Please to be hatingk the death metal

I was in my room today listening to my laptop on headphones, and Harith walked in and wanted a piece of the action. I gave him the earbuds and turned on the iTunes visualizer and let him have fun for a while. I'd been listening to Cirque de Soleil, which I figured he'd like. And he did. He was completely enthralled by the visualizer and he sat still for 15 minutes. If you've ever known a 5 year old boy, you know what kind of achievement this is. But I wanted my music back after a while.

I decided that rather than just kick him off the computer, I'd just play some music that he didn't like. He'd get bored and leave, and life would be good. And, being fairly well versed in all forms of heavy metal, I figured I had more than adequate resources at my disposal.

I'm not a mean person by nature, so I started out with "Eye of the Tiger." Logic suggested that while it's a great song, it doesn't have any trace of a Sri Lankan beat to it, so it probably wouldn't appeal to most people here. Harith liked it though, so it was time to move on to bigger and louder things.

I ended up going through Skid Row, Godhead, Disturbed and Megadeth, among others. No curse words, and I made sure that the volume was at a very safe level, but I've found that people who aren't used to metal just find it unpleasant. That was not the case here. He liked them all. What kind of unholy witchery is that?! I finally had to resort to just taking the earbuds back and escorting him out of my room.

The last few days have been really busy at the center, so I dropped off the face of the earth for a while. I have a stack of emails to read, and I'll get to them all eventually.

Friday morning I didn't do a whole lot of anything, other than answer a few emails. Then, Trish picked us up in a tri-shaw and we went to the grocery store to shop for dinner. The grocery store in Hambantota is fairly small, and it has mostly Sri Lankan food. I've never seen so much cardamom in one place. The international section not quite non-existent, and we found some pasta, a few jars of sauce, spices, and chicken breast. We also grabbed a few ice cream popsicles for the road.

Some of you might remember that I'm allergic to cold temperatures (yes, really). This does, in fact, include food. But it doesn't bother me enough that I avoid ice cream. So I was sitting in the tri-shaw eating my ice cream and my mouth started to swell. A lot. Suddenly I was in the ring with Angelina Jolie and Natalie Imbruglia. I felt like the victim of a collagen bee sting. I think this may be a new area of cosmetic research.

We drove to a few other stores to get some errands done, and then we went to David and Trish's house. They live fairly close to us, down a dirt road and behind a pond. They've lived in Australia for the last 30 years or so, but they both grew up in England and they retain a delightful Britishness about them. We went out to the veranda for drinks (and they use words like "veranda." I never get to use words like that. In the States, it's "deck" or "porch". But here, veranda. Wow.) and talked for a bit.

Then we started dinner, which was an adventure in itself. The house is a typically Sri Lankan house, with a typical Sri Lankan kitchen: 2 gas burners, a hearth for building fires, and a sink. And some counter space. Things were a bit cramped. We didn't even attempt to build a fire, and instead restricted ourselves to the stove. It ended up working out fine. Trish is a bit like one of my grandmothers - very practical and very tolerant. Meanwhile, David and Meg were throwing on the radio in the living room and continuing their conversation. David had managed to find a radio station with American music, so occasionally I'd hear some Dire Straits or Paul Simon.

Dinner itself was heavenly: pasta with red sauce and Italian seasoned chicken breast. I ate more meat in one meal than I normally do in a week. Most protein in the Sri Lankan diet comes from fish. I've tried really, really hard to like fish since I've been here, and I just can't do it. I wish I could. Sorry, mom and dad.

The radio was still playing in the middle of dinner, and as some of you have probably been expecting, Meg and I suddenly burst into laughter for seemingly no reason at all. I have never been so happy to hear Sledgehammer in my life.

We spent all of Saturday and Sunday helping the staff get the monthly reports filled out. They were due last night and this is the first time they're using a new report format, so things were taking longer than normal. I ended up staying late a few nights, and I have to say it felt really good. I think it's the CMU work ethic. I feel like I haven't been doing enough.

Saturday, classes at the center start at 9 or 9:30 in the morning, and they end around 12:30, I think. This meant that the center was quite crowded, both with kids and the extra staff that come in on the weekends. I try to find a quiet corner to do my work, and that day it was proving particularly difficult. I finally went into the main activity room, which happened to be empty. I sat down in a straddle on the floor and bent over my notebook, intending to work more on the IT curriculum. It's a weird position to be in, but I like to stretch occasionally, and it keeps me more awake.

This was successful for about 5 minutes. Then, the kids finished whatever activities they were doing and started coming into the main room, where they found me. I found out much later that there are maybe 2 gymnastics centers in all of Sri Lanka, so this might have accounted for the number of kids who came up and stood in a circle, just staring at me like I had 3 heads. Then, they started to try to imitate me.

Well. Here's a game I just can't pass up. I slid into a split. The kids tried their best. And more came over. I stood up and went through a few simple jumps. My class got bigger. And then M2 told me I was going to teach that day, and before I could protest, she had all the kids (all ages) in a circle facing me.

Suddenly I had 40 students. I did the only thing I could do. I taught gymnastics. Very simple stuff, nothing dangerous. Just jumps and leaps, and a few tricks for them to watch, but not imitate. Of course, the rest of the staff thought this was just great, and now I think there are pictures somewhere.

I also managed to rip up something in my shoulder during all of this. If you ever have to describe a muscle injury to a Sri Lankan, don't say you pulled a muscle. It doesn't make sense to most people. Say you tore it. Then they'll understand.

The kids left, and I scrambled for the IBUprofen that I keep stashed away for just such emergencies. Treatment for a torn muscle is a combination of pain killers and stretching. To adhere to the second half of this regimen, I was in a corner somewhere adopting all sorts of weird poses, when M2 caught sight of me...and my navel ring.

Now before you get all up in arms, I don't generally go around showing my stomach. I'm not that kind of person. But I had to stretch, and when I pulled my arms over my head, my stupid little t-shirt rose a bit too much. And I guess navel rings aren't all that common here. M2 thought this was the greatest thing ever, all the time saying she could never get one herself because it would hurt too much. Giggling ensued.

She had pulled me into a more private room to check out my jewelry, and then she said she really liked my "belly." Err? Come again? "Belly dancing." Ohhhh. But I don't belly dance. I've never had a lesson in my life. I wouldn't know the first thing about it. But she was not to be deterred, and she wanted me to teach her.

After my last little recital, I'd had a suspicion that an encore performance would be requested, so I'd made a CD of a bunch of American songs that I like to dance to, and I keep it on me at all times while at work. I grabbed that and I asked M2 where I could play it.

And now I have to leave to go meet Maaike.

To be continued...