He who must not be named

One of the shameful aspects of coming to a country with a rich recent history like Argentina's, is that one is immediately confronted with one's own lamentable ignorance. On Wednesday in class, we saw a documentary, "La Republica Perdida" ("The Lost Republic"), covering the country's history from rougly 1928 to 1983, and I was brought face to face with the fact that I didn't know Evita from Isabel Perón. So I've been boning up on a little paperback "Breve historia de la Argentina" (by José Luis Romero) ever since.

One aspect of the more recent history (the book stops in the mid-90's) which we also learned about in class, and which I find completely hilarious, is the following. The Argentines have a word called "yeta", (pronounced "Shetta", to rhyme with "Jetta"), which can be loosely translated as a jinx, or someone who brings bad luck. Other synonyms for this same concept are "mufa" and "semáforo" (the latter word also means a traffic light). I seem to remember an X-Files episode based on a similar premise, but that's another story.

Anyway, it turns out that the former ill-fated, palindromic president of the Republic, the much-reviled (for his big-business, World Bank, U.S. capitalism-pleasing ways) Carlos Menem, who was in power during the lead-in to the economic collapse of December 2001*, is held in such superstitious contempt that most Argentines refuse to mention him by name (believing it to bring bad luck), so that he is now universally referred to only as "el yeta", in a kind of Voldemortian reverse homage.

*: After the increasingly agitated pot-and-pan-beating demonstrations (or "cacerolazos") by housewives, and members of the lower and middle classes, in the Plaza de Mayo, he had to be airlifted by helicopter from the Casa Rosada, thereby initiating the crisis, and the so-called "semana de los cinco presidentes", which - perhaps in unconscious recall of the Italian origins of many Argentine politicians - had the country experience five presidents in as many days.

Even now, our teacher Carolina has yet to mention his name, referring to him only as "El Yeta". It cracks me up every time.

Defunct professions

Economists like to cite "buggy whip maker" as an example of a profession whose career prospects were dimmed, and ultimately quenched, by the inexorable march of technological progress. Some other jobs which have become obsolete:

• leech collector
• harbinger
• powder monkey
• match girl
• mudlark
• child chimney sweep
• loblolly boy
• featherie maker
• faggot maker
• doctor maker
• maiden maker
• sprigger
• spragger
• legger
• pugger
  

Of course, many of these jobs existed long before OSHA regulations were in effect. So a few side effects were to be expected. I will return to this topic in a future post. For now, let us just be glad that the incidence of cancer of the scrotum has decreased, along with the waning use of children as chimney sweeps.

I am 8 years old!!!

Or why else do I find this hotel name so hilarious?

I'm imagining a mystery story: "Revenge of the Colon". Chic young socialite Pamela Ffrench-Sealyham-Bassett, heiress to a large petfood-licorice-allsort conglomerate and her aristocratic fiancé, Geoffrey Ponsonby-Ffeatherstonehaugh (pronounced "Chumley"), 11th Earl of the Falklands, check in to the Hotel Colon, and are never heard from again. Could it be death from gradual meat intoxication, the inevitable result of a diet completely devoid of cruciferous vegetables? Or are there more sinister forces at work in the bowels of the Hotel Colon?

Why not buy the book (available soon in the famed "Malvinas Mysteries" series?) and find out for yourself?*

*Hollywood agents: please contact this blog directly to discuss screen treatment options.

Hours of Geekish Fun

Sometimes I'm almost ashamed at how little it takes to bring me hours of delirious pleasure. The latest example would be this totally awesome Lunfardo-English dictionary (or mataburros), a steal at 25 pesos. Lunfardo is, of course, the local Buenos Aires patois, with roots in the argot of prisoners, and parallels to the French Verlan. For instance, "tordo" for 'doctor', obtained by an inversion of the syllables; the procedure itself is referred to as "vesre", by inversion of the syllables of revés.




Time considerations forbid me from going on at great length this evening (though you may expect me to return to this particular treasure trove at intervals). But two of my favorite entries so far include:

raviol: a small packet of cocaine

and the hilariously translated

darle margaritas a los chanchos: which you or I might think means "to cast pearls before swine", but which the dictionary earnestly assures us means, "to waste something on someone", literally, "to feed margaritas to the pigs".

And with that unforgettable image of the tequila-swilling porkers, we shall have to leave things for tonight.

