MAINLY ON THE PLAIN

The final picture

2011-04-18T17:49:00.000-07:00

So, about a year after the donkey made his way to Salamanca with the exam scripts, the diploma finally arrived in the mail one day, when my Thpanish-thpeaking adventure had already faded into just a memory. But here is visual confirmation that I didn't make it all up. I wasn't dry-blogging from the Castro the whole time:

And yes, I am also a Fellow of the American Statistical Association. But that was in a past life, and it all seems so very far away now.

In the words of L.P. Hartley (the famous opening line of The Go-Between, a book I finally got around to reading this past November) -

The past is a foreign country : they do things differently there.

I can think of no better way to close this blog for good. Gracias por leerlo!

New blog!

2011-03-25T07:30:00.000-07:00

MAINLY ON THE PLAIN has been essentially closed down for about the past year. The good news is that, since February 2011, there is a new blog, documenting my francophone adventures at

Whipping Cats

Same management, different language!

Please stop by the new blog.

Mad language skillz

2010-02-12T17:54:00.000-08:00

I guess the donkey eventually made it to the University of Salamanca with the exam scripts. According to the Cervantes Institute website, my overall grade in the DELE Superior (convocation of November, 2009) was ..... drumroll, please -

APTO

Yeah! (It's a pass/fail deal: the only two outcomes are "apto" and not "apto")

The gory details: (to pass, one needs to score 70% or higher, in each of the three sections, and overall)

Section I:
Reading comprehension 13.89 out of 15 points
Written expression 17.00 out of 20 points

Section II:
Grammar and vocabulary 17 out of 20 points

Section III:
Auditory comprehension 11.25 out of 15 points
Oral expression 23.50 out of 30 points

TOTAL: 82.64 out of 100 points

In other news, I am reading "Infinite Jest".

Colorín colorado, este cuento se ha acabado

2009-11-30T11:00:00.000-08:00

All good things come to an end. As this is my final night here in Spain, and I have no immediate plans to return, this is probably the last post I shall make on this blog. No two ways about it, I've had a lot of fun since the adventure started way back in March 2007. But, some 650 posts later, it's time to call it a day.

Upon my return to San Francisco, I plan to apply for U.S. citizenship. The process takes an indefinite length of time, but probably at least 3 to 4 months. During that time I will not be allowed to leave the U.S. My plans beyond that are fluid, but will almost certainly not include a return to Spain in any kind of visiting academic capacity. For various reasons, my contacts with the two local universities in Madrid made that a less appealing possibility, primarily because I consider that one of the strengths I have to offer is the ability to excel in interdisciplinary work, and here in Spain, well - basically, they not only do not do "interdisciplinary" well, they just don't seem to do it at all. Teaching a basic intro statistics course to undergraduates while trapped in an isolated ghetto of statisticians who have little or no contact with their colleagues in the medical school a few buildings away is something that frankly just does not interest me in the slightest.

To all the visitors to this blog - thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.

Adiós. Fue un gran placer.

Book Review: "Sharp Teeth" by Toby Barlow

2009-11-29T13:06:00.000-08:00

Los Angeles has always disturbed me. All that sunshine. Those über-toned bodies. Packs of werewolves roaming the canyons and arroyos. It's enough to make any catlover nervous.

In this awesome, exuberant, first book Toby Barlow strips away the city's thin veneer of civilization and lays bare its raw, violent, lycanthropic underbelly. It's the cross-species love story between dogcatcher Anthony and his damaged werewolf lover, which unfolds against a backdrop of drugs, murder, revenge, and the battle for pack dominance. It's noir, funny, riveting, tender, completely over the top, and by rights it shouldn't work at all. But it does - it's completely addictive and unexpectedly moving.

Part of its power is a consequence of Barlow's choice to write it in free verse. The resulting rhythm give the whole story a driving momentum that keeps the reader riveted -- I read the whole book in two sittings. The plot, which seemed inextricably complicated at the halfway mark, is resolved neatly by the end, though I do feel that I need to give the book a second reading to figure out the various strands.

The sheer momentum built up by Barlow's writing works against a careful reading, so I anticipate that a second reading will bring further rewards. Depending on how my second reading goes, I may yet have to give this most excellent book a fifth star.

If you have time for only one lycanthropic love story this year, then look no farther than "Sharp Teeth". Toby Barlow can be proud of this totally impressive debut.

El internado - un lugar donde todo puede suceder

2009-11-28T12:27:00.000-08:00

Things have spiralled a little into the territory of the truly bizarre in Season 3 of "El Internado", but it still has that delicious mix of everyone furtively lurking in the hallways and secret passages that makes it irresistible to some of us. I have only one more episode to go in Season 3, by the end of which it's safe to guess that Hector's deep secret will be revealed. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that he is actually the twin of Irene Espi, who is currently being held prisoner by the evil Latin teacher in a secret lair in the underground passages. She is, of course, the alleged-to-be-dead mother of young Marcus and adorable little Paula.

But the details are just far too complicated. That 30-million dollar Hieronymus Bosch triptych is still at large, to mention just one random plot thread; then with all those runic symbols carved all over the joint (I really need to brush up on my Futhark), it doesn't seem too much of an overreach to think that the main plot twist has to do with overzealous neo-nazi human genetic/eugenics taken a little too far, what with the availability of all those orphans for experimenting on, no questions asked, back in Franco's time. But I've been chastised for letting my enthusiasm for this series get the better of me, so enough already.

I failed to mention that when I went to pick up the Sunday newspaper in Cadiz, I was able to secure, for a paltry 5.95 euros, my very own Internado fan-pack:

Note those far-out 3D gafas, and that stylin' school crest. Plus full cast bios, and a special 270-minute DVD replete with details of the archivos secretos*. Unfortunately, I won't be able to take full advantage for a while, to avoid spoilers for Seasons 4 and 5. Season 6 just began aqui en Espana.

*: Including, one hopes, details of the creepy "Project Gemini" files. If there is one thing that is abundantly clear by now on this series, it's that being a twin anywhere in the remote neighborhood of El Internado is a very bad idea indeed.

The anti-Santa faction

2009-11-27T15:15:00.000-08:00

Yes, Virginia. There is an anti-Santa faction.
"How can this be?", I hear you ask.
Una buena pregunta.

Well, the thing is, here en España, the established tradition has always been that children receive their Yuletide gifts from the three Wise Kings -- Caspar, Balthasar and Melchior. As we know, the Magi, or Reyes Magos, don't put in their appearance until the feast of the Epiphany on January 6th. So the prevailing custom throughout Spain, for centuries and centuries, was that little children would hang their stockings on the balcony on January 5th, in anticipation of whatever goodies the Reyes Magos would bring. Unlike that fat old gentleman from the North Pole, Melchior & co are way too dignified to mess with stuff like chimney entrances.

Everything was fine until - inevitably - those nasty hegemonistic Americans, hellbent on subjugating Europe to their materialistic, capitalist will, began to poison the minds of innocent Thpanish tykes with their Saturday morning cartoons, their holiday Christmas specials, their seasonal technicolor motion pictures, all prominently featuring Santa Claus, arriving on December 24th with a cornucopia of consumer goods for young and old alike. It didn't take too long for the avaricious little Iberian rugrats to figure out that here was a perfect opportunity to guilt-trip mama y papa into delivering a double dose of holiday gifties.

A vocal minority of defenders of true Thpanish tradition holds out against the evil influence of the fat interloper from the North Pole (most often they blame Disney), but the battle has essentially been lost, and they are fighting a rearguard action at this stage:

In related news, tonight the Christmas lights were turned on throughout the city. I am so excited, as I had been afraid it might not happen until after I left. Here are some random photos I took while out walking around earlier this evening.

The Christmas tree at Sol.

Lights over the Plaza Mayor.

I know that I will be out shopping this weekend!

End of the adventure?

2009-11-27T10:33:00.000-08:00

No matter what the folks at the Cervantes Institute decide, if the certificate above is to be taken at face value, in the eyes of Don Quijote I have now attained the highest possible grade at the highest level of Thpanish. So I will permit myself an immodest YIPPEE!

It's a little bittersweet, however, because it becomes more and more clear that I can no longer use "learning Spanish" as an excuse for further globetrotting. Which raises the immediate question - what now?

I have a few thoughts on the matter, which I need to mull over a little more before sharing them with you. Watch this space for further developments.

OPERATION BAKED GOODS : POSTSCRIPT

2009-11-27T09:50:00.000-08:00

I should mention that this week saw a repeat of the Saint Patrick's Day episode of OBG, in honor of Thanksgiving.

But the participants were distinctly more engaging (and enthusiastic):

Pedro

Julian

Olivier and Emily

Ana and Cathal

Sergio

Charles

A good time was had by all.

At the Post Office

2009-11-27T04:02:00.000-08:00

Gentle readers. Pride goeth before a fall. So says the old saw, and its accuracy was once more demonstrated this morning, when I trooped along to the "Correos" office, bearing the first of my packages to be shipped home. As I waited on line (an entirely civilized experience at the Spanish post office, as in Spanish railway stations, as you just take a number when you first arrive, and wait to be called, thereby sparing everyone the agony of trying to figure out which line moves fastest), I noticed that the lady next to me had a "caja verde" just like the one I had assembled at home. To my chagrin, I noticed that her final assembled version did NOT look just like mine. Further comparison with the assembled model in the display case verified that I had indeed managed to screw things up, ending up with two external cardboard flaps that were evidently meant to have been tucked inside the box itself. What an idiot I felt!

Now, had we been in Germany, things could only have gone from bad to worse at that point. Rejection, public ridicule, probably even a fine for misuse of state-issued property. At the very least, I would have been forced to buy another box, cast out on the street to attempt to repack things there (because obviously packing a box on government property would contravene at least one by-law), then forced to stand in line all over again, as the bovine bourgeois Germans looked on in amused contempt.

Fortunately, here in Spain they do things a little differently. The fine postal employee behind the counter could not have been more helpful*. Once he diagnosed the problem, he made it abundantly clear that this was not just my problem, but his - and promptly went about solving it, with oodles of sticky tape and plenty of reassurance that lots of people made the same mistake (which I very much doubt, but I really appreciated his kindness in saying it). Three minutes later, we were done, and I was on my way. (Still trying to imagine any German bureaucrat even loaning me so much as a pen to write with, let alone half a roll of packing tape).

So, my first 7 kilograms of books are winging their way homeward. For a mere 50 euros. To put this in perspective, recall that it cost me 450 euros to ship 15 kilos by DHL last spring. And though it will take 10 days by post, it's not as if I will be needing any of those books any time soon. And yes, my next 7 kilograms are packed, in a correctly assembled box, ready to ship out tomorrow.

*: On the four or five occasions when I have visited the post office here in Madrid this visit, each of the employees I dealt with has been not only helpful, but friendly and genuinely determined to solve whatever issue concerned me. So this post is dedicated to those good folks. They really managed to make a difference in this visitor's day, something I don't take for granted.

OPERATION BAKED GOODS - SPECIAL FELIPE ii EDITION

2009-11-27T02:21:00.000-08:00

Our featured item of the month is a delicacy purchased in Cadiz, known as a mantecado.

Bearing the royal endorsement of none other than that old Grumpy McGrumperson, Felipe Segundo.

At this point, I'd have to say things don't look particularly promising. Better have some emergency liquids on hand:

Oh my God! It's indescribably bad. Like biting down on a cube of the caked ashes of ol' Felipe himself. How did they manage to make something so hideous? And do they have a deal with the local crematorium?

The explanation becomes clear. I should have paid closer attention to the wrapper. Still, when it says "el mantecado mas antiguo del mundo", I didn't actually think they were referring to the particular one that I was just about to consume (read: "ingest, attempt to masticate, and spit out in a fit of coughing, as I desperately reach for the reviving mineral water").

But one has to admit that their choice of royal patron is an inspired one.

The revolting cigar-makeresses burst into the stage

2009-11-26T14:19:00.000-08:00

Act 1.
Carmen is a cigarmakeress from a tobago factory who loves with Don Jose (Duet: "Talk me of my mother"). There is a noise inside the tobago factory and the revolting cigar-makeresses burst into the stage. Carmen is arrested and Don Jose is ordered to mounting guard her but Carmen subduces him and lets her escape.

Act 2.
The Tavern. Carmen, Frasquito, Mercedes, Zuiniga, Morales. Carmen's aria ("The sistrums are tinkling"). Enter Escamillio, a balls-fighter. Enter two smuglers (Duet: "We have in mind a business") but Carmen refuses to penetrate because Don Jose has liberated her from prison. He just now arrives (Aria: "Slop, here who comes") but here are the bugles singing his retreat. Don Jose will leave and draws his sword. Called by Carmen's shrieks the two smuglers interfere with her but Don Jose is bound to dessert, he will follow into them (final chorus: "Opening sky wandering life").

Act 3.
A rocky landscape, the smugler's shelter. Carmen sees her death in cards and Don Jose makes a date with Carmen for the next balls fight.

Act 4.
A place in Seville. Procession of balls-fighters, the roaring of the balls is heared in the arena. Escamillio enters (Aria and chorus: "Toreador, toreador, All hail the balls of a Toreador"). Enter Don Jose (Aria: "I do not threaten, I besooch you") but Carmen repels him wants to join with Escamillio now chaired by the crowd. Don Jose stabbs her (Aria: "Oh rupture, rupture, you may arrest me. I did kill her") he sings "Oh my beautiful Carmen, my subductive Carmen."

Shamelessly lifted from this link: garbled Carmen plot

Come on down to Andy's!!

2009-11-24T13:00:00.000-08:00

For a Thanksgiving feast that doesn't stint on the pumpkin:

Er, make that 'pumking'. With oodles of croutons and mounds of wipped cream.

