Art Nomads: Zula Tuvshinbat

Alternate Title: This Exhibition Should Have Come With A Trigger Warning

Well, it had to happen eventually.  If this was my last year teaching - and it just might be - it makes sense that this is the year It would happen.   The thing that happens to every teacher, eventually, and you know as it unfolds exactly what it is:

The Worst Teaching Day of Your Career.*

For narrative purposes, it would be fun to say it started like any other, but to be completely honest, it did not.  I had decided it would be good for my Art III students, especially my AP students, if I took them out into the world to see some Real Art.  I took them to galleries in what my students informed me was UB's "Shibuya" - the intersection between the big library and KFC.  Only, silly me, after 9 years in Mongolia I had decided that it would be fine to take them to these exhibitions even though I hadn't previewed them because every other exhibition I'd seen in UB was tame.  I knew the third show, the one that involved tufting, had a little abstract nudity, because I'd seen an image from it on the gallery's website, but since one of my students had talked about focusing on the body in their work, I decided the risk outweighed the benefits.

I was wrong.  So very, very wrong.

We made it to the third gallery before it happened.  The first one we hit was pretty standard Mongolian subjects - horses, families, flowers - and style.  The second was landscapes and yaks.  A lot of yaks.  We had lunch at Fat Hen - the students' request, and always a tasty treat.  I was ready to head back to the school after briefly stopping into a new "contemporary" art gallery, Lkham.  Most of the artwork seemed okay at first glance.  Working with abstraction has that effect.  The technique - tufting - also helps...it's hard to feel threatened by a rug.  At least, until you realize that rug is a snake-penis growing out of a man's torso and about to strike a stylized vajayjay.

Well.  When we walked in, and I realized that some of the work was a bit more "confrontational" than I was expecting, I probably should have just called it a day.  But the thing about being an art teacher is that the human body is a pretty significant theme in art, and even more so contemporary art.  So I muttered that along with something to the extent of "don't like, don't look" and off we went. 

"2 CUTE 4 U," 2023

The art was beautiful, and really well crafted, and the kids seemed to enjoy seeing something different.  One of them brought up the Cesar A. Cruz quote often misattributed to Banksy: "Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable," and how this exhibition really helped them to understand its meaning.  But another mentioned - somewhat jokingly - that this probably wasn't an exhibition to take students to if they identified as ace or were gender non-conforming, and suddenly I had visions of my students posting their photos to social media, angry parent calls, and myself packing up my apartment and heading home jobless 8 months sooner than expected.  Probably because I'd been keeping closer track of US news than was good for me, but still.

"Loyal as a Dog," 2023

So I spent the long bus ride in traffic back to the school sweating.  I informed my principal about it, and talked to the students - let them know that if they were uncomfortable with the art that that was part of the artist's intent, but that they could and should talk to their parents, asked them to be mindful of where they posted the pictures, and hoped for the best.  My principal reminded me that we were in Mongolia, not the US, and that our parents weren't overly concerned with these sorts of things, and my friends who saw the work when my students excitedly showed them photos consoled me that it really wasn't that bad.  Still, I'm glad that I'll be making art instead of teaching it for the foreseeable future.

*Fun fact: my siblings and I were responsible for several of these in our day, so I guess karma's a bitch.

State of the Art

A week of teaching is a little like swimming to the bottom of a body of water.  It always feels a little chancy, and when you hit the bottom you still have to come back up before you get a nice lungful of air.  In this analogy, the weekend is the air I breathe.  Back in January that body of water was Lake Michigan.  It took forever to make it to the bottom, and by then I wasn't sure if I'd be alive still when I broke the surface.  By contrast, my weeks now mostly feel like the deep end of the old Glenwood city pool - I'm down and back before I have time to worry.

I started last week a little worried about my lung capacity.  My school was holding a PYP training, and if I had attended it, I'd currently be on my eighth day of a twelve day stretch - a dive to the deepest point of the Mariana Trench.  Since I'd already had that particular training, I begged out of it and ended up doing a different kind of professional development - attending the Tokyo Art Fair.  Once upon a time (about five and a half years ago) I wrote about the UB Art Fair, and how underwhelmed it left me.  I cited the Brookside and Plaza art fairs that I used to go to back in my college days.  Since writing it, I've realized that those KC art fairs would be considered as quaint to some people in the art world as the UB Art Fair seemed to me.  To the high rollers of the art world, those local artists were selling their pottery and photos for chump change.  Those guys look to catch bigger fish.

