July 2017 – plutoman.com

Books

It’s a marathon, not a sprint

July 31, 2017

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I just about gave up reading when had my last flatmate; I just couldn’t do it. I’d read and reread the same paragraph and take nothing in. But now I’m relaxed, my head is free of all that stuff, and reading for pleasure actually works again. I’m currently towards the end of Bruce Springsteen’s autobiography, Born To Run. Dad lent it to me last month. Springsteen sure knows how to tell a story, whether in his songs or on the printed page. Reading about his humble beginnings, his relationship with his father, his black dog experiences, his crazy road trips across the country without a licence, the way he unashamedly dodged the draft for Vietnam (I can hardly blame him) – it’s all been very illuminating. After seeing how it affected his father, he didn’t touch alcohol until he was into his twenties, and perhaps even more remarkably, he avoided recreational drugs altogether. That’s probably helped to keep his brain sharp.

As I said to my cousin on Skype this morning, I feel like I’m only on lap two of a 10,000-metre race; I definitely get the sense now that I’m here for the long haul. I’ve been going nowhere for one decade of my life if I’m being kind to myself; two if I’m not. To go somewhere will take a while too.

Language teaching - Life :) - Politics

I get all the news I need on the weather report

July 30, 2017

by plutoman 0 Comments

Last week I taught for 16 hours, a new record! The more work I get, the better I feel. It really is that simple. I did have to navigate some fairly heavy seas on Monday night when my new student (yes, she turned up!) wasn’t at the level I’d anticipated. Our conversation was slow going. Time slowed to a crawl. Will she even want to come back? But she did, on both Wednesday and Friday, and will return again on Monday. She’s a student, just 21 or thereabouts, and like so many young women here, she’s very attractive. She was born and bred in Moldova, where the levels of corruption (as she described them) make Romania sound like, well, New Zealand.

This move has been nothing short of life-changing for me. I now have a purpose, a reason to get out of bed in the morning. My work is extremely satisfying, and in between lessons, I can relax in this beautiful city. I’m longer in this vicious cycle of doing things I don’t want to do so I can do more things I don’t want to do, year in, year out. Yeah, I’d still like a few more hours and the extra money that would bring; I’m having to be pretty frugal. I’d like to meet more people, do cultural stuff like go to the theatre, and of course travel. But Romania wasn’t built in a day. Completely overhauling my life will take time.

I try to avoid most political news now. It feels like it’s been wall-to-wall politics for the last three years, and I can’t be the only one who’s had enough. Still, the failure of the Republicans’ zombie-like healthcare repeal bill did put a smile on my face. As for the weather, last Monday night we had an electrical storm which gave us respite from the scorching weather for the rest of the week, but when I look at the seven-day forecast I see a high of 34, another of 36, a quartet of 37s, and even a 38. The title of this post, by the way, is from Simon and Garfunkel’s brilliant The Only Living Boy in New York. I remember one time that song came on the radio as I was about to go through Mt Victoria Tunnel in Wellington on the way home, but I went the long way instead to avoid missing the song.

I spoke to my brother earlier today. It was his 36th birthday on Thursday. He seemed happy for me.

Language teaching

Unblocking my passages

July 24, 2017

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I wish it wasn’t so damn hot. The good news is tomorrow will be the last in a long line of 36s and 37s for a while if the forecast is even semi-accurate.

I went back to the orelist, or ENT specialist, last week. He poked a camera up my nose and I was able to see just how swollen and blocked my turbinates were. That’s one problem. The other is some deviation in my septum, caused (I think) by a slight fracture when Mum dropped me on the stairs when I was just two, before any carpets were put in our house. He’s given me some more drugs to sniff and swallow but I might end up having an operation that will put me in hospital for two or three days, perhaps in the autumn. Amazingly Mum said she’d be happy to fly out here from New Zealand if and when I have the op. I mean, she stayed home back in oh-five when Dad went to the UK for the operation on his aortic valve that almost did for him, so I don’t know what to make of that. Mum and I have talked a lot on the phone in the month since my parents were here, and we’ve been getting on absolutely fine. In fact, better than that, she’s taken a keen interest in my lessons, especially the ones involving nine-year-old Matei.

Yep, she’s right, two hours is too long for Matei. It’s almost too long for me. He’s starting to get bored of me I think, and after 21 two-hour sessions I’m running out of topics. Weather, superheroes, modes of transport, aliens, types of homes, animals, sports, body parts, directions, things you find in a city, you name it, we’ve covered it. And to make matters worse, it’s the middle of summer and he probably doesn’t want to be doing any of this English crap that his parents are forcing him to do anyway.

