I lose diplomas the way other people lose car keys or hairbrushes. Just to be clear we are talking about the physical diploma and not something that would require an educational ethics committee. To date I have owned five diplomas from the University of Pittsburgh. I fear they might think I’m selling them out of the trunk of a Camry in Brno. But at the moment I have bigger worries.

I can’t find my last diploma now.

Diploma #5 is gone.

If you live in the Czech Republic, you have to present your diploma for various reasons throughout an otherwise normal year. More so if you work in the education field. And I suppose the university where I teach feels better if they occasionally prove that I didn’t study at a place called Gary’s Tacos and Degrees.

Fair enough.

But I am often forced to present my diploma when managing tasks which don’t traditionally require a diploma. Can I deposit this money into my account? Of course, we’ll just need your visa, passport, two photos, and a notarized copy of your university diploma. Are these waffles on special? Yes, we’ll just need your visa, passport, two photos, and a notarized copy of your university diploma.

And so, at least twice a year (or whenever I crave waffles) I dig through my closets and cabinets, sweat, and curse profusely. I root through credit card statements, phone bills, checkbooks, cat immunization papers, and hundreds of other papers a teacher accrues. I curse my disorganization. I open the Becherovka. I curse my ability to think I’d remember where I put things. This place. I’ll never forget this place. And with cat ass in my face and temperature and blood pressure rising, my entire life becomes a search for one phrase on a flat box envelope.

Diploma: Do Not Bend

Read the rest of this entry »

A few days ago, my aunt walked out of her bedroom and asked her ninety-one year old mother (my grandmom) whether she looked fat in the dress she was wearing.

My grandmother – tiny, bent, fluttery in the hands, Sicilian, old-aged mellow, a woman who would fit perfectly as Friend #2 on The Golden Girls – looked at her and said, “You want fact or tact?”

Conversation. Over.

Contrary to most of my family, my grandmother is level-headed and cool. She doesn’t get bent out of shape as quickly as the rest of us, and doesn’t have the same instant overreaction that the rest of us do (read: panic and/or rage). If a tornado ripped the roof off the house she would turn to one of us and say, “Pass the phone, please.”

Maybe it’s because she has seen it all. She raised seven kids, has dealt with forty years of grandchildren and great-grandchildren and kept her cool throughout. Like many of your grandparents she has seen ten decades of drama. She’s lived through the Great Depression, World War II, the 60s, the film Xanadu, Parachute pants, and Lady Gaga.

But while World War II and the Great Depression might be a chapter from a history book for you and me, for her it’s context. It’s a barometer to which daily stresses and struggles are measured. So when someone whines that they’re hungry (aka: me), she smiles and thinks, I remember that summer in 1936 when we had to eat wood chips, but sure I’ll make you a snack between your first and second lunches.

And then she does.

Read the rest of this entry »

We all inherit characteristics from our parents, both physical and personal. Some people get hairy knuckles, others get chunky thighs. In terms of personal characteristics, you get your parents’ tendencies just as you get their double chin or their unibrow.

When you realize this, you may be thrilled, indifferent or destroyed. But at some point you realize that you are exactly like your parents. And because that exact moment happens in almost everyone’s life, bar owners drive Porsches and psychologists send their kids to private schools.

I have inherited some redeeming qualities and habits from my parents. I love reading and being creative. I put a lot of stock in honesty and integrity. I try to treat others with respect. And I would climb over a nun to get to a good pizza.

Solid.

But.

Yes, as usual, there’s a but.

But now that I have been visiting home for a few weeks, I don’t see the pleasant traits as much as I see the ones that drive me a little crazy. And I watch it all happen in a state of recognition horror.

Read the rest of this entry »

These guys had great brogues “Meeeee”

Day 1: Dublin

Jake: “Hi, yeah, can we get two pints of Guinness please.”

Me: “And two shots of Black Bush too, please.”

Barman: “In less than two jiffs. From where do ye hale, lads?”

Jake: “Pittsburgh.”

Me: “Langhorne.”

Barman: “Ah yes. Lovely, it is.”

There are things one expects when traveling in Ireland: Guinness, quaint pubs, green, red hair, and the Irish brogue. As we are in a quaint pub drinking Guinness and the barman has on a green vest and shock of red hair, we are fulfilling those expectations. Moreover, his brogue pours out of his mouth like cool bubbles. It causes no distress.

Of all the variants of English, I find Irish to be the most pleasant. Not that it’s got a lot of competition in the world of English accents. Just watch an episode of The Young Ones, any American reality show, or listen to an Australian speak. We are all chewing gravel compared to the Irish. It is a delicious accent.

Part of what makes the Irish accent so appealing is that it so often comes along with a pleasant temperament.In my time in Ireland, I have heard very few words spoken in anger. I know it happens, of course, but in my personal interactions with Irish people they have been extremely warm, open, and friendly. Their brogue seems specially constructed to convey that personality.

Also, it’s addictive.

