Book Review : Don Quixote (Part I)

RATING: ** (two stars, out of a possible five)

Let me start by saying that I really gave it my best shot. I can't think of another book that I've read as closely. Read it in Spanish AND in English. Even - to keep myself honest - tried summarizing as I went, in deathless doggerel ( QUIK QUIXOTE ). I've spent a month of my life with this book - it's been a mild obsession.

Why? Oh, I don't know. Can we ever satisfactorily explain why we choose to give ourselves over to any specific whim? I'm here, in Madrid. I'm studying Spanish at a school that's called "Don Quijote". The time just seemed right. And I had a strong feeling that it was going to be now or never.

But a coherent summary of my reaction eludes me, frankly. This book alternately amused me and bored me to tears. There are a couple of places where I laughed out loud. But mostly I just wanted it to be over. I wasn't about to quit. But it felt awfully like a penance, much of the time.

Some random observations, for which I am forced to resort to the dreaded list of bullet items:

1. The Spanish was often more fun to read than the English. Cervantes and Shakespeare were contemporaries (down to the urban legend (?) of having died on the same day). But Spanish has changed considerably less in the intervening 400 years than English. There were enough archaic words that I did feel reading the translation was a necessary check, but it was surprisingly straightforward in Spanish, and - traduttori, tradittori - one felt closer to the original story. So I definitely enjoyed that aspect of reading the book - it felt like a real confirmation that all the Spanish classes have paid off.

2. I have a good general understanding of the book's place in literary history, and so was willing to cut it some slack - that is to say, not to judge it as one would a modern novel. That said, I still can't avoid saying that I found it enormously clunky. The first couple of hundred pages were annoyingly episodic and formulaic - addled Don meets (a)windmills (b)yokels (c)sheep (d)funeral mourners - take your pick - is confused, through a hilarious misunderstanding (but see point 5 below) attacks them, gets the worst of the dustup, and ends in the ditch.

3. Things improved a little in the second half (of Book I), when some of the protagonists other than Don and Sancho start to appear on a recurring basis. But don't look for in-depth characterization, or much character development to speak of. Cervantes is no Shakespeare.
OK. Let me repeat that for the benefit of each and every one of my Spanish teachers, though I love them dearly. People - you are completely freaking delusional! CERVANTES IS NO SHAKESPEARE. When you make this comparison, you just make me want to resort to actual physical violence. I've read Shakespeare and, dudes, CERVANTES IS NO FREAKING SHAKESPEARE. There's more subtlety, insight, and depth of understanding of human nature in almost any single Shakespeare play (OK, "Titus Andronicus" is a little weird, but there are still over thirty to choose from) than in this entire first volume. Not to mention a superabundance of the most gorgeous language, though - to be fair - I can't quite judge Cervantes on this score.

4. When the plot isn't being all episodic, it's not really any great shakes either. Mick is altogether too heavy-handed with the AMAZING COINCIDENCE method of plot resolution. Man, you wouldn't believe who all happens to mosey on by the same remote Manchegan inn, just in time to tie up a dangling plot thread. I dunno. It all seems more than a little -- lazy.
Though I guess (and I feel like I'm really bending over backwards to give Mick the benefit of the doubt here - why is that - in retroactive justification of the time I invested reading this damned book?) maybe I'm applying modern criteria and expectations here. It's not as if all of Shakespeare's plots were entirely plausible either.

5. Humor. Ah, yes. One of literature's great comic masterpieces. Well, excuse me, if I fail to climb on this particular bandwagon. I'm sorry, but I just don't get it. Let's be quite clear - the humor, such as it is, is almost exclusively slapstick of the broadest kind. If you like watching circus clowns do pratfalls, or if your dream television weekend is a Three Stooges marathon, then maybe you´ll laugh like a drain. But if you don't really find slapstick all that hilarious, or don't take vicarious pleasure in taunting and jeering at a deranged person, you will, as I did, wonder what all the fuss is about. (Yes: I acknowledge that there is some wit in the book's initial premise - a person addled by too much book-reading. But lemme tellya, it gets old awful quick. It really does).
One goodreads reviewer tells us, with no apparent irony, that this is the funniest book he has ever read in his life. A statement that can only be literally true if he is a shut-in with no access to a library.

6. And on the subject of those ratings by other goodreads reviewers. De gustibus non disputandum est (i.e. diff'rent strokes..) and all that good stuff. But really, folks, I'm having a hard time swallowing it. An average rating of 4.69? 102 5-star ratings?
Might it not be possible, just faintly possible, that we have a slight case of what one might call "classic intimidation" going on? The (perhaps unconscious) fear that people may think less of one for not appreciating one of the world's designated literary classics? Did all these apparently rabid Quixote enthusiasts - and how can I put this delicately - ACTUALLY READ THE WHOLE BOOK? All of it, without cheating? All those pastoral poems by the love-besotted shepherds? The entire soporific "Tale of Foolish Curiosity"?
The limited empirical data available suggest that maybe close attention was not paid - a mere 9.9% of respondents chose the correct answer to the goodreads quiz question about the "fulling hammers".
Just sayin'. I has my doubts.

7. Because, here's the thing. Large swaths of this book are intrinsically unreadable. No, I mean it. You read a page. Your eyes glaze over. You try it again. Same phenomenon. Cycle and repeat.
I humbly submit that the stuff in which Cervantes is engaged in direct spoofing of the knight-errant genre - all the stuff about Amadis of Gaul, the Don's argument with the Canon, the priest's adjudication of the various volumes in the Don's library, not to mention the interminable pastoral interludes with lovelorn shepherds and damsels dressed as shepherdesses, could be considered interesting only by the most desperate of graduate students in need of a dissertation topic. For anyone not engaged in abstruse academic investigation it's a freaking snoozefest.

Did I enjoy "Don Quixote, Book I"? Only very sporadically. Do I consider it one of the world's great books? Absolutely not. Will I read Book II? Oddly enough, probably yes.

But not this trip. And probably not this year. Let the Don lie slumbering back home in La Mancha. Myself, I hope to travel to Chile in July, and Argentina in August. I think that other, more appealing, opportunities will arise to extend my knowledge of literature in Spanish.

So there you have it. Sorry. I told you that I probably wouldn't manage an entirely coherent review.

OPERATION BAKED GOODS - MILHOJAS EDITION

I have to confess. This was a purely curbside investigation. Nothing whatsoever about the items shown in this picture convinced me that it was worth shelling out 1.20€ for an actual taste test. The desiccant properties of the mille-feuille part are evident, and even the most enormous glob of unappetizing Crisco (or whatever the HELL that stuff is) is not going to be enough to compensate.

Yes, dear readers. I give this a failing grade, without even trying it. So sue me! You can hardly expect OBG operatives to put our personal health at risk just to satisfy your prurient curiosity.

Don't forget to tune in for a special EASTER update from the OBG team!

Retratos de un Lobezno (Portraits of a Wolverine)

Portraits of Wolverine

The Van Gogh is clearly the best.

In the interests of fairness in media reporting, and because Hugh Jackman is messing up things for anyone interested in finding a picture of an actual wolverine on the internet, here is a link to such a picture:

Actual Wolverine Picture


He looks much cuter and less vicious than I had imagined.

Breakfast at the Rodilla Café

An excellent value at only 2.20€ (slightly under $3) for the café con leche and two of those cute little snail pastries, or caracolas minis. The delightful appearance of this picture is in no small measure due to the expert food wrangling assistance provided by Paddy, pictured below.



Even though I said I wouldn't post this picture of PB, it came out so nicely that I couldn't resist. Even as I type this, she is winging her way back to DC; I hope her journey was safe and stress-free.

I miss her already.