La vida cotidiana (2)

Random observations.

1. Protein intoxication -

I don't know if it's possible to die from an overdose of meat, but if it is, that stands to be one of the main perils of life here in Buenos Aires. For ridiculously little money, one is regularly served enough meat (steak, veal, chicken, whatever it might be) to feed a small army. Green leafy vegetables seem dangerously lacking in the local food pyramid. And believe me, as a practising Irishman, it takes a lot before one acknowledges this situation.

2. Petrol pump attendants -

You thought New Jersey was the only place on the planet where drivers don't pump their own gas?* Nope. At the Shell station a block from my apartment, there is a whole cadre of pump-jockeys, ready to spring to attention at the approach of a Fiat.

3. Leadership secrets of the J.....!!!!

Probably the most sinister thing (OK, really the only sinister thing) I've seen here all week was the guy at the table next to me at lunch yesterday, who was engrossed in a little paperback with the ominous title "El líderazgo al estilo de los jesuitos", roughly translatable as "Leadership Secrets of the Jesuits".

*: based on historical memory - may no longer be accurate in 2008.

The plain people of Ireland: The Jesuits; them fellas were well able to beat sense into the kids. But sure these days, there's no such thing as corporal punishment in the schools. And look at what we have to show for it. Back when Noel was a boy up in Clongowes ....
The management: Oh, puh-leeze. Spare me your maundering reminiscences. Somewhere James Joyce is spinning in his grave.
The plain people of Ireland: James Joyce, is it? Sure yer man had a terrible dirty mind altogether. And now they're making girls like Nuala read that kind of filth for the Leaving Cert. What's the country coming to at all?
The management: (Sigh)

MATE!!

Carolina has made MATE!!!




Rodrigo's not really a fan...





David is suspicious, but willing to try.

La vida cotidiana

There is so much about Buenos Aires that is charming, it's hard to know where to begin. Maybe with the most important meal of the day - breakfast. I've already found my regular café, just across from the school, where I can start the day with a leisurely café con leche, a pastry, and the day's copy of El País.

Charming aspects of this encounter:

• Pastry names: a simple croissant is a medialuna (literally a "half-moon", a slight misnomer, as they are unquivocally crescent-shaped), and can be ordered "dulce" or "salada" (salted). A more complex, stickier, pastry can also be had - this is known as a factura. A name which I find hilarious, as factura also means "bill", or final reckoning. I think it's kind of cute to be reminded of the final reckoning as one orders that sugar-laden, artery-clogging, buttery, flaky, pastry.
• That one gets served a refreshing glass of cold seltzer with one's coffee.
• The price: a standard breakfast "deal" is coffee with three small medialunas for 6 pesos, that is 2 US dollars*.

*: Since the dollar sign '$' is used to denote both pesos and US dollars, I will try to avoid using it, to prevent possible confusion.

Name that Kevin!

Today, I reach out to all my readers with a challenge:

• Identify the Kevin featured in this photo. (I am really not sure, though I have this sneaking suspicion it might just be ..... K-Fed. But then I think, surely not).
• Provide the requisite linkage to Kevin Bacon.
• Extra credit: Provide the Bacon-Erdös number for the individual in the photo.

Notes and hints: If the picture is indeed that of K-Fed, his appearance during the past year as a WWE "participant" will be considered an acceptable starting node. (Even if it isn't K-Fed, amuse yourselves by pretending it is).

For the extra credit part (which is really a direct challenge to Professors Davidian and Tsiatis, though if anyone cares to shame them by providing an earlier answer, so much the better), a Bacon-Erdös number is defined in the obvious way; its calculation obviously requires an intimate knowledge of both popular culture and mathematical celebrities. There are a few obvious bridges between both worlds, but why should I make it too simple....

El País Redux

A pleasant surprise here in Buenos Aires is the ready availability of "El País", in what appears to be essentially the same version as that in Spain. Even more pleasing is its price - at 2.50 pesos it works out at around 84 cents, which is about half what it cost in Spain. The whole pricing structure seems mysterious, and more than a little arbitrary - for instance, in Costa Rica it achieves definite luxury status, at a daily cost of 3.75 US dollars. Similarly, in Chile it's no bargain either, costing almost 2.50 US dollars. But I'm not complaining - it's a definite steal here in Argentina.

