Throughout the last few years of school when I actually gave a damn I would always scoff at the professors who weren’t able to return tests within the next few days of taking them. After all, I wanted my score damn it. Today I finished grading the last of 62 tests, and now I have some sympathy for those professors forced to score far more complicated tests and essays. I have upper-intermediate and advanced classes, so the tests are a little less objective seeing that there are more possibly correct answers to increasingly complicated grammatical structures. I feel sorry for those teachers who have to teach the mind-numbing beginner levels, but I despise them for how easy it is to grade their tests.

Today I found that the Mexican public education system teaches their youth that the world is composed of 5 continents, not 7. For a few moments I thought that I was mistaken when the entire class roared “NO!” when I said that there are 7. Never mind how the subject came up. When I began listing the continents, to substantiate my claim that there are in fact 7, they roared again at me when I mentioned North America and South America. Apparently the Mexican board of education (if that’s what it’s called) hasn’t got the news that they are planted on two entirely different tectonic plates. Moreover, they howled just the same when I mentioned Antarctica. “Why don’t you guys count Antarctica?” I asked. Because nobody lives there they said. Very interesting. This is my guess: Mexicans are gonzo Catholic. Plate tectonics entails Pangaea. Pangaea contradicts, maybe in a narrow sense, Genesis. Thus, they define “continent” to something to the likes of a large body of land populated by humans and demarcated by their respective indigenous dissimilitude. This way maybe it also allows some sort of consistency with the story about the Tower of Babble. Heh, I’m just stabbing wildly in the dark here.

At the end of class I had a short conversation with the student who had the highest score on the midterm. He’s also a helicopter pilot. He wrote in an essay that a guest to a foreign country should accept their customs in order to understand them (ahem, dependency thesis). I detailed the difference between the meaning of the words “tolerance” and “acceptance.” A light went off in his head and I felt like I accomplished something.

I’ve got gas like a mutha.

One of the administrators at school invited me to go salsa dancing. I felt a little guilty turning down her invite simply because I hate (and am incapable) of dancing. I know that I should learn – you know, take in the culture and so forth – but damn, there are lines that I have a hard time crossing. She doesn’t speak a lick of English and my Spanish has a lot to be desired, so I hope that I got the message across that I wasn’t turning her down because of some other reason.

There’s a humble looking and sounding girl in my morning class whom I’ve just learned is some sort of director of “international economic development” for her company. It blew me away because her demeanor doesn’t strike me as one for somebody of this stature. It led the discussion into international political theory though, which was fun. I [think] I introduced her to the Marxist view of international politics, and being a Mexican businesswoman, I think, she has a privileged viewpoint to truly understand the theory (if you don’t know what this theory entails, then look it up (Marxist international political theory – it has to do with subordination and hegemonic dependency)).

My Spanish classes are going well I guess. The class is composed of me and two Canadians. To be honest I’m not really learning anything because we keep getting hung up on their complete lack of Spanish experience. Obviously geography has something to do with it.

We’re still looking for a furnished home to rent, but our luck hasn’t been that great. And my paperwork still hasn’t arrived from the California government, so I’m still illegal (I’m not supposed to be working, technically). Speaking of which, I just got paid. 500 peso bills look cool. Some bills have a plastic-like transparent section. I think it’s neat-o.

Christ, I’m babbling.