QQ 27 - 36

Chapter 27.

So priest and barber, squire and steed
Head out to save their friend in need
With subterfuge, and some cross-dressing.
Head out to where Don's still professing
His love for Dulz, and for the knightlife,
(Myself, I'd settle for a quiet life.)
They meet Cardenio (from before,
his tale's in Chapter 24).

Chapter 28.

Next things get, if not quite dramatic,
At least a bit soap operatic.
I'll simplify, to keep things short,
Though brevity is not Mick's forte.
Forgive me if I stoop to flashback
(I hope you won't be wanting cash back).

Card loved Lucy, thought he'd wed her.
Ferd saw Lucy, thought he'd bed her.
Lucy, distraught, seemed to choose bird in hand,
When she agreed to marry Ferdinand.
Card was distressed, went off his head.
Wished Ferdinand and Lucy dead.
Fled to mountains, rent his garments.
Hung out with sheep, was prey to varmints.

Meanwhile, poor Dot (that's Ferdy's ex),
Is fugitive too, cause back then sex,
Though practiced slyly, with abandon,
Was sanctioned only with a band on.
Needless to say, she's mad at Ferdy,
A trait she shares with our friend Cardy.

Chapter 29

Barber and priest meet Card and Dot.
Decide to change and improve plot
To rescue Don. With fair Dot's succor
Hatch a new plan designed to sucker
Don into helping our fair damsel.
No need for priest to dress like mademoiselle;
They've Dot for that. Plan works a treat.
Don falls for story -- very neat.


Chapter 30.

Next up in remote mountain pass
They find the thief who stole squire's ass.
Sancho is happy to see Dapple.
Even rewards him with an apple.


Chapter 31.

So priest and barber, squire and knight,
and Card and Dot, travel by night
Until at last they reach the inn.
There's rooms for all. They're in like Flynn!


Chapters 32 - 34.

They eat. They drink. Don goes to bed.
To rest his sleepy knightly head.
The others read a tale so boring
I can't sum up. It had me snoring.

I'm sorry. I can't. It's just too insanely boring.
Please don't make me.


Chapter 35.

In Don's bedroom, all hell breaks out;
They go to see what it's about.
Find Don in posture of defiance;
He thinks he's being attacked by giants.
Lays waste with sword, starts breaking things;
Before long, punctures inn's wineskins.
Red wine pours out -- a crimson flood,
The Don mistakes it for giants' blood.
They praise and calm befuddled knight
And try to settle in for the night.


Chapter 36.

But someone's heard a-knocking outside -
Looks like a nobleman. And his bride?
Well, golly gee! It's Ferd! And Lucy!
Looks like our story's getting juicy!

Remember Ferdy? (he's Dot's ex,
Who dumped her after having thex).
Remember Luce? (Cardenio's flame)
Dressed like a nun! So what's the game?

What happens next? I'll make it quick.
Spare you all of Mick's slick shtick.

Ferdy, who's mistreated both wenches,
Repents, resolves to be a mensch, as
Befits his noble rank and station.
Both pairs unite. Much jubilation!
Card and Lucy get quite sappy.
Dot and Ferdy -- just as happy.

I'll have the fish, please.

Two streets who really should get together more often.

Unfortunately, they cross paths only in my imagination. And now, perhaps, in yours as well.

Book Review : King Lear

This is where Shakespeare takes off the gloves. He brings us right to the edge of the abyss, then kicks us over that edge. "King Lear" is the most devastating by far of the Shakespeare tragedies -- this is a play which leaves the reader shattered as the curtain falls.

The play has a kind of primal power, which I find hard to explain. The plot is fairly typically Shakespeare, perhaps a little more complicated than usual, mixing elements taken from legend and from the historical record. At the outset, Lear is a narcissistic, bullying despot. His two older daughters, Regan and Goneril, are a couple of bad seed cougars, both of whom lust after Edmund, an equally amoral hyena. Their goody-two-shoes sister Cordelia behaves with such one-note pointless stubbornness, it almost seems like she's not playing with a full deck. Over in the Gloucester household, Edmund (the bastard hyena) is plotting against both his brother Edgar and his father. Lear’s court is filled with lickspittle sycophants. Only two people have the guts to speak truth to power, and one of them wears the costume of a Fool. There's a nasty storm brewing on the heath.

Fasten your seatbelts - it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Characters in “King Lear” pay dearly for their weaknesses. Gloucester is blinded in order that he might see, but is denied any lasting happiness; after reconciling with Edgar, he dies. Lear will be driven insane before he finally learns to empathize with the poor and the meek. We watch him return from the brink of madness only to discover that’s not enough. Before the curtain falls, Shakespeare gives us what is arguably the most brutal scene in his entire work.

Enter Lear with Cordelia (dead) in his arms –

Howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stone!
Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so
That heavens vault should crack. She’s gone forever.

Even if, like me, you find Cordelia a saccharine, two-dimensional character*, this scene is shattering. Two pages later, after learning that his fool has hanged himself, Lear dies, broken-hearted. Edgar, Kent and Albany – literally the only characters still standing – are left to bury the dead and move on, as best they can.

Why do I find this the most affecting of Shakespeare’s plays? (I’ve seen seven different stage productions**, and two on TV, and it only gets more powerful upon repeated exposure.) I can’t really pin it down – it’s a combination of various elements. The characters are idiosyncratic, fully realised, and their behavior is highly relatable, so the play is convincing at the level of the individual protagonists. But the fable-like nature of the opening scene also confers a kind of universal quality to its message, and the themes explored within the play – abuse of power, relationships within families, responsibilities of parents and children, the breakdown of the natural order and its consequences, the human capacity for enormous cruelty – are no less relevant today than in Shakespeare’s time. The skillfully constructed parallel plotting of the Lear and Gloucester arcs adds to the power of the story, the breakdown in natural human behavior is further accentuated by the raw fury of the elements during the storm scenes, where Nature echoes Lear’s fury.

Ultimately, there’s no getting away from the uncompromising bleakness of the play’s message. In Gloucester’s words – “as flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport”. The nihilism of “King Lear” has always disturbed audiences, and it was common during the 18th and 19th centuries to stage an altered version, in which Cordelia was allowed to live, implying a more upbeat view of human nature. But, given what the events of the last century demonstrate about mankind’s vicious capacity for self-destruction, one has to think that Shakespeare got it right first time. As usual.

*: the character that Cordelia most reminds me of is the slave-girl, Liu, in Puccini’s “Turandot”. Neither is realised in any great depth, but each serves an important function in the way that their death effects a crucial change in one of the other protagonists.

**: including one particularly memorable performance in Mönchen-Gladbach, Germany, where Regan and Goneril were decked out like biker chicks and roared on stage riding what appeared to be Harleys.

More Iberian Doggerel

My good friend Joaquin in Bilbao
His artistic taste is lowbrao
Living next to the Guggenheim
Is making him meschuggene, I'm
Completely open to suggestion on hao
to finish this particular rhyme with grace and economy.

Latin for the traveler redux

Alas gallinaceas de urbe bovis volo
I'd like the buffalo wings.

Antiquis temporibus, nati tibi similes in rupibus ventosissimis exponebantur ad necem
In the good old days, children like you were left to perish on windswept crags.

Caesar si viveret, ad remum dareris
If Caesar were alive, you'd be chained to an oar.

Clamo, clamatis, omnes clamamus pro glace lactis
I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream

Credere nequeo butyrum non esse!
I can't believe it's not butter!

Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus
Never tickle a sleeping dragon.
(Motto and coat of arms at Hogwarts)

Aliquid in aere erat ea nocte, stellae illustres erant, fernande
There was something in the air that night, the stars were bright, Fernando.