Cajas verdes

2009-11-24T11:20:00.000-08:00

This trip, the extent of my bibliomanic debauchery has been so extreme, and the exchange rate is so feeble, that I have been moved to consider other delivery options besides the truly extortionist services of DHL. Thus it was that I found myself in the post office this morning, enquiring about shipping options, tariffs, weight limits and the like. Compared to DHL, the post office is a steal, so I came away with two fine eco-friendly boxes, pictured below. To be assembled en casa.

Now, to a normal person, this last requirement, that of assembling the boxes oneself, would be a mere trifle. I, however, am not a normal person. Anything even remotely involving constructing a three-dimensional object from a two-dimensional template strikes fear into my little dimensionally-challenged heart. All you engineers and architects out there can scoff as much as you like, but the fact is that the wiring in that particular part of my brain just never got installed at the factory. And this is one situation where my facility with the subjunctive is of no bloody use at all.

So the only question remaining is - "should I start drinking before I make my first effort, or wait until after I've managed to wreck the box I bought specifically to practice on?"

The whole situation would be funny if it weren't so pathetic.

But wait .... Maybe there is hope yet:

Ya está! And without even a single drink!

Hay un montón de fotos!

2009-11-23T13:09:00.000-08:00

El ciervo dice: "David ha sacado muchas fotos de Sevilla y Cádiz. Es imposible mostrar todas las imagenes aquí. Por qué no echas un vistazo? Haz clic en el enlace":

(The stag says "David took a bunch of photos in Seville and Cadiz. More than can possibly be shown here. Why not take a gander at the link below?")

Sevilla y Cádiz

Confession

2009-11-23T10:54:00.000-08:00

Gentle readers:

I know this will come as a major disappointment to some of you, but the fact is, I never did make it to Gibraltar yesterday. Yes, I know, you were promised pictures of Barbary apes, so you have every right to be peeved. But I had not done my homework properly, and it turned out that it would have taken two local buses (and 2.5 hours) just to make it to the border town of La Linea, and three hours to get back. Which just didn't seem all that appealing, to be honest. In retrospect, I might have been better off travelling to Manchester and getting one of the direct daily flights from there.

Instead, I lay in bed shamelessly until 10:30, then had a leisurely breakfast at the generous hotel buffet and bought myself a 15-Euro City tourist bus ticket for Cadiz. Fifteen euros well spent, as I was able to hop on and off at will, and explore the various nooks and crannies of that enchanting city. Fortunately, I was able to avoid being gored by the various bulls that were marauding through the city centre, injuring various passers-by (see link at previous post).

Cadiz is gorgeous, and I don't regret the decision one bit. I will just have to return to see Gibraltar on some other occasion. Alas, I cannot provide compensatory photos of either Señor Cruise or Ms Diaz, as neither was there in person during yesterday's aborted film shoot.

The plain people of Ireland: But you promised us pictures of monkeys!
MOTP: I know. But sometimes life is like that. Get over it already!

An open letter to Ms Cameron Diaz

2009-11-23T10:20:00.000-08:00

Dear Ms Cameron Diaz:
I've been following your career on and off for some time now and the thing I just don't see is,
Why would a star of your caliber want to make yet another cliched Thpanish movie with Tom Cruise?
I mean, the guy's bad news.
Just ask that fine Thpanish actress, Penelope what's her name, oh - that's right - Cruz.
Or that misfortunate actress currently acting the part of his wife who is always in the news
For all the wrong reasons. I really have to say,
Filming a movie with the not-so-genius title "Knight and Day"
Seems destined, as they say here in España, to go directly to DVD*.
And though I know that you were nowhere near the set in Cadiz yesterday, being instead somewhere well out of reach,
Surely it should give you some pause to know that the bulls escaped the set and trampled a few onlookers before finally ending up frolicking on the beach.
But these are just the musings of one random Irish gay gent,
Who wishes you nothing but success in your future endeavours, but also thinks that maybe you should hire yourself a new agent.

*: given the Thpanish pronunciation, "day-oo-ve-day", this does, in fact, rhyme.

Bulls run amok

Update

2009-11-22T12:15:00.000-08:00

Long time readers of this blog will remember the tale of Gladys, the serving wench:

In the picaresque city of Cadiz
I'll tell you what the latest fad is
The sailors at leisure
Line up for their pleasure
With the amiable serving wench, Gladys.

Here at MOTP central, we are committed to tracking down full details of any story as fraught with human interest as this one (our readers deserve no less), so we are happy to be able to provide this recent update (despite its somewhat sobering nature):

The tale of our serving wench, Gladys
Has an end, you'll agree, that quite sad is.
The sailors they skipped
Town, now Gladys has trip-
lets, and is not even sure who the dad is.

Word on the street locally is that Planned Parenthood may be considering adopting Gladys as a spokesperson. Strict rules concerning the privacy of minors prevent us from providing any further information on the three little bundles of joy, though we can reliably inform our readers that the rumor they were each born with tiny little tattoos is an urban legend. A canard, if you will.

OK, I lied

2009-11-21T09:21:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know. I promised I would leave you all in peace until Monday, but here I am in my gorgeous hotel in Cadiz, with at least an hour to go before I can respectably head out for dinner, so I thought I would just check in.

Seville was beautiful, as always, though I think I might be forgiven for developing a slight persecution complex. When I arrived at the station, refreshed from my trip on the super-sleek AVE (which whisks one from Madrid to Seville in just two and a half hours), it turned out that the taxi-drivers' union had called a strike that morning. So, after chatting with the singularly unhelpful woman at the tourist office at the station (why do they hire people for whom dealing with the public is such an obvious burden?), eventually finding the relevant bus stop (which was at least two blocks from where she had said it would be), fighting my way onto the bus among hordes of schoolkids (who were infinitely more helpful with directions than the lady at the tourist office), I finally arrived at the hotel, sweaty and more than a little flustered, about an hour later.

This was not the scene which greeted me upon arrival in Seville.

An hour after that, feeling much better after a shower and a delicious lunch, I was taking my cafe cortado seated at the little square outside the hotel, when what did I notice? One taxi after another, pulling up outside the hotel, dropping people off, picking people up ... you know, doing the things that taxis usually do. It appears that, by 3:30 pm, whatever the taxistas' beef had been with the city was settled, and they went back to work as usual. Which was of little consolation if one had had the poor judgement to have arrived an hour earlier.

But I have to admit that lunch was all the more delicious after such a minor setback.

I´m currently here in Cadiz, apparently still being stalked by the Hollywood stars who complicated my stay in Seville*. Getting to Gibraltar tomorrow seems to be more complicated than I had imagined**. But I am resolute. There are apes to be photographed.

* To be continued.... What movie stars are (apparently) stalking me across the breadth of Andalucia, and why? Tune in next time and find out.

** Obviously, what I should have done was arrive on a cruise ship, like my sister and her husband did a few years ago. But I feel roughly the same way about luxury cruises as did the late David Foster Wallace.

Closed for the weekend

2009-11-20T01:17:00.000-08:00

I am not taking my little laptop to Andalucia, so will not be blogging over the weekend. Why not make a comment or two in my absence? The silence out there is deafening, with a few honorable exceptions.

Hasta lunes!

Hamstermania!

2009-11-19T16:13:00.000-08:00

From the "we roam the web so you don't have to" archive:

Hotel lets guests live like hamsters

You know, I can honestly say that I never once dreamed of living like a hamster as a child.

(Thanks to Teresa, the brilliant creator of the frogapplause comic strip , for bringing this to my attention).

Poultry update

2009-11-19T15:56:00.000-08:00

All the dead partridges have finally been sold from the local polleria. Instead, the display window features a prominently displayed ostrich egg. It's very big.

About fifty yards down the street, the main feature at the X-rated movie theater is:

which seems to suggest that they are catering to an extremely specific fetish that one might have naively imagined to be rather narrow.

Meanwhile, over in the Lavapies district, all the pirates are getting tattoos:

to the obvious delight of their lusty, buxom pirate wenches.

Lazy Day

2009-11-19T12:21:00.000-08:00

Well, after staying up past two o'clock to watch the final episodes of Season 2 of "El Internado" (and an excellent cliffhanging final episode it was too, but I will spare you the details, except to say that both my guesses were right), I didn't roll out of bed until 10:15 this morning. A leisurely day, assorted phone calls to sort out minor credit card issues, then to RENFE Atocha to buy the train tickets to Seville, Cadiz and back. Lunch at ROOT, then stopped in to the Museo de Bellas Artes to see the Goyas again. Went by the school to sign up for one last week of classes next week (even with the unfavorable exchange rate, it's still good value - 30 hours of instruction, in a class of only six students, for about $420, though admittedly it would be cheaper in Guatemala). Then I went to see "Julie and Julia", which I enjoyed thoroughly.

For supper, looks like some fine sheeps cheese and some of the Albariño that's chilling in the fridge. I leave for Seville on the AVE at noon tomorrow - will get back to Madrid at noon on Monday.

Heading South!

2009-11-18T13:36:00.000-08:00

Sooo... My original plan had been to take the train to Cadiz tomorrow, stay two nights there, with a side day-trip to Gibraltar, and come back by train on Saturday. The airport "at" Cadiz is actually halfway between Cadiz and Jerez, making flying a relatively unappealing option.

Foolishly, I did nothing about making concrete arrangements until today. Only to find, to my horror, that there is not a hotel room to be had anywhere in downtown Cadiz for either Thursday or Friday nights. So I had to make a change in plans. In place of the original itinerary, I am now going to take the AVE to Seville on Friday, stay overnight in Seville, then continue on to Cadiz by train on Saturday. I was able to book a hotel room in Cadiz for Saturday and Sunday nights, and will return by the early train first thing Monday morning, arriving in Madrid shortly after noon. As my classes at Don Quijote next week are all in the afternoon (from 1:00pm until 7:00pm), this actually works out quite well.

The only snag in the whole arrangement is that I had to cancel dinner plans for Sunday night with friends of Paddy who are visiting Madrid for Thanksgiving week. However, I hope to be able to reschedule with them later on next week.

I am currently still debating whether or not to schedule a trip to Bilbao for Friday-Sunday the following weekend. I suppose I probably should; after all I don't know when I will next get back to Spain.

El Internado: un lugar donde todo puede suceder.

2009-11-18T13:20:00.000-08:00

So, having watched six of the eight episodes in the second season of "El Internado", the various subplots are way too convoluted even to begin to summarize. Before watching episodes 7 and 8, I am willing to hazard a few guesses of my own.

1. It seems pretty obvious that the monster who lives in the subterranean passages linking the Internado to the well in the woods is actually the deformed twin of Elsa, currently directora of the school, and pregnant with twins of her own. After all, we discovered at the end of episode 5 that the little baby coffin in which he was supposed to have been buried was empty. Also, Jacinta knows him (we've seen her talking with him on at least one occasion). Methinks that Elsa is going to discover this repressed secret from her past before season 2 is out.

2. Who is Fermin, the mystery thug-turned kitchen help? We know he was sprung from jail by his shadowy backers to find something that's hidden in the school. I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that there is a stash of looted artwork somewhere that the Fascists hid there during WWII (when the school was still an orphanage) obtained from their Nazi buddies. Why else would he be peeling off the backs of existing paintings?

Is the new math teacher actually a sex-killer? Personally, I doubt it, this plot strand seems like misdirection all the way.
Will little Paula's math wizard skills, introduced briefly in midseason, then quickly abandoned, prove vital at some point? I'm guessing that they will - for all the wild improbabilities and coincidences, the writers of this soap are actually quite meticulous about tying things together so far. Which is part of what makes it so satisfying.

Well, I realise that this post means little to anybody who has never seen the series. Tant pis pour vous!

Universidad Rey Juan Carlos

2009-11-18T07:56:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I spent the day visiting the statistics and operations research department at Universidad Rey Juan Carlos, in Mostoles, just south of the city, where I had been invited to give a presentation. Actually, I more or less invited myself to visit, and when they heard I was coming, they asked me to give a talk. So I dusted off the old "Choosing a Dose Regimen when the Average Patient is a Myth" (last given in Killarney, under a slightly different name: OK, it's here , for the obsessively curious; it's an oldie, but goodie) and headed out there.

This is what the campus looks like (it's very new, the university is only 12 years old):

The talk went well - there were maybe seven or eight statisticians and about half a dozen pharmacologists from the medical school. The latter asked many smart questions at the end (the statisticians mainly smiled and looked encouraging), so I think they definitely "got it".

Afterwards, they took me to a fine lunch, and I met with various people on the statistics faculty. They seemed quite grateful that I had given a talk that managed to engage the pharmacologists, as I gather that Spanish universities still don't do well at inter-disciplinary projects, and their efforts at outreach to the medical school hadn't met with much success to date.

That's me, an international ambassador of statistical goodwill. It was a very pleasant visit, and I gather that they are even going to give me an honorarium (if I can ever figure out the Wells Fargo IBAN transfer number, but that's a whole 'nother story). Still, 200 Euros is better than a poke in the eye, as they say.

The cordial reception I received at URJC was in stark contrast to the response I got from Universidad Carlos III ("Carlos Tercero"), who I regret to say, essentially blew off my polite enquiries about a possible visit.

Hello muddah, hello faddah

2009-11-18T02:51:00.000-08:00

Now that I have time to amuse myself, I've been listening to the 5-CD "Best of Opera" set I bought at Corte Ingles to help my studying. One of the tracks is Ponchielli's "Dance of the Hours" from La Gioconda. Which is, of course, completely impossible to listen to without having the words to the "Camp Granada" song flash through your mind, in time to the music (which is 100% orchestral). You know:

Hello Muddah, hello Faddah
Here I am at camp Granada
Camp is very entertaining
And they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining

I went hiking with Joe Spivey
He developed poison ivy
You remember Leonard Skinner
He got ptomaine poisoning last night after dinner

......

