This is Daisy Fuentes Miller, reporting to you live from the set of MTV’s “Real World Gay Paree”. Six strangers, from totally different backgrounds, thrown together, forced to live under the merciless glare of the Hankcam, which documents their every move for posterity. Let’s see what happens when the gloves come off, and things get real.
Strether: Hi. I’m Strether. I’m engaged to Chad’s mom. She’s pissed at him, and sent me over to bring him back to Connecticut to run the family business. Paree sure seems like an awesome party town.
Chad: This is the Chadster. I don’t wanna go back to Connecticut. I’m dating this totally hot older lady. Who’s a countess. She’s been giving me some private life coaching lessons. If you know what I mean.
Countess: ‘allo. Zis is Marie. you can call me Countess Cougar. Sacre bleu, but you American boys are fine!
Strether: Damn, that countess is one hot MILF. Chad – no rush about going home. We should just hang out here in Paris and par-tay!
6 weeks later -
Sarah: This is Sarah, Chad’s older sister. What the f*** is going on here? Strether, you’ve been over six weeks already. Mother sent me over. She wants you both to haul ass back to Connecticut, pronto. (You can ignore my fat philistine slob of a husband, Jim. He’s only here to provide a cheap diversion as a lazy stereotype and adds nothing to the plot)
Chad: Chill, sis. This is my girlfriend Marie. Ain’t she smokin? Did I mention she’s a countess?
Sarah: Filthy French slut! Chad, Mother expects you to do your duty.
Strether: Dude, don’t go! It’s a trap.
Sarah: You be quiet! And you can forget about marrying Mother. Which means you’ll die lonely and poor.
Strether: Bite me. Your mother always was one uptight bitch, anyway. I’ll just stay on here. Maybe catch a little menage-a-trois action with Chad and the Countess.
Chad : Not gonna happen, dude! Sis, tell Mom to take the job and shove it. I’m having too much fun tapping aristocratic ass here in Paree. Screw Connecticut.
2 weeks later -
Strether (alone in the confessional room): So Sarah and Jim are on the way back home, with no hanging Chad. My life is totally screwed up. But at least I can be happy about getting Chad to do the right thing, to avoid the money trap, and to choose life!
2 weeks later -
Chad (alone in the confessional room, very drunk): You know, I’ve always thought that advertising was where the future is at..... And, there's no two ways about it, Marie's boobs have definitely been showing some major saggage .... Operator! Get me the number for the Cunard line, please.
Fade, to the sound of Strether whimpering pathetically, off-camera. (Marie, of course, goes on to star in the breakout Bravo series, “Real Housewives of the 4th arrondissement”).
********************************************
OK, I'll come clean and admit that I’ve had a definite prejudice against Henry James for as long as I can remember. But reading Colm Toibin’s “The Master” last month made me think I should give him another try. “The Ambassadors” certainly confirmed my belief in the brilliance of Toibin’s accomplishment. It also changed my opinion of James – though I doubt I’ll ever achieve fanboy status, it was a far more interesting read than I had anticipated. In “The Master”, Toibin gives us a portrait of James in mid-career, focusing on the period between 1895 and 1900. It’s eerily well done – it’s almost as if he were channeling the spirit of James. Although Toibin is an avowed fan, his depiction of the author seems scrupulously honest and right on the mark. The picture of Henry that emerges is not entirely flattering – that of someone who is fascinated by the workings of the very privileged segment of society into which he was born, with a keen, almost obsessive, eye for the subtleties and complexities of the relationships among the various players, and the talent, determination (and free time) to document it in his writing. Even if that came at a certain emotional cost. In James’s case, that cost appears to have been an inability (or unwillingness) to form truly deep emotional attachments. There seems to have been a pattern of his withdrawing emotionally whenever another person threatened to come too close. This was a man who lived far too much of his life in his own head.
It shows in the writing, of course. Every detail of every character’s action, no matter how minor, is picked apart and analyzed. Characters are presented as being engaged in endless analysis and speculation about how to interpret the actions and motives of others. And if it takes a page and a half to pin down the precise nuance of A’s reaction to a casual snub by B, then so be it – James always assumes that the reader has both the time and interest to stay with him. The odd thing is that, although this can be a little offputting at the beginning, ultimately it becomes kind of hypnotic. He is so clearly fascinated by the inner world of his characters that he ultimately draws you in. The plot of “The Ambassadors” is wafer-thin. But the author’s focus on the psychology of his characters is so intense (and so believable) that one is motivated to keep on reading. This was not a dull book.
Much is made of Henry James’s style, and I just don’t get it. This is a man who never met a subordinate clause he didn’t like, with a definite preference for the baroque. Hemingway he’s not. But his penchant for convoluted sentences means that he’s not particularly easy to read. On any given page, there is likely to be at least one sentence that you will have to read three times over, and still not be sure you understand what he was trying to say. (He has a way of nesting negative particles in his various subordinate clauses that is particularly evil – I’d find myself counting them on my fingers, trying to figure things out). Stylistically, the writer he reminds me most of is Thomas Mann, who also had a penchant for long, complicated sentences. At least James wasn’t writing in German, so there is a limit to how convoluted things get. Personally, I don’t consider opacity to be a virtue. YMMV.
A book that was far more interesting than I had anticipated, and which definitely changed my mind about Henry James.
Monday, August 3, 2009
My true colours are just dust in the wind
The original post scheduled for this slot - some pseudo-profound musings about the poetry of Pablo Neruda - has been pre-empted, and will be brought to you at a later date.
