Transcript of Tom Rhoads' interview with Bean, author of the blog, Poop Ederim, from the WTRB broadcast of Blog Agog, January 22, 2019.
TOM: Welcome, listeners, to another edition of Blog Agog, the show that highlights the latest in creative blog publications. Today our guest is the producer of Poop Ederim, a site that has gone blogosphere bonkers in recent months. Welcome, Bean... you just go by Bean, is that right?
BEAN: Maybe I should go by Big Shot Bean. I mean, here I am on your show.
TOM: Right, big shot. Now that you're such a big shot with a big shot blog, readers across the country are wanting some answers.
BEAN: First of all, it's "readers across the WORLD," if you don't mind. I have a solid following in Turkey, and also a following on an unregistered laptop in Nigeria.
TOM: Okay, sure. International big shot then. About your name. Were you named Bean by your parents? Or was that a nickname you picked up?
BEAN: My last name is Bohnhorst. "Bohn" in German means bean, so it came from that.
TOM: And "horst"?
BEAN: I'd rather not say if you don't mind.
TOM: Fair enough. Speaking of names, people are intrigued by your blog-title, Poop Ederim. Your readers have googled it, consulted Merriam-Webster, called the National Weather Service. Nobody can find a match. What does it mean?
BEAN: People were googling it? Cool! What did they find?
TOM: One listener was Googled to a website having to do with "poop dreams". Any connection to your Poop Ederim?
BEAN: No, but that's interesting. Poop Dreams was a terrific documentary that came out some years ago. It has a cult following.
TOM: You must be thinking of Hoop Dreams.
BEAN: No, I'm thinking of Poop Dreams. Poop Dreams was a courageous documentary film about the heartbreak of constipation. Sadly, it missed a nod from the Oscars.
TOM: Let's get back to the question.
BEAN: Listen, just because the laptop in Africa can't be traced is no reason to eliminate Nigeria from my international blog checklist. It's like a birder's life list. Once you see a roseate spoonbill, even in the blink of an eye, you get credit for life. Same goes for a laptop in Nigeria. I can now say the African continent is following me! Officially.
TOM: So what about it?
BEAN: What about what?
TOM: Poop Ederim! How did you come up with that?
BEAN: Poop Ederim has its origins in Turkish, or to be more precise, with Roger Price. It is a bit mysterious, isn't it?
TOM: That's why I'm asking.
BEAN: Okay, I went to an American high school in Ankara, Turkey, in the late 60s as my family lived there. In 1973, I returned to Turkey and got a job teaching English to adult Turks at the Turkish-American Association in Ankara. It was great fun. I would stand in front of 20 students who were very enthusiastic about learning English. One of the teaching techniques we used was "listen and repeat." I would say something, and they would repeat it. For example, I would say, "Good morning, Mr. Jones. How are you today?" And the class would respond in a resounding chorus: "Good morning, Mr. Jones. How are you today?" And then I would insert a different name. For example, I might say "Mrs. Smith", and the class would chant, "Good morning, Mrs. Smith. How are you today?" And so on. I had such power!
Sometimes I would close the textbook and insert my own names. I'd say, "Batman."
And the class would respond, "Good morning, Batman. How are you today?"
Or, I'd make it more complex. "Richard Nixon and Jack the Ripper."
Without batting an eye, they would repeat, "Good morning, Richard Nixon and Jack the Ripper. How are you today?"
And then, the grande finale: "You idiot and your idiot goat."
Those trusty Turks would close the deal: "Good morning, you idiot and your idiot goat. How are you today?"
TOM: I'm getting discouraged.
BEAN: I didn't know it then, but as I was soon to learn, the English word "book" sounds like the Turkish word "bok". "Bok" means, to be blunt, "shit". So, at first many of my listen-and-repeat exercises caused some embarrassing disturbances. It turned out that I was unknowingly hurling verbal turds around the classroom. For example, when I modeled, "Hello, Johnny. May I see your book?", the class whimpered with giggles and probably wondered if I liked to hang around public restrooms. Some students pretended not to notice, but there was no ignoring the bok-faced elephant in the room.
Still not knowing their Turkish turd word, I singled out a "struggling" student to model some repeats for the rest of the class: "Mehmet," I said. "Come on now, repeat after me: 'Yes, Mr. Brown. I will put my book on your desk.'"
Mehmet dutifully responded, "Yes, Mr. Brown... I will put my b... b... b..." Mehmet collapsed in howls and others buried their faces in hysterical tears. I was so puzzled. I was at a loss.
One brave lady approached me, took me aside, and helped me. "Mr. Tom," she whispered. "Your English word... book... sounds in Turkish like, how you say in English... poop? Book is a bad word."realize how this bookish/bokish intersection of languages had rendered these young souls hysterical and helpless.