Take me home, oh Muddah, Faddah
Take me home, I hate Granada
Don't leave me out in the forest where
I might get eaten by a bear

.......

Dearest Faddah, Darling Muddah
How's my precious little bruddah
Let me come home if you miss me
I would even let Aunt Bertha hug and kiss me

Wait a minute, it's stopped hailing
Guys are swimming, guys are sailing
Playing baseball, gee that's bettah
Muddah, Faddah kindly disregard this letter

Here's a link to the musical version (warning: earworm alert!)-

Hello muddah, hello faddah

This got me thinking about other classical melodies that have been hijacked in similar manner. For instance, Dvorak's "Humoresque", to which my mother used to sing gleefully at least some, if not all, of the following "verses":

Passengers will please refrain
From flushing toilets while the train
Is standing in the station, I love you.

We encourage constipation
While the train is in the station
Moonlight always makes me think of you

If you really must pass water
Kindly call the Pullman porter
He'll place a vessel in your vestibule

As I sit here tearing tissue
Oh, my darling, how I miss you
Everything I do, I do for you.

Since I'm going with your daughter
I've had trouble passing water
Sorry that I ever came to town

I'm the guy that did the pushin'
Dirtied up the front seat cushion
Footprints on the dashboard upside down

Promenading in the park,
Goosing statues after dark
If Sherman's horse can take it why can't you

Here is the instrumental version. Try adding the words for yourself:
"
Humoresque

Possibly some of my readers can add their own suggestions. Within our family, we had our own "words" to the opening bars of Alfven's "Swedish Rhapsody". Which I am now going to embarrass my sister publicly by including here* (God forbid any of her patients might be reading this - snicker!):

"Our little Emie is the best Emie, the best Emie, the best Emie.
Our little Emie is the best Emie, the best in the whole wide world.
She's the best in the whole wide world, the best in the whole wide world.
Best in the whole wide, whole wide, whole wide
Best in the whole wide, whole wide, world ...
and so on"

Swedish Rhapsody

Well, because she is, no disputing it. Love ya, Emie!

*I'll probably get in deep trouble for this.

The plain people of Ireland: Well, faith, but that's very interesting altogether. Tell us, what arrangement of naked women corresponds to the theme from the "William Tell Overture"?

MOTP: (suspiciously) Is this some kind of trick question?

The plain people of Ireland: (cackling gleefully) Not at all. Think about it!

MOTP: I don't know. I give up.

The plain people of Ireland: (barely able to contain their coarse mirth) Titty-bum, titty-bum, titty-bum-bum-bum!!!

MOTP: Silence, ye salacious wretches! Do ye want to incur the wrath of the League of Blogging Decency. This is supposed to be a fambly blog.

The plain people of Ireland: Yerrah, relax, wouldja? Sure we were only having a bit of a joke. Hi-ho, Silver!

MOTP: Sigh.

Where do you fit in?

2009-11-17T14:59:00.000-08:00

Lovers of small numbers go benignly potty,
Believe all tales are thirteen chapters long,
Have animal doubles, carry pentagrams,
Are Millerites, Baconians, Flat-Earth-Men.

Lovers of big numbers go horribly mad,
Would have the Swiss abolished, all of us
Well-purged, somatotyped, baptised, taught baseball:
They empty bars, spoil parties, run for Congress.

W.H. Auden: "Numbers and Faces"

Llama-sighting

2009-11-16T15:49:00.000-08:00

Bilby will recognize this picture:

Looks like "la llama que llama" has made his way to Manhattan. But where is he going in that taxi?

Chueca

2009-11-16T11:29:00.000-08:00

Now that the exam is done, I have a little more time to poke around the neighborhood (in between "Internado" episodes, natch, of which more anon). Calle Valverde, where I live, is right on the border between two neighborhoods: Malasaña, the heart of bohemian Madrid, and Chueca, the most flamboyantly gay barrio.

While wandering through Chueca over the weekend, I found its in-your-face cheerful gay identity quite heartening. But one phenomenon left me puzzled, even a little depressed. Based on a stroll through Chueca, a visitor from another planet might well be forgiven for concluding that earthlings' preferred mode of pairing off was (i) in the case of heterosexual couples, to pair with someone physically unalike (ii) in the case of male-male couples (lesbians are conspicuous by their absence in Chueca - a legacy of Spain's legendary machismo?) to pair off with your twin, mirror-image, or person who most closely matches your own physical aspect. Couple after couple, they all look like clones of each other.

I don't know why I should find this creepy, but I do. There's something about it that gives me the heebie-jeebies, and I don't think it's just some kind of passive-aggressive response because I'm not currently part of a couple. Something to do with the huge depths of narcissism it suggests, I think. And the thought that it can hardly be considered complete sexual liberation if all anyone seems to want to do is go to bed with someone who looks exactly like himself.

Anyway, it creeps me out, more than a little. Though I guess San Francisco experienced a similar phenomenon back in the early days of gay liberation. So maybe it's a necessary stage of evolution, in a society which has definitely undergone a huge upheaval in the area of sexual mores within a relatively short period.

Enough playing amateur sociologist. Time to go to dinner, and finish preparation for tomorrow's presentation at Universidad Rey Juan Carlos.

Hooray: Kafka se alegra mucho

2009-11-16T09:13:00.000-08:00

Yea, folks!! I am pleased to announce that www.gaelstat.com is back in business. Maybe I should work on updating some of its stale content.

Well, maybe in December, once I get home. I can see it in my mind's eye: a whole big fancy book review section, lots more fun word pages, maybe even a Thpanish section (business letters, anyone?). And, of course, I think it's time I stretched my mind (and gave my visitors an opportunity to stretch theirs) by developing another Christmas quiz.

(Rubs hands gleefully at the prospect of hours of geekish fun ahead).

It would be churlish of me not to acknowledge the help of the folks at the Microsoft Business Live support center. After all, it's certainly not their fault that the process to reinstate the domain name was so byzantine, but they guided me through it with professionalism, courtesy, and a determination to get the problem solved that I find admirable. So my thanks go out to them.

Kafka adopts a wait-and-see posture

2009-11-15T13:09:00.000-08:00

So, as I finally had the time this weekend, I tried my best to reinstate gaelstat.com. The jury is still out on whether or not I succeeded, as it takes 24-72 hours to take effect. Two points are worth noting:

1. Four separate e-mails to the Indian subcontinent were necessary to iron out the details. Each was answered with extreme promptness and courtesy, with information that was generally reasonably intelligible and to the point. So it wasn't quite the nightmare that I had expected. And I'm quite willing to forgive the gentleman who urged me to "Have a nice day, Dennis!", because it was he provided the vital piece of information that allowed me to complete the process.

2. I was quite pleased at myself for figuring out that Step 19, the final step in the original sequence (reproduced in an earlier post) was in fact a trap, and should not be completed.

Do I have any genuine understanding of what was being accomplished along the way? Not really. I could convince myself that I had a vague idea of what was happening, but this "understanding" wouldn't hold up under any real scrutiny. However, assuming that the reinstatement goes through as hoped, the domain name issue has been taken care of until mid-November 2014. At which point I'd better not screw up the renewal again, because I will undoubtedly be too senile to navigate through that particular maze again. Of course, by then, everything will probably be controlled by google anyway.

No cambia madroños por bombas

2009-11-14T13:08:00.000-08:00

This poster was definitely the best thing about today's somewhat bedraggled peace parade.

Three images by Pentti Sammallahti

2009-11-14T08:20:00.000-08:00

DELE

2009-11-14T07:32:00.000-08:00

Some of you may be wondering when the results of yesterday's exam will be known. This being Thpain, it will take 3 months. This despite the fact that 85% of the test was multiple choice, fill in the blobs with your #2 pencil, items, and so could presumably have been corrected on the spot. Same thing with the oral exam. But, noooo... I guess both of those 250-word essays I wrote have to be shipped by mule to the University of Salamanca, to be corrected personally by octogenarian members of the Royal Academy wielding quill pens and a lifetime's accumulated resentment about the way the language has had the audacity to evolve.

But it's done, and I don't have to study for it any more. If I'd had to write one more business letter of complaint, I might have had to slit my wrists.

Ah, blessed freedom!

Book review; "Thoughts on Peace in an Air Raid" by Virginia Woolf

2009-11-13T17:10:00.000-08:00

This slim collection (roughly 100 pages) of nine essays by Virgina Woolf, published as part of the "Penguin Great Ideas" series may be the best book I've read in the past ten years. It's also one of the hardest to review. The explanation is straightforward - every time I try, the review just devolves into tired cliches ("shimmering prose", "scintillating wit", "a writer at the height of her powers", anyone?) or fills up with direct quotes from the work itself. Not just skimpy little quotelets either, but huge, copyright-infringing, chunks of text. Pagesfull. I want to share every genius-soaked paragraph with you, and once I start, I just can't stop.

So, how to proceed? Why not implement a little self-restraint by resorting to that tired old device of listing the individual essay titles (easy) and - for a selected few - giving a few brief comments on wherein I think their genius lies (hard).

Well, duh, the genius lies in Virginia, of course. It pains me to acknowledge that, until about 6 months ago, I had this image of VW that was pretty much completely at odds with her warmth, wit, and ability to write prose that sparkles and enchants. (I'm sorry - that sounds so ridiculously pretentiously critspeak, but it's bloody well true. I will try to avoid the words "limpid" and "limn" in this review, if that's any consolation). How could I have been so wrong - she's smart as a whip, she's funny, and writes as if taking dictation from on high. Boy, can this woman write. I really, really, really hope that you will beg, borrow, or steal this collection to experience it for yourself.

So what does she write about here?

1. Thoughts on Peace in an Air Raid.
2. Street Haunting.
3. Oxford Street Tide.
4. Craftsmanship.
5. The Art of Biography.
6. How it Strikes a Contemporary.
7. Why?
8. The Patron and the Crocus.
9. Modern Fiction.
10. How Should One Read a Book?

Each of the 9 essays I've read so far has blown me away, either because it contains one or more flashes of pure insight, or because of the incomparable quality of the writing, and - in most cases - some combination of the two. In six pages, the title essay contains some of the sanest observations about war in anything I've read outside of Orwell. The second two essays capture the quotidian pleasures of walking the streets of London with a wit and perspicacity that leaves me slack-jawed in admiration. Essay #4, one of my favorites (together with the final essay, which is simply perfect) is a spellbinding discourse on the slippery charm of words. Essays 6, 8, and 9 contain some of the most cogent remarks about writing that I have ever read. #7 is a hilarious takedown of those who would write or lecture about literature.
But it's the final essay in this book that raises the whole collection to my top 5 books of all time list (there's going to be some ugly rearranging that will have to take place on my "top 20" shelf, and a difficult choice lies ahead).

"How Should One Read a Book" is where my self-discipline breaks down. This is an essay that demands to be quoted from. In whole chunks. With difficulty, I will confine myself to three:

The only advice, indeed, that one person can give another about reading is to take no advice, to follow your own instincts, to use your own reason, to come to your own conclusions. ... To admit authorities, however heavily furred and gowned, into our libraries and let them tell us how to read, what to read, what value to place upon what we read, is to destroy the spirit of freedom which is the breath of those sanctuaries. Everywhere else we may be bound by laws and conventions - there we have none.

In your face, Harold Bloom!

Perhaps the quickest way to understand the elements of what a novelist is doing is not to read, but to write; to make your own experiment with the dangers and difficulties of words.

I have sometimes dreamt, at least, that when the Day of Judgment dawns ... the Almighty will turn to Peter and will say, not without a certain envy, as He sees us coming with our books under our arms: "Look, these need no reward. We have nothing to give them here. They have loved reading."

By the time the title essay of this collection was published, Virgina Woolf had already filled her pockets with stones and walked into the river Ouse. I find her suicide enormously saddening, particularly given the brilliance of these essays. Subsequent deaths, such as those of Sylvia Plath and David Foster Wallace, suggests that such brilliance comes at a price.

But the work lives on. You have to read these essays! They are astonishing, in the best possible way.

Tabby cat humiliation

2009-11-13T14:37:00.000-08:00

Horace Walpole's Cat (a book, by Christopher Frayling)

After the test today (about which I will make no predictions, except to say I am cautiously optimistic) I hit the bookstore on the way home, and this gorgeous book was my present to myself, as a reward for the last three weeks of work. Yes, I miss my kitties, Boris and Natasha. So sue me.

I don't use the word "gorgeous" lightly. This is a handsome book, with excellent production values (is that the phrase I'm looking for?). The conceit is slight, but charming. Paraphrasing the jacket cover:

"One day in February 1747 Horace Walpole's cat Selima fell into a large Chinese porcelain goldfish tub and drowned. Walpole was naturally upset and his close friend Thomas Gray wrote a (gently mocking) elegy to console him, ending with the famous moral lesson All that glisters is not gold . Gray's much-loved poem conferred immortality on the unfortunate Selima.

Christopher Frayling has made her fate the focus of a piece of literary research that involves Walpole, Gray, Richard Bentley, Doctor Johnson, cat-lovers Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Christopher Smart, cat-hater James Boswell, William Blake and finally Kathleen Hale (of Orlando the marmalade cat fame). All contribute to this book of charm and erudition lightly worn, that adds seriously to our appreciation of 18th century, and our understanding of people and their household animals.

With 32 illustrations, 15 in colour, by Richard Bentley (1753), William Blake (1797) and Kathleen Hale's drawings, created in 1944 and published here for the first time".

What's not to love?

***********************************

Thomas Gray. 1716–1771

On a Favourite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes

TWAS on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purr'd applause.

Still had she gazed; but 'midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The Genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue
Thro' richest purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What Cat 's averse to fish?

Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled.)
The slipp'ry verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry god,
Some speedy aid to send.
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd:
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A Fav'rite has no friend!

