Did I ever tell you that I'm a determinist?

Hello there, my red, white, and blue friends (although not necessarily in that order, Morgane),

As many of you know, I am disillusioned with academia. As Milan Kundera writes in The Unbearable Lightness of Being:

When a society is rich, its people don't need to work with their hands; they can devote themselves to activities of the spirit. We have more and more universities and more and more students. If students are going to earn degrees, they've got to come up with dissertation topics. And since dissertations can be written about everything under the sun, the number of topics is infinite. Sheets of paper covered with words pile up in archives sadder than cemeteries, because no one ever visits them, not even on All Souls' Day. Culture is perishing in overpopulation, in an avalanche of words, in the madness of quantity.

Part of the reason that I was no longer happy was that I saw the futility of what I was producing with my life; I realized that the work I was straining myself to produce was, while occasionally intelligent and well-written, ABSOLUTELY POINTLESS. Expending my spirit writing fluff just to prove that I am "intelligent" to people about whom I care nothing finally disgusted me to the point that I had to flee - The University, America, Academia. Of course, I assumed that if I ran away to Eastern Europe, I would escape the prison of Academia...

So, this week I made a journey to Elblag, Poland, 17 hours by train north of Prague. It's a provincial town near Gdansk, on the Baltic Sea, 50 miles from Russia. As you know, Emily and I will begin working there in September. This was my little slice of NOWHERE. Certainly in Northern Poland, I would be able to live a quiet, only mildly pretentious life, trading scholars for cows, academic journals for equally cold ice, and the publish-or-perish system for post-communist era bureaucracy. However, when I arrived, I quickly realized that fate (a convenient name for a mind-bogglingly complex set of circumstances) had other plans for me. This "Regent College" is actually the largest private school in Poland, directly supervised by Gdansk University. It's kind of an experiment by two expatriate professors, and they've created this bizzare yet idyllic New England-style boarding school in the middle of an otherwise drab, communist-looking provincial Polish town. The school is a bit like Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Children, only much, much smaller (and the Polish kids' powers aren't nearly as cool).

It turns out that these two professors, one American and one Scottish, have big plans for me. Over beer and pizza, the Scottish guy, an immensely likeable man, admitted to me that they really, really want me to join their little conclave of elite hyper-powerful expatriate intellectuals. The three of us, he said, will eventually come to dominate all thought in Northern Poland, before expanding to Western Russia and the Baltic States. Apparently, they are attracted by the work I did in subliminal messaging back in '92, and have taken steps to secure my expatriation and emigration to Poland. And last but not least, between equally desperate pleas for me to commit "long-term" to their provincial Polish experiment, and for me to get my PhD in Linguistics at Gdansk University, they tempted me by saying that if I stick around, I would get to teach Latin and Greek.

So, here I am again, in the midst of academia. Perhaps this will be quite different than my experiences at a conservative Catholic university in the heartland of America, but somehow, I don't really think so. However, they make a tempting offer, and I shall have a lot to think about. Oh, you who sympathize with my plight, remember poor Aaron, who could not, no matter how he tried, remove pen from inkwell at the desk of inanity.

Forever chained to the card catalogue,

Aaron Rotsinger

Our house, is a very, very, very Czech house.

The last couple weeks have seen me living a jet-set life of cheese, beer, English teaching, and public transport. Fortunately, I've got them all fairly well figured out. Cheese is good fried, beer is good large, English teaching is good when it's spontaneous, and public transport is good all of the time, but only, only, only with a proper ticket.

Yesterday, I paid the commission on a flat. Jess, an Australian expat who really wants to work in Prague, but can't be bothered to actually apply for a job, Thomas, a French immigrant who stays out late every night and sucks down the juice (occasionally he mixes apple with grape, the crazy fool!), and I are moving in to a 3 bedroom place (with a loft--I feel like I'm in Friends or something) tomorrow. Really, the place is spectacular. It's in Prague 6, the nicest part of Prague, with a (small) view of the castle and a (large) view of the highrises on the hill. But the highrises are just far enough away to make them look quaint. It's got a nice balcony, a fully modern kitchen, and we're converting part of the loft into a little tea room.