My love affair with El País continues unabated. For instance, it provides the perfect filter through which to read about the Olympics. Instead of being blasted with the usual hegemonistic braying of the U.S. media, it's kind of refreshing to see Spain's bronze medal in fencing get front page status. Then there was this gem, buried deep inside yesterday's edition:

"Iggy Pop se queda sin guitarra; Iron Maiden también"

Next to a photo of Iggy, looking suitably bereft, are the details. Apparently, while Iggy and his band were on tour in Canada, somebody made off with their van - from the parking lot of a Montreal Embassy Suites. The van was later discovered a few blocks away, but sans equipment.

Hard to know what's more poignant - the loss of Iggy's beloved guitar, or the fact that these days, while on tour, he stays at the Embassy Suites. And one's heart goes out to the robbed rebels of rock in Iron Maiden. Who are offering a reward, should any of you blog readers out there know any more about their loss.

A Colourful Blur

This photo kind of sums up my impressions of today. A wonderful, exhausting first day here in Buenos Aires. There are some slightly more lucid photos on my Flick'r stream:

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

Enjoy! I need to get to bed.

David

Childhood Memory

In Fermoy, where I grew up, the national (primary) school I attended was just next door to a Faber-Castell factory, which closed at some later point during my childhood. We schoolkids used to benefit from their reject pencils.

Apparently, Faber-Castell are still going strong here in Buenos Aires. As are Fiat, and a bunch of other companies I haven´t come across in years.

Enter Mercedes, in pursuit of the almighty dollar

Things were hopping in the apartment earlier this evening (relatively speaking). Within a ten-minute period, I received both a phone call and a visitor. And to think I thought nobody knew where I had gone to ground.

The phone call was straightforward enough - a welcoming call from ByT, the agency which helped me locate the apartment, to see if everything was going OK. Five minutes later, a knock at the door. Who could it be?

At this point I should mention that my good friend Paddy ("MOB") B. has kindly pointed out what she perceives to be an incipient trend in my Latin American peregrinations. Personally, I think she may be succumbing to the all-too-human tendency to discern patterns where none exists. But who am I to say? Maybe she's on to something. The meme in question would be "poor communication with the 86-year old Latina".

I answered the door, to be greeted by an imperious señora of - oh about - 86 or so, in a wheelchair, being pushed by an obviously apologetic nurse-aide. Minor chit-chat on the threshold, during which the imperious Mercedes made it clear she had something to discuss with me, of sufficient magnitude to require her entry into my apartment. How could I refuse?

Moments later, we regroup around the dining-room table in my (sparsely, but adequately furnished) rented apartment. For which I have paid, a little over 24 hours earlier, the entire 7 weeks rent in advance (plus one month security deposit). Substantial moolah.

This matters not a whit to Mercedes, who has plans of her own. It turns out, see, that SHE owns a bigger, two-bedroom, apartment elsewhere in the building, which her sons (clearly she must have meant grandsons, as her sons would be in their sixties, by my estimation) have just refurbished (though not actually furnished), and she is willing to rent this much larger, completely unfurnished apartment to me, beginning at once, for a steal at a mere $1800 a month - here she smiles triumphantly, as if to seal the deal - "for as long as I desire, even until Christmas".

I can't really explain why it took 15 minutes (to the obvious excruciating embarrassment of the long-suffering nurse´s aide) to communicate to Mercedes that (i) while I was eternally grateful for her consideration (ii) I was in fact just one person, so that a second bedroom provided little extra attraction (iii) I had no furniture, so that an unfurnished apartment provided no attraction whatsoever and - sobretodo - (iv) I had paid for the apartment in which we now found ourselves, in full, through September 29th. Other than the obvious explanation that Mercedes´s listening powers were highly selective.

Eventually they left, and I was left to ponder yet another apparent failure in communication with the Spanish-speaking over-80´s set.

But I can't help thinking. Oh, Mercedes, was it my charming personality that provided the impetus for your ever-so-generous offer? Or is it just possible that you just viewed me as a potential conduit to the almighty dollar? I guess we shall never know with certainty.

Monday morning update.