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.

Tho far tho good

2009-11-12T13:42:00.000-08:00

Today's oral part of the exam went reasonably well, though of course one can never be fully sure - Lord knows what grammatical solecisms I may have committed. The expression of the examiner lady never actually devolved into overt horror, though this too could be misleading, because the setup is that one's interlocutor is not actually the person who does the grading. In a kind of good cop/bad cop scenario, the grader sits behind you while you are talking, taking notes, copious or otherwise.

It's not exactly a walk in the park. You are expected to speak extemperaneously, and are not allowed to make any notes. First they show you two contrasting photos, about which you have to talk with no help from the interviewer for 3 minutes. Then she chimes in with a couple of questions, and there's a further two minutes or so of chit-chat about the photos. Next they show you three different quotations, ask you to pick one and speak about it off the cuff for 5 minutes uninterrupted. At which point the interviewer chimes in again, and there is a back-and-forth dialog for another 5 minutes or so. During the whole process, the grader-person is scribbling furiously (or maybe not) behind your back.

Anyway, I hope it was a good sign that, in the second part, I spoke for 8 minutes before the interviewer chimed in.

I was so hyped-up when I got out of there that I had to stop in the bookstore on the way home and calm my nerves by buying a half dozen books. All in English, I am ashamed to say.

This evening, I figured that further study of the finer points of grammar would be futile, so I have been trying to relax by hitting the Chardonnay and reading Virginia Woolf*. If I could match the wit and clarity of that woman's prose, even in English, I'd be a happy camper indeed. In tomorrow's exam, I'll settle for grammatical correctness and half-way clear expression of ideas.

La suerte está echada. The die is cast.

One way or another, this particular adventure will be over by 2pm tomorrow, and I can move on with my life.

*with a new Internado update thrown in, naturally. (Precocious Paula has been separated from little Evelyn and moved up to a more advanced class. I can relate, as this was more or less the whole story of my primary school education. All it means is that by the time you get to high school you are surrounded by thugs who are two or three years older, who end up bullying you mercilessly. "Character-forming" is the relevant euphemism, I believe. Though, in my case, it has to be said, I probably had it coming, as I was an insufferable little prig when I first went away to boarding school.)

The plain people of Ireland: Why are we not surprised?
MOTP: Silence, rabble!

hasta pronto!

Oh nooooo.....

2009-11-11T15:21:00.000-08:00

La pequeña Paula has an IQ of 152.

All of los huérfanos muertos had IQs of 150 or greater.

I fear for the little tyke's safety.

One of life's eternal mysteries

2009-11-11T14:22:00.000-08:00

A state of heightened preparedness

2009-11-11T13:45:00.000-08:00

So, here at DELE central, things are rapidly approaching the point of no return. Sure, there are a few more exercises I should probably force myself to wade through. But I just finished yet another essay while at dinner ("an interesting story from your past" - did I ever tell you about the time I was going through customs at JFK, and there was this "nun" with a suitcase full of contraband rashers and sausages? No, I didn't think so, because it never happened, but they are not to know that. Yes, it's true, I've already mined my past for the few nuggets of interest it might contain - breakfast in Guanajuato anyone? - so now I'm reduced to making things up. So sue me.)

This afternoon brought the ritual pleasure of the purchasing of the requisite pre-exam necessities - the lapicero #2, with backup, the borrador, the sacapuntas, the black boligrafo, the appropriately shrill despertador. If only mental preparedness were available for purchase at a comparable price.

So, the oral exam is tomorrow afternoon at 4:45pm; the written exam on Friday from 9;00 until 2:00. There's a definite sense that this particular die has already been cast. Anything from here on out is just window dressing, nervous activity to calm the mind.

But the studying has been fun. Here was this evening's soundtrack:

Sibelius: 2nd symphony, especially the sublime final movement
Saint-Saens: organ symphony, ditto (aka the theme from "Babe")
Dvorak: Songs my mother taught me
Lauridsen: Dirait-on from the Rose cycle (lyrics by Rilke)
Alfven: Swedish Rhapsody
Granados: Andalucia
Gershwin: Three Preludes for Piano
Addinsell: Warsaw concerto
Catalani: Ebben? ... Ne andro lontana (La Wally, aka the theme from "Diva")
Mozart: Soave sia il vento (Cosi fan Tutte)

The titles of those last two are enough to make a person want to learn Italian.
Right now.

This is music that I find both joyful and inspiring.

And with that, good night. Wish me luck.

Omigod!

2009-11-11T11:06:00.000-08:00

Gentle readers! I am, quite frankly, beside myself. But in a good way, I should hasten to add. I am (almost) at a loss for words. I mean what does one say when one's all-time favorite cheesy Spanish soap opera takes that one step further, and goes from being merely magnificent to being altogether sublime. Let's run down the considerable list of merits this show already had going for it before it made that final leap to greatness in this most recent episode:

* the fundamental genius McGuffin of the mystery of the five missing orphans, with all the necessary spooky paraphernalia that surrounds it - jars of eyeballs, the misformed gentle creature that lives in the woods, the secret passageway (to which entry is granted by pressing on a panel over the fireplace in the library, I kid you not) that leads from the school to the woods, the mysterious lights in the night
* the high prevalence of toothsome adolescent eye-candy, more often than not (as previously mentioned) filmed in their sweaty revealing gym outfits, in the showers, or any other situation where there is a plausible reason for displaying maximum amounts of teenage flesh
* the general lax mores of the thirty-something set that passes for the "faculty" at this campus o' carnality, which results in just as much cavorting and exposed flesh (actually even more) as occurs among the student bodies. Whether it's Hector or Fermin lasciviously eyeing maria the crazy cleaning lady as she bathes nude in the lake (or, if you prefer, the "Laguna Negra") every morning, or the randy gym teacher who beds everything female that moves, or the equally hormonally advantaged kindergarten teacher, or the hunky new math teacher - this place is just a hotbed of hormonal lust.
* the satisfyingly high frequency per episode of people being caught in compromising positions - given the general proclivity of these characters for sneaking around the corridors and hidden passageways furtively, they are always catching one another in either genuinely or misleadingly compromising positions. In this spicy gumbo, the plot is always thickening.
* Did I mention the three corpses in the wood? Not to mention the five dead orphans.
* Tender moments provided by the darling 8-year old Paula and her little friend (accessory in modest juvenile misdemeanours) Evelyn:

I mean, you gotta admit, that's some pretty irresistible cuteness right there.

So, I hear you ask, "surely it would be piling Pelion on Ossia to add anything further"?* How could one possibly improve on such a tried and tested successful mix? Well, listen up, and I'll tell you.

By bringing back that feisty old bird, Jacinta, for one thing. She's back - and with a new heart! (Quite literally)
That hunky new math teacher doesn't hurt either.
But .... drumroll please .... here's the very best part:

IT TURNS OUT THAT LITTLE PAULA IS A MATHEMATICAL PRODIGY!!!!

Yes, indeedy. In this latest episode, she's been prowling around the school, true Good Will Hunting style, solving elder bro marcus's Rubik's cube just like that, completing unsolved math puzzles left unerased on the blackboard. I fully expect her to bring home the Field medal by the end of the second season.

Gentle readers, you have no idea how ineffably happy this makes me.

*: In my mind, gentle reader, you are a cultivated, well-read, kind of person. If not, you could always look it up.

Just stay calm, David

2009-11-10T13:22:00.000-08:00

All in all, it was a productive long weekend - I managed to churn out four business letters (mainly complaining about stuff - I may actually have found my true calling - apparently complaining about stuff in Spanish comes fairly easily to me), and the same number of essays. Let's be clear here - we're not scaling any literary heights - you'll not come across any feuilleton-quality gems in the bunch. But if you have ever wanted to:

write to the publishers of Lonely Planet guidebooks, pointing out imaginary nitpicky errors in their latest guide to San Francisco
complain to your local municipal traffic bureau about the dangerous placement of a traffic light
get satisfaction from some fly-by-night bookseller on the internet because your alleged first edition of "The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire" wasn't up to snuff
complain to the municipal authorities because you got a permit to open a yoga studio, not the "Business English for foreigners" school you had planned to

then I might have some templates I could pass on.

In other news, Brad left for home this morning. When I got back home from lunch at around 4:30, I suffered a major panic attack upon entering the empty apartment. i hadn't realized how much I would miss him. But after an hour of lying on the couch with a full case of the heebie-jeebies, I rallied and pulled myself together. Enough to - you've guessed it - write another letter of complaint, before going out to the supermarket to replenish my stock of Albarino.

I've also been catching up on Season 2 of "El internado". Can't possibly do it justice in this post, but I will just pass on that the number of corpses in el bosque has now risen to 3. And that's not even counting the cadavers of the 5 dead orphans, because they are over 20 years old. Bad boy Ivan continues to brood (this mainly involves biting his lip a lot and glowering - the young man who plays him has definition limitations as far as his acting repertoire is concerned, preferring to rely on his good looks, which are undeniable) , while goody two-shoes Marcos engages in a kind of behavior that can best be described as smoldering. Somehow the plot finds many excuses to have all of the better-looking teen actors on the show prance around a lot in their skimpy gym outfits, when the camera team is not just lingering voyeuristically in the girls' shower, for no particular reason that advances the action. Did I mention how much I love the cheesy goodness of this show? Plus, it improves my Thpanish - they are a foulmouthed bunch, who enjoy cursing up a storm, so it's quite helpful.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Bird beats big bang with bit of baguette

2009-11-08T10:30:00.000-08:00

GENEVA : THE $6.5 billion machine designed to recreate the conditions present at the beginning of time had to be switched off after a bird dropped a "bit of baguette" into it, causing it to overheat.

As a result, scientists at the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland had to postpone their plans last week to emulate the universe's Big Bang.

The European particle physics laboratory near Geneva launched the LHC in September last year. Physicists hoped to prove the existence of the Higgs boson, or God particle, which gives matter in the universe its mass.

But the LHC, which when running will collide protons travelling at 99.9 per cent of the speed of light, has been out of action since a helium leak caused it to be shut down nine days after its start-up.

The bird dropped bread on a compensating capacitor – where the mains electricity supply enters the collider – cutting power to the LHC during a test run.

Source: smh.com.au

Thanks to bilby for bringing this to my attention. As he commented, "it is strangely comforting that the beginning of the universe can be undone by a bird with a chunk of bread".

Betty and Vincent!

2009-11-08T08:36:00.000-08:00

They are examples of this trip's quest, and the focus of tonight's, and future, Sunday night dioramas.

For further examples, see Buttons!

Kafka feliz

2009-11-07T14:33:00.000-08:00

In fact, I'll wager he's laughing his mid-European ass off somewhere. Herewith the necessary steps in order to reinstate the domain name for my other website (the cyberpage formerly known as gaelstat.com):

Now, to keep your domain name "gaelstat.com", you need to unlock your domain from Melbourne IT using the Domain Registration Key (DRK) of your domain and you need to pay the domain renewal amount to Melbourne IT. After unlocking and renewing your domain name "gaelstat.com" from Melbourne IT, you can re-delegate your domain back to your Microsoft Office Live account.

In order to redirect your domain name back to Microsoft Office Live, you need to create an account with Melbourne IT. After this, you need to unlock and manage your domain at their end.

To unlock and manage your domain from Melbourne IT, please follow the below mentioned steps:

1. Go to http://www.melbourneit.com.au/cc/godirect/.

2. Enter your domain name and registry key and click on continue.

3. Click on 'create a new account' below the text box where you are prompted for My account password.

3.1. Fill up all the information needed :

3.1.1. Contact Information

3.1.2. Login Information

3.2. Other Information:

3.21. The Country Code is "1" for United States (for UK it is 44)

3.2.2. The email address you enter must not be related to the domain you are attempting to transfer/manage.

4. After filling up all the information, check the box that says I have read and understood the Sign up Terms and Conditions. I agree to abide by the terms and conditions, as stated there in.

5. Click Create. Now your account is created.

6. On the My Account Console page, click Logout on the right side of the page.

7. Now you will be redirected to the Melbourne IT web site.

8. Click Manage Domain Name on the right side of the page.

9. Type your domain and registry key.

10. Click Enter Management.

11. Click Transfer management to Melbourne IT.

12. Sign in using the username and password for your Melbourne IT account using the username and password, which you created for your Melbourne IT account. .

13. Click Continue after you have verified all the information on the page.

14. Click on My Account console.

15. Click on the link "View/Manage domain name" under the Domain Names.

16. Click on your domain name (customer domain name) under the Domain Name section.

17. Click on the Unlock Domain Name.

18. To change name server, click on Change Delegation Details under Name Server Details on the right side of the page. Here, you can change the domain name server settings for your new service provider.

19. To obtain new authorization code in order to transfer your domain, click Retrieve Domain Name (authinfo) Password (on the same page on point 17).

If you have not received the DRK, please provide us with the information mentioned below to verify your account ownership. Once we will verify your account ownership, we will provide you with the DRK.

1. First and last name associated with your Microsoft Office Live account: (David Giltinan)

2. Billing address associated with your Microsoft Office Live account: (Required)

3. Telephone number associated with your Microsoft Office Live account: (Required)

4. Year of birth associated with your Microsoft Office Live account: (Required).

I'm not making this up. I truly wish I were. It's a wonder Bill Gates has not yet been assassinated. Please note, that last remark is not to be interpreted as an incitement to violence. I mean that. But it's hardly a wonder that Microsoft has, let's say, an image problem. To be fair, Sandeep at the support center couldn't be more helpful, even if he is not entirely idiomatic. Something that, given my current situation, I sympathize with entirely.

Website Snafu

2009-11-07T11:30:00.000-08:00

There currently appears to be a snafu with reaching my main website, formerly known as gaelstat.com. At the moment, that domain name appears not to be working (for reasons I am trying to ascertain from the provider). However, its alias www.davidgiltinan.com still appears to be up and running.

