SAFARI!

Before leaving Indonesia, Raj and I really wanted to visit Borneo to see the orangutans and proboscis monkeys. We planned a trip for one of the last weekends, and (thought) we'd bought tickets. As it turned out, the airline that was supposed to fly us from Jakarta to Pangkalan Bun wasn't actually flying any planes that month. Sure, they'd told us their prices and offered to book the tickets for us, but they were shut down for a month of maintenance. Since we'd already bought our tickets to Jakarta, we spent the weekend there and stayed with our favorite ELF Maura. When you can't actually visit the animals in their natural habitats... head to the zoo!

There's a Komodo dragon in the middle there.

Gending Sriwijaya

Uploading videos takes forever here, so please accept this 30-second clip of Septia's performance to "Gending Sriwiwaya." Thanks to Chris for shooting it for me. If you look closely, you can see my head in the left hand corner snapping pictures like she's my own child.

WORDS Competition

Every year, AMINEF holds an English competition for one student from each of the ETAs’ high schools. Ideally, they hold their own competition within their schools, and then the winner gets an all-expenses paid trip to the country’s capital with their American teacher.

At our schools, we were supposed to narrow our entries down to three finalists, which was quite easy for me since I only had three entries at all. At first, I really tried recruiting students who I knew were better English speakers, but most of them dismissed me with an “If-God-wills-it-I-will-enter.” Unfortunately for me, I guess God didn’t will any of them to enter.

After a while I stopped pushing them, because I felt bad forcing them to write poems and essays knowing I would only choose one in the end. It worked out wonderfully anyway.

My winner was Septia Sastika Angelina. She sang and danced to Palembang’s traditional song “Gending Sriwijaya.” You’re allowed to sing and dance to an Indonesian song at an English competition? Well, yes. She just had to include a one-minute introduction explaining how her performance was related to the theme “The Changing World outside my Window.”

Septia’s introduction was beautiful, though I think it might have been overlooked a bit in the midst of all her singing and dancing. She explained how understanding a traditional dance is reflective of her changing world, because while her country and culture are always evolving, she knows how important it is to value the past.

My school—bless their hearts—which doesn’t have a scanner or functioning printer, does have an official school traditional costume and a bag of official school make-up. Septia was obviously distressed that no one would be around to put on her make-up. I offered to do it, and my teachers seemed shocked that I knew how.

I was slightly offended at first. Sure, I might not always wear make-up to school, but I understand the concept of applying blush. Oh, no. Not in Indonesia, I don’t. They spread out the hundreds of pieces of make-up in front of me the day before we left, and it was about the equivalent of telling me to reassemble some giant military weapon. No way could I handle eyelash glue, facial whitener, etc.

Septia and her devoted family

who arrived at 5am to get her ready in time

Luckily for me, Septia lives with her aunt’s family in Palembang, and her immediate family lives in Jakarta. They wanted to come see her dressed up anyway and volunteered to do the make-up. Whew!

These were my favorite part of the costume.

They did, however, result in her fingers often sticking together.

Miss Katie to the rescue!

Septia was so intimidated at first by all the English speakers. She’s in Level 2 at my school (out of 5), so she’s not the highest level at IGM and was worried she wouldn’t be able to keep up. I think she was even nervous at the idea of being alone with me. But as soon as our adventure began, she completely transformed and became this social creature I’d never seen at school. For many of the students, it was the first time they'd been on an airplane or visited Jakarta.

All of the students

We traveled with Rajiv and his student, Brigitta. The girls were so excited and had spent the weeks before talking over facebook and texting.

Septia did a wonderful job. I was like a proud parent, snapping pictures and taking video. Sadly, she didn’t win (none of the performance pieces did cough cough), but Brigitta won Best Use of English for her poem “Smile.”

Brigitta wins!

I felt like the weekend was a sort of fast-forwarded commercial on child-rearing. On Friday morning, I was asking her if she was hungry or thirsty every fifteen minutes. By Saturday night, when I asked what she wanted to do with our free time, she looked at me shyly and said, “Miss, would it be ok if maybe instead I went to a movie with my new friends?”

The next morning AMINEF scheduled a visit for all of us to Monas, the national monument. Septia and Brigitta were happy, but exhausted. I asked how late they’d stayed up the night before. “Miss, please do not be angry, but I did not sleep until midnight,” Septia said. I assured her that I wasn’t in the least angry.