Ecce! Fabae suaves!
Look! Jelly beans!

Edi recte -- ut speciem macram et ieiunam geras (auctore c cassio longino)
Eat Right -- for that Lean and Hungry Look! by Cassius

In sortitionibus donativis, cur numquam praemia consequuntur sortilegi
Why do psychics never win the lottery?

Hiberiae pluvia fere in planitie stat
The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.

Obviously, we have only scratched the surface of this important topic, so watch this space for more vastly useful phrases, including a special Elvis appendix!


And now, the credits: Roughly half of these phrases were found in the hilarious

X-Treme Latin: All the Latin You Need to Know for Survival in the 21st Century

by Henry Beard. Several originated in the brilliant mind of my good friend, Peter C., and a handful were found lying around on the internet

Highlights of the Week

Here are some of the past week's highlights for me:

Saturday - tapas at the vinoteca at the corner of the Plaza Santa Ana, especially the amazing foie gras with caramelized apple on toast. Looking out at the amazing hotel that borders the square on the other side:




Sunday - strolling through the Las Letras neighborhood in the afternoon, having ice-cream in the wonderful heladería behind the Plaza Santa Ana and ending the day with dinner at "La Gloria de la Montera" near Paddy's hotel.



Monday - lunch at the Reina Sofia museum and sheltering from the rain while watching "Duplicity" in the evening.

Tuesday - arriving in Seville to find the city bathed in glorious sunshine, wandering through the gardens at twilight, savoring Paddy's reaction to the beauty of the city. Watching the swallows by moonlight over the cathedral garden.

Wednesday - Hearing that both Paddy's grant applications had been approved, in the amount that she had hoped for. Wandering through sunny Sevilla, sampling the ice-cream in various locations. Admiring the colorful recycling bins, and recoiling at the hideous furniture displays:





Thursday - Shopping for artwork in the morning by the Alcazar. Finding the perfect nazarenos to add to my friend Joyce's collection back in San Francisco. Taking the high-speed AVE back from Sevilla to Madrid, watching the sheep in the fields as we went by, wondering which one provided the milk for our favorite cheese. Knowing the route back to the hotel better than the acne-pitted taxi-driver.



Friday - Sleeping until 10:30. Visiting the Prado and finding it nicely uncrowded. Spotting a distinctly identifiable jackalope in one of the 16th century Flemish paintings (possibly the earliest traceable sighting, certainly in the old world). Picnicking on gourmet cheeses and Serrano ham from the best acorn-fed pigs in the apartment with Paddy.

Redneck Pet Carrier

Please do not try this at home.
Image is taken from

http://www.badpets.net/Humor/Rednecks/InPictures.html


Thanks to my good friend, Bilby, for bringing this to my attention.

Multi-talented statistician shines in many fields of endeavor

When he's not pushing back the frontiers of statistical research,



or dazzling his fanbase with his twinkle-toed ballroom dancing skills,



it appears that Professor Tsiatis has yet another career as a performance artist on the streets of Madrid.

What a guy!

Ratoncito Redux

Well, clearly all this talk of the delightful little mouse could not go without consequences. While chowing down on a particularly delicious tapa in Seville, I dislodged an alarmingly large piece of dental porcelain from the lower right hand corner of my mouth. An artefact that had once been referred to as a "crown and post", and which cost a small fortune to have installed. It came out so naturally that I have no choice but to believe that the time had come for us to part ways.

The only consolation is that I had resisted the temptation to indulge in some porcelainophilic candy treats at the movies on Monday evening; had it occurred then, I would have felt guilty about it for months. As it is, I just figure that it was the Ratoncito's revenge for having blogged about him a few weeks earlier.

No blood. No pain. Just another reminder that life in one's fifties is not completely without hazard.

Sevilla es una maravilla

Torero Tailor Shop

Quixote lookalike

Charming tapas companion

What more could anyone ask for?

We had a wonderful time.

El Jardín Vertical

It's just across the street from the Prado. The photo doesn't begin to do it justice.

Iberian Peninsula Time

It's a little after midnight here and I just got back from dropping Paddy off at her hotel after dinner. As I have probably mentioned before, they certainly do eat late here in Madrid - when we got to the restaurant at about 9:30, we were the second couple there, and when we left at 11:30, it was filling up. (How do these people get up for work in the morning?)

Before dinner we went to see "Duplicity", with Julia Roberts and Clive Owen - a very funny, entertaining movie, perfect for a rainy evening in Madrid. What was nice was that it was still light when the movie let out at 8:30, as they made the changeover to Daylight Saving Time here over the weekend, so that we are now once again six hours ahead of Eastern Time in the U.S.

As we are headed for Seville tomorrow, I probably won't get a chance to update the blog for a few days, but I promise to check back in at the end of the week. We are scheduled to get back from Seville on Thursday evening.

I asked at school on Friday, but apparently Spaniards do not engage in any particular brand of April Fool's Day shenanigans. Or maybe they do, and just weren't about to tell me.

Qué pasa?

Paddy arrived from Washington DC on Saturday morning. Unfortunately, the weather immediately took a turn for the worse, with the temperature dropping about 12 degrees or so overnight, and rain both yesterday and today. Fortunately, we are headed to Sevilla tomorrow (in the fancy AVE high-speed train, which whisks one from Madrid to Sevilla in only 2 hours and 30 minutes), and will return to Madrid on Thursday evening.

I have the week off class, so it's a nice break from my regular routine. Only two more weeks after Paddy's departure on Monday. I will be heading back to Washington on Saturday April 18th, stay with her overnight, and continue on to San Francisco the following day.

Today we went to the Reina Sofia, the museum of the "big three" that's dedicated to 20th century art (and the only museum in town that is open on Mondays). I think we both agreed that the best part was probably lunch in the museum cafeteria afterwards. After two hours modern art just starts to feel like a penance.

There were uncountably many groups of schoolchildren, not all of whom appeared to be having fun.

Oh Deer!

"Change One Letter" goes to the Movies

Flee, Willy!
Lovable cetacean is pursued by evil Japanese whaling ship

Stab Wars
Luke Skywalker travels back in time to take on Jack the Ripper

Dorki Park
The exploits of an inept gang of fur-smugglers

The Bids
Real estate wars in Bodega Bay turn ugly

Thane
John Ford's classic reinterpretation of Macbeth as a Western

Seven Bribes for Seven Brothers
A corrupt family's stranglehold on city government in Providence, RI.

Danes with Wolves
Lars van Trier goes Costner one better. Shot with only a single camera, from the wolf's point of view .

Badbands
Spinal Tap put on a benefit concert at Mount Rushmore, and the whole thing is filmed by Louis Malle. Or maybe Terence. Whatever. It's a definite highlight when Ted Nugent shoots Lincoln's nose right off.

Bake
A terrible misunderstanding between the Hoggetts means curtains for a certain lovable porker.

Dunces with Wolves
Mrs Parker's class had been looking forward to their trip to Yellowstone for weeks already. Who could have suspected that things would go so horribly, horribly wrong?

A Mad Zeus!
The real story behind the Trojan wars (soundtrack by Salieri)

Gallupoli!
An unpopular war abroad becomes a fiasco when public opinion turns against its leaders

Apocalypse Cow
This frightening documentary tracks the devastating spread of mad cow disease, beginning with "Brain-dead Bessie", the cow first believed to have brought the disease to Texas.

The 39 Stews
In a case of mistaken identity, a man is plunged into the internecine squabbles and dark rivalries that make up the sinister world of British haute cuisine.

Hedwig and the Angry Itch
Fortunately, there was fast-actin' Tinactin

Mary Poplins *
New governess brings order, harmony, and a dazzling array of synthetic fabrics.