Incidents like this made me a wildly popular English teacher. My reputation, I'm afraid, had everything to do with my demonstrated deference to their, well, shit. And whenever I then asked my students to "look in your book" or "bring your book", we exchanged knowing glances and grew in an appreciation of our teacher/student relationship.
TOM: How bookish. And... so....?
BEAN: Yes?
TOM: So all that, somehow, in some obscure way, all that has something to do with, dare I ask, "Poop Ederim"?
BEAN: Oh, no. Of course, not. When I was seventeen, I was traveling with my parents and little sister in southern Spain and we went to a nice restaurant for dinner. White tablecloths and all that. There was bread, but no butter, and I wanted some butter. So I asked the waiter in my school-learned Spanish to bring us some "burro", por favor. We had just been in Italy and the Italian word for butter is burro. I made an innocent mistake. The waiter looked perplexed but deferentially nodded and hiked back to the kitchen. We then noticed through the window back there a major debate going on between the waiter, the manager, and the chef. They kept arguing about something, looking over at our table, then going back to their argument. They must have debated over what exactly I wanted. Finally, the waiter sheepishly approached our table and from under a linen napkin, presented me with... a box. I opened the box and there inside was a big, fat cigar. My father erupted in embarrassing and uncontrollable guffaws. I wish I had a recording of that conversation in the kitchen. My father told that story a hundred times over the years.
TOM: Mantequilla.
BEAN: Pardon?
TOM: Mantequilla: Spanish for butter. Burro: Spanish for donkey.
BEAN: Sure, I know. I wanted butter, ordered a donkey, and got served a cigar. Burro and bok. Both of those situations were innocent mistakes.
TOM: All right. Just let me try this one last time. Poop Ederim... where does your blog title come from?
BEAN: I've wondered what those guys said in that kitchen.: You didn't let me finish. Like I said, poop ederim has its origins in Turkish, but more precisely with Roger.
TOM: Who is Roger?
BEAN: You mean, who was Roger. He departed the world years ago, but was the funniest person I've ever known. Maybe the saddest, too.
TOM: And?
TOM: Okay, I am leaving now. I will take some Tums. And I will lie down for a while on my bed.
Comments are welcome at tombohn2@yahoo.com
TOM: Welcome, listeners, to another edition of Blog Agog, the show that highlights the latest in creative blog publications. Today our guest is the producer of Poop Ederim, a site that has gone blogosphere bonkers in recent months. Welcome, Bean... you just go by Bean, is that right?
BEAN: Maybe I should go by Big Shot Bean. I mean, here I am on your show.
TOM: Right, big shot. Now that you're such a big shot with a big shot blog, readers across the country are wanting some answers.
BEAN: First of all, it's "readers across the WORLD," if you don't mind. I have a solid following in Turkey, and also a following on an unregistered laptop in Nigeria.
TOM: Okay, sure. International big shot then. About your name. Were you named Bean by your parents? Or was that a nickname you picked up?
BEAN: My last name is Bohnhorst. "Bohn" in German means bean, so it came from that.
TOM: And "horst"?
BEAN: I'd rather not say if you don't mind.
TOM: Fair enough. Speaking of names, people are intrigued by your blog-title, Poop Ederim. Your readers have googled it, consulted Merriam-Webster, called the National Weather Service. Nobody can find a match. What does it mean?
BEAN: People were googling it? Cool! What did they find?
TOM: One listener was Googled to a website having to do with "poop dreams". Any connection to your Poop Ederim?
BEAN: No, but that's interesting. Poop Dreams was a terrific documentary that came out some years ago. It has a cult following.
TOM: You must be thinking of Hoop Dreams.
BEAN: No, I'm thinking of Poop Dreams. Poop Dreams was a courageous documentary film about the heartbreak of constipation. Sadly, it missed a nod from the Oscars.
TOM: Let's get back to the question.
BEAN: Listen, just because the laptop in Africa can't be traced is no reason to eliminate Nigeria from my international blog checklist. It's like a birder's life list. Once you see a roseate spoonbill, even in the blink of an eye, you get credit for life. Same goes for a laptop in Nigeria. I can now say the African continent is following me! Officially.
TOM: So what about it?
BEAN: What about what?
TOM: Poop Ederim! How did you come up with that?
BEAN: Poop Ederim has its origins in Turkish, or to be more precise, with Roger Price. It is a bit mysterious, isn't it?
TOM: That's why I'm asking.
