Scribbling #35: We Hate Rock 'n' Roll

Well, it doesn't go down too well in Slovakia.  It's a bit like a lead balloon.  Or as useful as a chocolate ashtray on a motorcycle.

Nearly every radio station here delves into pop and Slovak country music.  The '80s, '90s, '00s, and '10s are all covered with the intention to rot the brains of the younger generations by playing the same songs over and over again until they like them.  There is no other real use of music on the radio. There is no classical, no rock and especially no indie music present.  This is a shame, because most pop music nowadays is rubbish (see Lady Gaga's "Dance in the Dark" and Rebecca Black's "Friday" for details), and there is no sense of variety on radio stations here.  This is something else that I miss about the UK, then.

Also as a side note, the "YEAH!! Rock 'n' Roll!!" sign, otherwise characterized as the fist in the air with the first finger and the pinky freely pointed upwards, has a slightly different meaning here.  If this sign is pointed at another man, then this means "your wife is cheating on you".

Something to remember next time you find yourself at a rock concert in Slovakia and are getting slightly carried away.

Scribbling #34: Remembering Where You Are

Sometimes it can all get a little too cosy.

Before the baby, we had pretty much settled into a routine in that, first, if a mission (e.g. going to the Post Office) involved a lot of talking, then Mrs. C would have to come with me.  Going about our daily lives like this was more of a routine than anything, as she was the language expert in our family, while I was the person who brought in the dough, any way possible, stopping short of selling a kidney.

And then the baby came, and things have now got a little (as in, Winner of the Understatement of the Year Award goes to...) harder for all of us.  In order to go to the Post Office again, and to do the same thing again, then we'd have to put Baby J's stuff all in the car, make sure that he's been fed and changed (if needed), bringing the pram/stroller with us, taking it all out when we reach the Post Office, putting it all together, taking baby out, putting him in the pram, etc., etc.  This wouldn't be so bad except that none of us have the patience of doing this, time and time again, especially Mrs. C.  We're going to have to do the same thing on Monday, to get the car sorted out for its technical checkup, and there will be a lot of technical words spoken by Slovaks that I will not understand at all.  Nothing.  Not even with mime.  And Slovaks don't mime.

A lot of people would be thinking now that, well, yeah, duh, learn the language, geezer.  Easy enough, isn't it?  To this I would say, yes and no.  Firstly, because it's due to context.  Last year was so mental that trying to learn anything was approached with a mindset that it would be best to saunter up to it with a twelve-foot rusty halberd and very gently poke it in the back.  I found out, slowly, how I learn language, and that is, unconventionally.  I learn by making a lot of mistakes, not by a simple positive learning experience in a classroom.  Case in point, I had four teachers last year, and it got to the point of starting, stopping and then starting over again so often that learning a language was tiring and highly demotivating for me, on top of the three-shift work I was doing as well.

This year, however, I think I have a little bit more of a chance, and language really does have to become a priority.  I have to learn this by myself, as this not only involves Slovak, but also learning more about the English language as well, as I have now started to teach that particular subject.  With the teaching, I wasn't very good at all for the first few weeks, and then I got into the swing of it, started to learn more, found out about more techniques and plans and all that stuff.  I feel more confident now, but I'm still not able to rest on my laurels, and that's a position I want to be in for a at least a little while longer.  I want, or even need, the same thing for my Slovak language learning.  I won't ever be fluent, but I want to know enough to get by.  I need help in doing this, but in the end I have to do the work myself in order to learn, and I learn well by using the language and through repetition, as one slightly frustrated Slovak teacher found out.  This is the hardest thing for me to do here, because so far, its just been a case of being able to take the wife along with me, or muddling along by myself.

Secondly (yes, all that was just "firstly"), language is empowerment.  You're able to go out, find stuff, be able to work the mundane day-to-day things by yourself.  This is obvious.  Learning a language, especially a Latin-based one like Slovak, is incredibly difficult for me.  Those French classes I took all those years ago were a walk in the park in comparison to understanding Slovak.  For Mrs. C, she has a gift in language, as case in point, she was able to translate from Slovak to English within her first nine months here.  This is an awesome thing, as in really, truly awesome, and not how a lot of people use that word today, a little too glibly.  What she did, what she was able to do, really dawned on me during Scribbling #1, thereby creating this blog.  For her to be here by herself, to fend for herself like I haven't, is also an amazing thing.  Her help came from Slovak friends who spoke good English, and later on, a couple of Canadian friends came over and she was able to help them in turn because of her knowledge of the language.