My favourite lesson last week was with a 30-year-old woman whose English I’d rate at a 7 out of 10. We discussed a hundred or more tricky words like paucity and disavow and conscientious. That was pretty cool. After the lesson I reflected on how mad and awesome it is that I’m doing this. In Romania. I could go back to New Zealand at some point, but there’s no way I could go back to my previous life, or existence, to be more accurate.

I was pretty much tearing my hair out when I got a no-show on Saturday from my most reliable student. I’ve got 17 hours planned for this week, including 4½ with a new student who may or may not show up. This unreliability is still a huge problem, and I’m trying to think of ways to combat it.

Federer did win Wimbledon last weekend, playing brilliantly against a hampered Cilic in the final, and I was glad it was all over for another year.

Tennis

Watching Wimbledon

July 16, 2017

by plutoman 0 Comments

This sinus pain is slowing me down so much that I must make another appointment, and this time I won’t be fobbed off with a few pills that give me at best a two-week respite.

The women’s final started brilliantly but in the end was something of a damp squib. How different it might have been had Venus taken (or been handed) one of those set points, but all credit to Muguruza, particularly on the first set point which was the longest rally of the match.

After the women’s final I continued to watch almost as much tennis as I could (heck, it’s 14 years since I was last able to watch Wimbledon during waking hours). First I saw the end of the men’s wheelchair doubles final, an interesting event to watch and on this occasion a close-fought win for a British pair, then I settled down to watch the able-bodied equivalent. Or kind of. I don’t really like men’s doubles, not proper crash-bang-wallop men’s doubles anyway. Breaks of serve are rare, and on grass they’re like gold dust, with sets comprising twelve games of utter futility and an inevitable tie-break. Why am I watching this? This isn’t like the old days of McEnroe and Stich or Philippoussis and Rafter or the Woodies or anybody I recognise. Only there were breaks of serve, seemingly out of nowhere, and in the fourth set there were a totally ridiculous three in a row. The match entered the fifth set and it was a cliffhanger. So much suspense, a bit like the singles match between Muller and Nadal. Break points and match points were saved, desperation half-volleys were dug out, and net cords were struck on vital points (which, of course, in an extended fifth set, are virtually every point). At 11-all they had to close the roof, and the match only lasted nine points on the resumption, but it had been a thriller. I didn’t really intend to watch the women’s final which started at 11:30pm, but I couldn’t sleep and there was a Romanian in action. Try as they might, Monica Niculescu and her Taiwanese partner were overpowered by the Russians, and they were dispatched without winning a game. They took their defeat extremely well.

I almost don’t want to watch the men’s final between Federer and Cilic, but I guess I’ll have to.

Language teaching - Life :)

Eat your whites (and wear them too!)

July 15, 2017

by plutoman 0 Comments

I’m not sure what to make of Wimbledon these days. The latter stages of the tournament have turned into something of a celeb-wank-fest (sorry for the inelegant turn of phrase), and things only get wankier when a certain Mr Federer happens to be on Centre Court. Then you’ve got the virtually-all-white rule which used to be sensible but is now taken to the nth degree. As a kid I owned a replica of Stefan Edberg’s Wimbledon-winning shirt, which had his SE initials and an inoffensive splash of colour on the front. It’s just about the only official-ish sporting item I’ve ever owned. It certainly wouldn’t pass muster at Wimbledon now. Shoes with coloured soles have been outlawed in this edition of the tournament, and most ridiculously of all, a boys’ doubles team were forced to change out of their black undies which supposedly showed through their white shorts. The greatest tennis tournament of all is in danger of disappearing up its own arse.

The tennis wasn’t bad today though, even if Federer won rather annoyingly in three close sets. Berdych fought very well. The other match between Cilic and Querrey grabbed my attention a little more; it wasn’t as serve-dominated as I’d feared. I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s finale to the women’s tournament. Venus Williams, who is just two months younger than me, played at a ridiculously high level in her semi with Jo Konta, including that game-changing second serve to the body at 4-4 and break point down in the first set. If (and it’s a big if) she can scale those heights against Muguruza tomorrow, she’ll surely win.