BEAN: Okay, I went to an American high school in Ankara, Turkey, in the late 60s as my family lived there. In 1973, I returned to Turkey and got a job teaching English to adult Turks at the Turkish-American Association in Ankara. It was great fun. I would stand in front of 20 students who were very enthusiastic about learning English. One of the teaching techniques we used was "listen and repeat." I would say something, and they would repeat it. For example, I would say, "Good morning, Mr. Jones. How are you today?" And the class would respond in a resounding chorus: "Good morning, Mr. Jones. How are you today?" And then I would insert a different name. For example, I might say "Mrs. Smith", and the class would chant, "Good morning, Mrs. Smith. How are you today?" And so on. I had such power!
Sometimes I would close the textbook and insert my own names. I'd say, "Batman."
And the class would respond, "Good morning, Batman. How are you today?"
Or, I'd make it more complex. "Richard Nixon and Jack the Ripper."
Without batting an eye, they would repeat, "Good morning, Richard Nixon and Jack the Ripper. How are you today?"
And then, the grande finale: "You idiot and your idiot goat."
Those trusty Turks would close the deal: "Good morning, you idiot and your idiot goat. How are you today?"
TOM: I'm getting discouraged.
BEAN: I didn't know it then, but as I was soon to learn, the English word "book" sounds like the Turkish word "bok". "Bok" means, to be blunt, "shit". So, at first many of my listen-and-repeat exercises caused some embarrassing disturbances. It turned out that I was unknowingly hurling verbal turds around the classroom. For example, when I modeled, "Hello, Johnny. May I see your book?", the class whimpered with giggles and probably wondered if I liked to hang around public restrooms. Some students pretended not to notice, but there was no ignoring the bok-faced elephant in the room.
Still not knowing their Turkish turd word, I singled out a "struggling" student to model some repeats for the rest of the class: "Mehmet," I said. "Come on now, repeat after me: 'Yes, Mr. Brown. I will put my book on your desk.'"
Mehmet dutifully responded, "Yes, Mr. Brown... I will put my b... b... b..." Mehmet collapsed in howls and others buried their faces in hysterical tears. I was so puzzled. I was at a loss.
One brave lady approached me, took me aside, and helped me. "Mr. Tom," she whispered. "Your English word... book... sounds in Turkish like, how you say in English... poop? Book is a bad word."realize how this bookish/bokish intersection of languages had rendered these young souls hysterical and helpless.
Incidents like this made me a wildly popular English teacher. My reputation, I'm afraid, had everything to do with my demonstrated deference to their, well, shit. And whenever I then asked my students to "look in your book" or "bring your book", we exchanged knowing glances and grew in an appreciation of our teacher/student relationship.
TOM: How bookish. And... so....?
BEAN: Yes?
TOM: So all that, somehow, in some obscure way, all that has something to do with, dare I ask, "Poop Ederim"?
BEAN: Oh, no. Of course, not. When I was seventeen, I was traveling with my parents and little sister in southern Spain and we went to a nice restaurant for dinner. White tablecloths and all that. There was bread, but no butter, and I wanted some butter. So I asked the waiter in my school-learned Spanish to bring us some "burro", por favor. We had just been in Italy and the Italian word for butter is burro. I made an innocent mistake. The waiter looked perplexed but deferentially nodded and hiked back to the kitchen. We then noticed through the window back there a major debate going on between the waiter, the manager, and the chef. They kept arguing about something, looking over at our table, then going back to their argument. They must have debated over what exactly I wanted. Finally, the waiter sheepishly approached our table and from under a linen napkin, presented me with... a box. I opened the box and there inside was a big, fat cigar. My father erupted in embarrassing and uncontrollable guffaws. I wish I had a recording of that conversation in the kitchen. My father told that story a hundred times over the years.
TOM: Mantequilla.
BEAN: Pardon?
TOM: Mantequilla: Spanish for butter. Burro: Spanish for donkey.
BEAN: Sure, I know. I wanted butter, ordered a donkey, and got served a cigar. Burro and bok. Both of those situations were innocent mistakes.
TOM: All right. Just let me try this one last time. Poop Ederim... where does your blog title come from?
BEAN: I've wondered what those guys said in that kitchen.: You didn't let me finish. Like I said, poop ederim has its origins in Turkish, but more precisely with Roger.
TOM: Who is Roger?
BEAN: You mean, who was Roger. He departed the world years ago, but was the funniest person I've ever known. Maybe the saddest, too.
TOM: And?
TOM: Okay, I am leaving now. I will take some Tums. And I will lie down for a while on my bed.
Comments are welcome at tombohn2@yahoo.com
bullseye
ReplyDeleteGreat story to end my evening, as well! I think you are on a roll.
ReplyDeletegood morning, led zeppelin.
ReplyDelete