La Cage aux Dolles
Daring new transvestite production of an Ibsen standard

Blue Vervet
Monkey is ostracized due to unusual pigmentation and succumbs to depression.

Blue Velveta
Be an instant gourmet!

The Mousecrap
Posthumous Agatha Christie play savaged by Broadway critics

Pilates of the Caribbean
Even buccaneers gotta exercise.

Das Boor
Idiosyncratic german translation of The Jerk

*: I'm pretty sure this one is not mine, but I can't for the life of me remember where I may have borrowed it. If it's yours, please leave a comment, and I will attribute appropriately.

Marmalade Cat Humiliation

Marmalade Cat Humiliation
(Search Engine Phrases by Which People Arrived at This Blog)

Who died at Swensen's ice-cream in Chapel Hill?
Viggo Mortensen stalkers.
The unfeasibly tall Greek billionaire.


What can I buy with 10 dollars?
Pictures of dogs you can buy for under ten dollars.
Hideous ugly animals.
Two-headed bunny.
Six-headed bunnys.


Does travel broaden the mind?
Buenos Aires Christian theme park.
Large papier mache animals.
Hideous, ugly animals.


What can I buy with 10 dollars?
Dickensian workhouse fare.


Dickensian workhouse fair.
Hideous, ugly animals.
Two headed bunny.


Does the travel can broaden the mind?
Travel does not broaden the mind.
Travel should broaden the mind.


What can I buy with 10 dollars?
Ruthless rhymes.
Spongebob Squarepants clerihews.


Peach Malba.
Pampas meat.
Panda Madrid.
Peach maravilla.
La lluvia en Sevilla es una maravilla.
The rain in Spain?
Mainly on the plain.
Peach maravilla.


Rebellious 24-year old child still living at home.
Missing coins.
Puddy tats.
What is puddy tats.
Kitty serendipity.
Marmalade cat humiliation.
How to complete the case of the missing coins.


How to study on the pampas for a test.
In on the pampas grandma expects her to
dismantle a dirt bike for shipment.


900 lb woman on Maury.
Caisson disease constipation.
Hemorrhoid cream and tanning?


Ethel the aardvark goes quantity surveying.
Kafka beach.
Kafka feliz.

Incident at Barajas

Authorities at Barajas airport in Madrid reported a baffling incident earlier this morning. A passenger arriving from the United States was briefly detained when a routine customs check indicated that she was attempting to introduce a number of unquarantined animals into the country. After a warning, the passenger was let go, and the animals sequestered in the quarantine facility at Barajas.

However, an hour later, under mysterious circumstances, following a heated altercation with a heavily bearded man at the main office of the quarantine facility, it was discovered that the animals in question had been "liberated" and could no longer be accounted for. Authorities now believe that the bearded stranger was in fact acting as a distraction while his attractive female accomplice was engaged in liberating the animals in question.

An all points bulletin has been issued to residents of the autonomous community of Madrid to be on the alert for a number of fecally incontinent animals, who may be travelling as a gang, or who may possibly have split up and be travelling solo, possibly disguised as candy spokesbeasts. The animals are not believed to be violent and may respond to snacks of jelly beans or other similar candy treats.

Authorities remain baffled by the incident, but stress that there is no cause for general alarm.

In completely unrelated news:



http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157615935912673/

Even more regrettable doggerel

Felipe Segundo of Thpain
In his portraits, looks like he's in pain
Persecuting the Flemish
Will make a king phlegmish
And probably give him migraine.

QQ 24 - 27

Chapters 24 & 27.
(Cardenio's tale is split over these two chapters, for no particular reason. I summarize both here)

Cardenio (that's the wretch's name)
Loved, and pined, and wooed in vain.
So rent his garments. Went quite mad.
(In fact the poor boy's tale's quite sad)
Now lurks in mountains; lives in cave
Cursing the name of the vile knave
Who stole his love, a damsel fickle,
And left him in his current pickle.


DEAR GOD, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I REGRET HAVING STARTED THIS ENDEAVOUR. BUT REST ASSURED THAT MY NOT SO BORDERLINE OBSESSIVE PERSONALITY WILL FORCE ME TO SEE IT THROUGH, AT LEAST TO THE END OF BOOK I.


Chapter 25.

Up in this remote mountain eyrie
The Don's behavior gets quite hairy
Decides -- to honor Dulcinea --
That in the mountains he will stay a
While and practice knightly courtesies
(Unfortunately starting with a strip-tease)
Gives squire a note for Dulz the Dainty
And sends him off with Rocinante


Chapter 26.

Repulsed by views of naked Don,
Sancho skedaddles, and e'er long
Is back at inn, with knaves and varlets
And - pace, maiden aunt - that harlot,
And - some good luck for Sancho Panza -
That priest and barber from La Mancha.
Tells them about exposed rear end
of Don. They scheme to rescue friend.

Plain people of Ireland: How long do you plan on recycling that appalling "varlet-harlot" rhyme? It was already stale the first time around.

MOTP: Feel free to step in and take over any time you like. Until then, SILENCE, INSOLENT RABBLE!!

Products of la Mancha

Man of La Mancha



Cheese of La Mancha

The Visitor

An excellent film, which may have slipped under your radar. If so, I strongly recommend that you see it.

Surprisingly many films are shown undubbed (that is, in the original language, with Spanish subtitles) here in Madrid. Several cinemas, many of them quite large multiplexes, show only undubbed movies. The three films I've seen since coming to Madrid - "Milk", "Nixon/Frost" and, this afternoon, "The Visitor" were all in English.

I won't attempt a review of "The Visitor" other than to say that it features actors that I hadn't seen or heard of previously*, was understated, and ultimately very moving.

(* with the exception of Michael Cumpsty, a fine actor who happened to be in the same scholarship program as me in Chapel Hill. Go Mooseheads!)

¡¡ Speak to me, Jimmy !!

Change One Letter Update

We haven't played "Change One Letter" in a while. You remember the rules - change (or add, or delete) one letter in an existing book title and give a brief description of the resulting work.

Mon Quixote : Caribbean version of a classic picaresque tale

Coriolangus : A rebel cow threatens to destroy Glasgow, but is dissuaded by his mom, only to be butchered and sold to a local steakhouse by his fellow rebels.

Hart of Darkness : The real story of Bambi's mother, and why she had to die.

Exopus : When their ice-floe is threatened by global warming, one brave penguin leads his tribe to find the promised land.

Walter the Farming Dog : The story of a canine ahead of his time, who tries to persuade his pack-members to give up their hunting-gathering ways and settle down.

Portrait of a Lad : Henry James's recently discovered masterful account of the life of a Glasgow soccer hooligan

The Three Billy Goats Ruff : These caprine caperers are more interested in playing bridge than crossing it.

Oscar and Lucida : Disturbed young man is almost saved by a pretty new font.

The Belle Jar : A southern debutante´s descent into madness.

When You Are Engulfed in Flakes : David Sedaris battles dandruff.

Cannery Roe : The Story of Caviar

The God : Fatter Why not take Buddha as your personal savior?

The Compleat Mangler Boxing Tips from Isaak Walton

QQ 19 - 23

Chapter 19.

Our pair are left without a saddlepack.
They're up a creek. How will they paddle back?
It's easy for a loony knave,
Attack some mourners, traveling grave-
ward. Loot the corpse. Break someone's leg.
And when they're down, just make them beg
for mercy. Then just steal their stuff.
As if the injury weren't enough.

By now most readers will be thinking
our Don's behaving like a stinking
turd, whose acts, e'en for a mad guy
seem suited to some Mafia bad guy.


Chapter 20.

Nothing happens, really. Noises in the night, Don prattling, Sancho takes a dump. For God's sake, I'm supposed to weave this into some kind of tapestry of rhyme???