But earlier this evening, I ventured forth, with the original intent of going to see "La Edad de Hielo III" (Ice Age 3) at the Cine Hoyt. When I actually got to the cinema, however, it became obvious to me that I wasn't quite up for yet another movie with cute talking 3-dimensional animals, so I wandered off in search of dinner instead.
And found what turned out to be, despite its unlikely appearance, the perfect restaurant. Not so much because of the delicious filet mignon and accompanying house salad (an excellent value at only $14, including the delightful pisco sour aperitif). Not even because of the extremely charming waiter (just the right degree of solicitude, without any of that intrusive hovering that the sight of a foreigner can sometimes provoke). No, the genius of this particular establishment was to be found on the television screens, which showed a loop of all the best MTV videos you've seen in your life.
Starting with Simon and Garfunkel ("hello darkness, my old friend"), moving on through various classics ("Careless Whisper", John Bon Jovi emoting his sweaty heart out, Cyndi Lauper, Phil Collins, "Lady in Red"), it was an instant transport back to the period of one's life when these songs MATTERED. All of a sudden, I was back in the cluster home in Chapel Hill, sitting slackjawed in front of the large-screen TV, watching video after video, secure in the guilty pleasure of ignoring the untackled dissertation topic that awaited me in the bedroom. Something, I regret to report, that I did for a period of at least six months, before conscience and the indignation of my out-of-town thesis adviser finally forced me to go cold turkey on the music videos and turn my reluctant attention to the subject of robust estimation in heteroscedastic regression models.
But what a fine six months they were. And how amazing to find the cheap power of those music videos in no way diminished. Like so many emotional triggers, they just kept firing tonight. As Phil Collins might have put it, there was "something in the air".
I thought for sure, when that apotheosis of emotionally manipulative pseudo-profundity, Kansas's "Dust in the Wind", came on, that the evening had reached its zenith. But no, just as the mozero served my cafe cortado, there she was:
"Turn around...."
Surely not? How awesomely perfect!
"Turn around, bright eyes ...."
Yes indeed, gentle reader. It was Bonnie herself, with the full 7-minute version.
"We're living in a powder keg, giving off sparks ..."
And just like that, this blogger's heart was totally eclipsed. I'm a complete wreck, I tell you. But in the best, happiest, most blissful, sense.
Hasta pronto, mi chiquititas!
But earlier this evening, I ventured forth, with the original intent of going to see "La Edad de Hielo III" (Ice Age 3) at the Cine Hoyt. When I actually got to the cinema, however, it became obvious to me that I wasn't quite up for yet another movie with cute talking 3-dimensional animals, so I wandered off in search of dinner instead.
And found what turned out to be, despite its unlikely appearance, the perfect restaurant. Not so much because of the delicious filet mignon and accompanying house salad (an excellent value at only $14, including the delightful pisco sour aperitif). Not even because of the extremely charming waiter (just the right degree of solicitude, without any of that intrusive hovering that the sight of a foreigner can sometimes provoke). No, the genius of this particular establishment was to be found on the television screens, which showed a loop of all the best MTV videos you've seen in your life.
Starting with Simon and Garfunkel ("hello darkness, my old friend"), moving on through various classics ("Careless Whisper", John Bon Jovi emoting his sweaty heart out, Cyndi Lauper, Phil Collins, "Lady in Red"), it was an instant transport back to the period of one's life when these songs MATTERED. All of a sudden, I was back in the cluster home in Chapel Hill, sitting slackjawed in front of the large-screen TV, watching video after video, secure in the guilty pleasure of ignoring the untackled dissertation topic that awaited me in the bedroom. Something, I regret to report, that I did for a period of at least six months, before conscience and the indignation of my out-of-town thesis adviser finally forced me to go cold turkey on the music videos and turn my reluctant attention to the subject of robust estimation in heteroscedastic regression models.
But what a fine six months they were. And how amazing to find the cheap power of those music videos in no way diminished. Like so many emotional triggers, they just kept firing tonight. As Phil Collins might have put it, there was "something in the air".
I thought for sure, when that apotheosis of emotionally manipulative pseudo-profundity, Kansas's "Dust in the Wind", came on, that the evening had reached its zenith. But no, just as the mozero served my cafe cortado, there she was:
"Turn around...."
Surely not? How awesomely perfect!
"Turn around, bright eyes ...."
Yes indeed, gentle reader. It was Bonnie herself, with the full 7-minute version.
"We're living in a powder keg, giving off sparks ..."
And just like that, this blogger's heart was totally eclipsed. I'm a complete wreck, I tell you. But in the best, happiest, most blissful, sense.
Hasta pronto, mi chiquititas!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Pablo y yo
Discussing some of the finer points of his poetry with Pablo Neruda in the garden of his home in Valparaiso.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Product placement
This post is just a quick shout-out to acknowledge the vital role that my fine ACER notebook computer plays in my travels. Brad made me aware of the ACER when he came to visit me in Madrid in March, and I wasted no time in buying one when I got back to the U.S. It's beautifully compact, meets all my needs, has an 8-hour battery life - and at only $350 from Amazon, I consider it a steal. (I did have to equip mine with a mouse, however, given my general lack of trackball agility).
So far I've convinced Emer (my sister) and Paddy to join the ACER club. Maybe you should consider one yourself, for your next trip. You'll wonder how you ever managed without one.