I have changed the link on the front page of this blog to point to the working address, and am working on getting gaelstat.com reinitiated. But, for now, your best bet would seem to be

www.davidgiltinan.com

which at least has the virtue of being easy to remember.

My cup runneth over

2009-11-06T14:22:00.000-08:00

Gentle readers:

Long-time followers of this blog will recall the slightly juvenile delight I took in the Spanish television series "El Internado (Laguna Negra)", the first season of which coincided with my first visit to Madrid, in the summer of 2007. Alas, circumstances dictated that I had to return home right after the cliffhanger ending of the first season, without ever finding out the full gory details of the mystery in the woods, not to mention the explanation for the assorted disembodied eyeballs that peppered the plot.

Imagine my joy, therefore, at reading in yesterday's "Ciberpais" that the series continues apace, having already reached its fifth season, and that all episodes to date are available on the website of Antena3.

Guess what I will be doing this weekend, in between studying that pesky subjunctive. There is the added pleasure of knowing that downloading and watching the various episodes from Season 2 and beyond has the virtue of being demonstrably good for my Thpanish comprehension. Not to mention the eye-candy provided by badboy Ivan and dreamboat Marcus.

Keep your eyeballs peeled for further updates. Right here at MOTP central.

Two-headed bunnies! Yeah!

César Lucas

2009-11-06T12:49:00.000-08:00

Before I succumb entirely to the effects of exhaustion and Albariño, I should mention the fine photo exhibition that we went to see earlier tonight, as part of the culture class on Spanish photography. It was a collection of photos by photographer César Lucas, taken over his 50-year professional career. I enjoyed it thoroughly. The photo below, known as "El niño del puño en alto" (the boy with his fist raised), appeared in El País on June 23rd 1976, at the beginning of Spain's transition to democracy following the death of Franco, and is probably one of the best-known photos by Lucas.

A subsequent article (in 2006?) on the newspaper's website gives further information about the boy in the photograph and places the photo in context as an icon of the transition period. (Material in italics below is copied from the paper's website, at the following link):

http://www.elpais.com/especiales/2006/mirada/fotogaleria_7_1.html

El niño que levantaba el puño en una fotografía de César Lucas publicada en la última página de EL PAÍS el 23 de junio de 1976, al inicio de la transición, se llama Daniel Rivas Azcueta, tiene 34 años, es piloto y vive en Las Rozas (Madrid). Se siente muy orgulloso de ser "un icono" de aquel periodo de la historia de España. La foto fue tomada en la calle Preciados de Madrid, donde hoy está la FNAC. Sus padres, que le llevaron a la manifestación en la que fue fotografiado, eran militantes del Partido Comunista, miembros muy activos de Comisiones Obreras y de la Junta Democrática.
Hoy, Daniel dice que merece la pena manifestarse, por ejemplo, contra la guerra "o cualquier cosa que despierte el espíritu dormido de la gente", y, de hecho, a la manifestación que hubo contra la invasión de Irak él y su mujer llevaron a su hija Daniela, que tiene ahora cerca de cuatro años, los mismos que él tenía cuando se produjo la manifestación en la que le captó César Lucas.
La madre de Daniel, Sonia Azcueta, recordaba ayer que el niño "no sólo levantaba el puñito [como se ve en la foto], sino que nos animaba a todos los que estábamos alrededor".
Esa misma instantánea, símbolo de una época, ilustró la portada del tomo 7 de la colección La mirada del tiempo que EL PAÍS comenzó a publicar el pasado domingo.
Daniel Rivas tiene esa fotografía a la entrada de su casa, donde vive con su mujer, Marta Rodríguez Aznar, azafata; se la consiguió hace unos años su madre. Daniel es piloto de Air Nostrum; Marta trabaja en Iberia. Hace 15 días tuvieron otra niña, Martina.
Los padres de Daniel, Santiago Rivas y Sonia Azcueta, eran activistas políticos. Su casa, en La Guindalera, era "un hervidero sindical y político", y a Daniel esas idas y venidas le divertían y le estimulaban desde muy niño. Así que no pudo sorprenderse cuando sus padres le llevaron "a aquella manifestación a la que se iba para exigir mejor calidad de la enseñanza y a protestar contra la carestía de la vida". Él ya se sabía todas las consignas, las decía y levantaba el puño con la soltura que veía a su alrededor. Se puso a hombros de un amigo de la familia —Agustín Cerdán, que ahora trabaja en Vueling; su padre trabajaba en Aviaco, su madre sigue siendo secretaria en el hospital de La Princesa— y "disfruté de la fiesta, porque para mí aquello era una fiesta. Nadie me dijo 'levanta el puño', ni tenían que decírmelo. Yo levantaba el puño, y punto".
Como cuenta Juan Luis Cebrián, el primer director de EL PAÍS, en el prólogo que hace al citado tomo de La mirada del tiempo, esa fotografía armó un gran revuelo, y por su publicación protestó un ministro ("¿Es que EL PAÍS va a apostar por una España comunista?"). "Era un niño tan rubio, tan mono, tan angelical, tan simpático y bien trajeado, que su imagen resultaba demoledora", escribe Cebrián en el prólogo.
César Lucas, que era jefe de Fotografía de EL PAÍS entonces, recordaba ayer que los que pensaron, como aquel ministro, que la instantánea había sido preparada "pudieron haber tenido un argumento más, y también se hubieran equivocado. Unos días después de haberse publicado la fotografía", cuenta César, "me vino a ver un empleado del periódico, Edmundo Azcueta, que me espetó: ¡Vaya foto le has hecho a mi sobrino!".
"Por fortuna", dice el fotógrafo, "no sólo desconocía que Azcueta era tío del niño del puñito, sino que tenía un testigo de que la foto la hice sin preparación alguna, desconociendo absolutamente a quién estaba fotografiando. Ese testigo es el periodista Miguel Ángel Gozalo. Él me vio obtenerla, desde un ángulo inverosímil, sin poder mirar por el visor. Al llegar al periódico y revelarla me quedé encandilado".
Ahora lo dice: "Fotografié a un icono de la transición. Era un niño rubio, bien vestido, bien peinado, ¡era una España diferente, y estaba yendo a manifestarse!".

The exhibition was located at the cultural centre of the Palacio Conde Duque (the name of which translates, slightly redundantly, to the "Palace of the Count Duke"), which is this phenomenal building just around the corner from the don Quijote school. Should anyone reading this be in Madrid, I highly recommend the exhibition, which is free to the general public, and open until 9:00 pm, Tuesday through Saturday (closed on Mondays, restricted hours on Sundays).

Hecho polvo

2009-11-06T12:30:00.000-08:00

Survived another, fairly brutal (but always fun!), week of classes. Including today's simulation of the full exam, which I passed by a respectable margin. But the consequence is that I am so exhausted that I am slumped, almost catatonic, on the sofa, blogging from a most un-ergonomic posture. I had notions of going to see the Julie & Julia movie with Meryl Streep in it at 10:30, but what between my general state of decrepitude and the fact that I've been liberally sampling the fine bottle of Albariño that's in the fridge for the past hour, this possibility is starting to seem ever more remote. But let me just say that the combination of Albariño with goat's cheese and cream crackers is as good as it gets.

The picturesque Spanish phrase to describe my current state is "hecho polvo", literally "made of dust" (what the French refer to as "crevé", I believe). This should not be confused with the similar-sounding expression, "echar un polvo", which means "to engage in a one-night stand". A simple usage example should make the distinction clear:

"Juan estaba hecho polvo por la mañana, porque echó un polvo la noche anterior"
(Juan was dead beat in the morning, because of his one-night stand the night before)

That concludes our lesson for this evening. (Heads fridge-ward, to top up glass of wine...)
Hasta mañana!

How the panda came to be

2009-11-06T12:07:00.000-08:00

I love this image! It is taken from the link below (for some reason, I was unable to include the picture directly from the link, and had to save it to my hard drive first).

http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_WIme2IZPEnY/SrGqsWHGcFI/AAAAAAAAAz8/moRP7xzFkxU/s1600-h/bears.jpg

Hay madroños!

2009-11-05T14:10:00.000-08:00

Today, after this evening's excellent culture class (on Spanish photography), I stopped off at the supermarket in the basement of the Corte Ingles. Where I succumbed to the temptation of buying some juicy madroños, pictured above. After all, one feels a responsibility to one's readers to convey just what it is that the bear in that "oso y madroño" statue is so worked up about.

The madroño experience was a bit like the partridge experience earlier in the week. Now that I've done it, there is no urgent reason to repeat it. For the record, they have a taste and consistency that is quite reminiscent of the kiwi fruit. But kiwi fruit are more delicious.

But now we know what the fruit of the arbutus tree tastes like. Nothing like strawberries, so there appears to be no good reason for the common mixup between both plants. Anyway, everyone knows that strawberries don't grow on trees.

It's raining spam!!

2009-11-05T09:37:00.000-08:00

I don't know what it is about this particular IP address, but the quantity of spam that I receive just about quadruples - currently it runs at about 60 messages a day. For the first week, the spam filter could barely cope - it's been better this week. But it's disconcerting just how much garbage is piling up in my spam folder - we won't even go in to the types of message titles, though I am happy to say that the springtime emphasis on carnal relationships between busty sluts and barnyard animals seems to have abated.

Thanks God for small mercies.

Traduttore, traditore

2009-11-04T14:56:00.000-08:00

The plain people of Ireland: Here, this is old news - all these photos were taken in 2007!
MOTP: And what if they were? What rule says they can't be included? They are, after all, oldies but goodies.
The plain people of Ireland: Fair enough, so. But don't you have any fresh photos to show us?
MOTP: After the exam, I promise. There will be a plethora of photographic gems, each one lovelier than the next.

We search the web so you don't have to

2009-11-04T13:52:00.000-08:00

Tonight's find - the ancient Welsh art of "baragami", or toast-arranging:

http://www.messybeast.com/baragami/baragami.htm

No need to thank us. It's all part of MOTP's long-standing tradition of public service.

MATABURROS!!!

2009-11-04T12:47:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I look around the apartment back on 19th Street, piles of books strewn everywhere, and wonder how things got to such a pass. Of course, there's no mystery about it really. For instance, late Sunday evening I was wandering through VIPS in search of a decent corkscrew, when the following item caught my eye:

The Argentine word for "dictionary" is "mataburros", or "donkey-killer". I daresay that one could kill an entire family of donkeys with this particular tome. Certainly, more than a fair share of trees are killed annually to produce books this fat.

But who could resist a book that contains so much raw information, not to mention sample business letters (as mentioned previously, business letters in Thpanish are much on my mind these days)? Not me, obviously.

Then, to make matters worse, there was the fine volume of Thpanish proverbs on sale at the Casa del Libro last night. The selection of proverbs is a fine one, but many of the english translations do leave something to be desired. For instance:

Give a thing and take a thing, to wear the devil's gold ring
An old dog bites sore
Good ware makes quick market
Pleasing ware is half sold
Old thanks pay not for a new debt
A black sheep often has a white lamb
Like will to like
A bleating sheep loses her bit
Goose, gander and gosling are three sounds, but one thing
The master's eye makes the horse fat
Death's day is doom's day
Great strokes make not sweet music
Long ways, long lies
Ne'er cast a clout till may is out
Desperate cuts must have desperate cures
Nothing crave, nothing have
Where we least think, there goes the hare away
Man is to man a wolf
Nothing is a man's truly but what he came by duly
Money makes the mare to go
My word is my bone
He that comes of a hen, must scrape
Good cheap is dear
All that is sharp is short
If the cup fits you, wear it
The cat purrs, for his own good
Let no one say I will not drink water

Even allowing for obvious typos ("if the cap fits", "my word is my bond"), some of these are pretty baffling.

Photographic kittie update

2009-11-04T10:19:00.000-08:00

courtesy of Jay's iPhone:

Diary of a Geek

2009-11-04T09:59:00.000-08:00

Brad took the AVE to Seville early yesterday morning (he was as excited as a schoolkid) and will return tomorrow evening. Although I am insanely jealous, as Seville is my favorite city in all of Spain, I have been having my own geekish fun here on the home front. Earlier in the day I went to the Corte Ingles and picked up a 5CD set of 'classical music from the movies'. It turns out that the theme from 'Elvira Madigan' is ideal background music for studying one's prepositional verbs. And I just finished churning out two business letters to the tunes of 'Cavalleria Rusticana' and 'Carmina Burana', respectively.

I have never denied being a geek.

I heard back from the statistics folks at Universidad Rey Juan Carlos, and have tentatively agreed to give a talk there when I visit during the second half of the month. Am still waiting to hear from the department at Universidad Carlos III.

With temperatures continuing in the 70's, all in all it is shaping up to be a fine week. Even if I did experience some gastrointestinal woes that caused me to miss classes this morning.

The plain people of Ireland: Whoa! Way too much information!
MOTP: You are quite right. Please accept my sincere apologies.

Asian Bird Flu Found in Turkey

2009-11-01T10:01:00.003-08:00

Some more perennial favorite headlines:

McDonald's fries the holy grail for potato farmers
Shark attacks puzzle experts
British left waffles on Falklands
Frozen embryos ruled children
Yellow perch decline to be studied
Drunk gets nine months in violin case
Satellite tracks cows from outer space
British urologist censured by his peers
Big busts indicate drug war working
Severed head offers few answers
Court escapee still on the lamb
Nicaragua sets goal to wipe out literacy
Voodoo dogs flying doctor's planes
Plane too close to ground, crash probe told
Cold wave linked to temperatures
Stolen painting found by tree
Is there a ring around Uranus?
Queen Mary having bottom scraped
Blind woman gets kidney from Dad she hasn't seen in years
Infertility unlikely to be passed on
War dims hope for peace
Milk drinkers are turning to powder

etc, etc, etc.