High rollers, of course, have a bigger buy-in.  When I first read about the Tokyo Art Fair, I was a little shocked to see admission was 3,500 yen (although you could get in for 3,000 if you bought in advance).  This very nearly made me fold; Japan isn't a cheap place to live on a good day, and my expenses here are much higher than ever before, except for possibly in those bygone college days.  Then I found out about a late pass, where you could get in for 90 minutes on Friday night for a single coin (one that is worth about $5...be careful giving your spare change away here!)  My friend Sensei helped me buy it, and at 6:30 Friday night I was heading through the doors.

Those high rollers were looking for investment pieces, works by artists with a certain amount of name recognition.  I saw a few of them - some Kusama, a few pop artists, including Lichtenstein, I think, Hokusai - but I didn't really spend much time on those (okay, mayyybe I stood in front of the Hokusai prints for a few minutes wishing I could buy one, but c'mon.  Hokusai!).  What I was hoping to see at the Tokyo art fair was works by Japanese artists.  Of course, I'm always on the lookout for artists who use that otaku aesthetic in their work, but since I began my painting lessons (which I'll write about someday.  Really, I will) I've been particularly on the lookout for examples of Nihonga art.

The art fair didn't disappoint in that respect.  Not all of the paintings that I admired were painted with mineral pigments, of course.  Being the weeb that I am, I enjoyed seeing the approach that these artists took with traditional Japanese subjects, regardless of the media they worked in.  My favorite by far was Shiki Taira's LoveX2 Youkai Show.  As I walked past the Art Gallery Natsume stall, I was struck by her paintings of youkai, Japanese demons...and then I saw that in one of them they were fighting with a figure - executed in the traditional style of Japanese portraits, who was, nonetheless, very clearly Dracula.  It was totally subarashii.  If I were still living my Mongolian high life, I probably would have had to buy it, but I had to be content with the exhibition catalog she gave me (and no, I didn't realize she was the artist at the time, or I probably would have devolved into a blithering fangirl).

There were plenty that I was able to recognize as Nihonga, though.  Most of them had what I'll call the "Panda effect" on me.  A few years back, I had an awesome student whose work made the self-esteem of a decent percentage of the class shrivel up and die.  I truly believe that art is a skill, not just a talent, but it is challenging to stay motivated when you realize exactly how far ahead of you another artist is.  After some of the setbacks I've faced in my second Nihonga painting, that is how these artworks made me feel.  At the same time, I had to admire the technical skill that went into them, especially since I am learning how difficult it is to use mineral pigments, which made me even more determined to continue my studies and make some kickass art.

What can I say?  I'm a walking contradiction.

The art didn't stop on Friday night, though.  The fair had several other components, including a hotel taken hostage by art, 3331 Chiyoda, and an award exhibition.  A combined ticket to get you into all of them goes for 5,000 yen, which was still too rich for my blood.  Art In Park Hotel, though, has a free preview section, and I thought long and hard about going to see that as well, but in the end, I only had time for one art show before my painting lesson on Saturday, and there was only one possibility for that.

Later this week I'll be taking my tenth graders out to learn a little more about architecture.  The Venice Biennale has an architecture exhibition, and the Japanese Pavilion has made it's way to Gallery MA in Roppongi for a show.  We've specifically been studying linear perspective, since I don't have a lot of space for 3-D work in my classroom.  The works in EN: art of Nexus, combine small architectural models and computer generated designs, which makes a great contrast to the art we've been making.  Another thing that I loved about it was the fact that the architects had used real case studies as the point of departure for their works.  I think I have a tendency, in my teaching, to leave the project too open-ended, allowing my kids to make the things they want, rather than giving them a problem and asking them to find a solution.  This is a positive in some cases, but looking at these models and reading about the solutions the artists came up with made me realize their critical thinking skills would be more developed if I sometimes set a problem instead.

Although I tend to play off my desire to live in Japan as the great otaku dream, it's weekends like this that remind me there was a lot more to my decision than that.  There are so many things that I can experience here as an artist and a teacher that even with my challenges it's more than worth it.

Con Artist

Next time, pre-register, dumbass.

I had all sorts of great things I was going to write when I got home, but once I finished my farewell to Mongolia posts, reality set in.  I was supposed to be taking an IB MYP training - it was too late to get a refund, and I didn't feel like throwing away that kind of money - and somebody (ahem, me) left some work unfinished at her last job.  The rant that was may still be...we shall see.