{End blatant product placement. Though if anyone at ACER would like to sponsor this blog.... Oh, never mind! Wouldn't want to compromise my editorial independence...}
The plain people of Ireland: Begob, but that's a handsome machine, no two ways about it.
The management: Why am I not surprised that you would be pleased by shiny gadgetry?
Santiago (continued)
On the plus side:
- Excellent public transport - easy to use and navigate, and remarkably cheap (about 70 cents to ride anywhere on the system - bus or subway)
- Excellent supermarkets - well-stocked and well-staffed, and people are extremely helpful
- Excellent symphony orchestra - after the rigors of Thursday night, last night's concert (Mozart's overture to "The Magic Flute", Richard Strauss's concerto for oboe and small orchestra, and Brahms's second symphony) was extremely comforting. And the price ($14 for an orchestra seat, fourth row center) was certainly right.
- Generally low cost of living - in general, prices for food and general commodities seem to be pegged at roughly 60 to 70% of those in the U.S. so, while it's not as cheap here as in Buenos Aires, it's certainly very affordable. And certain things (movie tickets, symphony tickets, museum entry) are markedly cheaper than at home.
- People are extremely friendly and helpful. With the notable exception of the bastard who tried to steal my camera, and that one waitress on thursday evening, everyone has been extraordinarily helpful.
Marginal to neutral:
- The school, I'd have to say, is not quite what I had expected. It may be that I have hit it at an all-time enrolment low (the number of students in total seems to be no more than about 20, 90% of whom are Brazilian), but the level of instruction has not been all that impressive. As an example, I really could have done without the hour and twenty minutes class time spent on punctuation exercises on Wednesday. Not that comma placement is not important, but it hardly makes for riveting class time. My other minor gripe (which I am assured will be remedied next week) is that I ended up having the same professor for all six hours of daily class time this week, which is hardly optimal. There also appears to be a complete dearth of facilities such as books or DVDs to borrow - every other school I've attended at least had the rudiments of a lending library and other resources for students.
The mitigating factor is that all of the staff are genuinely nice and very responsive, so that it feels churlish to criticize. It seems likely that limited enrolment is having an effect on the available resources.
Firmly in the negative column:
- I'm sorry, but there is no way around this. East Berlin - meet your match. This has to be the physically ugliest city I have ever been in. Offered as supporting evidence - I can think of no other city I've been in where there appear to be no postcards on sale. I've scanned multiple kiosks throughout the city, and postcards of Santiago are conspicuous by their absence. I mean, that's got to be considered pretty weird, right? Other than the Plaza de Armas, right in the city center, vistas are pretty grim, though there are occasional uplifting views of the Andes in the distance. This afternoon, I went out with my camera, and here are some of the resulting photos. I don't think I was choosing unduly unrepresentative views:
This is the apartment building where I live. Let's just say, it's functional.
Not the guy who tried to bite me. But it could be his cousin.
Am I irredeemably shallow for wishing for something a little more aesthetically pleasing? Possibly. But so be it.
But never mind. Tomorrow it's on to Valparaiso for the day, which I'm assured is far more picturesque.
To his coy mistress
Yes, yes. I hear your mute criticism. This blog lacks poetry. and, you know what? I couldn't agree more. So, to add a little class to what has been an intermittently whiny week, here's Marvell's version of "Carpe diem". (It's not coming completely out of left field - this poem did come up during class discussion on Wednesday)
To his Coy Mistress
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
To his Coy Mistress
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Andrew Marvell, 1621-1678
OK. I admit it. I've always had a certain fondness for those metaphysical poets. Marvell may not be quite at the level of Donne, but "To his Coy Mistress" is a delight from start to finish.
The plain people of Ireland: What is this? This blog is nothing but recycled poetry and whining.
The management; I understand how that impression could arise, but here at MOTP central we are actively working on the problem. Have a little patience, my little empanaditas!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
If it weren't so pathetic, it'd almost be funny
First things first. Let me assure everyone, I AM JUST FINE. Just majorly outraged. But things here are rapidly approaching farce levels. On my way to dinner earlier tonight,(where the service was as charming as a rusty nail), I survived (a) an effort to steal my camera (unsuccessful, but leaving me with severe wrist burn from the camera cord) and (b) five minutes later, having one of the mangy wild dogs that roam the pavements of the city sink his filthy fangs into my sleeve (nowhere near penetration of skin, given the many layers I was wearing).
But by my count, that's two strikes. One more, and I'll be on the plane to Buenos Aires before you can say "Pinochet".
Santiago, consider this a warning that you are ON NOTICE! There are certain outrages up with which I shall not put.
But by my count, that's two strikes. One more, and I'll be on the plane to Buenos Aires before you can say "Pinochet".
Santiago, consider this a warning that you are ON NOTICE! There are certain outrages up with which I shall not put.
On the home front
We had a few home improvements since my trip to Ireland in May. (Pretty much all the credit for these is due to Brad, God bless him)
New bookshelves in the living room, as well as a new couch and armchair (suitably Natasha-proofed)
A riot of color out on the deck!
Sadly, the deck is now off-limits to Boris, after his BIG ESCAPE CAPER in June. He is not particularly happy about this, as you might imagine.
New bookshelves in the living room, as well as a new couch and armchair (suitably Natasha-proofed)
A riot of color out on the deck!
Sadly, the deck is now off-limits to Boris, after his BIG ESCAPE CAPER in June. He is not particularly happy about this, as you might imagine.