Monday morning, 9:30. First impressions & completely random thoughts:

• The apartment is terrific - hugely centrally located.
• The usual sense of accomplishment provided by totally mundane stuff - like finding, and successfully negotiating, the supermarket yesterday evening.
• Or figuring out how to make my cellphone function as an alarm clock.
• From apartment to school is about a 25-minute walk, which seems ideal.
• Dinner last night at this great Italian place on the next block over. Waiter spent 10 minutes helping me with my Spanish - always a good sign.
• The night doorman at the building did the same, on the grounds that it was "very unusual" to meet a foreigner who was interested in speaking Spanish.
• Definite San Francisco weather. It is winter here, after all. Not super-cold, but definitely not warm.
• Dark by 7pm last night. Also dark when I got up at 6:30 this morning - however, this is an hour earlier than what I hope is my usual schedule (had to do my placement test).
• I think I just aced my placement test.
• Practical matters - still figuring out the best phone option. Seems as if it may not be the cellphone. Details when available.
• Internet cafes are plentiful and cheap. So I'm glad I left the laptop at home.

I think it's going to be completely awesome. Also, I promise to revert to a less choppy style, once I've had the chance to settle in a little bit. Honest. I promise.

It's gonna be just awesome!!!!!

Yea!!!

The eagle has landed

It's 6pm here on Sunday afternoon in Buenos Aires. Do you know where your favorite Irish biostatistical blogger is? (If so, please send messages to this blog).

Just kidding. He is safe and sound in downtown B.A. After a long (almost 11 hours) flight from Washington Dulles, got in this morning without any problems, got a taxi to the apartment, where I signed the contract for my stay, got the keys, and promptly crashed for the afternoon.

Am now out and about in the city center, which is fascinating. So far, the weather seems similar to that in San Francisco before leaving. Which does bring to mind the inevitable comment, attributable - I believe - to Mark Twain, about how the coldest winter he ever endured was summer in S.F.

Enough with the meteorological babbling. This post is just to say I'm here in B.A., safe and sound.

Much more later.

Global Idiomatic Wisdom

1. Сами с усами:
We weren't born yesterday. We didn't come down in the last shower.
(literally: "We have moustaches too").



2. No se pescan truchas a bragas enjutas:
No pain, no gain.
(literally: "One does not catch trout in tight pants").

3. Tá seacht ngalar na sléibhte orm:
I feel sick as a dog.
(literally: "The seven diseases of the mountains are upon me").

4. Avoir d'autres chats à fouetter:
To have other fish to fry.
(literally: "To have other cats to whip").

5. Panne d’oreiller:
A lie-in, sleep-in.
(literally: a "pillow failure").

6. Avoir un chat dans le gorge:
To have a frog (literally: "a cat") in one's throat.

7. Appuyer sur le champignon:
To put the pedal to the metal; to accelerate.
(literally: "to press the mushroom").

8. Eulen nach Athen tragen:
To bring coals to Newcastle.
(literally: "to bring owls to Athens").

9. Das letzte Hemd hat keine Taschen:
You can't take it with you.
(literally: "A shroud has no pockets").

10. Mедведь на ухо наступил:
Said of someone who has no ear for music.
(literally: "A bear has crushed his ear").

Buenos Aires

I heard back from the apartment rental folks in Buenos Aires, who confirmed my reservation for this apartment:

link to apartment at Cordoba and Uruguay

It seems very centrally located, and - as far as I can judge* - is about 8 to 10 blocks from the school.

As it gets closer to my departure date, I'm hitting my Spanish books again, and am getting excited about the trip.

*: An oddity of google maps is a complete lack of the street overlay option for Buenos Aires, and for cities throughout Argentina, as far as I can ascertain. Whatever subvariation of Murphy's Law that governs maps naturally ensures that the location of the school vanishes into the fold of the book in my Fodor's guide, which makes it a little hard to figure things out exactly.

Heading South

I have finalized details of my trip to Argentina, which are as follows:

SF to DC: leave Thursday evening, August 7th
DC to Buenos Aires: leave Saturday evening, August 9th
arrive Buenos Aires, Sunday August 10th
leave Buenos Aires, Sunday September 28th
arrive DC, Monday September 29th
DC to SF: Tuesday September 30th

This allows me to take seven weeks of classes (30 hours/week) at the don Quijote school in Buenos Aires.
Arrangements for an apartment in B.A. are still in progress.

