Government Bureaucracy? Solved with Dancing!

This past weekend was the mid-year meeting for all Fulbright ETA's in Turkey. The Fulbright Commission paid for the Ankara Hilton this time - BOO YEAH. They had a pillow menu. The hot tub wasn't that hot, but I was definitely there for a long time because where else am I going to find a hot tub in Turkey? In comparison, the last meeting we had in Ankara was in an orgetmenevi, or teacher's house. Three plus out of the fifty Fulbrighters got food poisoning, and the railing on my balcony was broken. I could've died.


On Friday, we went up one by one to a stand and microphone and gave a summary of our individual situations. By the second presentation, I realized I am ridiculously lucky to be in Van. Most everyone had some outrageous complaint: my boss doesn't talk to me, my peers think I'm not a real teacher, I'm not getting paid, Cass stares at me when he thinks I'm not looking (I overheard the last one at breakfast). Almost every single girl, even the ones who stated that they loved their situation, said men think they are prostitutes, and will on occasion shout that out in the street.

I get paid regularly. I love my department head and my peers. I have yet to be called a gigolo. Plus, no one else lives in a city with its own animal. Van cat outside my window - high five! Or run away because of my sudden movement.

It's obvious that Fulbright regrets these difficulties - I mean, they gave us each 300 lira in incidentals (of which I spent 50...on keychains). It remains to be seen how well the problems will be fixed by the time we leave.

However, Saturday was a free day and I'll just come out and say it - the best day I've had in Turkey, hands down. After switching hotels (no one could afford the Hilton if the government wasn't paying for it), a few friends and I played Dungeons and Dragons for seven hours. I can't say much now, because it deserves its own post, but it is definitely the greatest thing I've ever done, right behind regularly serving the homeless at the soup kitchen where I made BANK. Per hour of work, I don't think I've ever made more.

Saturday night, everyone wanted to go out. In our respective villages, no one drinks much because of the stigma, so when Fulbrighters get together, people drink a lot (not me, Mom). On Friday, at the pinnacle of drinking time, I had a guy offer me a job in the fall at a camp in California; at breakfast on Saturday he not only couldn't remember it, but admitted that he had no authority to hire anyone. Anyway, on Saturday, I did not want to go out, but I am a follower so there was really no choice. As it turned out, the bar we went to had a dance floor. CHA-CHING.

I realized after a few hours of dancing that people in Fulbright don't really know the actual versions of each other. Though no one tries to hide themselves, inevitably what we get is the Turkish version of each other. No one knew I liked to dance.

I've often dreamed about being able to play the piano well but never doing so. That way, after weeks or months of knowing someone, I could sit down at a piano and make people cry. Then all the girls would be like, "Cass, I totally see you for the stud muffin you are, underneath your big eyebrows." However, when I started dancing, all the girls would say is, "You're crazy," or "Your shirt is on inside out."

During special events at Camp War Eagle, I'll often be given a corner where I dance for two hours without stopping. The kids will come over in twos and threes and watch, amazed, as someone with the level of coordination I have tries to scissor kick. Beyond that, I haven't danced for fun as I did Saturday since college. And when my friends said, "I didn't know you liked to dance," all I wanted was to confess  my love for it. About how I was runner-up two years in a row for my fraternity's "Best Dancer Who Is Not Named Simoni Kigweba Award."

We named the award after him...sort of.

Or how my voice cracked while dancing in front of an audience of thousands of my peers. Listen how they laugh at 7:54. However, they seem impressed with my high kicks around the 3:15 mark.

Regardless, I got to relive my glory days and I only hit one Turk it the head with an elbow. Or he's the only one who complained. All in all, great weekend.

I Left My Mark on Pi Phi

The housemom at the Kappa house asked me to throw away two bottles. These were spray bottles, like Windex, but filled with dye. You can see the bottles sitting on the grill outside the dining room (which I call the Kappateria; no one else calls it that). They've been there for a year and a half.

I put them there. My junior year before Owl-o-ween (the Kappa Halloween function - apparently they like it when they come up with the puns), my date and I tie dyed shirts. As a Halloween function, a couple goes as anything matched. I've been a robot, a tattoo artist, and even a unicorn. That year, we were professional function goers, because we were good at dancing. We were really good.

When I told Mom Shanks that the bottles were mine, it wasn't apparent whether or not she was mad. I get away with many things because I'm now the senior houseboy. Ringo, who's a year older than me, left last Tuesday. Afterwards, I was late to my shift, and when scolded I told the chef that washing dishes was like Top Gun, and I was the Maverick of KKG.