More about Santiago
Well, after my slightly ill-natured first post from Chile, I feel obliged to give this update, just to say that everything is now going much better. Things have warmed up, both literally and figuratively. Classes are going well - yesterday we went on an afternoon excursion to the Villa Grimaldi, which deserves its own separate entry (I will get to it in due course); last night I went to see the delightful Fuerza-G, with most convincing 3-D hamsters. Tomorrow evening I have a ticket to the symphony (with a fine middlebrow program of Mozart, Strauss, and Brahms - none of that Stockhausen stuff), and Sunday there is an excursion to Valparaiso. So things are looking up, even if I am still terrified by the gas heater in the apartment.
Fortunately, Brad arrives next week for ten days, so all I have to do is not blow myself up or gas myself between now and Wednesday. As he is a god as far as all tbings mechanical go, I'm sure he will sort everything out.
To be clear, I can actually get the heater going, just at an enormous psychic and emotional cost. As I have noted previously in this blog, the mechanical aspects of the physical world are not exactly my forte. It may be difficult for some readers to imagine being terrified by machines and gadgets, but for some of us, this is an everyday reality.
More photos shortly, as soon as I can get them uploaded.
Fortunately, Brad arrives next week for ten days, so all I have to do is not blow myself up or gas myself between now and Wednesday. As he is a god as far as all tbings mechanical go, I'm sure he will sort everything out.
To be clear, I can actually get the heater going, just at an enormous psychic and emotional cost. As I have noted previously in this blog, the mechanical aspects of the physical world are not exactly my forte. It may be difficult for some readers to imagine being terrified by machines and gadgets, but for some of us, this is an everyday reality.
More photos shortly, as soon as I can get them uploaded.
An unexpected conversation
One of the joys of foreign travel is that you often end up having the weirdest conversations, the kind that you could never imagine. Bordering on the surreal. Such as this little snippet, which you might have overheard yesterday evening, had you been lurking in the lobby of my apartment building. (As background, earlier in the evening, the doorman had been very helpful in explaining to me how to get to the movie theater, so that when I got back, I felt I owed him at least a partial report on how things went) -
Concierge-dude: ¿Qué tal la pelicula? De qué se trató?
Me: Bueno. Trató de un grupo de hamsteres, que eran agentes especiales del FBI. Y también hubo un topo que tenía planes de dominar el mundo, y un cientifico loco. Pero los hamsteres podían salvar el mundo, por que eran hamsteres muy especiales .. Eran la FUERZA-G
(There were these hamsters who were special agents for the FBI, and a mole with plans of world domination, and this mad scientist .... )
I don't know which of us was laughing harder. Maybe you had to be there.
Concierge-dude: ¿Qué tal la pelicula? De qué se trató?
Me: Bueno. Trató de un grupo de hamsteres, que eran agentes especiales del FBI. Y también hubo un topo que tenía planes de dominar el mundo, y un cientifico loco. Pero los hamsteres podían salvar el mundo, por que eran hamsteres muy especiales .. Eran la FUERZA-G
(There were these hamsters who were special agents for the FBI, and a mole with plans of world domination, and this mad scientist .... )
I don't know which of us was laughing harder. Maybe you had to be there.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Dateline Santiago
I imagine that it will become clear to me at some later point why visiting Santiago in the dead of winter seemed like such a good idea. I may need to thaw out first though.
Here's the requisite picture to show I've arrived. More to follow, once I have regained my equilibrium and a modicum of good humor. Which is to say, once I've slept off the effects of the long trip and warmed up a little. Assuming that's actually possible.
The good news. School is great, and everyone is extremely helpful and charming. Which almost compensates for the extraordinary ugliness of the city. We're talking seriously ugly, alas - think East Berlin in the 1970s.
But hey - it keeps things interesting. Now, I have to go fiddle with the terrifying gas heater before my blood actually congeals. I haven't been this cold since my childhood back in Ireland.
Hasta luego, my little empanadas!
Here's the requisite picture to show I've arrived. More to follow, once I have regained my equilibrium and a modicum of good humor. Which is to say, once I've slept off the effects of the long trip and warmed up a little. Assuming that's actually possible.
The good news. School is great, and everyone is extremely helpful and charming. Which almost compensates for the extraordinary ugliness of the city. We're talking seriously ugly, alas - think East Berlin in the 1970s.
But hey - it keeps things interesting. Now, I have to go fiddle with the terrifying gas heater before my blood actually congeals. I haven't been this cold since my childhood back in Ireland.
Hasta luego, my little empanadas!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Drogging While Blunk
Well, gentle readers, we knew it would come to this. But I feel that I can retain a certain amount of dignity by pointing to the fact that there have been 507 posts, written while I was completely sober, before this one. Where I am definitely - hic! - not.
There are two clearly identifiable factors which have led to this situation. In no particular order, they are:
Alex, my absolutely charming Parisian classmate with the unpronounceable Basque surname,
Any beer which features dancing pink elephants on the bottle is not to be taken lightly.
Anyhow, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to join Alex for a farewell beer or three after class. After three inferior Spanish beers, it seemed even more sensible to continue our drinking session in the apartment with some infinitely superior Belgian beer, before meeting up with some of the other students at eight o' clock to continue drinking.
In retrospect, it might have been a good idea to build in more food opportunities into our plan.
But not to worry, eight hours later, I am home safe and sound. (Alex and the others were last seen in some delightful, nameless, smoky bar in the Lavapiés district).