Progress Report

2009-11-01T10:01:00.002-08:00

After a rocky start, things on the exam preparation front improved as the week progressed, so I am finally allowing myself to be cautiously optimistic. One of the features of the DELE is that it is not enough to achieve the required overall 70% score on average - one is required to attain it in each of the three (somewhat arbitrarily defined) sections of the exam. There are some advantages to this, given the way the material is grouped. For instance, although the auditory comprehension part, which requires one to answer a series of questions after listening to 4 separate interviews/excerpts from radio programs/newscasts and the like (with accents ranging from the peninsula to Chile, Mexico, Argentina, or anywhere in Latin America), is notoriously difficult, it is grouped together with the oral part of the exam, allowing a blabbermouth like myself to regain any lost ground. Though I shouldn't be too confident - apparently the oral part proved to be the nemesis of a number of my classmates from last April. (I am trying, not entirely successfully, to take the high road and not to view this as cosmic justice for the unwarranted hostility that the two people in question displayed towards me back in April - what comes around goes around.)

The slipperiest part of the exam is undoubtedly the section known as "grammar and idioms", which is a sequence of sixty test items that grills one on really fine points of grammar, knowledge of often completely obscure idioms, and - true horror - asks one to identify mistakes in a couple of paragraphs of text. If I fail, it will undoubtedly be this part that does me in.

However, there are still two weeks to go, and I have my list of 500 idioms to study, so I keep on plugging. We did a practice run of the full exam on Friday, which went off OK, as far as I can judge.

The plain people of Ireland: Yawn.
MOTP: Yes, yes, I know. Nobody but me could possibly care about this. But it's my top priority for the next two weeks, so get over it already. I promise a nice fun trip to Gibraltar once this is all over and done with.
The plain people of Ireland: Gibraltar, begob! Great stuff. Will there be apes?
MOTP: Why, yes, I believe there will.

I'll have the delicious partridge casserole, please

2009-11-01T10:01:00.001-08:00

Today we went on a little excursion to Toledo. We had lunch in a restaurant that specialized in game and venison. So, because there's a first time for everything, I had the delicious partridge for lunch. It was ... interesting. Perhaps a few more little bones than made for uncomplicated eating.

Back home safe after a nice day out. I still think Toledo is a bit of a tourist trap, but I certainly enjoyed it more than the last time I was there. We visited the cathedral, which was a definite high point, and a clear illustration of just how much moolah, in the form of art treasures, the Catholic church has accumulated over the centuries.

There was also a quirky, but fun, exhibition of costumes by Picasso and Dali in the Museo de Santa Cruz, right in the center of town, by Zocodover square. Where they had some nifty park benches:

The station was also pretty nifty:

All in all, another excellent day here on the Spanish plain. Brad gets to go to Seville Tuesday through Thursday (lucky SOB), while I will be devoting myself to the niceties of how to write a formal business letter en castellano. I know, I know, everyone should have such problems....

Sol!

2009-10-30T10:02:00.000-07:00

No longer a construction site:

El oso is back where he belongs:

Entrance to the new commuter train station:

They did a really nice job. And yet -- no Olympics! La vida no es justa!

Vivieron felices y comieron perdices

2009-10-30T09:48:00.000-07:00

In Spanish fairy tales the traditional ending, instead of saying "they lived happily ever after", is "vivieron felices y comieron perdices", literally - "they lived happily and ate partridges". I hope that they had some help plucking the partridges before consuming them, because if this picture (taken at the local 'polleria'*) is anything to go by, some pre-processing would seem to be in order:

*: You've guessed it - there are no polls at the polleria.

El secreto de sus ojos

2009-10-29T13:53:00.000-07:00

Pictured above is Ricardo Darin, also known as "la cara del cine argentino" (the face of Argentine film). That's not an exaggeration - the guy has to have been in every movie made in Argentina in the last 10 years. He's a very good actor.

But what, you ask, is he doing on my blog? It's because this evening I finally got to see the film "El secreto de sus ojos" that I kept trying to see while I was in Buenos Aires. A very intense movie, though not, in the end, an entirely satisfying one. Despite all the Oscar buzz that surrounds it.

Still, if it's playing in your local multiplex, you could do worse.

Tales of the City

2009-10-28T07:32:00.000-07:00

I'll spare you the details of class (brutal so far, but there are signs of improvement). Brad arrived safely yesterday, but without luggage. However, I just phoned him and apparently they did deliver it to the apartment this morning, as promised. As he was travelling first class, courtesy of various upgrades on Continental, it seemed the least they could do.

Madrid is as incredibly vibrant as ever. People on the streets at all hours of the day and night - we had dinner at 8:30 last night (as Brad was pretty wiped out from travel), and were, of course, the only people in the restaurant, even when we left at 9:45.

There is much grumbling about Rio having snagged the 2016 Olympics - apparently the local politicos had figured - incorrectly - that Madrid had it in the bag. They particularly resent the fact that, in the final round of bidding, they received no support at all from other European countries. Who were obviously voting with the 2020 Olympics in mind, calculating that, in order to have a chance to secure that bid, the 2016 venue needed to be a non-European one.

The big news is that the construction at Plaza del Sol is finally completed, so that it no longer resembles a huge, ugly, perpetual construction site. One result is that the famous statue of the bear and the arbutus tree (see picture to the right), the emblem of the city, has been moved back to its original location, at Sol and Alcala. Once I get a little more organized, I will provide appropriate photographic documentation.

But first, I have to complete today's homework assignments.

Sigh.

Back on the Plain

2009-10-26T15:07:00.000-07:00

This is just a driveby update to say that I am back in Madrid. Still somewhat discombobulated from the trip - I got in on Saturday, thought I had adjusted to local time, only to be further confused on Sunday by the change from Daylight Saving time on Saturday night. All was well today until I just noticed that my watch has done its standard "this is Madrid, time to start acting wacky" routine. So basically, since I forgot to pack the alarm clock (yet again!), I depend on the computer to find out the right time. (Yes, I know, I could have the TV running in the background, but frankly it's just too hideous).

Am in the same apartment as before, so there are certain comforting constants, like the ghostly shower noises in the middle of the night. Prep classes for the DELE pull no punches so I am currently searching my soul, trying to remember exactly just why it seemed that this would be a good idea.

I imagine that the outlook will improve once my sleep patterns normalize a little. Brad arrives tomorrow for two weeks - I will do my best not to resent his freedom to swan about Madrid while I wade through one practice test after another.

This too shall pass. But, be warned, it will probably make for infrequent blogging. I will try not to whine. The exam is Friday November 13th, so the whining period is self-limiting anyway.

Hasta pronto!

Where are they now?

2009-10-03T08:05:00.000-07:00

One of my fondest memories of last year's trip to Buenos Aires was drinking mate in class with Carolina and Rodrigo (see picture on the right). Neither is still at the school, but both are still in Buenos Aires. I got to catch up with them a few times during this year's trip:

Above is Rodrigo, taken this morning, after breakfast at Scuzi.
Below is Caro, making every effort to blend in with the apartment decor.

It was great to catch up with them, and with everyone else. Although I am a little sad about leaving B.A., it will be nice to get home and see the kitties:

Yes, there are indeed two kitties in that photo, even if Boris is hogging the limelight.

It's a glorious spring day outside, so I am going to head to Recoleta to pick up a few last-minute souvenirs and gifties (can you spell E-V-I-T-A?). My flight leaves for Washington at 9 this evening, and - the travel gods willing - I should get back to SF early tomorrow afternoon.

This 600th post seems like a good place to close this exciting chapter of MOTP. Did I mention how much I love Buenos Aires? Watch this space for the next instalment, which will be brought to you from Madrid, starting on or around Saturday October 24th, so just three short weeks from now.

Search engine poetry

2009-10-02T20:07:00.000-07:00

Once again, by popular demand, we bring you "poetry" composed solely from search engine phrases by which people were referred to this blog.

I. Right hoors

Dona Letizia diet.
Letizia Bourbon.
Using hemroid cream for love handles.
What would I look like 4 stone lighter?
Right hoor.

French business woman elegant working at her desk.
Do not pet me I am working.
Right hoor.

Streetwalkers Benidorm.
Strumpet City in the sunset.
Do not pet me I am working.
Right hoors.

Hen parties Madrid.
Mujeres con un vibrador.
Hedgehog vibrator.
Right hoor(s).

II. Cat of doom.

World's funniest cat.
Funny redneck cats.
Marmalade cat.
Cat in a taco.
Laundercats.
Do not pet me I am working.
Cat of doom.

III.

Hideous, ugly animals.

Bear with chartreuse hair.
Flying bunny rabbits.
Two-headed bunnies.
Tow-headed bunnies.
Big Bunny Winfrey.
Cuy Bono.
La llama que llama.
Brekkies Excel dog.
Panda without a cause.
Bubo Baggins.
Hideous, ugly animals.

IV.

Reactions to Susan Boyle.

Raves on the pampas.
Baby born with teeth.
Segovia nanny drops baby.
Eustace Tilley: "Fish, please".
Playboy bunny eats apricot marmalade.
Ethel the aardvark goes quantity surveying.
Rebellious 24-year old child still living at home.
Man poured molten lead into own ear.
Felipe Segundo drinks.
Jolly Roger.
Lazy Susan.
Kafka feliz.

IgNobel 2009

2009-10-02T09:46:00.000-07:00

El sostén convertible en máscara de gas, estrella de los 'IgNobel 2009'

El Premio de Salud Pública fue otorgado a Elena N. Bodnar, Rafael C. Lee y Sandra Marijan quienes crearon un sujetador el cual, en caso de emergencia, puede transformarse rápidamente en un par de máscaras, una para el dueño del sostén y la otra para alguien que la necesite.

Entre los otros galardeonados:

Medicina veterinaria: para Catherine Douglas y Peter Rowlinson por conseguir demostrar que las vacas a las que se les pone nombre dan más leche que las vacas que no lo tienen.

Paz: El patólogo Stephan Bolliger y sus colegas de la universidad de Berna en Suiza fueron premiados por un estudio que hicieron para determinar si una botella vacía de cerveza hace más o menos daño al cráneo humano que una llena durante una pelea de bar.

"Ambas son suficientes para romper el cráneo humano. Sin embargo, las vacías son más solidas", explicó Bolliger en un correo electrónico. Esto se debe a que la presión de la cerveza, ayudada por la carbonación, permite que una botella llena explote más rápido.

Matemática: Gideon Gono, Gobernador del Banco de Reserva de Zimbabue, quien lucha contra una hiperinflación, recibió un premio "por dar un modo simple, para no dar a basto con un amplio rango de cifras al hacer que su banco imprima notas bancarias que van desde un centavo a los 100 billones de dólares zimbabuenses.

Química: la investigación de tres mexicanos de la Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México quienes consiguieron hacer diamantes de tequila.

Medicina: Para Donald Unger por llevar 60 años haciéndose crujir los nudillos de su mano izquierda y nunca los de la derecha para probar si este hábito provocaba o no artritis.

Física: a los investigadores que analizaron por qué las embarazadas no se caen.

El premio de Economía recayó en los gerentes de los bancos Kaupthing, Landsbanki, Glitnir y del Banco Central de Islandia "por demostrar que los bancos pequeños se pueden convertir rápidamente en enormes y viceversa".

Biología: para tres investigadores japoneses que demostraron los desechos domésticos pueden ser “destruidos” en un 90% mediante el uso de bacterias extraídas de las heces de pandas gigantes.

Y no olvidemos el Premio IgNobel de Literatura, otorgado este año a los "Garda Siochana", los policias irlandeses, por haber multado por error, más de 50 veces al infractor frecuente "Prawo Jazdy". En polaco, esto significa "licencia de conducir".

WASHINGTON, 2 Oct. (Reuters/EP) -

http://alt1040.com/2009/10/y-los-ganadores-de-los-premios-ig-nobel-2009-son

Division of Labor

2009-10-01T18:51:00.000-07:00

Two things eventually dawn on the visitor to Buenos Aires. The first is that all the taxi-drivers are male. Taxis are ubiquitous and cheap (well, most of the time), and invariably driven by men. In my entire 12 weeks here, I have never seen a woman driving a cab. The second is that while your server in a cafe might be female, if you sit down for dinner in a restaurant of any reasonable size, your server will be male. Furthermore, he will be a man in his mid-to-late 40s. OK, that's a slight exaggeration. But, take my word for it, he won't be younger than 35, and he is unlikely to be older than 50.

One can come up with a plausible explanation for the exclusively male population of taxi-drivers - after all, it is a profession that still involves a degree of physical risk. A plausible explanation, maybe, though not a very satisfactory one, since there are plenty women taxistas in every other city in the world, some undoubtedly riskier than Buenos Aires. So there has to be something else behind it, if only perhaps a predominantly machista attitude regarding appropriate jobs for women. (Though interestingly, both my dentists from this year and last year were women)

The whole 45-year old waiter cohort thing is infinitely more baffling, however, and has a whole "Brave New World" cloning connotation that I'd rather not contemplate in detail.

You say "Falklands"; I say "Malvinas"

2009-09-30T16:26:00.000-07:00

But I think we can all agree that their coat-of-arms is pretty darned nifty:

Let's demonstrate!