In other news, I'm off to Poland next week for a visit. Regent (the school where Emily and I are going to start work in September) wants me to come up and check the place out. After what will be a month exclusively within the corporation limits of Prague, it will be nice to do a bit of traveling, even if I will have to go a week without fried cheese... Or maybe they fry cheese in Poland as well... Different kinds perhaps.... Mmmmm.....

It's a beautiful day in Holesvoice, Praha 3!

This first sentence may not surprise you: I didn't get a job today. The next probably will: I got four yesterday. That's right... Four. Let me explain.

I had an interview yesterday at the Prague Institute, a little house converted into a school up in Praha 8, near the end of metro line C -- in other words, a bit of a journey. So, I walk in, and the nervous young Czech girl gives me a form to fill out. Of course, the form is in Czech, so I just kind of scrawl personal information across it wherever I think it looks the most official.

15 minutes later, she comes back into the little room and says, "Ok, so, do you, um, have a TEFL certificate?", to which I hesitantly reply, "Well, no."

She responds, "Ok, do you, uh, have any TEFL experience?", to which I am forced to reply, "Not exactly."

She says, "Right. So, are you, uh, legal to work here?" I hang my head in the shame of an illegal immigrant and reply, "Nope. Not at all."

She fidgets a bit, looks around the room anxiously, and says, "Can you teach a class in 20 minutes?" I reply, "Sure." She throws a book down on the desk, and just like that, I'm in.

Lenka and Marcela were very nice, although a bit shy to speak English. Luckily, Petr brought a bottle of wine, so everyone loosened up. Damn, I love this country. The class went smoothly, and the young lady behind the desk put me on the schedule. It's part time, but hey, each class gives me enough money to sleep for the night.

Of course, not knowing that I would have to teach a class, I was late for my next interview at 7:00, in an Irish Pub all the way across town. This was for a job at Angel Club, an upscale joint opening in a few weeks near the Mala Strana, west of the river. So, I literally ran across Prague, my tweed jacket billowing behind me, map tightly clenched in a white-knuckled fist. Sweaty and out of breath, I stumbled into the Pub at 7:50, found my contact, a middle-aged Australian woman, and ordered a water with gas.

After introductions, the first question she asked me was, "Saturdays are going to be gay night. You will get propositioned. Are you okay with that?"

"I don't mind a bit," I replied, remembering my college days. Don't misunderstand; I'm straight. But if a guy's going to buy me a beer or tip me better because he thinks I'm cute, no complaints here.

After a bit of chatting, Simone quite frankly told me that what I lack in experience, I make up for in presence. Oh, and she said I'm cute, bought my water, and told me about her menopause. After the interview, she said she'd be in touch, and that I will have a job at Angel Club in a couple weeks. Right on.

The third job came when I got back to Sir Toby's, my rad Christian hostel (there is only a little bit of sarcasm there. It is Christian, and it is the best hostel I've ever stayed in. Yes, I'm having difficulties with that.) There was an email from Regent school, offering me a contract teaching English in Poland, where native English speakers make more money than doctors. It's a 13 month contract, starting September 1st. I haven't signed it yet, but once they tell me how the visa situation works, that sucker is getting signed.

So, I got three jobs yesterday. But, I said four, right? Well, the fourth isn't mine. Regent has offered Emily a contract as well. I just talked to her on the telephone, and she's going to accept it. So, if you're friends with Emily, go buy her a drink while you can, cause she's moving to Poland. On second thought, make her buy her own drink. She's had enough free drinks lately.... So, I'll be in Prague for the next couple months. Come on over! Watch those American dollars stretch on and on and on and on... And on... And on... And on...