Read the rest of this entry »

If you are from a normal country and have ever spoken to a person who has driven in Ireland or the UK, then you asked something like this: “Ooh, how was driving on the other side of the road?”

Depending on the temperament or experience of the driver, you might expect a variety of answers. The person answering might exhale shakily and say: I still wake up in a cold sweat screaming ‘stay on your left!’ They might put on a thousand yard stare and ask to be left alone for a while. If they are of a heartier intestinal fortitude or perhaps once maneuvered a tank through a minefield in combat, then they might underplay the deed, You get used to it, or straight up blow it off, Oh, it’s no problem.

Whatever they say, the driver of the car through Ireland is not the real hero. The real man of the hour is the copilot.

Strange? Not really. OK, yes, the pilot has to worry about keeping to the left, driving from the right, shifting with his left, and keeping everyone inside the car, and some people outside the car, alive. But the copilot’s duties are to obey the rules of Irish navigation.

Read the rest of this entry »

I am hiding from my mom.

I’m holed up in my brother’s room, which has so much technology that it seems I could launch a thermonuclear war from my parent’s attic. On the coffee table are three remotes that control the behemoth entertainment system in front of me. I hesitantly touch a button and wince at the lights it produces.

A few footsteps betray my mother’s approach near the base of the attic steps. I remain perfectly still and cast my eyes at the ground as though I were being circled by a silver backed gorilla. She moves away. I breathe, go back to my remote controls.

Damn.

I wish I remembered my brother’s induction seminar. I touch another remote, it makes the lights go away.

Damn.

I have been home for 16 hours.

I have a quirky family. From my dad to our pets, we are all a little…unique.

Read the rest of this entry »

Location: Somewhere in Terminal 2, Heathrow International Airport, London, (AKA: Lucifer’s rectum),

Temporary population: roughly 12,492,593.

Time: 3:17 pm, July 20, 2014.

Goal: Flight BA198 leaves at 4:30 pm. from Gate B32 in Terminal 5.

Dilemma: Gate closes at 4 pm.

There are people everywhere. And though they are in all shapes, colors, and sizes, their two unifying factors are that they stop without warning and they drag along a suitcase on wheels. I sprint ahead to dash between two of them, just barely sneaking through before they crash their shoulders together. Still, I am through, but my troubles are far from over.

I try to read a far off sign as I jog along, but sweat has filled my eyes. I hanky away the sweat and continue my mantra: Terminal 5, B32, Terminal 5, B32, Terminal 5, B32.

Admittedly, this mantra is at times interrupted by Tourette’s-like outbursts of frustration which stretch the limits of my creative lexicon to its grandest degree. Fortunately, most of the people around me are too busy shuffling along and listening to Robin Thicke to notice.

In the distance, I catch a glimpse of the magical phrase: Terminal 5. Yes! Thwarting my advance, however, is something of a conglomeration of obstacles you might see Indiana Jones negotiate…if Indy was trying to catch a transatlantic A330 in Heathrow, that is.

Read the rest of this entry »

My morning run is a crowded experience today. There are people walking, running, cycling, and rollerblading in order to enjoy the nice weather. I pass dozens of people. If I had to guess the two main facial expressions I am greeted with, they would be terror and confusion.

For today, I am singing. In Mary Magdalene’s Mezzo-Soprano. Loudly. Very loudly.

Folks, if you have eyeballs and exist, you look at Facebook a couple of times a week. And if you look at Facebook, you have surely noticed the Facebook enlightenment. The Facebook enlightenment is this trend of posting enormously inspirational quotes, memes, and status updates. There are too many to list. These often focus on one’s empowerment, worth, drive, dedication, and self-awareness. If you were to judge people’s lives from their Facebook accounts alone, you would think that we live in a society of highly philosophical, successful, and aware people.

But we don’t.

Read the rest of this entry »

Krkonoše. Green mountains, streams, quiet valleys, chalets. A perfect place to hike and be. Just be. After spending three days there I realized one thing about myself: I am a damned hypocrite.

I spend all year barking at students about technology in one way or another. I am either shouting at them to stop reading Facebook or Twitter and to pay attention. Or I am groaning about their lack of touch with the real world in lieu of the virtual one.

And yet, in my first three days in one of the most beautiful natural areas of Europe, I spend the entire time on the computer in the chalet’s restaurant. I did look out of the window a lot. I looked out the window and sighed, too. And when the other people ran out to look at the rainbow, I even took a picture through that window.

Read the rest of this entry »

This morning as I walk home from the shop, I bump into my favorite neighbor. He is a friendly old man, a retired gynecologist who is always out in the morning walking his dog. Even if he was rude to me he would be my favorite neighbor by default, since he is the only one who speaks to me or acknowledges my existence.

Still, as I approach the man, I review the area around us with extreme caution and suspicion. Nothing. Everything is fine. So far. The man speaks to me in Czech and I work my hardest to keep up the conversation. We talk about the weather and the neighbors and the fact that the summer is moving along in warm fashion.

And then I am attacked by ants.

Read the rest of this entry »