Instead, let me tell you about my con.  Last summer I wrote about attending AnimeIowa, the anime convention closest to my permanent address.  In April I found myself seriously considering whether or not I could be a professional nerd.  The positives are that I would be awesome at it - I have tons of ideas, and am enthusiastic, particularly (at the moment) about anime.  I don't have much street cred (at least, not outside of Mongolia), but when I arrived at our moms' Peeps Bunco Night,* Baby Chicken Wing (my aforementioned high school rival) exclaimed, "Oh good, now I'm not the only weird person here!"**  On the negative side, I'd be getting a late start and...oh yeah.  I hate people.

But, you know, it takes all types.  Right?

Last year, as I was walking around the exhibition hall, I found myself thinking, "Maybe when I move to Japan," and realized that, for me at least, this was a realistic thought.  One year onward, that's exactly what I'm doing, and it was hard not to feel a little smug and wonder if I was wasting my time Stateside by coming to AnimeIowa.  Why should I shop the exhibition when I'll actually be an hour from Akiba?  I'll be living the dream, after all.  Well, if you are one of my six faithful readers, you know I've spent the last year honing my skillz for what I personally consider to be the main event - the Mini-Festival.

This event started last year, and was one of the things I most enjoyed about AnimeIowa.  If you are one of those people that finds dolls creepy, you'll probably want to skip it.  There's a lot of lore in Japanese culture about dolls, and if you want to learn more, this video will tell you all about it, but the TL;DR version is this: dolls have souls, which may explain why so many people think they are creepy.  But the Mini-Festival involves more than just dolls.  Gundam model kits are also a pretty big part of Japanese culture, and are also a part of the contest.  Last year, there was just one category, with awards given for first, second, and third place.

This year there were four categories, and with probably three times as many entries, mostly in the doll costume and doll customization categories.  There was also a category for plushies - my specialty.  If you haven't been following my descent into madness, I started sewing because nobody was making the things I wanted to buy...and then it got fun.  But since last year's con, I've also had the goal to create a plushie that was capable of competing with the OP level of some of the entries from last year, while still retaining my kawaii aesthetic.

I decided he had to be a bishie, and have a pretty ornate costume, and who fits that bill better than Sesshoumaru-sama?  (Okay, actually I was a little torn - I came up with another character who would work, but decided I should stick with Sesshoumaru this year).  Almost from the beginning he was a pain in the ass.  He has a pattern on his face, which I first made with Sharpie, which promptly smeared all over his ears and hair, so I had to re-do his entire head, making the stripes with an airbrush instead.  I also decided to make him with only one arm, since early in Inuyasha his brother cuts his arm off - and that threw the body shape off.  During the last year I've made a couple of plushies with kimono, so I knew the basics.  However, Sesshy's has a pattern on the sleeves and shoulder.  I considered painting or printing the pattern, but when I found it on a handkerchief I bought in Kyoto last fall, I decided to applique it on instead.  But the true challenge was his armor.  I had silver Sculpey, and thought that would work perfectly, but I had the hardest time attaching the arm pieces to the breastplate without it breaking, so in the end I had to remake them by needle felting.

It was a huge pain in the ass...but guess who won the plushie category?  And when they announced my win, the judge who was the most supportive a year ago said, "You've really upped your game."  All the prizes were fantastic***, but I think that meant even more - she's next level.

Last year she also encouraged me to offer a plushie panel at this year's con, and sometime this spring I decided to go ahead and do it.  I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking - probably that it would be a good way to build up some of that street cred I'm lacking.  Suffice it to say that by the beginning of July, when I realized that if I ever got finished with my curriculum maps and IB training I still had to put together a presentation, I was a little panicky.  And when I went into the room where my panel would be, I was kind of terrified.  Here's the thing: I'm a teacher, and getting up in front of a bunch of people and showing them how to do something is kind of what I do.  But usually those people are less than half my age, and there are 20 or so of them.  When my panel started, every seat in the room was full - 10 at each of 8 tables, plus some around the sides.  I put together a presentation, and that worked alright, but there were things that I would have done better to demonstrate.  I probably should have taken my document camera when I left Mongolia...next time...  This is not to say that it was a catastrophe - lots of people told me how much they enjoyed it, and it was definitely something different.  But I know I could do better.

Before the Mini-Festival a couple of guys did a presentation on Gunpla (Gundam plastic models - that word-shortening-joining thing is very Japanese).  It was really interesting to hear them talk about the different kinds - AND I got a small kit out of it as a door prize.

This year's theme was the Dark Carnival of Pigs.  After taking my first look at the exhibition hall, I had a little over an hour before I was meeting my mom for dinner...

...yes, my mom took me to an anime convention.  Negative one million adult points.