Monas in the background.

Palembangers in front.

Our return was smooth, but little Septia decided to skip school the Monday after we were back. On Tuesday, I asked her if she was actually ill or just really tired, and she said, “Sick and tired, Miss Ketty. Sick and tired. You teach me that.”

It broke my heart as one-by-one, the teachers at school asked her if she won and she had to tell each of them no. But once we got through that, Septia was happy again. Now, though, she says, “Miss Ketty, I miss my new friends so much, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again.” The good news is, because we’re in Indonesia, she texts all of her favorites about a billion times a day to reminisce.

Bumpy buses and violent volcanoes

As Christine put it, and I'm paraphrasing a little, "This is an endless summer filled with endless bus rides." So true.

One thing I am truly failing at here is spending time at the beach. Sure, I got placed in a city with no beach around, but that's no excuse. I've been on this archipelago comprised of thousands of islands for more than six months now, and I've only been on one trip to the beach? What's wrong with me? We had to fix that.

Rie made this. It's a reference to the fact that our "four-hour" trip took seven. We arrived hungry, tired, and thankful we at least made it in time for the sunset.

So Christine and I planned a trip to Carita, as close as you can get to where the terrible Krakatau Volcano erupted more than a century ago.

"Few volcanoes have as explosive a place in history as Krakatau, the island that blew itself apart in 1883. Turning day into night and hurling devastating tsunamis against the shores of Java and Sumatra, Krakatau quickly became vulcanology's A-list celebrity." The volcano sent ash 80 km into the sky and the explosion was heard more than 4600 km away. "Coastal Java and Sumatra were devastated: 165 villages were destroyed and more than 36,000 people were killed." -LP

It doesn't look so scary now, does it?

Sadly, the waves were too high on the day we planned our boat trip to the actual volcano, and our guide said it wasn't safe to go. We were disappointed, but when Indonesians are even telling you something isn't safe, I think it's usually a good idea to trust them.

So instead, we spent our time on the beach. The beach was a lot dirtier than other beaches I've been to, but the prices were a lot lower there too, so I suppose you have to take the good with the bad.

We watched movies on television, tried to sunbathe through the clouds (and got burnt), and Christine and I destroyed 4 kilos of rambutan in a single day.

Christine invited two of her friends from Depok to come with us. Traveling with Rie (of 'Parental Advisory on your Knees' fame) and Anas was a very different experience from traveling with a group of Americans. In general, Indonesians don't travel except to visit family.

The most notable difference was the constant (well-meaning) warnings about our clothes. "Please, please, please," Rie would say. "Do not wear a bikini. It is inappropriate. You will get many lust stares." Lust stares? He didn't even want us to wear shorts or tank tops, though most of the Indonesians at the beach were dressed casually.

The boys speak fluent English, and sometimes it's easy to forget we're we're from different countries... that is, until the cultural differences suddenly appear. One night at dinner, we asked Rie and Anas if they had girlfriends. Rie shook his head no, but said that he'd probably get married this year. "Get married? Haha... how? You don't have a girlfriend!" we said. Arranged marriage, he said. He shrugged. He's been fixed up three times already, but he decided he wasn't old enough then. He feels old enough now.

Rie insists that the greatest pleasure in life is listening to Radiohead while sitting on a beach, pretending that the crashing waves and people walking by are part of some everlasting music video. He might be right. We did a lot of that:

And of course, Anas and Rie (like almost all other Indonesians) smoke. They tell us, "Smoking makes us healthier. That's why we live so long."

"But, Indonesians don't..." Umm, ok.

It's incredible how much the atmosphere clears up when you leave the big cities. The air in Carita smelled fresh and clean, not like in Palembang or Jakarta.

But it’s impossible to understand how good the sand feels between your toes until you can understand what it takes to get there. The bus rides in Indonesia are… well, impossible to put into words. If I had to try, I’d use smelly, loud, and dangerous. But I don’t have to, because I took a video. This honking and speeding continued for a solid four hours. My favorite part is the guy who attempts to wave the other vehicles away from the front window. At one point, our bus took off the mirror of another oncoming bus, but unfortunately, I wasn’t recording then.

Note: I've been trying to blog more often during the first half of this month, because I have next week off while the seniors at my school take their national exams. So I'm heading to Padang to volunteer for a week with a group of Americans. We'll be helping to rebuild after the earthquake. I'm not bringing my computer, but I'll be back in a little over a week.