The Cupertino Effect

In one of the essays in her wonderful collection "Ex Libris", Anne Fadiman writes about the proofreading gene that runs in her family, and how her family members enjoyed nothing better than playing 'find the typo' in whatever document was to hand - newspapers, restaurant menus, travel brochures, or just signs in shop windows. I think it's entirely plausible that spelling ability has a genetic component - my experience is that people either have little difficulty with spelling, or they have major difficulties. There doesn't appear to be any particular link with intelligence - some of the worst spellers I've ever known have been extraordinarily smart, and to suggest that mastery of spelling implies any broader talent doesn't seem warranted.

For the record, everyone in my family can spell. My sister remarked to me recently that, had she not chosen medicine, she could have had a career in proofreading, because typos just 'leap off the page' to claim her attention. I have the same experience, even in a document being read by someone across from me, typos leap out at me, even when they are upside down. (Of course, internet comeuppance pretty much guarantees that this post will contain at least one egregious error before I'm done, but that can't be helped).

All of which means that I have never used a spell-checker, and thus have never fallen victim to the Cupertino effect. What's the Cupertino effect, you ask? It's the phenomenon that happens when over-reliance on spellcheckers results in the substitution of the word "Cupertino" for "cooperation" in a document. This specific substitution is believed to be particularly common in European Union documents; the document at this link contains several fine examples in the last five paragraphs.

By extension, the inappropriate substitution could be any word from the spellchecker list. For instance, a recent AP article, renamed the U.S. presidential candidates in relatively amusing fashion:

"Gore told the AP he hoped the speech would contribute to "a new political environment in this country that will allow the next president to do what I think the next president is going to think is the right thing to do." He said both fellow Democrat Barrack Abeam and Republican rival John moccasin are "way ahead" of most politicians in the fight against global climate change.

moccasin, who supports building more nuclear power plants as one solution to global warming, said Thursday he admires Gore as an early and outspoken advocate of addressing the global warming problem even though "there may be some aspects of climate change that he and I are in disagreement (on)."

– Dino Capiello, "Gore: Carbon-free electricity in 10 years doable", AP (17 July 2008)
discussed by Mark Liberman on Language Log, July 28, 2008.

NEW WORDS

• BEEPIDEMIOLOGY: Scientific efforts to elucidate the causes of the precipitous and alarming disappearance of honeybee colonies worldwide : CSI comes to the apiary.
• MOSQUIKO: A pesky insect. The bite of the female of the species has been implicated in the worldwide spread of malarky.
• RHODORHINORANGIFERICIDE: The killing of a red-nosed reindeer.
• THIGMOHISPANOSPHAGNOKINESIS: movement in response to being stroked by Spanish moss.
• CARPATHIAN TUNNEL SYNDROME : fear of being trapped under a mountain in Slovakia.
• CHOANOPITAPHILIA :An addiction to funnel cake.
• GLUMBO : A highly spiced covered dish, typically brought by friends and neighbors to comfort the bereaved at a Cajun funeral.
• GODSWALLOP: A random, apparently meaningless, disaster or catastrophe, what insurance companies refer to as an act of God. If you are at the receiving end, basically you're screwed. Though FEMA might drop by to sneer after about a week or so.
• GYNOAROMABULIA: The inability to decide which is one's favorite Spice Girl.
• LUFTWAFFLE: A particularly fluffy breakfast dish, favorite of German pilots.
• MOUNTIE BANK: A shady Canadian financial institution.
• MANXIETY: Fear of cats without tails.
• CUIRBOUILLABAISSE: A type of stew in which the primary ingredient is mystery meat, having the consistency of boiled leather.
  
• TROMP'BONE: A wind instrument so ethereal you're not even sure it's really there.

Dancing with the statistical stars

When the wedding celebrations were done on Sunday, I headed south from Charlottesville to visit my old graduate school stomping grounds in Chapel Hill, and to catch up with former friends and colleagues. I spent Monday and Tuesday night visiting with my co-author, Marie Davidian, and her husband, Butch (Anastasios) Tsiatis.



Marie and Butch are both professors in the Statistics Department at N.C. State in Raleigh. When I visited they had just returned from the East Coast Classic ballroom dancing contest in Savannah, in which they snagged the top amateur award in their category.



Now, I was pretty happy with the charcoal-gray Giorgio Canali suit that I wore at Katie's wedding (purchased at Nordstrom's just for the occasion). But, as these pictures clearly indicate, I can never hope to match the sartorial splendor of Butch and Marie.


The gentleman with Marie in the middle picture is her dance instructor, Robert.