Anyway, seeing that their haunted house was about to start back up, I decided to wait in line and check it out - I mean, who doesn't love a haunted house?  After an hour I'd made it to the front of the line, and was ushered in.  And was a little disappointed, but I'm still trying to sort out why.  AnimeIowa is a family-friendly con, and I'm sure that they could have made it scarier, but it was okay.  I guess it just wasn't enough, and I think that's my problem more than theirs.  I think my expectation is that a convention should be the most amazing thing ever, but after traveling around Japan, I have pretty high expectations for "the most amazing thing ever."  To make me happy, it would probably take an art show by Akane Yano, special guest seiyuu Kamiya Hiroshi, and an exhibition hall reminiscent of at least Denden Town (although I wouldn't give up all the crafty goods, it would be nice if they at least focused on anime).

Or, you know, these weirdos.  A year after ASU's first anime night, they put on another activity focused on Naruto.  Every Wednesday during their lunch, they met in my classroom to plan it out, calling them "Weeb Meetings."  On the road back to Glenwood, I found myself thinking next year, we'd have to take the best events from AnimeIowa and make a mini-con...and then I realized that my little weebs weren't moving to Japan with me.  I'm incredibly excited for everything I'm going to get to see and do when I get to Yokohama, but it's a little hollow because I know exactly what I left behind - a good school, great admin, and the best damn students in the world.

*Bunco = some kind of fast-paced dice game.  For the Peeps, it's a monthly excuse to one-up each other, showing off their culinary skills and homes.

** Babysis was offended by that statement, as she had been talking to Baby Chicken Wing when I walked in, but she and I have spoken before about where she falls on the acceptable range of normality, and that is firmly in the middle.

***I came home with a new Nendoroid, a Fullmetal Alchemist cup, a Charizard plushie, and a figurine from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, plus a medal for me and a little one for Sesshoumaru-sama

Last Ger Standing

So last fall I wrote about revisiting Tsenkher Hot Spring with Engrish and Five, and how it was one of those things I wanted to do again before I left.  I imagined going on several more ger camps before my last flight out, but after our dogsledding weekend it never happened.  Once we started working on the musical, it seemed like time sped up, and wrecked me in all sorts of ways.

I would have liked to camp one last time with Engrish and Five, but my actual last ger camp, as it turned out, was a pretty kickass substitute.  One of my colleagues decided that the end-of-school activities for our middle schoolers should be camping trips, and since this was a thing, I volunteered pretty quickly to accompany my nerds out to Gun Galuut, a nature preserve that I hadn't yet visited...mostly because I'm not a fan of "tenting" and the only ger camp - Steppe Nomads - is pretty pricey.  Fortunately, the previously mentioned colleague has a Mongolian wife whose family runs it, so they gave us a great price.

So I was going to a new place with a great group of kids, and my fellow chaperones were four of my favorite colleagues (albeit obvs neither Five nor Engrish, who actually would have come if she weren't so busy).  So far, it was a pretty sweet set-up.  Bonus: I got to see the Chinggis Colossus one last time along the way.

Now, lest you are a new reader, or else have forgotten exactly what camping in the wilds of Mongolia is like, here's a little breakdown: you drive way the hell out into the middle of nowhere, on roads that back home we would optimistically classify as "B-Grade", to stay in a tent made of felt, and possibly burn dried animal poop for warmth in the cold, cold night.   This time we had wood fires, but that didn't keep me from telling the kids on the way out that their first task would be to collect dung for their fire for the night, and suggest that if they didn't want to touch it, they could turn a plastic bag inside out.  LOL

If I've said it once, I've said it a million times: whoever said getting there was half the fun ought to be dragged out into the street and shot.  The Voice and I were in the bus with most of the boys,  and they were pretty quiet.  The chaperones in the bus with most of the girls, on the other hand...they suffered.  And then we went off-roading in school buses - always a fun time, especially when your intended route takes you under train tracks, but the clearance isn't high enough for a school bus.  We had to try three underpasses before we were able to break on through to the other side.  Luckily nobody got carsick, and we'd stopped for snacks and the bathroom along the way.  In the end, our supposedly 2-hour ride ended up being over 4, but we got there in the end.

Once we got the kids assigned to their gers and the buses unpacked, we went on a hike.  And by hike, I mean a really long walk.  I counted myself fortunate to be with the kids who were done pretty quickly, and when they wanted to stop and chill and play in the water, I was happy to oblige.  One of my hardcore nerds decided to try "fishing" by stabbing at minnows with the stick he'd been carrying around.  (Apparently reading Hatchet in fifth grade had a huge impact, because they could tell me all about it).  Another of my nerds joined him, and their third technique - using a handkerchief for a net - was a success!  They were disappointed that I wouldn't actually let them eat their catch, but hey, responsible-type adult person here.