South Sumatra Shines

One morning, I woke up to a text message that said, “URGENT! EMERGENCY! HELP!” It was from Professor Chuzai, the Ball State alumni/sweet adoptive Indonesian mother of mine. It didn’t occur to me until after I had already texted back, “What happened?! How can I help you?!” that this probably wasn’t an actual emergency. I’m about the last person someone like Professor Chuzai would contact in the event of a legitimate crisis. I have no transportation, and if, for example, someone’s leg was mangled in a violent car crash, the best I could do would be to tell the doctor, “Help. My friend’s foot is sick.”

It didn’t take long to figure out that this wasn’t just any old catastrophe. It was one I am uniquely equipped to handle: it was an English Emergency.

I often help Professor Chuzai edit scholarly articles for a journal she publishes. In fact, you will probably be quite impressed to learn that I am officially an esteemed (free) “editor” of LINGUA: Jurnal Bahasa dan Sastra, or Lingua: The Journal of Language and Literature. A few times, the Governor of the South Sumatran province (the equivalent of a US governor) has asked Chuzai to write speeches for him, and I’ve rewritten the English and punched up the phrasing a little.

This time, however, the Governor’s people had contacted Chuzai just that morning and told her she needed to have a speech written for him by the afternoon. It was a pretty standard theme, just outlining the Governor’s major programs for the three remaining years of his term. The catch, however, was that he was going to be giving this speech in front of many ambassadors to Indonesia, including the United States Ambassador.

I was still in my pajamas when she arrived at my house and pulled out her laptop. (I did at least throw on a sweatshirt so as not to alarm anyone with my naked shoulders.) First, we went over her PowerPoint slides one by one. Then she showed me what she’d written of the speech. Which was less than half.

“I was sort of hoping you could just write the rest,” she said.

I’m no speechwriter, but I’ve watched an awful lot of The West Wing lately, so I felt at least somewhat qualified. Some of the translations were really awkward. For example, the theme for the South Sumatran province for 2013 was written as “South Sumatra Bright;” it’s the final year of the Governor’s term. I suggested something more along the lines of “South Sumatra Shines.”

Chuzai took it to the Governor. He loved it. Ok, it was one word, and I didn’t even come up with the idea, but it’s getting printed on banners, and that is awfully cool.

I wrote the rest of the speech using the PowerPoint as a guideline. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but I have to admit, I was pretty proud of it considering I’d only had a few hours to work with. Chuzai left immediately and said she’d let me know when the speech was.

It turns out it was at 7 o’clock the next night, and Chuzai texted that the Governor “really liked the speech.” I invited Raj to come with me. He beat me to the Griya Agung Palace, and I knew I was in for an experience when I got his text as I was pulling in: “Dude, I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be here.”

Dude, he wasn’t kidding. The place was crawling with important people. (Although we were definitely allowed to be there. It was certainly invitation-only, though.) We sat with the former Columbian Ambassador to Indonesia, at a table next to the Mexican and South African Ambassadors. Sadly, the US only sent the Deputy Ambassador, but I’ll take what I can get.

We were wined and dined before the presentations began. (Ok, not exactly wined… this is still a Muslim country, after all.) They served real lasagna! I had to remind myself that that’s not actually an American food. Then the speeches began, and I could hardly believe what was happening.

That PowerPoint, which seemed so small on an 11” laptop in my empty living room, was suddenly being projected onto two huge screens to a room of important people who listened and watched and nodded and clapped and took it very seriously.

When the Governor began his speech, I swear I almost fell off my chair. Perhaps my life is a little lacking in the pleasure department right now, but I think it might have been the highlight of my fellowship. I knew what he was saying! Because I had written it! Those were my words he was reading! I wrote them!

Afterwards, I got to meet the Ambassadors and the members of the Indonesian Parliament, and they were all very nice and welcoming. Chuzai introduced me to Governor Alex Noerdin as the person who had helped write his speech, and he said, “Well, Katie, we’re very lucky to have had you here.”

“I am so happy that I am here,” I said. And that was absolutely the honest-to-God truth.

Ted Osius, me, Raj

Go Team America.

A little bathroom humor

This follows my last blog perfectly.