Why blog in an obviously intoxicated state? Well, because, for one reason or another, I can't remember when I've had as much fun as I've had this week. With today being a particular highlight. I am happy to be heading home, because two months away is a long time. But it seems important to record for posterity, just how much of a blast I've had here in Madrid. It's been a gift, the entire time.
And if I can't take the time out to acknowledge that on this blog, then I shouldn't be blogging in the first place.
Another happy note is that when Alex saw Elsie,
it was love at first sight. So that I can now leave Madrid, knowing that Elsie will be left in a loving home.
I am *so* happy right now. (And not nearly as drunk as I pretend to be. But definitely tipsy).
My flight leaves Madrid tomorrow at around 4:30 pm. God willing, I should arrive back in San Francisco on Sunday evening, after breaking my journey by staying overnight chez Paddy in Alexandria.
Signing out for this particular blogstage.
Abrazos.
There are two clearly identifiable factors which have led to this situation. In no particular order, they are:
Alex, my absolutely charming Parisian classmate with the unpronounceable Basque surname,
Any beer which features dancing pink elephants on the bottle is not to be taken lightly.
Anyhow, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to join Alex for a farewell beer or three after class. After three inferior Spanish beers, it seemed even more sensible to continue our drinking session in the apartment with some infinitely superior Belgian beer, before meeting up with some of the other students at eight o' clock to continue drinking.
In retrospect, it might have been a good idea to build in more food opportunities into our plan.
But not to worry, eight hours later, I am home safe and sound. (Alex and the others were last seen in some delightful, nameless, smoky bar in the Lavapiés district).
Why blog in an obviously intoxicated state? Well, because, for one reason or another, I can't remember when I've had as much fun as I've had this week. With today being a particular highlight. I am happy to be heading home, because two months away is a long time. But it seems important to record for posterity, just how much of a blast I've had here in Madrid. It's been a gift, the entire time.
And if I can't take the time out to acknowledge that on this blog, then I shouldn't be blogging in the first place.
Another happy note is that when Alex saw Elsie,
it was love at first sight. So that I can now leave Madrid, knowing that Elsie will be left in a loving home.
I am *so* happy right now. (And not nearly as drunk as I pretend to be. But definitely tipsy).
My flight leaves Madrid tomorrow at around 4:30 pm. God willing, I should arrive back in San Francisco on Sunday evening, after breaking my journey by staying overnight chez Paddy in Alexandria.
Signing out for this particular blogstage.
Abrazos.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tales of the Pampas (Search Engine Poetry)
Poetry constructed using only search engine terms by which people arrived at this blog. The only modification I have made is to change the punctuation in a few places.
1. Speak to me Jimmy !!!
Tony's fat.
Tubermensch.
Pig of the sea.
"What would I look like 4 stone lighter?"
The unfeasibly tall Greek billionaire.
Sinuous trophy wife.
2. On the Pampas Vocabulary Activities
Reina Sofia metrosexual,
Jet lagged hamster,
Static strips for motion sickness,
Raves on the pampas.
Sweaty men.
Beef extract.
Pampas meat.
Pampas meat?
Guinea pigs, baby!!!
3. The Case of the Marmalade Cat
Los Gatos deaths.
Desiccation syndrome.
Bagpiper's lung fungus.
Fat coma.
Caisson disease constipation.
Camilla Windsor accident.
Marmalade cat.
Cat of doom.
4. Does Travel Broaden the Mind or is it just a Waste of Time and Money?
Four reasons why travelling broaden the mind.
Raccoons in space.
Guanajuato strip clubs.
Hello Kitty, Chapel Hill.
Segovia aquaducks.
5. Mainly on the Plain
Pandas in action.
Squid and frog.
Two-headed bunny.
Doctor Ruth.
Traceable jackalope.
Puddy tats.
Laundercats.
Javelina siege.
Itzcuintli dog with me.
Hideous, ugly, animals.
Keep track of your flock.
Ethel the aardvark goes quantity surveying.
Don Quixote goes to the movies.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain
And there is love,
But also pain.
And the rain.
1. Speak to me Jimmy !!!
Tony's fat.
Tubermensch.
Pig of the sea.
"What would I look like 4 stone lighter?"
The unfeasibly tall Greek billionaire.
Sinuous trophy wife.
2. On the Pampas Vocabulary Activities
Reina Sofia metrosexual,
Jet lagged hamster,
Static strips for motion sickness,
Raves on the pampas.
Sweaty men.
Beef extract.
Pampas meat.
Pampas meat?
Guinea pigs, baby!!!
3. The Case of the Marmalade Cat
Los Gatos deaths.
Desiccation syndrome.
Bagpiper's lung fungus.
Fat coma.
Caisson disease constipation.
Camilla Windsor accident.
Marmalade cat.
Cat of doom.
4. Does Travel Broaden the Mind or is it just a Waste of Time and Money?
Four reasons why travelling broaden the mind.
Raccoons in space.
Guanajuato strip clubs.
Hello Kitty, Chapel Hill.
Segovia aquaducks.
5. Mainly on the Plain
Pandas in action.
Squid and frog.
Two-headed bunny.
Doctor Ruth.
Traceable jackalope.
Puddy tats.
Laundercats.
Javelina siege.
Itzcuintli dog with me.
Hideous, ugly, animals.
Keep track of your flock.
Ethel the aardvark goes quantity surveying.