Plain people of Ireland: (expectantly)
We're ..... WAITING .... here.

MOTP: Oh, ALL RIGHT then!!!

Don prates 'bout things eschatological
Sancho's behavior's scatological
"Fulling-hammers" in the night
Give quite a fright to squire and knight.

Plain people of Ireland: (grudgingly)
Not too bad. Gotta admire those internal rhymes in that last line. But what are "fulling-hammers"?

MOTP: Why, I'm so glad you asked. "Fulling" is what these jolly ladies are doing -




It basically consists of beating cloth into submission, and used to involve urine (a.k.a. "lant") for softening purposes, and repeated blows e.g. from dainty feet, as in the picture above, or in the case of Quixote, hammers powered by a water mill.


Chapter 21.

A barber who must serve two villages
Is the next victim of Don's pillages
His battered brassy shaving basin's
A lure to Don, like fleece to Jason.
Once again, like a bambino
He steals. "The Helmet of Mambrino".

REVIEWER'S ASIDE -

By this point, I confess, dear Reader
My view of Don had reached its nadir
Thought "If this is Mickey's obra maestra,
Then he can shove it up his keister!"
But thought of you, my little cupcakes,
Made me continue, for your poor sakes.


Chapter 22.

Next up, to prove he's not all bad
Don does something that made me glad
Frees troop of prisoners, decked in chains
But doesn't get much for his pains.
Freed ruffians, spoiling for a fight,
Attack fat squire and scrawny knight,
And steal their stuff (payback's a bitch)
And leave our duo in the ditch.

Chapter 23.

Our heroes, suffering and in pain, are
Next seen in the Sierra Morena
In dark and craggy mountain pass
Freed prisoner steals poor Sancho's ass.

(But here, at times, it seems Mick's clueless.
Can't quite remember Sancho's muleless.
The donkey, stolen by a badass,
Appears and vanishes like a mad ass.
Mule reappears for a few pages,
Then vanishes, just like Don's rages.)

They find a bag, in mountains jagged.
With gold and such, and then a ragged
Creature, who at first seems mad,
But, it turns out, is not all bad.

Oh those Germans! Whatever will they think of next?

Tender, juicy Obama fingers hit the shelves.

Thanks to my good friend, Peter C., for bringing this link to my attention.

Iberian Mysteries (III) : Animals in my Inbox

OK. This would have the potential to be embarrassing, if I weren't so completely blameless. Ever since my arrival in Spain, I've been subjected to a peculiar kind of torment which, depending on my mood, I find either hilarious, or bizarrely creepy.

It has to do with spam and animals. Naturally (I hope), by now, any normal reader is thinking of pigs. But I don't mean that kind of spam, nor - unfortunately - not always that kind of animal. No, the kind of spam I'm referring to is what is referred to in Spanish as "correos de basura", or trash-mail. In this particular case, trash e-mail. The kind that, in any half-way decent e-mail system would be routed automatically to your trash folder. The problem is that I don't have a half-way decent e-mail provider - I have Yahoo! Which seems constitutionally unable to filter anything, no matter how obvious the signals that a particular message might be spam. Furthermore, its spam filter seems to get worse, not better, with training.

So, every time I check my e-mail, I end up having to label a whole bunch of obvious trash messages as spam. Obviously, I don't open them - I'm not an idiot. But it gets infuriating, because each time Yahoo! sends me a (lying) message, thanking me for training its spam filter to do a better job, while I know full well that next time I log in there will be a whole fresh batch of equally obvious trash for me to deal with.

Now, at home, the nature of these messages ran the predictable, if annoying gamut. You know, the standard letter from that Nigerian politician's widow, winning tickets in the Falklands lottery, products that promised to cleanse my colon of 10 pounds of black gunk (as seen on Oprah!), offers to supply me with Vi;-gra, Ci=@lis, beautiful babes that wanted to date me in my city, the usual kind of stuff.

But here in Spain, it's a different matter. With frightening single-mindedness, at least half my spam messages here have titles that fit the general formula:

"You won't believe what these (choose one from column A) do with (choose one from column B)"
or
"Watch young (choose one from column A) (disgusting prepositional verb from column C) (choose one from column B)"

Column A: girls, sluts, and other more vulgar epithets unsuited to a family blog
Column C: verb indicating some vile sexual act; "get it on with" is about the only one that can be reproduced here
Column B is the most disturbing part, generally naming either some specific barnyard animal, or occasionally just using the term "barnyard animals". More recently, perhaps out of disappointment that I have never, not even once, opened any of these e-mails, there appears to have been an effort to up the ante, so that "giraffes" have been receiving more recent mention of late.

Well, this frosts my eyeballs for all kinds of different reasons. First of all, how can a spam filter not recognize an e-mail in which the word "sluts" and the vulgar term for the privy member of a horse appear in the title as being obscene and pornographic? And even if it doesn't the first time around, how many times does it need to be told? "MILFS with giraffes"? Good grief, Yahoo! How irritatingly stupid can one e-mail system be?

Then, of course, there's the greater puzzle. Just why is it that this kind of spam has been proliferating in my inbox of late, with its beginning exactly coinciding with my arrival in Madrid. Believe me, gentle reader, I never got messages about barnyard sex back in San Francisco. Also believe me - AND I CAN NOT STRESS THIS HIGHLY ENOUGH - when I assure you that I have never in my life done anything to encourage such an onslaught, not even once clicking on, or opening one of these messages, even by accident.

So why the sudden onslaught here in Madrid. Is there something about the particular combination of my e-mail address and I.P. address that attracts these messages?

I can only think of two possible explanations. One is that whoever rented this apartment before me was some kind of rampant bestiality freak, and that the I.P. address is forever associated out there in spamland with barnyard animal lovers.

The other, though seemingly unlikely, cannot entirely be ruled out. My first week here, for reasons I don't fully recall, I ended up sending an e-mail to a friend, alerting him to the delightful online video of bovine revolutionary zeal

Cows with Guns.

Quite reasonably, I titled the message in question "Cows with Guns".

Only later did the horrendous possibility occur to me that some illiterate spam spider bot interpreted the title of my e-mail (you know how they like to permute word-spellings) as "Cows with Gnus", and took it as a sign of an interest in interspecies cavorting.

Is it possible that I have unwittingly been the cause of the onslaught? I guess we will never know for sure.

Iberian Mysteries (II) : The Haunting

So, one Spanish mystery was cleared up (literally) during the week. On Friday I noticed that the condensation which had been fogging up the inside of my watch face had completely disappeared. Perhaps the exertion at, and higher elevation of, the Escorial on Thursday did the trick. Or the lugubrious shade of Felipe II was enough to scare away the condensation demons. Anyway, I am happy not to have to squint to tell the time any more.

But one moisture-related mystery has been replaced by another, potentially more perplexing. As generally happens to me when I've been fully immersed in Spanish for a while, occasionally I hit a week where it becomes hard to sleep. I've always taken this to be evidence that my brain is somehow working overtime, engaged in language-related extra processing activity during nocturnal hours. It doesn't bother me particularly, as this kind of sleepless week has, in the past, been accompanied by a noticeable improvement in my command of Spanish.

Anyway, this past week has been one of those weeks. Reading Don Quijote hasn't helped either. Even though it is, frankly, turning out to be a colossal bore, its episodic nature seems to be fueling strange shadowy dreams, not quite scary enough to be considered nightmares, but not particularly pleasant either, and definitely contributing to the overall poor quality of my sleep. Anyway, at around 4:15 am, I woke up to the sound of someone apparently taking a shower upstairs. At first, I thought "How, rude!", turned over and tried to get back to sleep. Then I remembered that there is no "upstairs" - as I live on the top floor. So I listened again, only to realise (cue creepy music) that the noise appeared to be coming from the bathroom in my own apartment. As I staggered out of bed to investigate, the shower noise stopped, but (cue really creepy music), when I turned on the light in the bathroom, the bath surface was completely wet, exactly as if someone had just been showering and had just turned off the shower.