Jakarta is definitely the most modern city in Indonesia. In fact, some Indonesian visitors aren’t familiar with the facilities—like the Western toilet. (Usually bathrooms in Jakarta have squat toilets, too, but you can almost always find a Western one around.)

At places like Sea World (more on that later), there are diagrams on how NOT to treat a Western toilet like a squat toilet.

Graffiti and &#*$!!

I think foreign graffiti is one of the funniest things in the world. It makes me giggle like a little girl to see words I don’t understand splayed across the side of a bridge or train. I see a word, hardly ever as elaborately drawn as what you’d see in the US, and I blink. I blink again, slowly, but the letters never move. It’s just so completely… pointless. I want to find whoever did and say, “Look, you might have defaced this piece of property out of pride or to offend me or to leave your mark, and it didn’t work even a little bit.” And then I giggle again.

Which brings me to an interesting topic—swearing. (I despise the word “cuss.” It is the word I hate most in the English language, second only to “crotch.” Must be something about the hard C sound. I promise that after this point I won’t use either in my blog.)

I guess I hang out with a somewhat classy crowd here in Palembang, because I’ve never heard them use an English swear word. I’ve never taught them, either, because they’ve never asked.

Once my friend Didi leaned across the table and whispered, “I heard this word. This word f***. I tried to look it up. It’s an action?” Ehh. I explained that it’s mostly just used as an exclamation or a derogatory adjective. That’s it in Palembang, though.

In Depok, however, where Jakarta is right next door, and they’re all nearly fluent, bad words flow more than running water. But ONLY in English. Christine’s friends taught us some bad words in Indonesian, and they gave us strict instructions to never, ever use them. Even these people, who swear more comfortably in English than I do, wouldn’t dare to say bad words in Indonesian.

So I started thinking, and they’re right. Even when people yell at me on the street, even when I saw a motorcycle accident, even when a security guard chased away a man who was trying to rob me… I’ve never heard an Indonesian swear in Indonesian.

We met a couple students from the University of Indonesia who were very friendly. I asked one of them about swearing, and he laughed. “What words did you learn?” he asked. He leaned in and I whispered it. He then covered his ears and gasped. I waited for him to laugh again. He didn’t.

I’m not sure why there’s such a stigma here about swearing. People yell out all sorts of nasty things all the time, but I guess they’re never actually bad words. It’s even horribly offensive to call someone a dog or a pig. They simply won’t say those words.

I also wanted to mention that every region of Indonesia has certain specialty foods. Just like in the US we associate lobster with Maine and Wisconsin with cheese, Indo has the same. Except that while the US’s regional foods range from dairy to meat to fruit, most of Indonesia’s specialties are some sort of rice with a topping or some sort of fish with a topping. Of course, Palembang is known for those delightful balls of fish called pempek. (Cue me gagging softly in the background.)

As we were driving around in Jakarta, I saw signs for “mie aceh,” and I asked Christine’s friend John what was so special about noodles from Aceh. (Keep in mind, Aceh is the most fundamentally Muslim area of the archipelago. This is where two American teachers were shot at around Thanksgiving.) I am immediately suspicious when I hear the word “Aceh.” Fulbright won’t let me go there, and honestly, that’s all right with me.

John said the noodles from aceh are special because “they put in cannabis.” “Like… as in marijuana?” I asked. He raised his eyebrows up and down a few times. “Yes, like that. The food will make you laugh and feel like you’re flying. You want to try?”

As much as I’m trying to be an equal opportunity food-sampler over here, I had to politely decline. The last thing I need is to “feel like I’m flying” while I spend the whole night retching up street vendor food.

I wasn’t sure if John was telling me the truth, or maybe if he just didn’t know the truth, but I looked it up, and sure enough, he’s right. For God’s sake, this is a country where signs screaming “Death to drug traffickers” greets you as you walk off the plane, and they cook it right into their noodles?

I’m sure there’s a terrifically offensive joke to be made here connecting Aceh’s recent attempts to pass a stoning law and eating their native noodles, but I shall resist.

Rumah Christine di Depok

My friend Katie Nuss sends me songs though email to keep my spirits up and includes some new hits so I won’t be completely left out when I come home. Then I share them with Christine.

Boys, boys boys…
We like boys in cars.
Boys boys boys…
Buy us drinks in bars.
Boys boys boys…
Hairpray and denim
Boys boys boys…
We love them!