The hike back to the camp took about twice as long.  Possibly because at one point I turned around and realized that the other two chaperones and I were together with a big group, and there were quite a few stragglers spread out across the distance, so I went back to fish shoes out of the mud and tell them that no, they could not walk back to camp in their muddy socks while carrying their shoes.

We had some down time before dinner, and afterwards organized a game of capture the flag.  The space really wasn't big enough, but we didn't want to annoy the other guests and had to give the kids at least some cover to work with.  Since they didn't grow up with fairly hardcore Mutrux relatives who demanded perfection in their survivalist games, the kids didn't really care - they got to run around and chase each other, so they were happy.

We were pretty disappointed, though, that we couldn't have a campfire.  It was too windy, and a lack of rain meant that we were liable to burn down the steppe if we tried.  Instead, the camp let us use the...actually, I have no idea what to call it.  Common room?  An enclosed space where we could make a little noise without bothering others and being exposed to the elements.  Sadly, there was no fire, so the s'mores ingredients I brought didn't get used, but The Voice had an awesome game called Musical Charades that he led the kids in, where you speak/sing/act as many songs or musicians as you can in a minute.  My ghost stories had to wait for the ride back, and if it was not as satisfying as telling them around the fire, at least by the time "Tailybones" was giving them nightmares they were somebody else's problem.

I brought my flute and The Voice brought his morin khuur, so we were able to finish the night with some music, and since both of us are decent musicians...

Okay, fine.  I'm a decent musician who can play by ear.  He is a highly trained professional who basically kicks ass on whatever instrument he picks up.  I could take him in a dance off or pictionary, though...

Anyways, between the two of us we were able to take requests, and it was a nice way to end the night.  In fact, it put me in such a restful mood that two hours later I slept through my alarm and missed my turn on watch.  Oops. After breakfast the next day we had just enough time for a safari before we had to get ready to go back to UB.  A change in the students on each bus meant that mine was a little livelier, but since I got the group that wanted to tell ghost stories and talk nerdy, I didn't really mind.  When we got back to the school, I found it to be a disappointment more than anything, because it meant that everything was over, and these kids that I absolutely loved weren't mine much longer.  But I couldn't be sad for too long - I was in the middle of finally interviewing with a school I actually wanted to work for, and I had the last interview the next morning.  More on that later.

The Return of Sgt. Becks

In high school I was well-known as a hard-core band nerd and a pain-in-the-ass bitch who was too tough on people.  For this reason, during my senior year my rivals started calling me Sergeant Becks - or at least, I always assumed that was the reason, although Baby Chicken Wing (as the youngest was called) will surely let me know over the summer if I've got it wrong.  Although I have changed over the years, one thing remains the same:  I am still a pain-in-the-ass bitch who is too tough on people.

My band days have long been over, but after Engrish took responsibility for directing the school musical this spring, I found myself agreeing to be a part of it.  Being in charge of artsy shit like costumes and sets sort of goes along with being the art teacher, although I ducked out of it last year thanks to the fashion show.  Without that, and with a couple of extra preps in my timetable, I really had no reason to say no this year.  My first responsibility was getting the scripts and scores back to Mongolia, a job I volunteered for because I knew I wasn't planning on bringing much else back with me.  Thanks to the traumatic flight path getting back to UB, they didn't actually make it into the school until several cold January nights later, but because I didn't have to re-check them anywhere, I managed to avoid any baggage fees, so it ended up costing a lot less to get them to Mongolia than it should have (returning them, on the other hand, took us from just breaking even to very deeply back in the red.  Oh well).

Having delivered the goods and chosen student costume and set designers, I thought my responsibilities were fulfilled for a while.  And then The Voice came in one afternoon and said, "So I don't want you to feel pressured, because I know you're busy, but do you want to play in the pit band?"  I think my answer was something like, "Well, I don't want to get in the way of the kids or anything, but I can probably work it into my schedule," because I'm all cool and everything.  Inside, though, I was like, "HELL YASSS!"  So he gave me the score and I started practicing with one of the school's flutes. 