2009-09-30T10:39:00.000-07:00

A los Argentinos les gustan manifestar. (Argentines like to take to the streets)

Last year, I commented on the apparently irrepressible tendency of folks here in Buenos Aires to take to the streets in protest, at the slightest provocation. It was a poor day for protests if I saw only three on the way to school. Granted, the fact that my route to school took me past "Tribunales" (the High Court Building, a favorite site for street protests) may have influenced my perception. This year, my impression had been that the frequency of demonstrations had dropped somewhat. Apparently, I just haven't been hanging out in the right spots, because as the chart below indicates, this September has actually seen a spike in frequency, with five major blockages in the city just yesterday alone (see photo above):

This doesn't even include yesterday's most serious demonstration, at the Kraft factory outside the city (following Monday's announcement of major layoffs). There is considerable editorializing about the level of dissatisfaction among the populace:

It is hard to know whether one should be encouraged by all of this, as a sign of public involvement in a healthy democracy. Given the historical volatility of Argentine politics, as well as a history of street demonstrations which have taken a tragic turn, it appears to have many people worried. Despite the superficial prosperity, there is a definite sense that this is a moment of particular instability in the economy. As la Presidenta Kirchner was doing her tour of the U.S. last week, complete with Obama photo-op, the general consensus in the city seemed to be that she should more appropriately have been at home, trying to deal in a serious fashion with the assortment of problems that face the nation.

Empanada Update

2009-09-29T20:18:00.000-07:00

This photo shows two empanadas, purchased earlier today at a local bakery (la panaderia). Though you would have no particular way of knowing it from their outward appearance, the one on the right contains chicken ("pollo"), the other contains beef ("carne"). Both were delicious, definitely superior in quality relative to the generic Jumbo Foods empanadas sold in el supermercado. But again, if there is a way to infer the contents from their exterior appearance, nobody provided me with the secret decoder.

What's that you say? Isn't "pollo" classified as a type of "carne"? Not here in Argentina it isn't. There's only one kind of carne in these parts. The kind that moos.

Jedbangers

2009-09-29T18:43:00.000-07:00

Until now, this blog has been reprehensibly silent on the subject of heavy metal, a situation which this post shall endeavor to remedy. Whether you are a fan of death metal, thrash metal, black metal, power metal, or one of those extra-alienated doom or goth metal types, this post's for you. So listen up, motherfrackers! (I'm talking to you, Peter Compton!)

Oh, you can say that what attracts you to metal are the dominant use of the Aeolian progressions I-VI-VII, I-VII-(VI), or I-VI-IV-VII and Phrygian progressions (implying the relation between I and ♭II (I-♭II-I, I-♭II-III, or I-♭II-VII)). But we know that it's really the persistent invocation of the tritone (an interval spanning three whole tones—such as C and F#—a forbidden dissonance in medieval ecclesiastical singing, leading monks to call it diabolus in musica—"the devil in music", which symbolic association causes it to be heard in Western cultural convention as "evil"). That, and the whole headbanging aspect. Why else do you keep renewing that subscription to "Headbanger" magazine?

Or, as it's known in these here parts (and, to the extent that this post has any point at all, which is doubtful, this would be it), "Jedbangers". A name which cracks me the hell up.

Regrets, I have a few

2009-09-29T17:54:00.000-07:00

As my time in Buenos Aires draws to an end, it becomes obvious that there are certain experiences I shall have to forgo this trip. For instance, that trip to Tigre - Paddy and I chose comfort over exhaustion, and my plan to go with Ed this past Saturday had to be shelved in favor of the exciting living statues contest. Also, it seems as if Fate is conspiring to prevent my seeing THE film of the moment, "Los secretos de sus ojos"; despite two efforts to see it with Rodrigo, we have so far not managed to do so.

Similarly, the fact that Friday will be my last evening here makes it highly unlikely that I will be able to participate in the exciting excursion detailed below, much as it pains me to keep my readers in the dark as to the exact nature of the misteryous "Big Ear Pest",

not to mention the macabre tale of Rufina Cambaceres, "the young lady who died twice". Though that name does ring a bell from last year, I'm afraid the details elude me right now.

However, I suppose I could bring a mate to the laberynth of handcrafters on Saturday:

assuming I can find a thermos large enough.

There are some events which occasion not even a tinge of regret, however:

I can safely say that the horror which the thought of this "event" provokes has nothing whatsoever to do with my advanced age. At no point in my life would such a prospect ever have elicited any reaction other than sheer unadulterated horror. As a card-carrying INTJ, I wear my introversion as a badge of honor. If you are an extrovert, who rolls your eyes as you read this, might I suggest that you try spending an evening alone reading a book, or with your thoughts. Oh, that's right - sorry - you don't have any, do you? Besides which, your treasured memory of that delirious pub crawl is going to look like this:

The plain people of Ireland: Here, that's a bit harsh, isn't it? What's wrong with getting together with a few pals for a couple of pints?
MOTP: Nothing. Nothing at all. But what makes you think that things are going to stop after a couple of pints? Take a close look at the debauched faces in those pictures, and tell me that someone isn't going to end up damaged by the end of the night. It's all fun and games until someone ends up with a broken limb, you know.

Bibliomania

2009-09-29T17:20:00.000-07:00

Of course it was bound to happen. After weeks of (relative) self-restraint, I ended up going on a binge today in the Libreria del Libertador on the Avenida Corrientes, leaving with roughly a dozen books in various categories. The fact that I paid only a fistful of dollars for them is of no consequence - their purchase has definitively pushed me over the threshold, meaning that a trip to the DHL office later in the week to arrange shipping is now no longer optional, but mandatory. On the plus side, this means I can enjoy a further binge tomorrow, secure in the knowledge that one might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. Relative to the cost of shipping the first 10 kilos, that for the next 5 kilos is peanuts.

I blame Ciro for this. Routing our afternoon stroll past the bookstore in question was an act of sheer gleeful malevolence on his part. He knows full well that the Libreria del Libertador is my particular Achilles heel here in Buenos Aires.

In other news, plans for my Madrid trip are now final - I will be leaving San Francisco on Friday, October 23rd, arriving back the evening of Tuesday, December 1st. I should get back to San Francisco from B.A. this coming Sunday afternoon (October 4th).

Our muse it doth refuse to stop (WARNING! Doggerel Alert)

2009-09-28T21:14:00.000-07:00

Damn you, anonymous challenger! This is the kind of thing that keeps some of us from sleeping, and I need my beauty sleep. But there's more:

Lines composed while brushing and flossing

If you should suffer from the caries,
Which often times cause for despair is,
Fear not for here in Buenos Aires,
The quality of dental care is
Very good, a thing that rare is
But not down here in Buenos Aires
The dentists, like benign tooth fairies
Will save your teeth from Raton Perez.
Cancel your trip to the Canaries!
And come on down to Buenos Aires.

I trust this doggerel is bad enough to meet any challenge.

A mash note to Buenos Aires

2009-09-28T19:27:00.000-07:00

After the recent outburst of regrettable doggerel, I thought it only fair to list some of the reasons I adore this city. In no particular order (and without much elaboration, because it's late, and I still have to write my nightly essay for tomorrow's class with Ciro):

Orderly bus queues.
Lingering in cafes, bars, and restaurants: there is no pressure to move on, once you receive your order, you are left in blessed peace to read, chat, watch the passers-by.
Ice-cream as good as, and possibly better than, that in Seville.
The general architectural ambience, which is like a cross of what one imagines New York to have been in the 1950s and Paris as it is today.
The stunningly high prevalence of bookstores, new and used, and the impression that this is a highly literate population. I mean, they name their chocolate bars for Shakespearean characters, for goodness sake!
Everything about the school - my teachers, classmates, and the remarkably high quality of instruction.
The fact that I get to walk at least 50 blocks daily, often more. (I know, I could do this in SF as well, but the fact is I don't)
The general good humor and charm of almost everyone I've met here - people just seem naturally helpful and friendly.
The ludicrously favorable exchange rate.
The wine.
The absence of packs of marauding wild dogs, unlike another Latin American capital I could mention.
Electronic tango.
The feeling that the city brings out the best in me.

And with that, good night for now.

The Dangers of Lox

2009-09-28T15:53:00.000-07:00

Warning: this post contains juvenile humor. Expectant mothers might possibly find it offensive. Or they might find it hilarious - que se yo?

One of the great things about frittering away hours on assorted time-wasting sites on the internet is the way that one hilarious time-wasting site often leads to another, with even greater potential for hilarity and time wastage. This is the process that led me to the often side-splittingly funny "Let's Panic about Babies" website, which I recommend unreservedly, if only for the following table of:

substances to avoid during pregnancy

Warning, link may not be entirely safe for work, as it may cause you to cackle uncontrollably at your desk, and has no obvious redeeming social value. But then, redeeming social value is grossly overrated, and where else are you going to learn about the

DANGERS OF LOX

Contains: Jewishness, Scandianavianness, that bloated brunchy weekend feeling
Effect on Fetus: Baby will be born covered in capers; cats will follow Baby everywhere; your house will be plagued by reindeer

The site has much, much more to offer -

baby panic

Possibly my other favorite item on the site is the picture ad that plaintively asks:

"Infant stressing you out?"
1-800-DINGOES
"One call is all it takes!"

Accepting the Doggerel Challenge

2009-09-28T14:48:00.000-07:00

A comment on a previous post wondered if I could write poetry even worse than that of James McIntyre. The answer is - "of course" - though not necessarily for long stretches at a time. But just off the top of my head, here is the

Weather Report for the City of Fair Breezes
(lines composed while attending to Nature's call)

Oh here in downtown Buenos Aires,
The temperature it often varies,
Rain drizzles down like pee of fairies,
And washes downtown Buenos Aires.

Whether you are a Capricorn, or even an Aries,

You'll like it here in Buenos Aires.

Though the temperature it often varies,

And rain drops down like pee of fairies.

I could go on, but I think I've proved my point.

Sunday Diorama Update (special vamp edition)

2009-09-27T19:05:00.000-07:00

Evita fashion show

2009-09-27T16:13:00.000-07:00

A first lady has to be decked out nicely. Something that the good folks at the Evita museum recognize:

For a more extensive sampling of Evita's fashion choices, visit the virtual collection at the following link:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157622468412032/

Evita Redux

2009-09-27T14:38:00.000-07:00

Estatuas Vivientes!

2009-09-26T15:51:00.000-07:00

Today I got to go to my favorite event in all of Buenos Aires - the annual living statues contest! Here are a few of the ones I liked best:

The entire set may be seen at the link below:

Living Statues 2009

Que disfruten!

Bad poetry showdown

2009-09-25T17:37:00.000-07:00

For years now, scholars have been arguing over who should be the true holder of the title of worst poet ever. Most agree that there are only two serious contenders (where poetry in "English" is concerned, at any rate). One is Scotsman William Topaz McGonagall, whose poem "The Tay Bridge Disaster" certainly justifies his consideration as a serious candidate. For years I was in the McGonagall camp, but more recently I find myself leaning more towards James McIntyre, Ontario's "Chaucer of Cheese". To see why, keep on reading (at your own risk)

MOTP readers are invited to register their own opinions, by adding a comment to this post.

The evidence:

The Tay Bridge Disaster
William Topaz McGonagall (1879)

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say --
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.
”When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say --
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the people’s hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

Now let's hear from James McIntyre:

Ode on the Mammoth Cheese
(Weight over seven thousand pounds)

We have seen thee, queen of cheese,
Lying quietly at your ease,
Gently fanned by evening breeze,
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.
All gaily dressed soon you'll go
To the great Provincial show,
To be admired by many a beau
In the city of Toronto.
Cows numerous as a swarm of bees,
Or as the leaves upon the trees,
It did require to make thee please.
And stand unrivalled, queen of cheese.
May you not receive a scar as
We have heard that Mr. Harris
Intends to to send you off as far as
The great world's show at Paris.
Of the youth beware of these,
For some of them might rudely squeeze
And bite your cheek, then songs or glees
We could not sing, oh! queen of cheese.

We'rt thou suspended from balloon,
You'd cast a shade even at noon,
Folks would think it was the moon
About to fall and crush them soon.

Dairy Ode

Our muse it doth refuse to sing
Of cheese made early in the spring,
When cows give milk from spring fodder
You cannot make a good cheddar.

The quality is often vile
Of cheese that is made in April,
Therefore we think for that reason
You should make later in the season.

Cheese making you should delay
Until about the first of May.
Then cows do feed on grassy field
And rich milk they abundant yield.

Ontario cannot compete
With the Northwest in raising wheat,
For cheaper there they it can grow
So price in future may be low.

Though this a hardship it may seem,
Rejoice that you have got the cream,
In this land of milk and honey,
Where dairy farmers do make money.

Utensils must be clean and sweet,
So cheese with first class can compete,
And daily polish up milk pans,
Take pains with vats and with milk cans.

And it is important matter
To allow no stagnant water,
But water from pure well or stream
The cow must drink to give pure cream.

Canadian breeds 'tis best to pair
With breeds from the shire of Ayr,
They thrive on our Canadian feed
And are for milking splendid breed.

Though 'gainst spring cheese some do mutter,
Yet spring milk also makes bad butter,
Then there doth arise the query
How to utilize it in the dairy.

The milk it floats in great spring flood
Though it is not so rich and good,
Let us be thankful for this stream
Of milk and also curds and cream.

All dairymen their highest aims
Should be to make the vale of Thames,
Where milk doth so abundant flow,
Dairyland of Ontario.

Oxford Cheese Ode

The ancient poets ne'er did dream
That Canada was land of cream,
They ne'er imagined it could flow
In this cold land of ice and snow,
Where everything did solid freeze,
They ne'er hoped or looked for cheese.
A few years since our Oxford farms
Were nearly robbed of all their charms,
O'er cropped the weary land grew poor
And nearly barren as a moor,
But now the owners live at ease
Rejoicing in their crop of cheese.
And since they justly treat the soil,
Are well rewarded for their toil,
The land enriched by goodly cows,
Yie'ds plenty now to fill their mows,
Both wheat and barley, oats and peas
But still their greatest boast is cheese.
And you must careful fill your mows
With good provender for your cows,
And in the winter keep them warm,
Protect them safe all time from harm,
For cows do dearly love their ease,
Which doth insure best grade of cheese.
To us it is a glorious theme
To sing of milk and curds and cream,
Were it collected it could float
On its bosom, small steam boat,
Cows numerous as swarm of bees
Are milked in Oxford to make cheese.