My sophomore year I worked at the Pi Beta Phi house. They paid us there, but they only employed five houseboys, so you had to work five meals as opposed to two. It evens out. Trust me - I was a math major. I worked with a few fraternity brothers, which made it fun, but the head cook was this old harpy named Wilma. We hated Wilma. When she was a kid, people asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, and she said, "Ugly and mean." She smoked like a chainsaw.

The housemom, Mom B, may have had Alzheimer's. I say this because in the spring, I studied abroad in Rome for a semester. I just worked at Pi Phi for the fall; when I got back, Mom B had given my job away because she thought I was Heath Mitchell, another houseboy. A month later I was working at Kappa.

I tell this story because, like the tie dye, I left something at Pi Phi, too. When I was gone, somehow one of the girls got my picture printed onto posterboard and pasted it on the wall in the kitchen, above the buffet line. It was probably an 8x10 - a good sized picture. After I left, no one took it down because if they did, it would strip the paint off the wall. They left it there for two years.

It went down earlier this year. By that time, none of the girls who lived in the house knew who I was. I still get stopped between classes by girls who say, "Oh my god! Yours is the face who haunts me! Tell me your name, spirit!"

Function Primer

Thursday through Saturday, my groove was on. Many people speak of grooves as if they are something to be worn and quickly thrown off, like a lobster bib or the One Ring. Maybe contacts. My optometrist recently told me that since I've been wearing my contacts way past the prescribed throw away date, blood vessels behind my forehead have begun to bore tunnels into my eyes to supply oxygen to dying cells (because the permeability of contacts falls off after two weeks). That scared me into getting glasses. But that's another story.

I wore my groove for three days straight, which I'm sure my doctor would have a problem with. I binge danced. And I have come out of my lost weekend with a few pointers on how to throw a function.

1) DJ DERRICK - I put this first because it takes primacy over all other pointers. DJ Derrick is legendary. He's been around since before I came to the University. Some say he laid tracks for Napoleon at the Coronation after party; others say that he was laced beats for Chaucer. Still others say he was scene even at the time of Jesus. However, he is fresh as ever, and cannot be equaled in either music selection or tempo. Quick note to aspiring DJ's - never let a song last longer than a minute and a half. I begin to lose interest after that, unless I personally know the musician, and that only happens when T.I. comes on.

2) COSTUME - This is half of the fun. I've seen pie charts that show dancing as almost three fourths of the fun. I've seen pies filled with the meat of human beings. But despite all this, I can say that assembling the costume is a mini-function in itself. Crafts are a personal specialty. However, these past three functions were formals, so my costume was a tie. But picking out the tie still required a trip to the Salvation Army. I guess I could have asked my date to come along, but she had already picked out a dress.

3) PICTURES - Please, do not make me go to the Square again. I realize that Lights of the Ozarks is gorgeous, but I've now seen it three nights in a row, and the only aspect I could marvel at was the temperature (I have been told that there are camels there - I don't necessarily believe this, but I could be tempted to go back if I was guarenteed camels). Rather, take photos indoors, at a sorority house or in the ball pit of Chuck E Cheeze, depending on where you eat. In all seriousness, pictures are important, because this is the only record of the function you'll have; don't let the girl ruin it. Just take pictures with dudes.


4) DANCING - I absolutely loathe the dance circle. Perhaps 75% percent of all function goers grind, which is fine. Go ahead and vibrate. But, let's be honest, that looks like zero to negative amounts of fun. Most participants are catatonic. Dancing with some separation is required to have fun. But, many moons ago, when the stars were young and cats ruled over their human slaves, someone invented the dance circle as the only alternative to grinding. In this scenario, girls have a lot of fun with their sorority sisters, while their dates stare at one another and nod. I'm serious - stare. I stared at David Lee for over fifteen minutes - and his face never changed. Robot? More investigation is required. But it is possible to dance one on one. In fact, it is much better for all parties involved. Symbiotic relationship. A dance square, of two couples, is acceptable. A dance hexagon is even attainable, but in terms of geometry, it is the pinnacle of sides if the fun factor is to be maintained. Trust me - I was a math major.

5) DON'T LET YOUR DATE GET WATER ALONE - She will leave you.

6) PARTY BUS - Riding the bus home from the function Friday night, I was reminded of how glad I am that I am a Christian, and I do not have to go to hell, which I imagine is a lot like a party bus. Double capacity. Extremely hot. No handrails for those who have to stand. They played music at maximum volume, but the problem was the channel, which wasn't a channel at all but just a static space where a radio station used to be. I saw a drunk couple making very unsexy love. I can't close my eyes at night anymore. To avoid this, come to the function realtively early, maybe a half hour after it starts, and leave a half hour before it ends. Unless you like hell.