Don Quixote goes to the movies.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain
And there is love,
But also pain.
And the rain.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Susan Boyle
Someone over on the Salon TableTalk board alerted me to this link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY
Two years ago, I blogged about Paul Potts, who went on to win that year's "Britain´s Got Talent" contest. The video in the link has that same heartwarming quality - you may tear up a bit watching it. The best part is watching the judges' reactions.
Thanks to Inara for pointing me to the link in question.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY
Two years ago, I blogged about Paul Potts, who went on to win that year's "Britain´s Got Talent" contest. The video in the link has that same heartwarming quality - you may tear up a bit watching it. The best part is watching the judges' reactions.
Thanks to Inara for pointing me to the link in question.
Streets of Malasaña
I have created a new Flickr photoset here . Almost all of the photos were taken on my way to and from school.
Enjoy!
Enjoy!
Monday, April 13, 2009
The cost of living
Yesterday, I wrote a post about the economic crisis ("la crisis") affecting Spain, and suggested that its effects were not all that obvious here in Madrid. On a related note, I thought it might be interesting to provide some anecdotal data about the cost of living here, from a personal point of view.
The first thing to note is that the exchange rate is a little more favorable now than it was two years ago. Given that prices of many items appear not to have changed perceptibly (perhaps a 5% increase in things like the price of a newspaper, cup of coffee, or a beer, which is offset by the improvement in the exchange rate), I have no sense that things have gotten more expensive. In fact, since I had paid for my three main expenses - travel to and from Spain, seven weeks of classes, and two months rental of the apartment - upfront, the amount that I spend weekly is relatively low. Definitely lower than my day-to-day expenses in San Francisco (though obviously certain monthly expenses in SF - mortgage, utilities, phone and DSL service, health insurance and the like - continue in my absence).
But daily expenditures here don't amount to all that much. I generally have breakfast in the break between my first two classes - 2€ for coffee and a pastry. Then, at 3pm, after my conversation class is finished, it's time for lunch (my favorite couple of hours in the day). A couple of days a week I will generally eat lunch with some of the other students, or some of the teachers in the school; three days a week I eat lunch on my own, with time to read the newspaper at leisure and mark my vocabulary words. Lunch in Madrid is definitely the best value going. Almost every restaurant or bar offers a fixed price, three-course meal, beverage included, for somewhere between 9 and 12€ (1 euro = roughly $1.30). Often, I will finish at around 4:45 or so, which leaves a couple of hours until my 7pm culture class. Having eaten a full lunch during the day, going out to dinner seems pointless, so I generally pick up the makings of a light meal to prepare at home (maybe another 5€). Which ends up at around $25 a day for food. Going to the movies is also fairly cheap (5 to 7€, depending on the time of day). The newspaper is 1.10€ during the week, double that on Sunday. The metro, and city buses, are a steal - you can get a 10-trip ticket for less than 7€. So that I seem to end up using the cash machine far less often here than at home.
Hotels are also pretty reasonable. Obviously, it's possible to spend a lot of money, if you choose a particularly fancy hotel. But, to give a reference point, the Ateneo, the three-star hotel where Paddy stayed during both visits here, which is right near the city center (but very quiet), offers a double room, single occupancy, for just 75 to 80€ a night (the desk guy was so smitten with Paddy that he comped her several free breakfasts at the buffet, though it technically wasn't included in her room rate).
So, if you haven't yet made travel plans this year, maybe you should consider España.
The first thing to note is that the exchange rate is a little more favorable now than it was two years ago. Given that prices of many items appear not to have changed perceptibly (perhaps a 5% increase in things like the price of a newspaper, cup of coffee, or a beer, which is offset by the improvement in the exchange rate), I have no sense that things have gotten more expensive. In fact, since I had paid for my three main expenses - travel to and from Spain, seven weeks of classes, and two months rental of the apartment - upfront, the amount that I spend weekly is relatively low. Definitely lower than my day-to-day expenses in San Francisco (though obviously certain monthly expenses in SF - mortgage, utilities, phone and DSL service, health insurance and the like - continue in my absence).
But daily expenditures here don't amount to all that much. I generally have breakfast in the break between my first two classes - 2€ for coffee and a pastry. Then, at 3pm, after my conversation class is finished, it's time for lunch (my favorite couple of hours in the day). A couple of days a week I will generally eat lunch with some of the other students, or some of the teachers in the school; three days a week I eat lunch on my own, with time to read the newspaper at leisure and mark my vocabulary words. Lunch in Madrid is definitely the best value going. Almost every restaurant or bar offers a fixed price, three-course meal, beverage included, for somewhere between 9 and 12€ (1 euro = roughly $1.30). Often, I will finish at around 4:45 or so, which leaves a couple of hours until my 7pm culture class. Having eaten a full lunch during the day, going out to dinner seems pointless, so I generally pick up the makings of a light meal to prepare at home (maybe another 5€). Which ends up at around $25 a day for food. Going to the movies is also fairly cheap (5 to 7€, depending on the time of day). The newspaper is 1.10€ during the week, double that on Sunday. The metro, and city buses, are a steal - you can get a 10-trip ticket for less than 7€. So that I seem to end up using the cash machine far less often here than at home.
Hotels are also pretty reasonable. Obviously, it's possible to spend a lot of money, if you choose a particularly fancy hotel. But, to give a reference point, the Ateneo, the three-star hotel where Paddy stayed during both visits here, which is right near the city center (but very quiet), offers a double room, single occupancy, for just 75 to 80€ a night (the desk guy was so smitten with Paddy that he comped her several free breakfasts at the buffet, though it technically wasn't included in her room rate).