Exciting diorama update

2009-09-25T11:00:00.000-07:00

I almost forgot to alert readers to last week's new additions to the matchbox collection. As is evident from the photos, there is a distinct nautical theme -

Coming soon - the extremely rare Bettie Page and Olivia Newton-John matchboxes. The collection is about to "get physical"!

Full matchbox coverage may be found here

http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157622164615327/

Meditation XVII (John Donne)

2009-09-24T20:28:00.000-07:00

I had always thought that the famous "No man is an island" lines were a free-standing poem, and didn't realize that they are part of the following longer piece (I'm not sure I buy into the whole 'affliction as treasure' metaphor, but those of the island, and the bell, are undeniably powerful):

Meditation XVII from Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions (John Donne, 1624)

Nunc lento sonitu dicunt, morieris.
(Now this bell tolling softly for another, says to me, Thou must die.)

Perchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me and see my state may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.

The church is catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that head which is my head too, and ingrafted into the body whereof I am a member. And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated. God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another. As therefore the bell that rings a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.

There was a contention as far as a suit (in which piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled) which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined that they should ring first that rose earliest. If we understand aright the dignity of this bell that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his whose indeed it is. The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that that occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God.

Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this world?

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Neither can we call this a begging of misery or a borrowing of misery, as though we are not miserable enough of ourselves but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbors. Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did; for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction.

If a man carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current moneys, his treasure will not defray him as he travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it. Another man may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels as gold in a mine and be of no use to him; but this bell that tells me of his affliction digs out and applies that gold to me, if by this consideration of another's dangers I take mine own into contemplation and so secure myself by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.

Puerto Madero

2009-09-24T16:09:00.000-07:00

Today, we went on a little class excursion to Puerto Madero, pictured above. "We" included Monica (from Brazil), Ed (from England), and Ciro (el prof);

Of course, I was there too (pictured below, with a bovine acquaintance)

(note to self: work on that dopey grin)

This was my first time in Puerto Madero, which is B.A's version of London's Canary Wharf. Though it is undoubtedly an improvement over what was there previously (abandoned dockland), I found it somewhat soulless and interchangeable with any similar development in any other major waterfront city (including, for instance, the presence of a Hooters, as well as a branch of TGIF's, where the waitstaff were forced to wear demeaning comical costumes). Monica, on the other hand, finds it completely enchanting. Different strokes, and all that ....

It's ironic, but perhaps emblematic of the difficulties I have with it, that its signature bridge (seen in the first picture above), designed by world-famous Valencian architect Santiago Calatrava, was inaugurated (or whatever one does with bridges) on December 20th 2001. This was the day when the economic bubble of Argentina's Menem years finally burst, with riots in the city that lasted through the night. A day where police violence resulted in the loss of 32 lives.

As I may have reported earlier, many Argentines believe to this day that to utter the name "Menem" is bad luck, and they instead substitute the word 'Yeta' ('bringer of bad luck'). Shades of 'he who must not be named' in the Harry Potter books.

But it was a pleasant excursion and - hey - after a while anything is preferable to yet another discussion of the correct use of the subjunctive. Which seems to be all that is left to discuss, as far as Thpanish grammar is concerned. Because, quite evidently, its subtleties are infinite, and not to be grasped by mere foreigners.

Nonetheless, I intend to keep on trying!

Sweet Hamlet-y goodness

2009-09-23T15:43:00.000-07:00

I think the fact that there is a chocolate bar named after Hamlet attests to the generally high level of cultural literacy here in Buenos Aires. I fully expect to see "Macbeth" blood sausages in the butcher's section at the supermarket.

(Note to self: under no circumstances allow yourself to be tempted by the 'Titus Andronicus' meatpies)

The plain people of Ireland: Here, what's yer man on about now. Sinead! Nuala! Tell us, what's "Titus Andronicus" about again?
(voice of Nuala, offstage): Oh, Daddy, you really don't want to know. It's a horrible play - very grand Guignol.
The plain people of Ireland: Dear God, what's the girl on about? Is this why we paid out huge gobs of money to the nuns, so that our own flesh and blood would be talking above our heads?

Back on the Plain

2009-09-22T20:15:00.000-07:00

Excellent news! I am glad to report that MOTP will once again be taking up residence on the Iberian plain, on or around Saturday October 24th, with plans to stay in Madrid through December 1st or thereabouts. Even better, the same Madrid apartment from earlier in the year is available, so once again I will be neighboring the establishment pictured below:

At the risk of disappointing certain readers of this blog, I would like to make it quite clear from the outset that there will no repetition of the whole spring candy-pooping animal diorama excesses.

But five weeks in Madrid in autumn! Yay!

Operation Baked Goods Status Report

2009-09-22T19:50:00.000-07:00

Regrettably, the recent spate of dental excavations and renovations has severely curtailed the ability of MOTP staff to invest adequate amounts of time and effort in the OBG-Argentina initiative. Thus, this week our investigation has been reduced, quite literally, to performing curbstone research:

But, based purely on the visuals, one has to think that there is definite potential here.

We hope to be able to provide a more comprehensive update, complete with gustatory details, in a future post, once all this irritating crown-and-post nonsense has been taken care of. Unfortunately, that won't be for another week.

El conducto

2009-09-21T18:44:00.000-07:00

A word to drive fear into the most resolute heart is the Spanish word "conducto", meaning root canal surgery. Today I got to experience this less than delightful procedure first-hand, spending a total of two hours and twenty minutes in the chair of the charming Doctora Marisol. As I may have mentioned before, there are relatively few professions in which demented perfectionism would be considered a good thing. Dentistry is, however, one of them.

Back tomorrow for the first leg of the 'post and crown' procedure. But I suspect that the only one who really cares about any of this might be me. So I will leave it at that for the evening.

I'd like to be able to report that root canal work gets a bad rap. But it's every bit as hideous as everyone says. Even in beautiful Buenos Aires. But at least here it has the virtue of being inexpensive.

Altruism Update

2009-09-21T18:29:00.000-07:00

MOTP regrets to report that this whole putpocket phenomenon (see yesterday's post and associated comments) has taken a distinctly sinister turn for the worse. As our roving correspondent reported earlier today:

"Baked Do-Goods said...
OMG! I woke up today and found an Empanada of Unknown Shape and Hence Filling in my pocket!"

Unfortunately, police in Santander report that disgruntled Basque separatists, in an effort to hijack this new eleemosynary trend, have taken to stuffing empanadas with Semtex, and tiny detonating devices, prior to placing them in the pockets of their intended victims. Authorities are reported to be very worried about the potential for widespread chaos throughout the Basque region, particularly since efforts to cross-train members of the canine drug-sniffing unit to seek out the booby-trapped empanadas have been conspicuously without success. According to a spokesman for the anti-terrorist squad in Santander:

"So far the training sessions have been totally unsuccessful - the puppies just gulp down the empanadas, apparently under the mistaken notion that they are just doggie treats".

Travelers are urged to turn in any unsolicited empanadas to local police. Under no circumstances should such items be placed in the microwave!

MOTP staff continue to monitor this dangerous situation closely.

La llama que llama

2009-09-20T21:49:00.001-07:00

Any U.S. resident who has been exposed to more than ten minutes of television within the last five years cannot have escaped the ubiquitous Geiko gecko, the Cockney-accented spokesbeast for Geiko insurance. Day and night, this perky little green critter exhorts us to consider switching to Geiko for our car insurance needs (he's not nearly as annoying as one might imagine, despite blanketing the airwaves with his presence).

Comedic animal spokesbeasts are, of course, not the sole preserve of Geiko. Argentina has its share as well. One of the most famous in recent years was the (now retired) "llama que llama", who - logically enough - was a spokesbeast for the phone company Telecom. Here are two examples of this fine spokesbeast in action:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhAcQ9ca8Ck

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxkLorN4PCU

Warning - there are some twenty of these videos in all - you may find it hard to stop at just two.

For language geeks only: the second link above is particularly funny, as it involves a further play on the word "llama", which, in addition to meaning "llama", as well as the third person singular present tense of the verb "llamar" (to call), also means "flame". Thus, the spot is playing with the idea that 'lanzallamas' (flamethrower) could also mean a device for throwing llamas.

Either you find this kind of thing funny or you don't . Personally, I think these llamas are hilarious, and that the whole ad campaign is pure genius.

Altruism run amok

2009-09-20T21:29:00.000-07:00

"Visitors to London always have to be on the look out for pickpockets, but now there's another, more positive phenomenon on the loose - putpockets. Aware that people are suffering in the economic crisis, 20 former pickpockets have turned over a new leaf and are now trawling London's tourist sites slipping money back into unsuspecting pockets."

- Reuters: 'Putpockets' secretly slip cash into bags and pockets
theage.com.au, 24 August 2009.

Ever since first reading about this whole 'putpocket' phenomenon, we here at MOTP central have been fascinated. In an era where news organizations world wide are having to cut back on such luxuries as foreign correspondents, we felt sure that there was more to the story than Reuters might have been able to track down. So, sparing no expense, we did a little investigation of our own. The results were sobering, as this brief report from our roving correspondent suggests:

More sinister examples of the eleemosynary impulse gone awry have also been reported. Scotland Yard is particularly interested in locating the shadowy figure they have dubbed the "barracuda", whose modus operandi is to drug and kidnap unsuspecting visitors from hotels in the city centre, and transport them to a warehouse which has been outfitted as a dentist's office, where they are subjected to multiple tooth implants before being returned to their hotels.

According to a police spokesman:"Although the charitable impulse of this reverse tooth fairy might be considered admirable, the execution has often been problematic. In particular, the use of children's teeth to augment existing adult dentition has resulted in some victims waking up with far more than a regular complement of teeth, up to as many as 44 in extreme cases".

Another worrying trend has been the increased number of reports of hotel guests waking up in a bathtub full of ice, with fresh incision scars, to find that they have been the recipients of a third kidney.

Here at MOTP, we will continue to monitor developments in this ongoing saga of altruism run amok. Our readers deserve no less.

Azaleas in Bloom

2009-09-20T09:57:00.000-07:00

Spring is coming to Buenos Aires!

Mañana!

Lost in the Museum

2009-09-19T20:43:00.000-07:00

"Hey, Sancho! How did we end up in the Evita museum?"

"Beats me! I didn't think donkeys could swim that far."

Rooney's Boutique Hotel

2009-09-19T19:22:00.000-07:00

Normally, this blog steers clear of anything that smacks too overtly of product placement. But occasionally, one stumbles across a product or service that is so remarkable that an exception has to be made. As regular readers will know, my friend Paddy visited from Washington D.C. for ten days earlier in the month. While here in Buenos Aires she stayed at a hotel in the centre called

Rooney's Boutique Hotel.

From start to finish her entire stay there was absolutely terrific. The location was ideal and the hotel is gorgeous (the painstakingly renovated home of the writer Leopold Lugones, whose complex family life was discussed in a previous post). Most importantly, the staff were uniformly charming - professional, incredibly helpful, just really nice, friendly people, who made her stay there truly memorable. And there is actually a "Rooney" - the hotel is owned by a compatriot of mine called Kieran Rooney, from Belfast, as nice a guy as you could ever hope to meet, and a resident of Buenos Aires for over nine years now.

Located right in the heart of Buenos Aires, very reasonably priced, with expected features such as free Wi-Fi access, and some more unexpected, like free tango lessons three nights a week, Rooney's is a gem of a hotel. I have no hesitation in recommending it to anyone who might be thinking of heading to Buenos Aires. Further information available by clicking on the link to their webpage above.

A lazy day!

2009-09-19T15:17:00.000-07:00

One of the hazards of having an apartment as nice as the one here in B.A. is that, after a pretty gruelling week (including, let's not forget) four hours in the dentist's chair, it becomes far too easy to just lounge around at home, listening to the latest from Gotan Project on the CD player, and not accomplishing much of anything. Oh, strike that - it's not a hazard, it's a pleasure.

But a day where one's main achievement is cleaning the Augean stable of one's inbox (trimming the number of messages from over 20K to 10K so far, and we're not done yet, nosiree bob!) calls for a little more.

Maybe I'll head out in search of sustenance. I know a place just down the street that does a fine Chicken Maryland....

My latest American Express statement has entries like "dinner for two, including wine and tip - $45", "complete dental checkup and 2 inlays - $679". OK, that may not be the exact wording, but you get the point. This year things are even more ludicrously inexpensive than last year, as the exchange rate is considerably better. The U.S. dollar, which was valued at about 3 Argentine pesos a year ago, is now worth - typically - somewhere between 3.80 and 3.85 pesos.

Why don't I just move here and have done with it? (To any of my friends in SF, that's a rhetorical question - I'm not actually serious. At least I don't think so.)

This brings up the reasonable question of my long-term plans. After all, I hope to take the DELE superior, which is the Everest of Spanish proficiency exams offered by the Cervantes Institute, in November. Assuming it goes well, it leaves me only the flimsiest of excuses to take further Spanish language classes. My original plan had been, once Spanish was 'done', to repeat the whole experience in French. More recently, however, I've been having the thought that it seems a shame not to put the Spanish I've learned to some use. So the notion of perhaps trying to set something up where I would spend time as a visiting lecturer in statistics at a university in some Spanish-speaking country has crossed my mind. I hope to investigate this possibility further when I go back to Madrid in November.

Even if that idea comes to nothing, France as a backup option doesn't seem half bad.

Arr!

2009-09-19T12:18:00.001-07:00

Just remember, today be international "Talk like a Pirate" day, me hearties!