I didn't spend a lot of time around drunk people in college, but I was delighted to learn last night that watching awkward, intoxicated white people try to dance is oh-so-amusing.
My coworkers and I went to The Australian -- a bar with nightly live music -- as an extension of Erin's birthday festivities.
There was a group of two guys and girls who'd had a lot to drink. By the end of the night, they were tearing up the dance floor, oblivious to the stares of the outside world.
The tallest girl wore brown hi-tops, black Bermuda shorts, and a green screen printed tank. Her style of dance can only be described as spastic. Her hips wagged back and forth. Her wavy, red hair grew frizzier and frizzier with each erratic toss of her head. Her elbows, which she whipped and flung about with wild abandon, threatened to blind anyone unlucky enough to interrupt her groove.
The lankiest guy bopped his head to the beat and tried to dip and step to the music. The funniest thing was his arms; he didn't quite know what to do with them. His hands sort of flapped around at the ends of his wrists.
The best thing about drunk people dancing is that they all think they look awesome. My friends and I sat and watched, the same way you stare at a car accident, and I couldn't help but wonder, "Do I look like that when I try to dance?!"
There was only one way to find out. Back at my apartment, I turned on some music and used the video setting on my camera to check out my technique.
Embarrassing to confess to the online world? Maybe. Judge me if you will, but I've got moves, y'all.
Showing posts with label performances. Show all posts
Showing posts with label performances. Show all posts
Friday, February 5, 2010
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
par-tay numero dos
Just when I thought my job couldn't be any weirder...
I, along with my colleagues Amy and Erin, attended our school's New Year's party on Monday night. It included a talent show and a multi-course meal that cost 300 baht for everyone but us, we were told. Just another reason why the Thai teachers resent us; but that's another topic for another day.
The first course, a soup, came out in a great big tureen. Pikay and Sukjai offered to serve us. "What is it?" Amy asked, as she eyed the gluey, viscous brown broth with mushrooms and clear chunky bits bobbing around.
"It's made from the belly of the fish," Sukjai answered, pointing to his own torso.
Amy was able to gracefully decline. I wasn't so lucky. Pikay made sure to fill my bowl up with delightfully chunky fish belly fat. Does a body good!
I sipped some broth, carefully avoiding solid bits and trying not to think about its contents. Amy breathed slowly, looking away and trying not to "yak all over the table," according to her.
Thankfully, we were distracted by some of the male student teachers performing as sequin-bedecked drag queens. Did I mention that this was the weirdest work party ever?
I, along with my colleagues Amy and Erin, attended our school's New Year's party on Monday night. It included a talent show and a multi-course meal that cost 300 baht for everyone but us, we were told. Just another reason why the Thai teachers resent us; but that's another topic for another day.
The first course, a soup, came out in a great big tureen. Pikay and Sukjai offered to serve us. "What is it?" Amy asked, as she eyed the gluey, viscous brown broth with mushrooms and clear chunky bits bobbing around.
"It's made from the belly of the fish," Sukjai answered, pointing to his own torso.
Amy was able to gracefully decline. I wasn't so lucky. Pikay made sure to fill my bowl up with delightfully chunky fish belly fat. Does a body good!
I sipped some broth, carefully avoiding solid bits and trying not to think about its contents. Amy breathed slowly, looking away and trying not to "yak all over the table," according to her.
Thankfully, we were distracted by some of the male student teachers performing as sequin-bedecked drag queens. Did I mention that this was the weirdest work party ever?
Friday, November 13, 2009
par-tay
Last night I was reminded of why my students don't listen.
We were made to attend the 60th birthday/retirement party for three teachers from our school yesterday.
Two MCs started off the program with what I can only assume to be some cleverly-scripted banter. As our table of farangs sat watching them and eating our Pad Thai, I noticed that no one else was looking their way, much less listening to them.
The principal of the school (who's kind of a big deal) also got up to give a speech. Not a head turned; people just kept on with their dinner conversations.
The same thing happened at the Queen's birthday back in August. It baffled me just as much then as it did last night.
I don't know where I got the silly notion that if someone has a microphone, they're probably saying something important.
Later in the evening, alumni, students, and teachers gave performances ranging from beautiful to amusing to offensive to the ear.
The Prathom teachers did a traditional Thai dance, which was SO fun to watch. The women looked beautiful -- like painted dolls. We all agreed that Aekapol (a guy I teach with twice a week) was 10 times more graceful than any of us.
Next, one of the Chinese teachers did a traditional Chinese dance. She wore a gorgeous gown covered in light blue and gold sequins. The way she moved was mesmerizing. Sometimes her arms looked like cobras. Other times, her hands looked like twitterpated birds chasing each other.