“Well,” I said and looked over at Christine, “it’s official. Lady Gaga has zero relevance in our lives.”

She nodded somberly. It’s more like, “Water water water… I wish I had some to drink nowwww.”

It was one of those nights when we didn’t have any water. Those are rough nights. We washed our feet, faces, hands, and teeth with a couple bottles of water.

I have—get ready for this—an entire four weeks off of school. The students get two weeks off for testing (for a total of eight half-days of finals), and then they get two weeks off for a break between semesters. So I took off and spent a week with Christine in Depok, near Jakarta.

The differences between where we live are incredible. On the surface, they’re very similar: the cities are about the same size and our houses are comparable. But Christine has something I don’t have—Jakarta. And that has made all the difference.

People in Depok speak much better English than people in Palembang. Christine’s casual friends are more fluent than the English teachers at my school. She lives in an area with a few restaurants and shops, she has a maid, and she’s a few hours from Jakarta. I live in a neighborhood with nothing. I am a few hours from nothing. I am my own maid.

Although, the maid thing might be a blessing. Christine’s maid steals from her, which is apparently just a given here. People tell me Christine should be grateful her maid only steals food, dishware, and makeup. The American couple Mike and Debbie had to fire their maid after she made off with hundreds of dollars worth of stuff, and another couple had their laptop stolen. At least my grimy hands are the only set on my 13’ macbook pro.

We had a wonderful week just relaxing and basking in the happiness that is having a friend nearby. Chris did a good job planning out activities for us each day—

We went to the Taman Safari (Garden Safari), where no regulations means animals come right up to the car as you drive through. I petted a zebra and fed him three carrots. The ornery llamas blocked the road until we diverted their attention with more carrots. We rolled up our windows when we saw the lions.

Ahhh! Somebody's hungry.

(Photo courtesy of Christine)

We spent a day in Jakarta with Pete, another ETA. Pete has a really cute story—his family in America hosted an Indonesian foreign exchange student when he was in high school. She wound up falling in love with and marrying Pete’s cousin, and now Pete lives just miles away from her family… which is his family now. So he stays with them most weekends and they showed us around town.

Chillin' with Pete's cousin Sabina in the ice rink

We went ice skating in a huge Jakarta mall and sat on an Indonesian Santa Claus’s lap. I wanted him to ask me what I wanted for Christmas in Indonesian, but he didn’t. I guess not all dreams come true.

Ho ho ho

We visited the elementary school where Obama was a student when he lived in Indonesia! That will go down as one of my favorite Indonesian memories. The school is VERY nice, better than any I’ve seen, but we heard it got that way only after Obama gained popularity in America. Nearby, there’s a park where they just dedicated a statue of Obama as a little boy playing with a butterfly.

Obama means so much to these people. He only went to that school from 1969-1971. A friend told us that after the controversial Indonesian elections over the past decade, television reporters would head downtown and interview the bejaj drivers (who reside on the lower rungs of the transportation ladder). The reporters would ask, “Do you know who won the elections today?” And the drivers would say, “Who was running? There was an election? When?”

Last November, though, the reporters found drivers and said, “Do you know what happened today?” And they said, “OBAMA! OBAMA!” Some of them don’t even know their own president, but they know Obama won an election halfway around the world.

Baby Barack's school

I haven’t read Dream of My Father yet (though I’m anxiously anticipating its arrival from half.com), but I can’t wait to read about his years in Indonesia. I’m not complaining, but it’s hard to be a White woman here. I can’t imagine being a Black little boy thirty years ago being raised by a single mother. I’m also really curious about his religion. Indonesia is so extremely Muslim; his mom was an atheist. Hmm.

We ate at good restaurants, including a pseudo-Mexican one run by an American. As my new friend Gary said, “It’s not good Mexican food, no, but it’s the best you’ll get here.” That’s good enough for me. The salsa tasted like salsa, so I was a happy lady.

More about Gary. He’s from… wait for it… Bucyrus, Ohio. (Though he went to my rival high school, Wynford, which sits outside the city limits. Boo!) Gary completed two terms with the Peace Corps in Malaysia in the 70s. Now he’s living in Jakarta with Nina, his wife of 25 years, who’s from Yogyakarta.

I was especially curious to find out about Nina’s visits to Bucurus. I’ve been walking around thinking, “People in myyyyy city wouldn’t shout and grab at a foreigner like this” to make myself feel better. Nina and Gary are delightfully honest about American and Indonesia, and they’ve traveled practically everywhere else in the world, too.