I don't want to set myself a challenge, I don't want to set a deadline, but I would like to do a blog post in Slovak.  This sentence reminds me about the time I got a text message from Christina in Slovak, and shortly after at Betka's grandma's house, I watched Betka go through Christina's grammar and correcting bits of it.  Anyway, who knows, it may be by the end of the year, or maybe not.  In the end, I'm here, I have to provide, and I've had enough of giving everyone a blank look when they're talking to me in Slovak, and getting repeatedly slammed for not learning the language when I first came here (a little bit unfairly, I feel, given the circumstances), or not doing something because of culture clash or whatever.  I can't fear about failing, so I have to dare to fail instead.

Scribbling #33: Enter Baby J

So, yes, we've spawned.  We are now the proud/excited/mystified parents of one JJC (we like initials/acronyms here, in case you haven't noticed), otherwise known as Baby JJ, or just JJ.  Living as a parent is a new experience, since when you're a dad, you can participate in the first, middle and final stage of a newborn's daily life.  That is, changing him, feeding him, and then putting him to sleep.  For me, this type of episode has only happened the once, since the milk wagon (translation: Mrs. C) is usually available for the middle section.  So:

JJ wakes up at 3:24 a.m.  As he is wont to do.

JJ: BWWAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!! NWWWWWWWWAAAAAHHHH!!! FNAAAARRRR!! *snort* *snort* FFFFFWWWWWAAAAAHHHHHHBBBWWWWAAAAHHHHHHH...nur, huur, hurrr, WAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNWWWWYYYY *snort* BWAAAAAAAAHHHHH---

I sleepily arouse from bed, in slow motion, like a rubbish Lazurus.

JC: Oh, boy...

JJ:  GWWWWWWWAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

JC:  Oh, my, the world is ending, the world is ending!

I bend over to pick him out of the crib.  Stage 1: Check to see if he's filled his nappy.

JJ:  Wuh?

JC: Naaaah!  Okay, time to change lil' JJ....

JJ:  WAHHHHHHBWWWWWWAAAAAAHHHHHWAHHHHHHHWAAAAAHHHHH WAHHHHHAHHHHHHH *snort* *snort* NWWWWWAAAAAHHHHHH

I put him on the changing table, trying to undo all the buttons of his sleeping clothes/costume.  It looks more like a costume to me.  No right thinking human being would actually wear a proper t-shirt saying 'Grumpysaurus' on it, would they? 

JJ: WWWWAAAAAAAAAAAHHH...  WUUUUUUHHHH? Snnnaaaaarrrrrr.... wuhhhh...

JC:  Okay... how many buttons does this thing have?... for crying out... stop kicking!... stop... right, one leg out... stop kicking the other... other leg out... how did the other leg get back in again?...right...both legs out.  Success.  Right.  Move you up, got your legs, got your legs...squish that thing underneath you...

Mrs C:  Is this going to be a running commentary all night? 

JC:  ...shut up...right tab off, left tab off. and open...oh, Lordy me.

JJ: Nwwaaaa...

JC: Oh, wow.

Pause.

JC:  How does this happen?  So much comes out of a little body...

Contemplative silence.

JC:  Okay, off it comes.  And away...and fold...and in the bin.  And wipes...wipes...wipes?  Ah, there.  Ok.  So up we go again.  And on with the new... And wiping this bit, and that bit...and those bits...get in there... right, done.  Maybe one more time... all bits... and the cream next...stop struggling...

JJ:  wwwaaaaaHHHHHH...

JC: ...wait...wait...

JJ: ...HHHHHWWWWWWWAAAAAA...

JC:  Do this clip than that clip and other clips...wait...no, that's not right...where's the instructions for this thing...?

JJ:  ..AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH...

JC: ...okay, done, done! Hah! Done! Ready to go.  See, all done, all done...

Pause.

JJ: GAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

JC: Right! Right, feeding! Er...

Mrs. C: Cupboard, bottom shelf.

JC: Right, cupboard.

And here, dear reader, the next hour (Stage 2) consists of bringing a bottle of formula for the baby, if Mrs. C isn't "available", then feeding the baby.  Although he doesn't want it at first, no.  And then he does...and then doesn't again.  He changes his mind so many times, and may instead tire himself from all the decision making and eventually fall back to sleep.  This then consists of putting him into his crib, walking softly away, turning off all the lights, then going back to bed.

And then he hiccups, waking himself up.

Repeat these two steps at least six times over before he's actually fed.  Whereby he must be burped.  And if it is formula milk he's having, this particular belch can be heard, and this is from a neighbour's testament, that the baby can be heard from across the street.  This may also frighten him.  If so, then repeat Stage 1 to 3 until he's calmed down and has fallen asleep.  By this time, it may be 6 a.m. and time to go to work, leaving Mrs. C happy and content.

All of the above usually never happens, with a tired Mrs. C having to get up in the night at all hours and making sure that the lil' one is all right.  She's a trooper.  A knackered one, by 6 a.m.

N.B. We do love him to bits anyway. :-)