I spoke to my parents this morning. I’d just had my second lesson with my new student and was on the bike when the phone rang. They seemed fine. Their friends from St Ives (who are also my friends I guess – I saw them when I was there in April) might be popping over to see me. I’d be very happy if that happened. I was on my way to the market which at the height of summer is just fantastic. The great big ugly tomatoes, the watermelons, all the stonefruit… and so many mysteriously white (or off-white) vegetables. Green beans aren’t green, they’re pale yellow. So are peppers. So are courgettes. White onions are commonplace, as are white eggplants. Perhaps all these vegetables are in fact whitish or yellowish in their most natural state, but in the First World they’re bred to be bright traffic-light colours because people wouldn’t buy them otherwise. There are scores of fruit and vege stalls at the market I went to today, but also butchers, bakers, people selling all kinds of cheeses and salamis, and people who sharpen knives and scissors. In the middle of the market is a kiosk with various items on shelves in the window. For maximum confusion, mouthwash, car de-icer (which you certainly don’t need right now) and vodka are all on the same shelf in similar-looking bottles. You can also buy kebabby things and there are several vending machines, one of which sells eggs. Off to the side is a café that makes nice coffee, but when I went there at 9:30 on Monday morning, most people were drinking either whisky or beer.

I gave a mock job interview in this morning’s lesson. My student coped better with it than I did. In fact, considering English isn’t her first language, I was seriously impressed with her performance.

Uncategorized

What a match!

July 11, 2017

by plutoman 0 Comments

Until yesterday evening, the women’s tournament at Wimbledon had outshone the men’s in terms of captivating matches, Muguruza’s gripping three-set win over Kerber being a great example. Then Nadal ran into a 34-year-old lefty serve-volleyer from Luxembourg called Gilles Muller who was playing the match of his life. The level of play from both men throughout the fifth set was extremely high, as was the drama. I was so impressed with Muller who never wavered from his game plan, even after watching those match points literally fly by. If anyone thinks after watching that match that tennis should move to first-to-four-game sets and sudden death deuce, they need their head examined. (Linguistic hat on here: when I filled in Muller’s name on my drawsheet I gave his name an umlaut because, well, it always has one, doesn’t it? I mean, even Müller yoghurts have one. But now I’m not so sure.)

Kvitova and Nadal were my picks before the tournament; well so much for that.

I’ve now got a seventh student, a friend of one of my others, and we had our first lesson this morning. She just quit her job because, in her words, the environment was toxic. She was talking literally; she was in close contact with plastics and solvents with absolutely no protection. On Friday I’ll be giving her a mock interview.

My left sinuses are inflamed again. About time I went back to the doctor.

Life :) - Other sports - Tennis

Win, lose … or draw

July 10, 2017

by plutoman 0 Comments

Last month a team which, for marketing purposes, has “New Zealand” in its name, won some weird hybrid sailing–cycling event in Bermuda (!), part of which is called the Louis Vuitton (!) Cup. Undoubtedly millions of Kiwis took the marketing bait and got right into it, unable to take their eyes off every tack and gybe and pedal, even though very few of them could spell or pronounce Louis Vuitton.

Yesterday the Lions tour concluded. I didn’t watch that either but it seemed altogether more wholesome than the Battle of the Bermuda Triangle. Nobody deserved to lose and nobody did lose. How fantastic is that? I find it a little odd that so many people can’t accept draws in sport. In a timed sport, a draw is always a possibility, and I don’t see the problem with that. Why is it so vital to crown a winner by any means possible? Of course there are exceptions: in a knockout competition somebody has to be knocked out, and some sports are structured so that a draw is impossible, such as…

Ah yes, tennis. Isn’t it great to be watching Wimbledon again in the daytime and in summer? And filling in a drawsheet with all the winners and losers and (partial) scores. The men’s draw has been intriguing, the women’s fascinating, and while the commentary on Eurosport has been lightweight at best and simply awful at worst, it’s been great to see all these new players in action.

Dad had an exhibition last week; he’s had shows at that gallery since the mid-eighties, only the gallery is no longer in St Ives but somewhere out in the wops. He sold three paintings (out of thirty) on the night and has sold a fourth since then. I remember when there’d be three paintings unsold on the night. It ain’t like the old days. Dad was lucky to be born when he was. Without the opportunity to pursue his passion, I dread to think what might have become of him.

For me, work is frustratingly sporadic right now. In the height of summer, people’s minds are elsewhere.

Travel: Romania

Deepest Romania with Mum and Dad – Part 3 (photos)

July 3, 2017

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As promised, here are some pictures of my recent trip with my parents. One of the real stand-outs for me was the wildlife. Everywhere you looked you’d see an unusual bird or a snake or a lizard or an army of frogs or a beautiful butterfly or a beetle or some other weird and wonderful creepy-crawly, which I didn’t always catch on camera. The loss of these creatures in the UK – even in my short lifetime – is nothing short of scandalous, and nobody in Britain with the power to do anything about it gives a shit. Of course, Romania isn’t exactly a hotbed of environmentalism, it’s just that modern farming practices (which they’d adopt in a heartbeat if they could) haven’t got here yet.

Orșova (most of it doesn’t look as nice as this):