Back in my flute playing days I read an article in Flutist Quarterly (yes, I was a member of the National Flute Association.  I told you I was hardcore) by this guy who had left music to serve in the military for a while.  And he said things like, "It's like riding a bicycle," and "It made me a better musician," but I couldn't believe it.  And during the first week or so carving my way through the score I still didn't believe it.  I've mentioned our sad sax player who honks and toots his way through old age, driving me nuts, and as I started learning the music, I thought I must sound like that to everyone else.  Yes, I could read the music, I could play the notes...but not very well.  I guess I forgot how hard it is learning a new piece (or 20) of music.  But eventually I learned the quirks of the school's beat up student flutes (and fixed a couple of problems on them), got used to using various muscle groups again, and managed to pull off a halfway decent performance (although it would have been even better if my Yamaha had managed to get here from Canada - my mom sent it to me via the principal's Canadian residence, but it got held back in customs.  Grr.)  I also forgot how much fun it was to play in a group, and especially loved working with my fellow flutist.

If you're not familiar with the musical Kiss Me Kate, it's the story of a theater troupe performing a musical production of The Taming of the Shrew.  The leads, Fred and Lilli, are divorced but still have feelings for each other, and during the performance, those feelings start to come into play.  The music is challenging and the material required a lot of maturity and hard work from our kids, a challenge that they rose magnificently to.

One of the blogs I wrote toward the beginning of my time in Mongolia was about watching Hamlet at the State Drama Theater, and I think it's fitting that I'm writing about another production based on Shakespeare at the end of all things.  Even though Americans have a tendency to want to dumb down Shakespeare, I've always loved him, and when I figured out that the 400th anniversary of his death was a scant few days before Lilli Vanessi and Fred Graham were opening the Shrew in Ulaanbaatar I felt like it was a felicitous sort of kismet that led Engrish to suggesting it.

Shakespearean-era costuming is hard to come by in Mongolia, though.  Engrish and I thought we'd sorted out our boys by borrowing a lot of good stuff from our sister school, but most of it was too small for them.  We tried a couple of costume shops, and ended up having a few things tailor made for the leads, but the biggest help was our dance teacher's connection with the State Ballet, from whom we were able to borrow some old jackets and dresses (although this time the girls had the problem - the dresses were made for ballerinas - but in the end nobody went naked).

The sets were a little easier to handle, mostly because I didn't have to do the cutting and screwing.  We have a really awesome maintenance crew at the school and they made the actual pieces...all we had to do was tell them what we wanted and then paint them.  Two of the pieces were from last year's production of Grease, and we were able to repurpose a door frame from two years back, adding an actual door.  The other pieces were made new.  There are basically two sides to Kiss Me Kate.  The play within a play is set in Padua, which I felt uniquely qualified to create, having been there just two years ago.  I tried to use warm, bright colors like you'd see in Italian architecture.  The other scenes take place backstage, and so we painted bricks on the backside of the 3 set pieces.

Most of all, though, I was proud of our kids, who worked damn hard to learn songs, dances, and lines.  Our lead actor was my very own Ukulele Man, who may have changed his hair several times since Istanbul but is still a huge pain in my ass.  Just a few weeks before opening night ("Three weeks, and it couldn't be worse!"), Engrish confided in me that Ukulele Man was stressing her out more than anything else - he still didn't know a big chunk of his lines and had a tendency to ad lib, which is apparently a big no-no with Shakespeare.  I'd watched the first act of the BBC Proms production of Kiss Me Kate to prepare myself for the set and costumes, but hadn't heard the lyrics to most of the songs before the band started to rehearse with the cast.  So it came as a huge shock the first time I heard him sing, "Where is the Life that Late I Led?" and he got to the line, "Where is Rebecca?  My Becky, Weckio?"  I may have panicked a little, thinking he was ad libbing again - it's possible that maybe I let the kids get away with calling me by my first name when we were in Turkey - before I realized it was actually part of the song.  But I assured he would come through, and he did.

It's been two weeks since we closed the show.  They've been busy weeks - we submitted our AP Art portfolios a week ago, and yearbook has taken up a lot of time, too - so my apartment is still a mess but they've gone by quickly, for me at least.  But Engrish confided that it was a little bit of a let-down: all that hard work, staying at school til 8 or later most nights, only for it to be over so suddenly.  I had to agree - I missed playing music and seeing the kids bring their characters to life, especially our lead actress, who did an amazing job as Kate the Cursed.  But in six weeks I'll be on a plane to uncharted waters.  She at least has next year's production to look forward to.

(BTW - Photography credits to B. Munkhbold - I couldn't very well take pictures and play in the pit band.)

The Woeful Travels of Flat Stanley

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Flat Stanley.  For those of you who don't have children (or possibly just ones that aren't old enough), don't teach, and/or don't travel, Stanley is the main character of a children's book that teaches children if they are run over by a steam-roller that they will be able to travel the world by mail.  I'm not even going to get into the possible implications of this story, because actually, I kind of like it, and I've always been jealous of people who got to take someone's kid's Flat Stanley around, snapping photos.  So when my childhood friend/rival, Penny, asked me to do this for her kid, I was ecstatic.  Why hasn't anyone asked me to do this before, I thought.  I was going to be the best Flat Stanley tour guide a kid could hope for!

