my four classes as any functional use of English and one class is so unmotivated, some students refused to draw a picture in class. One girl opted to take a failing grade rather than draw.
And the working conditions are a little less than ideal. We have just lost two beloved teachers because the 13th class refuses to come to class. My colleagues hate the new director and refuse to work with her. I am caught in the middle, I feel weird going to the director with a problem even though at times I know I have to.
But on the other hand, the people in my town are awesome. My town is full of caring people who love me. My neighbors always have a kind word for me and I am always getting invited over for a meal or a coffee or rakia. People in town talk to me and invite in for a coffee or give me free body spray. I have a class of prisoners who think I am pretty cool though a little odd.
And things keep happening here that make me think that maybe I am meant to be here. I don’t want to sound overly God-preachy, but I feel like I am being watched over here. Take yesterday for instance. Yesterday was one of the hardest days I have had here. I gave a test first period which is a nightmare. Then I had two classes with 7th grade (the ones who won’t draw), and 8th and 11th, who are usually acceptable, were loopy. I also got a Christmas package from my mom. It had my presents and peanut butter cookies. And as I walked back to my apartment, eating peanut butter cookies and missing home, I started tearing up. I missed my family, my friends and the thought of Christmas in New Hampshire. I haven’t felt closer to packing it all in than I did then. I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry on the street but wait until I got to my apartment. Then something happened. One of my students came up and started talking to me. This was the same student who busted into one of my classes with a giant long balloon between his legs and pretended to whack off. But yesterday he was a different person. He was polite, interested about America and me. I arrived at home and forgot about crying.
I got lunch and headed into town to make some Xeroxes for my bratty 8th graders. When I got to the bookstore-café, I decided to buy some tinsel and wrapping paper. I talked with the cashier. And the women in the café, overheard us and invited me for some coffee. After an hour of her talking way too fast and me smiling and saying stupid stuff like "really?", "uh-huh," "then what did she say?", she promised to bring in some canned fruits for me today. After I metioned that I love pumpkin banitsa (traditional Bulgarian pastry), she also promised to bring in some of that too. I went home and called a neighbor, and asked to come over and share my cookies with them. She enthusiastically said yes, and I spent the rest of the night drinking wine, watching Big Brother, talking about Chalga singers and participating in various feats of strength. I would like to note here that I won the push up competition with 60 at one time.
I went home, a little sweatier, a little more drunk but a lot happier. And that’s how it usually ends up. The school day goes miserably. I feel like a babysitter, like a failure, like I am wasting my time teaching kids who don’t want to learn. I think how I could better serve Bulgaria, teaching at a language school where my native understanding of English could be more beneficial. Instead I continue to teach kids basic English even though any Bulgarian teacher could that as well as, or even better, than me. But by the end of each day something happens that makes me forget all that and makes me feel like I have friends and even family here. My close friend Desi told me that I will prosper here and I am taking strength in her words and her faith. I wonder, however, if me prospering is enough. Sure I can make a lot of friends and maybe, just maybe find a way to not go crazy. But would it be better for my mission if I was somewhere else where I could use my strengths as a native speaker and actually participate in some skills transfer with Bulgarian colleagues? I don’t know the answer to that. And until I do, I will continue to mull this decision over.

out like a fat kid in dodgeball

I will be gone until Sunday, December 11, visiting my Bulgarian family in Krichim. Have a good weekend!

creativity gets andy in trouble again

     One of my prisoner students two weeks asked me to make a lesson on dating and talking to girls. Always looking for ways to spice up my lessons I thought, “why not? This could be fun.” Today I finally got around to making the lesson and presented it to them. Now I made it a little racier than I would if I was giving this lesson to, say, my seventh grade class, because they are hardened criminals, after all (even though it is only a matter of time before some of my 7th grade students become criminals…). But I realized I went a little too far as I stood in front of 11 men and recited the lines to Hot Chocolate’s “You Sexy Thing”:
Oh kiss me you sexy thing
Touch me baby, you sexy thing
I love the way you touch me darling
You sexy thing  
     Next time I will stick to the book…

Dunkin' Donuts in Bulgarian is: Dunkin' Donuts!