Back to bed, distinctly spooked. I'd noticed strange nocturnal noises before around the apartment, but this was the first clear evidence of a haunting. Ten minutes later, the noise starts up again. Now I leap out of bed, and make for the bathroom. The noise subsides as I turn on the light, but the second shower head is definitely still dripping water, and the bathtub directly under it is completely wet.



There is, I tell myself, a (quasi) rational potential explanation for this. The shower heads in question (see picture) have this odd feature. There's a kind of a dustbin-lid shaped pan, through whose holes the water comes through. Depending on the orientation of the pan, relative to the horizontal, it can trap a certain amount of water, even after the flow has been turned off. Then, if its orientation is changed at some later point, this causes a runoff of the accumulated water.

That's what I tell myself at least. And indeed, this seems like a reasonable enough explanation for the first occurrence, though what mysterious force might have caused the pan to tilt enough at 4:15 on a Sunday morning is a question that remains unanswered. The part that really spooks me out, though, is the second, 4:25 am "shower", since I have never, in the month that I have lived here, actually turned on, or used that particular shower head.

It's probably just my overactive imagination that makes me positive that I didn't make up the bed before going out to get coffee this morning. So that I shouldn't make anything of the fact that the duvet was perfectly arranged, as if in a hospital infirmary, when I got back.

At least I know that, if there is a ghost in the apartment, it is a clean, neat phantom.

QQ 11 - 18

Chapter 11.

Goatherds share meat with Don and Panza.
There's pastoral poetry - many a stanza.

Chapters 12 - 14.

Lady likes to dress like shepherdess.
Spurns swain. He dies. His flock's now shepherdless.
More pastoral poems -- endless verse;
Snooze quotient's going from bad to worse.
Friends bury him. At shepherd's grave,
Once more - dear God! - Don starts to rave.

Chapter 15.

Next Rocinante wanders, frisky.
Gets amorous with some mares, a risky
Move. Backfires when owners in alarm
Attack our boys and do them harm.
By end of scene (knightlife's a bitch)
Once more our boys are in the ditch.

Chapter 16.

Our battered duo finds an inn.
Don gets confused; gets taken in.
Thinks "castle" when he should think "inn".
Hilarious fun, with knaves and varlet
And -- pace, Maiden Aunt -- a harlot.

Plain people of Ireland: Hey, we've already seen this bit! Boo! Hiss! Rhubarb! Rhubarb! (etc)

MOTP: Aha! So you're paying attention, are ye? Well don't blame me that it's déjà lu all over again. That'd be Mick's doing.

Plain people of Ireland: ¡¡¡But this is BO-O-RING!!!

MOTP: Yes, isn't it though? Think how I must feel. Now please be quiet, so that we can keep this "story", such as it is, moving along.

Chapter 17.

Kicked out of inn. The Don won't pay.
(Civil behavior's not his way)
Some louts have fun with Sancho P.
Playing toss-the-squire with obvious glee.
Don watches motionless, like an anchor
(again behaving like a wanker)
Doesn't even lift a finger
What a cringing, minging, whinger!

EDITORIAL ASIDE (regarding the Don's "character", or lack thereof)

It's clear our Don's a scrawny psychopath,
Who, if you met him on a bikepath,
Would steal your bike and kick your crotch
All while his dopey sidekick watched.

Chapter 18.

When next we catch up with our peeps,
They have a run-in with some sheeps.
It don't go well, Quixote scholars
By chapter's end, Don's down three molars.

Plain people of Ireland (doubtfully): Is "sheeps" a real word?

MOTP: It is now.

Plain people of Ireland: And what about that "scholars-molars" rhyme?

MOTP: Silence, wretches! What about it?

The Aragorn Effect

The figure above summarizes daily visit statistics to this blog during the last month. Usually the number of daily visits chugs along at somewhere between 15 and 20, sometimes reaching an average of up to 30 if I add new content daily. So I was surprised by the March 14th peak*, shown in the diagram above.

A little closer investigation, using the sitemeter tools, shows that this is evidently a direct consequence of a specific post I made wherein I mentioned that I might be reading "Don Quixote" in parallel with Viggo Mortensen. A great number of those 130 visitors ended up on my blog following a search on the name "Viggo Mortensen".

What I found strange (and kind of nice, really) was that a surprisingly high proportion stayed and poked around the blog for several minutes. Obviously Viggo's got a highly discerning fanbase.

*: Still nowhere near the all-time daily record of 1500 visits for the June 1st, 2008 post (explainable by having been linked to on the Genentech intranet).

By the way, I do not recommend equipping your blog site with the sitemeter "extra" statistics module. Although it's not hugely expensive ($6.95 a month), it's almost guaranteed to cause you to waste huge amounts of time, if you have even a mildly obsessive personality. Questions such as who might be visiting your site from Palau or Tuvalu, or who your stalker in Kazhakstan might be, will just haunt you incessantly. Though I did find it amusing, during my 2007 trip to Spain, to be able to total up just how much work time Genentech employees were spending visiting the blog in an average day. A figure which I will not share here, to protect the guilty.

QQ 9-10

Chapter 9.

Next Mick gets cutesy with narrating
A trick, once fresh, now irritating.
Been copied by, to name a few
Jorge Borges, Paul Auster too.
It's cutesy, clever, très post-mod.
Personally I just find it odd.

"What happens next" I hear you ask,
"Between Quixote and the Basque?"

Well, after our narrator handoff,
We learn the fight turns out a standoff.
Neither wins, though both are hurt
(There might be damage to Don's shirt).
No - strike that! In the catalog of woundage,
It's the Don's ear that needs the bandage.


Chapter 10.

Nothing whatsoever happens. Really. Trust me.

Plain people of Ireland: We don't believe you! Boo! Hiss! Rhubarb! Rhubarb!
MOTP (disgusted): Oh, for CHRIST'S sake. ALL RIGHT!


"The Don and Sancho chat and eat
Just bread and cheese, cause there's no meat."


Happy, now, rabble?
Plain people of Ireland: Well, that wasn't very interesting!
MOTP: {sigh}

QUIK QUIXOTE : CHAPTERS 4 -- 8

Chapter 4.

Don leaves the inn. "Saves" boy being whipped.
Attacks muleteers. Is ill-equipped.
Gets thrown from horse. Is soundly battered.
And left in ditch. Completely shattered.

Chapter 5.

Neighbor finds the Don, half-dead.
Rescues, brings him home to bed.
Anxious family; much relief.
Blame Don's books for all his grief.

Chapter 6.

Our Don's in bed; head, heart on fire.
Priest and barber plan a bonfire
in the library. What's worth saving?
Are interrupted by Don's fresh raving.

Chapter 7.

And so the books, source of temptation
Are fuel for major conflagration.
Library's sealed. Housekeeper grins.
Thinks lack of books will rein Don in.
Rejoicing too - Don's niece demure,
But celebration's premature.
Don rests at home, seems calm and sane,
but's planning to take off again.
He needs a squire - think Tony Danza;
Tony's not free - finds Sancho Panza.
Seduces Sancho with fine words.
The pair head out, adventure-wards.

Chapter 8.

The Windmill Scene! It's quite dramatic.
And of our tale so emblematic.
But over soon. It's disappointing.
I have to say, Mick left me wanting
More. But no - one page, then on.
To further exploits of our Don.
He fights a Basque, with sword immense.
The tale breaks off --- we´re in suspense!