Marie and Butch have long been stars in the statistical firmament. Obviously, they are well on their way to total domination in the cutthroat world of ballroom dancing as well.

It was a great visit.

A most excellent wedding

I've been on the road (still am), so it's been hard to find time to update this blog. Not for want of news, though. The biggest and best piece of news is that the wedding of my charming, gorgeous, funny, witty, and talented god-daughter, Katie, to her equally charming, funny, witty and talented fiance, Adam*, went off without a hitch this past Saturday in Scottsville, VA. It was a terrific wedding, not a dry eye in the crowd, and a wonderful time was had by all. I particularly appreciated the chance to get to know Adam's family better (including his Aunt Barbara, who made the most righteous wedding cake pictured above, and took far better pictures of the wedding than I could manage), as well as the opportunity to see Paddy's family, who made the trip north from Huntsville, AL for the occasion. Celebrations lasted from Thursday evening to Sunday at noon, and it really was a terrific occasion. I could post photos for days, but will limit myself to one more, of the bride and groom:



* : oh, OK - Adam is a fine-looking young man, but I draw the line at 'gorgeous'. :-)

Some more wedding pictures can be found on my Flick'r photostream at http://www.flickr.com/photos/gaelstat/

Literary games (1)

No, not the Paul Auster kind. Let's start with the ever-popular "CHANGE ONE LETTER" game, in which the rule is to change one letter in an existing book title and give a brief description of the imagined result.

1. Wife of Pi

What is life like when you are married to one of nature's most famously irrational entities? Someone whose life and qualities seem to be fair game for mathematicians the world over? What if your spouse's digits are a topic of gossip worldwide - to the extent that geeks in internet chatrooms and idiots savants on PBS boast about their familiarity with those same digits? How does it feel to have your spouse's philandering relationship with that Eulerian trollop e immortalized for ever on the lavatory stall walls in engineering buildings and in math texts from Bratislava to Brazzaville, from Abkhazia to Zimbabwe? Even though some have said the relationship is purely an imaginary one.

"Wife of Pi" explores the story of an unsung heroine of mathematics, as Cherry Pi reveals what life is like as the spouse of one of nature's bad boiz. She clearly loves her man: "Sure he can be irrational, but life with him is just transcendental", she swoons, "I couldn't imagine it any other way".

2. A Thousand Splendid Subs

Jared's Story.

3. Goldilocks and the Three Beards


Once again, Goldi wondered just why it was that Fate had caused her to be trapped in an elevator with Kelly Preston, Nicole Kidman, and Katie Holmes.

4. A la recherche du temps Perdue

A man. A madeline. A chicken. A dream. It takes a tough man to write an autobiography as tender as this.

5. Sexbiscuit

The Anna Nicole Smith story.

6. The Year of Jiving Dangerously

Indonesian authorities crack down on dirty dancing.

7. Caesar's Garlic Wars

Internecine strife threatens to bring down a pizza-making empire.

8. Fast Wood Nation

Listening to Viagra.

9. Mulder on the Orient Express

Obviously, Poirot's "explanation" of the murder was just part of a government coverup.

10. CEO Wulf

A business fable about the monster in the corner office.

Back in the U.S.A.

After a fairly horrific day of travel* yesterday, reporting in safe and sound from San Francisco. The kitties are happy and healthy (thanks, Brad!) and have been purring madly for the past 24 hours. Which, I think, means that they have forgiven me for my temporary absence.

And I am delighted to report that, despite the horrifically early hour (6am), I forced myself to overcome my natural reticence and engaged the taxi driver in conversation on the way to the airport. For the entire half-hour trip we chatted away, and not once was I stuck for words. The cab driver was so impressed that he kept asking me if I wasn't a Spanish teacher. So I felt pretty good about that aspect of the trip.

I felt pretty good about every aspect of the trip, when you get right down to it, except for the recurring stomach problems, which - while not serious - were fairly frequent, and somewhat uncomfortable. Don't know what I might have done differently in retrospect, some of the more extreme advice I received (brush your teeth with bottled water; don't take ice with your soft drinks; don't eat salad, etc.) seems frankly impractical.

But, in the end, this was just a minor inconvenience. I loved Guanajuato and - in particular - pretty much everyone I met on the trip was totally charming. (The occasional exceptions, I regret to report, could be classified securely in the 'ugly American' category, but they were fortunately few and far between.)