This really has nothing to do with anything but I was in Sofia last week and went to a Dunkin' Donuts. I haven't had a donut in 7 months and I was with a group of Americans, so we went. They had hazelnut coffee and boston creme donuts. I was very happy... Hmmmmm, donuts. 

down and then up again

     I have begun to take life as it comes. Some days at school are great and I have dreams of starting a career in ESL teaching, traveling around the world, turning on people to the magical world of English. Then I have other days like today that make me want to go home and call in sick tomorrow.      
The new colleague I talked about so glowingly on Monday has decided to take a teaching position in Kyustendil, her hometown. So it looks like Mr. Hamilton will again be teaching alone. I also gave tests today to two of my classes, which I hate doing. On one hand it makes for an easy lesson plan: “give test.” But on the other hand it makes my day about, hmmm, 100 times more stressful. In Bulgaria, cheating is very prevalent. It is an almost accepted practice. All my Bulgarian friends have admitted to, at some point in their academic careers, cheating on tests. And when I say cheating, they do things American students haven’t even thought of. Coded hair twirling, notes in tissue packages, and notes in, ah-hem, nether regions…
Every time I give a test I make two copies. It’s a feeble attempt to stop the ocean, but it cuts down slightly on the (overt) cheating. Every time I do it, I get a chuckle out of the student who is shocked: “Hey, he has a different test!” I like that the Bulgarian for yes is “da” because I can say, “duuuuuuhhhh,” and it just sounds like I am saying “yes.” Anyway, the kids were horrible today, even my very best student was giving answers to the student behind her. And this was with my Bulgarian colleague in the room. I took away about three tests but I feel like a hypocrite doing that because I know every student is cheating, these unlucky saps were just those who were sloppy enough to get caught.
I left school feeling pretty depressed. Not only did I have to be Mr. Disciplinarian-asshole to my classes but I was losing the person who gave me hope this week. I walked home stewing.
When I arrived at my block, I ran into a neighbor from upstairs, Sonya, who always has something nice to say to me. I asked her what she was doing and she said that she was going on a picnic with some other neighbors (interesting side note: “picnic” in Bulgarian is “picnic.” sweet.). Feeling that company would do me good, I invited myself along and ran to the store to buy some sweets and beer for the picnic.
Even though I felt kinda like a sleaze doing it, inviting myself along was one of my better ideas. There were six of us and we went into the woods around our block and had a huge fire and cooked shish kabobs. There was plenty of rakia, wine and beer and good food. The shish kabobs were made from some kind of pig product that tasted like buttered meat. Very good, it made me glad to be a meat eater.  
     But the best part was just being there enjoying a simple pleasure with people who didn’t care that I had invited myself along. They didn’t care that I couldn’t understand most of what they were saying. They feed me, joked with (and at) me and allowed me to forget about the day. Afterwards, I spoke with Sonya, and told her that I had a horrible day at school but had a great time at the picnic. She smiled and said, “this is life.” I could have hugged her, because I rarely hear things as true as that. When I am on my deathbed, gasping for my last breaths, I won’t remember that Hristo didn’t know how to conjugate “to wake up” in the third person. I won’t remember that Zdravka cheated right in front of me. But I will remember that first taste of that pig product and I will remember hearing “Uncle” Ivan calling me a bright guy when I correctly said that we were cooking like stone-age men in Bulgarian. Life is full of good and bad. In the end, the crap doesn’t matter. Sure, right now it seems like EVERYTHING, but given time and distance I will forget it. I don’t think I will call in sick tomorrow, because even though I hate the bad, I don’t want to miss the good.  