Public service announcement : Quik Quixote

You may be interested to know how my reading of "Don Quixote" is coming along. Well, I've finished two books of the twelve-volume set. So far, so good. But I'd be lying if I said it's all beer and skittles. The language is reasonably understandable - Spanish has changed much less in the last four centuries than English has done. But I did find it necessary to go out and buy a used copy of the Penguin Classics translation, which I am reading in parallel, to make sure I am not missing anything crucial. While it's not quite the snoozefest I had feared, it's not exactly a laff riot either.

Which is why, here at MOTP central, we are inaugurating, with this post, a new public service for our readers. We are slogging through "Don Quixote"; why should you have to? The answer is - you don't! Just subscribe to our new service -- QUIK-QUIXOTE -- and get the abbreviated version of this classic picaresque tale in convenient serial form. Note that this offer is of limited duration, and available to platinum MOTP subscribers only.

Clearly, it would be unreasonable to expect our readers to subscribe to a pig in a poke, so herewith the MOTP introduction, and summary of the first few chapters. Please also be sure to read the CONSUMER PRODUCT WARNING at the end of this post.

INTRODUCTION

This literary gem of the siglo d'oro,
I have to say's been my bête noir, O
spare your censure, gentle reader,
I bet you haven't read it either.
Let's make a deal. I'll save you time.
Give you a crib in deathless rhyme.
A Cliff Notes version of the Don,
Cause Mick Cervantes does drone on.
So tune back in, my little cupcakes,
And watch this space for future updates.

Chapter 1.

Too many books; our Don's brain's addled.
So he decides that he'll get saddled.
His scrawny steed? That's Rocinante.
His secret sweetheart, Dulz the dainty.

Chapters 2 - 3.

Don sallies forth in search of fame.
Soon gets confused (recurrent theme
Throughout this tale). Gets taken in.
Thinks "castle", when he should think "inn".
Hilarious fun, with knaves and varlets
And -- pace, Maiden Aunt -- two harlots.
By chapter's end, our Don's a Knight
And off in search of wrongs to right.

CONSUMER PRODUCT WARNING

A warning will, I hope, here be excused.
How much the reader -- you -- will be amused,
Depends on how you view a poor confused
Clown's antics. Are you laughing? Or bemused?

If it's the latter, here's a quick suggestion.
Just stop right now. Spare yourself indigestion.
But if your favorite circus act's the clown,
Read on, and I'll try not to let you down.

Jet-lagged Hamsters? Not a Problem.

http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn11895-viagra-reduces-hamster-jet-lag.html

Cuy Bono?

This little guy, whom you or I might call a guinea pig, is known as a "cuy" in Peru. No, it's not because of the little cuy-cuy squeaking noise he makes, it comes from the Quechua word "quwi" (though I suppose that name could be based on the little quwi-quwi squwiking noise.



You probably know that guinea pigs make very popular pets.



You may even know that they are a very popular food source in the Andes.


But did you know that they were also the main dish at The Last Supper?


No, I didn't think so.

Don't say this blog isn't educational.

Elegy for Eliot

I believe there was a request for doggerel. Who am I to disappoint? Though this was written some time ago, I don't think it's appeared on this blog. So, to commemorate the one-year anniversary of a certain politician's peccadilloes (or rather the public disclosure of the aforementioned indiscretions), here is the

LOVE SONG OF J. ELIOT SPITZER

Let us go then, you and I
While the evening is spread out against the sky
Like the Baghdad skyline behind Wolf Blitzer
Or a criminal taken down by A.G. Spitzer

In the room the women come and go
“I’m called an escort, not a ho.”

The corridors of power are lonely, late at night
The bad guys all day long you have to fight
You deserve a little reward – maybe a cookie?
Nope – even a hero needs some nookie.

In the room the women come and go
“Plastic works, a cheque, or cash to go.”

Temptation looms – a vision, out of reach.
The voice of conscience: “Don’t you eat that peach!”
Too late! Our hero reaches for his cheques.
Another politician laid low by the lure of sex.

In the room the women come and go
“Eliot? Oh yeah, huge ego and libido.”

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
scuttling across the shores of silent seas.
Instead my taste for high-priced whores
Has made of me the emperor of sleaze.

(with apologies to, you know, Tom)

OPERATION BAKED GOODS : SAINT PATRICK'S DAY SPECIAL EDITION

I may have mentioned previously that I was slated to bring pastries to class this morning, in celebration of Saint Patrick's Day. I know some of you will be waiting with bated breath for an update, so here is a partial pictorial record. Clicking on the images and following them to Flickr should lead to some further comments and notes.

The first picture was taken before the marauding hordes of students attacked:



This assortment represented a half kilogram (so about 18 ounces) of the finest from the Horno San Onofrio, about a block and a half from my house. The total of 30 "units" cost 14.50€, or about 50 centimos apiece (roughly 65 cents U.S.) As noted in the comment on the photo, as a general rule, palatability was inversely proportional to the vividness of the colour. The brown ones were by far the best; this definitely had something to do with the fact that most of them were either truffles or profiterole-like. The less said about the green ones the better.

Our second photo was taken after the hordes had been grazing for a while:



For a version of this photo with notes, see this link:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/3363960520/in/set-72157615421912417

Or, for more extensive photographic documentation, see the entire set:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/sets/72157615421912417/

A note of apology. It will be obvious to anyone browsing the set that this blog is in serious need of a professional food wrangler. It might, to give just one example, have helped avoid the unflattering - and unwarranted - resemblance of one of the more delicious pastries to a malignant tumour. (Lighting is everything)

The fact is that we had a professional food wrangler on staff, but had to let him go last week when he was caught repeatedly nibbling on the scenery. (See last week's post regarding el Ratoncito Pérez).

All in all, OBG St Patrick's Day 2009 was a hugely popular success. It seems almost churlish to point out that a major contributing factor to its popularity was the relative paucity of actual baked goods in the sample. Thus the desiccant potential of the delicacies was kept within acceptable limits.

Even the German students were happy during today's testing.

Kitties!

We haven't had a kitty update in a while. Here they are, taken on the Ides of March.

Once in a blue moon

If you ever played Trivial Pursuit back in the 80's then, like I did, you probably think you know the origin of the expression "once in a blue moon". It means something rare, because a blue moon occurs when there are two full moons in the same calendar month - a rare occurrence - right?

Wrong! It turns out that this is a misconception, which took hold in the popular imagination during the 1980's, promulgated by a (mistaken) American radio broadcast and the makers of Trivial Pursuit. The correct definition of a blue moon turns out to be a little more complicated, and refers to an event which is even rarer still.

What is the correct definition? Listen up, and I'll tell you. A blue moon is the third full moon in a season that has four full moons. How often does this happen? Let's take a look:



The "Maine Farmer's Almanac" Rule referred to in the diagram is the definition I just gave, 3rd full moon in a season with 4.

It's evident from the diagram that this happens somewhat less often than the occurrence of two full moons in the same calendar month. Furthermore, while the short duration of February means that the latter definition can never happen in February, the Farmer's Almanac definition implies that February is one of only four months in which a blue moon can occur.

The plain people of Ireland: Sure you could be making all this up. How do we know you're not just pulling our legs, in some kind of Saint Patrick's Day prank?
The management: Ye're a suspicious lot, aren't ye? But don't take my word for it. Check it out for yeerselves here. The good scientists at Sky and Telescope wouldn't be misleading the public.