So, if you haven't yet made travel plans this year, maybe you should consider España.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Ruthless Rhymes for Easter
Little WillieLate last night I slew my wife,
Little Willie, feeling mean
Pushed his sister through a screen
Mother stopped his innovations
Said it made for strained relations.
Willie and three other brats
Ate up all the Rough-On-Rats;
Papa said, when Mama cried,
"Don't worry, dear, they'll die outside."
Necessity
Stretched her on the parquet flooring;
I was loath to take her life,
But I had to stop her snoring.
Calculating Clara
O'er the rugged mountain's brow
Clara threw the twins she nursed,
And remarked, "I wonder now
Which will reach the bottom first?"
"Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes"
"Col. D. Streamer" (pseudonym of Harry Graham)
La Crisis
So, although Thursday and Friday were official holidays (and Madrid was deserted, making me doubly glad that I didn't push myself to go to Bilbao), Spain did get a new government this week. On Tuesday, accompanied by the usual fanfare and gobbledygook, Prime Minister Zapatero announced a major reshuffle of his cabinet. The main change appears to be that the new cabinet is composed of more hardline socialists, and that - for the first time in the country's history - a woman will head up the Ministry of Economics. Specifically, this woman, Elena Salgado:
(picture found here )
As an article in today's "El País" points out, she will have her work cut out for her. Unemployment here in Spain is creeping up inexorably towards the 4 million mark, assorted banks have failed and had to be bailed out within the past six months -- it's the same, sad, familiar story as everywhere else.
When we were in Andalucia last week, the signs of "la crisis" were obvious. Other than one other couple, we appeared to be the only guests in the hotel. Cafés and bars were relatively deserted. It was a marked contrast to two years ago, when I was in Seville at pretty much the same time of the year and the place was bustling with tourists. Here in Madrid, signs of the crisis are not as immediately evident, but are fairly obvious once you keep your eyes peeled. One example that comes to mind is that both churches that I pass on the way to my 7pm class have long lines of folks waiting for the soup kitchens to open at 7 o'clock. Something that, if it was happening two years ago, I have no recollection of seeing.
Nonetheless, there are still crowds of shoppers at El Corte Inglés, and pretty much everyone managed to get out of town this weekend, so whatever the true dimensions of "la crisis", it doesn't yet appear to have hit the madrileño middle classes very hard.
(picture found here )
As an article in today's "El País" points out, she will have her work cut out for her. Unemployment here in Spain is creeping up inexorably towards the 4 million mark, assorted banks have failed and had to be bailed out within the past six months -- it's the same, sad, familiar story as everywhere else.
When we were in Andalucia last week, the signs of "la crisis" were obvious. Other than one other couple, we appeared to be the only guests in the hotel. Cafés and bars were relatively deserted. It was a marked contrast to two years ago, when I was in Seville at pretty much the same time of the year and the place was bustling with tourists. Here in Madrid, signs of the crisis are not as immediately evident, but are fairly obvious once you keep your eyes peeled. One example that comes to mind is that both churches that I pass on the way to my 7pm class have long lines of folks waiting for the soup kitchens to open at 7 o'clock. Something that, if it was happening two years ago, I have no recollection of seeing.
Nonetheless, there are still crowds of shoppers at El Corte Inglés, and pretty much everyone managed to get out of town this weekend, so whatever the true dimensions of "la crisis", it doesn't yet appear to have hit the madrileño middle classes very hard.
Future Plans (and Champagne)
It occurs to me that I have blogged very little about my day-to-day life here in Madrid during this trip, so I thought I'd try to remedy that as I head into my final week. I think part of the reason is because I've been so happy here - somehow calamity and adversity seem to make for better blogfodder than day-to-day contentedness. It has been a wonderful trip, providing further confirmation for the observation that it does me a power of good to get up off my rear end and get out of San Francisco. Those winter reading marathons are enjoyable in their own way, and raise my profile over on the goodreads site, but nothing beats actually getting out of the apartment and out of the city. As always, even the mundane stuff is more fun when you do it in a foreign city and in a foreign language.
The only problem is that I'm not sure how long I can continue to use learning Spanish as a pretext for my travels. Although classes at Don Quijote have been enjoyable, and my Spanish has continued to improve, the inescapable truth is that the gains at this point are somewhat marginal, at best. This time around I placed directly into the highest level, where I had the distinct feeling most of the time of being well ahead of my classmates, at least as far as speaking ability is concerned. I slacked off a bit on the grammar this time, largely out of boredom, but also due to a certain degree of laziness. As always, the teachers at dQ have been wonderful; I wouldn't say the same for my classmates, a few of whom I actively dislike. Though it's tempting to elaborate, I will leave it at that, because I don't want to offend anyone unnecessarily who might end up reading this blog. I'm just glad that I didn't sign up to stay through the advanced DELE exam in mid-May, because faced with the option of preparing for it with the particular group assembled in Madrid, I would have had to flee to Salamanca.