“So, you’ve been to Bucyrus?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” she said. “I know all about Bucyrus.”
“Did people… harass you there?”

I said a silent thank-you prayer when she said they didn’t. Nina wears a jilbab, and I know I’ve never seen anyone in Bucyrus wearing one. She said adults ignore her for the most part, and sometimes she notices little kids spying on her behind trees. I can handle that. Thank you, Bucyrus.

Katie, Nina, Gary, Christine, yummy food

Now, anybody who knows anything about Bucyrus knows about the Bratwurst Festival. We are the Bratwurst Capital of America. I have a sneaking suspicion that might be a self-proclaimed title. Eh.

“So, have you been back for the Bratwurst Festival?” I asked.

She hadn’t, sadly. I suppose a jilbab would get awfully messy in the cream-puff-eating contest. Gary said, “You know, I don’t eat pork anymore. I’m a good Muslim.”

Oh.

That’s about the definition of irony, isn’t it? A boy who grew up in the Bratwurst Capital of America who gave up pork? But he and Nina assured me they enjoy the veal bratwurst.

Chris and I also went to the Botanical Gardens in Bogor, where I continued and miserably failed at my perpetual quest for the elusive Rafflesia flower in bloom. It doesn’t seem elusive to anyone but me, but dang it if that flower doesn’t close up the second it senses me entering a town.

We ate tons of rambutan. I adore rambutan. Indonesians tell me that you can’t use the word “love” for an object, you only “like it very much.” So I can “suka sekali” a fruit, but I can’t “cinta” it. Well I cinta it anway, thankyouverymuch. The relationship is bordering on inappropriate.

It was also really fascinating to see the differences in the way Chris’s friends and teachers treated her. I suppose a greatest ability to communicate goes hand-in-hand with more drama.

Let’s take the wedding. Chris was given a spot on the wedding party of her school’s former vice principal’s son’s wedding. Got that? No, she’d never met him, but that’s the way things go here. When they heard there would be TWO “bules” in town, they made me an honored guest, as well. Sadly, they ran out of yellow tops. So they put me in a green one. The only green one. I tried to politely decline being in group photos, but they insisted. See for yourself:

As though I don't stand out enough already...

My school was thrilled when I wore a jilbab. Chris’s school wouldn’t let me wear one to the wedding, and honestly, they couldn’t understand why she was. “Why would you want to wear that?” they would ask.

Her friends also sort of fight over her. There are definitely two groups: the cooler, richer group who drinks and stays up late (Group 1) and the working-class, younger crowd who keeps it clean (Group 2).

Group 1 is clearly just excited to be around white people. Even when we’d go out to dinner, they’d spend the whole time taking our pictures and telling me I looked like Britney Spears (which I didn’t really mind). But it’s not hard at all to see why Chris hangs out with them—they really know English, they do fun things, and they have excellent transportation.

Group 2 doesn’t do as much, they have to work, but they’re true friends. They love playing Uno and strumming out chords of American songs on the guitar. But even they’re a little racist: “We used to make fun of John (from Group 1) because he has Chinese eyes.”

One night, we were supposed to play a highly-anticipated game of Uno with Group 2. We cleaned up Christine’s house, put on comfortable clothes, and invited them over. We knew right away that something was wrong. Two of the guys came over and stood awkwardly near the door.

Chris: “Is something wrong?”
Friend: “I just… feel bad being in a woman’s house after dark.”
Chris: “…but we’re playing Uno. And there are four people here.”
Friend: “Yes, but it feels wrong. People will think I’m bad.”
Chris: “So you won’t stay and play?”
Friend: “Please don’t make me.”

Well of course, we weren’t going to force them to stay, and it was clear that they were uncomfortable. So we went to a nearby restaurant where one of them works and played there. After, of course, they told us not to come outside with our cloth shorts on. It’s frustrating. Sometimes you just want to play Uno. No funny business, just some serious +2s and +4 wild cards. Not here.

And he warned us in about the coolest way possible: “There… is a parental advisory… on your knees.”

All in all, it just felt good to be around a friend. We listened to Christmas music, ate ourselves stupid on tempe (which comes from Indonesia!), and watched enough Top Chef episodes to convince me I can open a five-star restaurant.