things begin to look up

Often, just when I think I can’t handle it here, things happen that tell me to hang on just a little bit longer. Today was like that. It was my first day back to school in over a week and I started the day in a deep funk. I was dreading going to school and facing those kids once again. Not only have I been gone for a while but I am giving all my students a test at the end of the week and so this week is full of review games and practice tests. I knew they were going to be crazy today and I was not excited about that. Before school I said a little prayer, just a simple thing. I wanted Him to walk with me today because I knew I couldn’t handle it on my own.
I had 12th grade first and though they were not happy about having a test, nor were they enthused by my games, they were patient and didn’t make my day any more miserable. After that class, I was called into the director’s office. Sitting on the couch was a woman I didn’t recognize. From what I gathered from the director, this woman was the new English teacher. This was quickly confirmed when the woman started speaking English. I almost started crying with joy right then and there.
For those who don’t know, an English teacher from my high school (the teacher I was supposed to team-teach with, in fact) left right before the year started. I was given all his classes and have been teaching the classes by myself, with my limited teaching experience and even more limited Bulgarian. I didn’t know when I first accepted this gig that out of 4 classes, 3 have no functional English. So I have been pulling my hair out trying to teach these students basic English, without a book and with little support (I have to thank my counterpart Galya here. She has given me a tremendous amount of support. But overall the school has been unable to help me).  
So today when this woman came, Mrs. Ivanova, I could have kissed her. I didn’t though. We went to my classes and she met the students. Of course they were the little devils that they always are and because my lessons were mostly review games, they were even crazier. I was afraid that Mrs. Ivanova was going to either run away and never return to Bobov Dol or else think I was a horrible teacher. Only time will tell what she does.
As it stands now, she and I will team-teach these classes. I can’t describe how happy this makes me. Under this structure, she can discipline and explain grammar in Bulgarian and I can plan the lessons and activities. It is great. I look forward to having another person there in the foxhole with me. It won’t make everything perfect, but at least it will even up the odds a bit.
On top of that, last Wednesday was my name day. It was Saint Andrew’s Day and here in Bulgaria, name days are a huge deal. They are even bigger than birthdays. I was bummed that on my name day I was with Americans who really could have cared less about it. When I arrived in school today, however, I learned that my colleagues had not forgotten. They presented me with a beautiful silver cross that they had all pitched in to buy. I was so happy and thankful. I spoke with another English teacher and he said that the gift was out of appreciation for all the things I had done. I felt very special.
I have been an Atheist for a long time. Things have happened since I arrived here in Bulgaria, however, that have made me believe in God once again. Today was another one. Here I was, at the end of my rope, feeling like I couldn’t do it anymore. Out of desperation, I asked Him to walk beside me because I knew I was going to fall. And seemingly sent from Heaven was this new teacher, here to help me to teach. On the same day, I receive a silver cross, from my colleagues in appreciation of all the hard work I have put in. I don’t want to sound all preachy ( I hate when people get like that) but I will say that tonight before I go to sleep, I will say a little prayer of thanks to Him for helping me hold on just one more day.

getting it done

People can say I "hijacked" the whole pie crust rolling mission but the truth is I stepped up and got it done! And I have proof! And look carefully, I did it all with a beer bottle. Who says beer is just for breakfast?! 

personal rant or andy needs a nap

Tonight I am going to bed very tired. It’s like any typical Sunday night I guess but for some reason tonight feels different. I’ve been in a rut all week. I should have been happy. I had a week away from classes, I got to talk with people who speak my language, I got to sleep on a good mattress, and I didn’t even have to cook. But no, for some reason I felt dead. I didn’t want to participate in anything and I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was like a walking deadman. Last night, Saturday night, I fell asleep at 9:00 pm and slept in this morning until 9:00 am. I am a lazy slug.
     I think something happened. Maybe it’s being alone so long. Being here in this little town, talking to people at certain (low) level in a hard language, has made me begun to think at this level. I have had to slow down my ability to explain myself to fit into Bulgarian words I know. Even when I speak with Bulgarians who know English, I have to simplify what I say. This starts to wear on you after a while. You don’t see it in your day to day activities. I mean, when you use most of the Bulgarian you know to keep kids from throwing stuff, or running out of class or hitting each other, your inability to form complex, personal narratives really doesn’t bother you. But when you spend a week with people who can understand you, well at least when they are sober, you begin to notice that you have changed.
     Last week and this weekend I felt bad about myself. I felt boring, uncommunicative and wrapped up in myself. And maybe I am normally. But I must find some patience in myself. I am kinda like a cripple here, limping around with my Intermediate High Bulgarian (just got a language test, go me!) trying to be the same ol intense Andy but unable to explain that tonight I feel a “little grouchy.” I am tired of feeling bad about that. Tomorrow I will wake up and go to school and teach kids who have been without English for a week and will probably be bouncing off the walls. And I will get wrapped up in my day to day activities again. And this feeling will pass, I know. But right now I am tired, and I want things to be easier. Times like this it is hard to feel like a warrior.

Thanksgiving (Observed)

Just got back to Bobov Dol after a week long conference in Bankia. Here is a picture from Saturday in Razlog where six other volunteers and I celebrated Thanksgiving. I hope you all had as much fun as us. And look in the lower left hand corner, we even had pumpkin pie. Of course, I had to teach the girls how to roll the pie crust but that is neither here nor there...