Anyway, I think I can justify one more trip to Latin America (with maybe a side trip of a week or two to Costa Rica), probably in the July-September time frame. I very much want to go back to Buenos Aires, as well as seeing more of Argentina, and would like to spend some time in Chile as well. The Don Quijote school in Cuzco, in contrast, at an elevation of 11,000 feet, holds no particular attraction. After that, I will be faced with a major decision - either try to put my knowledge of Spanish to practical use by, e.g. seeking a visiting academic position in a Spanish-speaking location (something I intend to look into seriously as soon as I get back to SF), or start afresh with a new language, most probably French. Interestingly, one thing that doesn't tempt me in the slightest is going back to practice statistics within the biopharmaceutical sector - I spent a very enjoyable 25 years doing that, but have no particular desire to do it again. And, though it's taken me two years to reach this point, I also no longer feel guilty about not wanting to go back. But I do need something to get me out of San Francisco, even if it's for only half the year, as I have a definite tendency to fall into a rut if I stay there too long.
Anyway, the plan for the immediate future* is to go back and take care of my taxes, go down to visit my friends Peggy and Andy in Southern California round the beginning of May. Then fly to Scotland and Ireland to visit friends and relatives there, and to meet up with my sister Emer and her husband Dale, later on in May. In June I hope to spend some time on the east coast (DC, Baltimore, New York, Chapel Hill) to catch up with friends there, before taking a longer trip to Latin America, starting in July. The big question is what happens after that, but right now I'm happy enough to map things out six months at a time.
I know, I know. Everybody should have such problems. Trust me, I count my blessings every day.
*: Major props are due to Paddy, Katie, and Adam for helping me shape this plan, and for making it clear in no uncertain terms that if I showed further signs of falling into a vegetative rut in San Francisco that they would personally mount an intervention to save me from myself. I love them all dearly, more than they can possibly know.
The plain people of Ireland: Yes, yes. That's all very interesting, but aren't you forgetting something? Isn't there some occasion you want to mark?
MOTP: ?! Oh, yes. Sure. Happy Easter to all my readers.
The plain people of Ireland: Not that. Something else, maybe?
MOTP: Ah, yes. Of course. It's champagne ye're after isn't it? Well, have a pew and join me in a glass to celebrate this, the quinquecentennial post on this blog.
The plain people of Ireland: Yerra, we thought you'd never ask. Still, five-hundred, that's not too shabby at all.
Fade to the sound of ribald celebration.
The only problem is that I'm not sure how long I can continue to use learning Spanish as a pretext for my travels. Although classes at Don Quijote have been enjoyable, and my Spanish has continued to improve, the inescapable truth is that the gains at this point are somewhat marginal, at best. This time around I placed directly into the highest level, where I had the distinct feeling most of the time of being well ahead of my classmates, at least as far as speaking ability is concerned. I slacked off a bit on the grammar this time, largely out of boredom, but also due to a certain degree of laziness. As always, the teachers at dQ have been wonderful; I wouldn't say the same for my classmates, a few of whom I actively dislike. Though it's tempting to elaborate, I will leave it at that, because I don't want to offend anyone unnecessarily who might end up reading this blog. I'm just glad that I didn't sign up to stay through the advanced DELE exam in mid-May, because faced with the option of preparing for it with the particular group assembled in Madrid, I would have had to flee to Salamanca.
Anyway, I think I can justify one more trip to Latin America (with maybe a side trip of a week or two to Costa Rica), probably in the July-September time frame. I very much want to go back to Buenos Aires, as well as seeing more of Argentina, and would like to spend some time in Chile as well. The Don Quijote school in Cuzco, in contrast, at an elevation of 11,000 feet, holds no particular attraction. After that, I will be faced with a major decision - either try to put my knowledge of Spanish to practical use by, e.g. seeking a visiting academic position in a Spanish-speaking location (something I intend to look into seriously as soon as I get back to SF), or start afresh with a new language, most probably French. Interestingly, one thing that doesn't tempt me in the slightest is going back to practice statistics within the biopharmaceutical sector - I spent a very enjoyable 25 years doing that, but have no particular desire to do it again. And, though it's taken me two years to reach this point, I also no longer feel guilty about not wanting to go back. But I do need something to get me out of San Francisco, even if it's for only half the year, as I have a definite tendency to fall into a rut if I stay there too long.
Anyway, the plan for the immediate future* is to go back and take care of my taxes, go down to visit my friends Peggy and Andy in Southern California round the beginning of May. Then fly to Scotland and Ireland to visit friends and relatives there, and to meet up with my sister Emer and her husband Dale, later on in May. In June I hope to spend some time on the east coast (DC, Baltimore, New York, Chapel Hill) to catch up with friends there, before taking a longer trip to Latin America, starting in July. The big question is what happens after that, but right now I'm happy enough to map things out six months at a time.
I know, I know. Everybody should have such problems. Trust me, I count my blessings every day.
*: Major props are due to Paddy, Katie, and Adam for helping me shape this plan, and for making it clear in no uncertain terms that if I showed further signs of falling into a vegetative rut in San Francisco that they would personally mount an intervention to save me from myself. I love them all dearly, more than they can possibly know.
The plain people of Ireland: Yes, yes. That's all very interesting, but aren't you forgetting something? Isn't there some occasion you want to mark?
MOTP: ?! Oh, yes. Sure. Happy Easter to all my readers.
The plain people of Ireland: Not that. Something else, maybe?
MOTP: Ah, yes. Of course. It's champagne ye're after isn't it? Well, have a pew and join me in a glass to celebrate this, the quinquecentennial post on this blog.
The plain people of Ireland: Yerra, we thought you'd never ask. Still, five-hundred, that's not too shabby at all.
Fade to the sound of ribald celebration.
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