Four male teachers ballroom danced together. One was wearing a dress made of a black trash bag covered in colorful paper flowers. We thought perhaps he was supposed to be a ladyboy. There was a female teacher in the same bag dress with a flower in her mouth, trying to get the attention of the dancing men. Not sure what the point of this skit was.
The final act was a traditional Thai song performed by one of the custodial staff. I can't imagine a world in which it would meet any criteria for beauty, but, inexplicably, everyone cheered as she sang the first few words. It was kind of like a nasal Tarzan yell. Really, no description can do justice to the sound, so I'll leave it at that.
But Mariela was right when she leaned over and said to me, "Just think: In all our lives, we'll never, ever attend another work party quite like this one."
We were made to attend the 60th birthday/retirement party for three teachers from our school yesterday.
Two MCs started off the program with what I can only assume to be some cleverly-scripted banter. As our table of farangs sat watching them and eating our Pad Thai, I noticed that no one else was looking their way, much less listening to them.
The principal of the school (who's kind of a big deal) also got up to give a speech. Not a head turned; people just kept on with their dinner conversations.
The same thing happened at the Queen's birthday back in August. It baffled me just as much then as it did last night.
I don't know where I got the silly notion that if someone has a microphone, they're probably saying something important.
Later in the evening, alumni, students, and teachers gave performances ranging from beautiful to amusing to offensive to the ear.
The Prathom teachers did a traditional Thai dance, which was SO fun to watch. The women looked beautiful -- like painted dolls. We all agreed that Aekapol (a guy I teach with twice a week) was 10 times more graceful than any of us.
Next, one of the Chinese teachers did a traditional Chinese dance. She wore a gorgeous gown covered in light blue and gold sequins. The way she moved was mesmerizing. Sometimes her arms looked like cobras. Other times, her hands looked like twitterpated birds chasing each other.
Four male teachers ballroom danced together. One was wearing a dress made of a black trash bag covered in colorful paper flowers. We thought perhaps he was supposed to be a ladyboy. There was a female teacher in the same bag dress with a flower in her mouth, trying to get the attention of the dancing men. Not sure what the point of this skit was.
The final act was a traditional Thai song performed by one of the custodial staff. I can't imagine a world in which it would meet any criteria for beauty, but, inexplicably, everyone cheered as she sang the first few words. It was kind of like a nasal Tarzan yell. Really, no description can do justice to the sound, so I'll leave it at that.
But Mariela was right when she leaned over and said to me, "Just think: In all our lives, we'll never, ever attend another work party quite like this one."
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Questo il beccio di Tosca!
Some of the girls went out tonight for a dose of high culture at the opera. I'd never been to an opera before. I tried to put preconceived notions out of my mind, but part of me kept hoping a fat lady in a viking hat would show up.
We saw Puccini's Tosca. It was tragic, but good. I wish I were so vocally gifted.
There were English and Thai subtitles projected onto screens on either side of the stage, but I enjoyed trying to figure out as many words as possible based on my Spanish.
It wasn't until I got to Thailand that I realized how much I like foreign languages. I feel like a spy trying to crack the code. Every street sign or poster I pass is a secret message, waiting to be deciphered.
As of right now, I can read about seven Thai consonants and two vowels... out of 44 and 28, respectively. Baby steps, people, baby steps. Did I mention that Thai is hard?
I know some quasi-useful words and phrases, though.
Hello, goodbye, yes, no, thank you, left, right, the color blue, the color purple, beautiful, ginger chicken with rice, chicken, pork, the numbers through 100, "Look at this/that.", "How much is it?"
Hm. I guess that's about it. Now that I can see my Thai vocabulary enumerated, I'm pretty unimpressed with myself.
We saw Puccini's Tosca. It was tragic, but good. I wish I were so vocally gifted.
There were English and Thai subtitles projected onto screens on either side of the stage, but I enjoyed trying to figure out as many words as possible based on my Spanish.
It wasn't until I got to Thailand that I realized how much I like foreign languages. I feel like a spy trying to crack the code. Every street sign or poster I pass is a secret message, waiting to be deciphered.
As of right now, I can read about seven Thai consonants and two vowels... out of 44 and 28, respectively. Baby steps, people, baby steps. Did I mention that Thai is hard?
I know some quasi-useful words and phrases, though.
Hello, goodbye, yes, no, thank you, left, right, the color blue, the color purple, beautiful, ginger chicken with rice, chicken, pork, the numbers through 100, "Look at this/that.", "How much is it?"
Hm. I guess that's about it. Now that I can see my Thai vocabulary enumerated, I'm pretty unimpressed with myself.
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