Well, that's what I thought, anyway.  Turns out I suck at Flat Stanley.  I've had the thing since about November, and I never remember to take the damn kid out.  Hence the wrinkles.

I have had him with me pretty much since I left for Thailand in December, but I've only taken a few pictures of him.  He has gotten progressively more and more wrinkled.  But don't you dare feel sorry for him.  Just because he has been stuck in a.) the back of my travel journal, b.) the inside of my phone case, c.) between my Nook and it's cover, and finally d.) just shoved inside of my bag doesn't mean he hasn't been having a good time.  For example, there was that time that we made friends at the White Temple in Chiang Rai.  How lame is it that I remember his friend's name (Flat Annika) but not mine?  As you can tell, I hadn't even finished cutting Stanley out, let alone coloring him.  Annika's looking a little the worse for wear herself, but then, she'd been surfing and a lot of other fun things.

It's possible Stanley and I got off on the wrong foot.

I tried to make it up to him.  While waiting for my friend (different friend, FYI - pre-established friend) in Mandalay I found a stationery shop and bought scissors and colored pencils.  Stanley looked pretty spry in Mandalay.  He went to visit the monkey temple with me...but I left him in my book.  Which is a shame because I'm pretty sure he would have liked the monkeys.  Kids usually do.  But since monkeys have fewer manners and worse hygiene than most kids (most) they probably would have thought he was a snack and stolen him from me.  You were safer in my book, kiddo.  He did come out on my barefoot hike up Mandalay Hill to pose with Buddha, and I probably would have let him pose with the whole of Mandalay in the background, but my phone was out of juice.  Sucks to be you, Stan.

You're feeling sorry for him again, aren't you?  Don't you dare.  That little snot-nosed brat went to Angkor Wat.  Have you been to Angkor Wat?  I have, and I got called a bitch for this mere fact this very week.  It causes jealousy, people, but I worked hard to pay for my vacation.  Did Stan do anything to pay for this?  Nope.  JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE FLAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU GET A FREE RIDE THROUGH LIFE, STANLEY!  jerk.  No, I didn't share my cool refreshing beverage at the Harry Potter stall with him.  I earned my coke.  Peppermint didn't like him either - she thought he was pretentious, but then, when you're a cat, everyone seems pretentious.

It is about time for the freeloader to fly back to Excelsior Springs.  However, Mongolia's gotta represent, so I took a few more pictures last week, and maybe found some snacks to send with him, in case he gets hungry.  Here are the lessons that I've learned from my time with Stanley:

1. Children are a big responsibility.

Yup, that's about it.  If you are still thinking I would be a great person to send Stanley to, you're wrong.  If I could hardly remember to take photos of him while I was excited about it, I'm sure you can imagine what I'd be like now - they say that you're much less careful with your second kid, because you've already got a spare, and this would definitely be true.  He probably wouldn't even get colored.  I can think of a shortlist of niblings who might be able to talk me into it, if Flat Stanley is still a thing by the time they're old enough, but hey, those kids could get me to do just about anything.

Fashionably Late

So Blondie has this theory about Coach.  He says he hates all sorts of things...cheesy people, for example, or our favorite place to buy imports, the ironically named Good Price.  However, upon closer inspection, he doesn't really hate those things (because he sticks up for one particularly cheesy coworker, telling her what a great guy he is, and ends up going to Good Price a LOT).  I'm telling you this in spite of the fact that I don't want you to start thinking this about me.  See, I spent a lot of time whining about how much I hated fashion this spring.  Ugh - fashion!  Partially I hate it on principle - the idea that you have to keep up with the Joneses in your clothes?  Bitch, please.  My philosophy is, and always has been, to wear what makes you look good and feel comfortable.

However, I have been known to watch America's Next Top Model.  You know, when all the hip young hagwon teachers are watching it, it's difficult to not give in to peer pressure.  And I can't deny that it was fascinating.  Strictly because I'm an art teacher and I was interested in the artistic aspects of it, of course...not because I got into the dramas between all the girls, no no no.  Actually, I'm being serious on that account - I was dying at the time for lack of artistic stimulation, besides which, c'mon.  I was teaching Korean kindergarteners back then; what did the theatrics of a bunch of glorified Barbie dolls have on my darlings and their impressions of the Exorcist???