El Museo del Ratoncito Pérez

In Ireland and the U.S. we have the tooth fairy ("la hada de las dientes"). In Korea and Japan, children are exhorted to throw their baby teeth on the roof "for good luck", while chanting some kind of ditty to a magpie. In Mongolia, baby teeth are hidden in a piece of meat and fed to the dog. (Hey, I don't make this stuff up, OK?) In France, it's the Bonne Petite Souris who is charged with exchanging baby teeth for new ones.

Here in Spain, a mouse plays a key role as well. But not just any old mouse. No, indeed. It's the famous Ratoncito Pérez:



It is a little-known fact that el Ratoncito Pérez was born and lived in Madrid. And that there is a museum in his honor in the house of his birthplace, at the Calle Arenal #8, a mere quarter of a mile from Kilometer Zero in Plaza del Sol:



At this site, in the Prast pastry shop, in a tin of biscuits, lived the mouse Pérez, invented by Father Coloma in the eponymous story, written for future king Alfonso XIII when he was a child.

On Thursday I visited the museum. Thus I can reliably inform my readers that the biscuit tin in question was a tin of Huntley and Palmer's biscuits, and that the story was written when Alfonso was just eight years old. The story features the eponymous mouse, el Ratoncito Pérez and a very aristocratic child named Bubi, who is an obvious stand-in for the prince:



Bubi is understandably nervous about the whole losing-a-tooth business:



But through his magic powers, the little mouse is able to transform Bubi so that he can accompany him on his tooth-gathering activities throughout Spain, thereby dispelling his fear (at the cost of giving him distinctly mouse-like features, but I suppose some willing suspension of disbelief is called for here):



And so, ever since, el Ratoncito Pérez, by royal decree, goes on his nightly mission of exchanging baby teeth for little gifts of toys throughout the land.

Admission to the museum is only one Euro. When I went I was the only visitor, so I received individual attention from the lady guide, who was obviously delighted that someone had wandered in off the street. A cultural experience not to be missed!

Squid and Frog's Buttery Holiday Special

http://www.squidandfrog.com/special.html

Passing of a Giant

Genentech Inc., the world's first biotechnology company, and the place where I spent almost a third of my life working, effectively ceased to exist on Thursday. With the announcement that its board of directors had approved the takeover bid by Roche, the majority shareholder, for an estimated $47 billion, or $95 a share, its existence as a separate company comes to an end.

Although I stand to benefit financially from the takeover, I find myself enormously saddened by the news. It was an extraordinary place to work, and I feel exceptionally lucky to have been a part of it. I hope to write a little more about what made the company so special in future posts, but frankly, I'm a little too choked up to do so right now.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090312/ap_on_bi_ge/eu_switzerland_roche_genentech

Things may be getting out of hand

Iberian Mysteries (I)

Ever since my return to Spain a couple of minor mysteries have been baffling me. The first of these concerns my watch, pictured above. If you zoom in on the picture (e.g. by calling up the 'large' or 'original' size on Flickr), you will notice something a little odd, namely a little circle of bubbles of condensation on the inside of the watch face, at the centre. This particular phenomenon started up again within 12 hours of my arriving in Spain. Its exact manifestation changes depending on the time of day, and on how long I have been wearing the watch continuously - at times it gets big enough to obscure almost the entire watch face, at times it is more of a ring than an unbroken circle, at times it is all but invisible. I say that it "started up again" because it used to happen regularly during my last stay in Spain as well. This time there is the peculiar added feature that the watch stops going altogether about once a week, which I assume has something to do with the condensation becoming severe enough to affect the battery. After leaving it off for a day or so, the watch starts up again, keeps time perfectly (though murkily) for another week, and so forth.

The mystery lies in the fact that this is a peculiarly Spanish phenomenon. The watch works perfectly the rest of the time, with no visible condensation problems. In Guanajuato last year - no problem. Similarly, for the seven weeks I was in Buenos Aires, the watch worked perfectly. But within 12 hours of arriving in Spain, it's weeping like the statue of some kind of cheap plaster saint in an Andalucian church. In 2007 this happened not only in Madrid, but in Sevilla and Granada as well (though not to the point of stopping entirely). Oddly enough, there were no problems in Salamanca.

I assume it has to do with some odd combination of perspiration and the local ambient conditions, but am at a loss to understand exactly how such a phenomenon might work. Or its bizarre geographical specificity.

My first video

Believe me, I am not particularly proud of the fact that the first video published to my blog involves a penguin-pooping confectionery dispenser.

But then, there are a lot of things in my life that I am not particularly proud of. The worst part is that, as one grows older, the number just keeps increasing. It's not clear why one's most shameful moments should be preserved forever in memory, as if in amber, but that appears to be how things work.

El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de La Mancha

Yesterday, on the way home from lunch, stuffed with nicanores and nata, I came across the following quadricentennial edition of Don Quijote.



The price was right - a paltry 10€ - and the convenience of the 12 slim volumes appealed to me. So I decided to take the plunge. During the transaction, I was making small talk with the book store clerk about the feasibility of a foreigner making it through the entire set in the original Spanish. He was encouraging, saying that they sold copies in Spanish to foreigners all the time, and that just yesterday they had sold a copy of the very same edition I was buying to Viggo Mortensen*.

I think this may be just the impetus that I need. Knowing that I may be reading it in parallel with Aragorn, son of Arathorn, is quite motivating.

*What he failed to mention was that, according to Wikipedia:

His family moved to Venezuela, Argentina, and Denmark, settling in Argentina, where he learned Spanish and became a fan of Club Atlético San Lorenzo de Almagro. His father managed chicken farms and ranches in Argentina. They remained there until Mortensen was eleven

which gives Viggo a certain advantage, as far as navigating the Spanish is concerned.

But still. I am oddly motivated.

OPERATION BAKED GOODS REDUX

Yesterday I was presented with an irresistible opportunity to continue this blog's ongoing (if sporadic) investigation into the desiccant properties of assorted baked goods native to the Iberian peninsula.



The latest entry in our parade of decadent desiccant dulces is shown in the photograph. The pastries in question are known as "nicanores", and are native to the little pueblo of Boñar, which is -- as far as my lazy, google-based research has been able to ascertain -- somewhere not too far outside of Madrid, in the province of (Castilla-)León.

It seems only fair to allow the Nicanores a chance to give their side of the story -

The Nicanores are an exquisite puff pastry which the main row material is the butter. After a caring manipulation, they have turned into a puff pastry of a extraordinary quality as the smooth of their layers make them so delicate that they get dissolved in your mouth in the same way that it happens with the own butter.

Here at Operation Baked Goods Central, our standards have to be a little higher. (Our readers deserve no less). Our reviewer's opinion:

Although the nicanores share the unique desiccant properties common to all eThpanish baked goods, eating them was not an entirely painful experience. The saliva-absorbency did not quite reach the levels of the little desiccant packages found in new luggage, and the cardboard taste that is regrettably common in the pastries of the Iberian peninsula was refreshingly absent. They were, however, extremely friable, reaching the maximum 5 points on the flakiness scale. Consumption was definitely aided by the large dollops of "nata" shown in the picture, though it is this reviewer's opinion that the "dairy product" in question was definitely closer to Kool-Whip (sic) than actual whipped cream. However, its presence had a definitive ameliorative effect on the consumability of the nicanores, and extra points are due to the restaurant for providing the entertaining little sugar stars as decoration. Sadly, none of this was enough to make a person ever want to eat this particular delicacy more than once in a lifetime.

The pastry chefs of Vienna, indeed of all of Northern Europe, have little to fear from this Iberian delicacy.

Although the name suggests that this pastry might be a particular favorite of suave, martini-swilling, couples with a taste for sleuthing, this appears to be nothing more than a lexicographical coincidence.

¡ Heladoraptors !

Nobody is safe!

http://jet-point.com/2009/02/24/birds-stealing-ice-cream/