(And - ahem - it's possible that for about five minutes in fourth grade I wanted to be a model. But anyways.)

However, my interest or lack thereof in fashion aside, I found myself in charge of the school's Junk to Punk fashion show last spring.  I kicked against the pricks for the entire lead-up to it.  I "hate" fashion.  I HATE organizing things.  This was not a happy time for me.  I may have yelled at my favorite class a week before it happened.  And then it was over, and I found myself full of all sorts of ideas on how I was going to do it this year.  And when this year rolled around, and I pretty much could have gotten away with killing it, I didn't.  So you may have to listen to me bitch about it in another five months.

This long-winded explanation is intended to tell you why, in spite of it being Sunday and me being debilitatingly sick, I found myself catching a cab with Geek into the Chinggis Hotel on Sunday evening.  This spring I learned about a number of fashion shows that take place in UB over the winter, and I was determined that I'd make it to one of them...it was sure to give me ideas for my own fashion show, right???  If I got to see some super weird as outfits, well, hey - Bonus!  And from the first model to step out on the runway (top photo), that bonus was paid.  The few scantily clad male...glove models (I finally figured out the first collection was both shoes AND gloves, Geek!)...were just icing on the cake.

However, the slightly bizarre if totally enjoyable start progressed to B. Erdenechimeg's collection of bags and shoes that I dig even more now that I've seen the petroglyphs out in Bayan-Olgii.  The simple, abstract figures of this collection definitely called to mind the rock drawings we saw back in October.  Not only did I love the design, the materials and colors were gorgeous.

I even liked the styling on the models.  They were wearing frocks that could have fit two of them inside, but it was a nice, neutral backdrop that didn't detract from the accessories, and I'm guessing it's not easy to do a fashion show for accessories and keep people looking from being caught up in the clothing.  I liked the masks a lot of the models had as well.  They continued the theme with the petroglyphs and were made of felt.  I found myself wondering if I could figure out how to make one.

Sunday's show ended around 8:50 which put us home well before our teacher bedtimes, and since the Nyquil Five left me did such a fantastic job of sending me off to sleep I was feeling much improved on Monday.  As there was one more show, we decided we'd go again.  Shoes, purses, and gloves are all well and good, but we thought we'd enjoy seeing E. Enkhchimeg's Spring and Summer collection even more.  We even managed to convince Engrish to blow off whatever boring thing she would otherwise have been doing (such as watching Downton Abbey without me), and come with us.  This evening, alas, did not go as smoothly as the night before.  In fact, Geek might have seen me having a certifiable Ugly American moment, after every single damn decision I made turned out to be a bad one (try to bypass traffic?  HERE'S SOME MORE TRAFFIC!  Decide it's going to be faster to walk?  J/K - NO MORE TRAFFIC!!! U MAD?????)  After a fantastic dinner at Hazara (which I can't link you to because it's the one grub club I didn't write about), which fortunately Engrish was able to order for us, since she walked over from her posh downtown digs, we made it to the show, where we were relegated to the second row.  And then waited.  And waited.  And waited, until this lady came out and opened the show mere moments before Sunday night's finished.  Apparently we were waiting for some VIP jackass.

She was singing.  The song was almost over before Geek figured out that it was the piece the blue alien opera singer performs in the Fifth Element.  I was too busy looking at the monstrosity of a dress she was wearing to wonder what it was she was singing.  I hope that was a gratuity.  Actually, no.  I hope she was paid extra to wear that, because DAAAYUM!  (Ugh.  I'm starting to sound like my students.  Stop me by any necessary means if I crack out the YOLO's!)

Anyways, here are a few highlights:

Off to a classy start....

The peplum has made it to Mongolia.

Forgive me a bad pun...THE END.

Eventually, UB Fashion Week's final show did come to an end, and the designer came out to receive our accolades.  How can you tell she's the designer?  The fact that she's the better part of a foot shorter than everyone else is a pretty good sign (also: people gave her flowers).  Her shoes had heels as tall as the models but she was STILL that much shorter.  After they all had their last catwalk, the audience came up and took photos with the models.  Engrish and I found ourselves thinking the same thing...NOT FOR ALL THE MONEY IN THE WORLD!  Engrish had helped herself to one of the glasses of champagne that were being served, but she was going to need a lot more booze than that.  After all, gorgeous white women such as Domestic Goddess are one thing.  Being in a photo with a Mongolian model?  Not just no - Hell, no.  Geek, meanwhile was trying to figure out how to get backstage and steal a purple dress that had been modeled earlier.  Probably Engrish and I could have helped her with that by creating a diversion, but she would have needed more champagne for that, as well.