Back on the home front, a quick trip to Nordstrom's this afternoon took care of today's super-important errand. Yes, that's right - the elegant, charcoal-grey Italian suit, she is purchased, and will be ready for pick-up on Wednesday afternoon. Let nobody accuse this blogger of showing up like a slob for his only goddaughter's wedding. Eventual photographic documentation of this sartorial splurge seems inevitable, so be patient.

* you don't want to know, trust me.

Náhuatl tongue-twisters

Warning: doggerel directly ahead!

Popocatepetl

Sure, it's a volcano.

But it's also a word that'll test your mettle.

Itzcuintli

Sacred dog of the Aztecs, beloved by Frida Kahlo,

ugly as a Sharpei but not quite as crinkly

Quetzalcoatl

Not just a plumed serpent god beloved by D.H. Lawrence among others,

but also a word that's hard to say, in fact if it doesn't make you stammer and stutter,

I dunno what'll.

Oozy rat in a sanitary zoo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_pYYff7qP0

¿Qué pasa?

Just catching up since Sunday. Monday evening was the long-awaited "cena de bienvenido" (not a moment too soon, as this is my last week). There were many new students, including a big group from California, but none at the advanced level. Which means that it's back to one-on-one in my conversation classes with Manuel every day. Learning a lot, but I tend to be pretty exhausted by the time 3 o'clock rolls around. Yesterday evening I had a very nice dinner with Renee and her husband Steve, both from Huntsville. Renee was my housemate at Aurora's during my first week here, and Steve just joined her on Saturday, staying for the week. I give him major points for signing up for the beginners' class at the school for the week. Tonight is the regular Café Social, probably followed by drinking and debauching at the 'Bar Ocho', which has the distinct advantage of being only a block from the hotel, so that I can roll home easily.

On the cultural side of things, not all of one's choices can be successful. I walked out of "Sin Lugar para los Debiles" (No Country for Old Men) somewhere around the half-hour mark, just as Javier Bardem was racking up his 10th victim, with disturbing relish and no end in sight. On the literary side, Paul Auster's "New York Trilogy" (which I picked up second-hand last week when my craving for something to read in English became too great) was a major disappointment. More accurately, the first 'story' of the trilogy, "City of Glass" was such an irritatingly self-referential, hyper-cerebral, 'what a clever boy am I', piece of vacuous pomo garbage that I have sworn off this particular 'writer' for life....

The plain people of Ireland: What was that? You're reading porno now?
The management: No, idiots! Not 'porno' as in 'pornography'. 'Pomo' as in 'post-modern'.
The plain people of Ireland: Are you sure? Looks like porno to us.
The management: What we have here is a font kerning issue. Look it up.
The plain people of Ireland: 'keming' - what's 'keming'?
The management: Oh, never mind....

Mysteries of Guanajuato

Like any good travel destination, Guanajuato does not reveal all of its charms at once, preferring to retain that certain air of mystery to keep the traveler is intrigued. There are at several mysteries of Guanajuato which continue to keep this particular visitor baffled. Here are two:

1. The bells.

Mexico is a Catholic country, and there are plenty of churches here in the city. Each equipped with a belfry. The mystery is what possible benighted schedule, if any, governs the sounding of the bells. On a typical evening, 8 o'clock will come and go, with barely a tintinnabulation (or whatever it is that bells do) to mark the occasion. Then, for no apparent reason, completely out of nowhere, 8:15 comes and every church in town goes crazy. It can take 5 minutes for the assorted pealing to come to an end.

Not that it's the same every night. That would be far too simple. Some evenings the eruption might be at 8:45. Or there might be two, one at 7:45, another at 8:30. The only consistency appears to be that the full campanological power is rarely unleashed directly on the hour. Because that would seem altogether far too reasonable.

2. The hotel furniture.

I've had two weeks to ponder this, and it still has me beat. Did they have a contest? Did someone actually come up with a competition to see who could design the worst furniture ever? I'm not talking aesthetics here (though God knows some of it is pretty ugly). I'm just talking in terms of actual - you know - function. Because most of the furniture in my hotel room is actually completely useless. Bulky. But useless.

Unless, of course, you happen to be paraplegic. Or a midget. Or both.

You doubt me? You want photographic documentation? Be my guest:



Not actually usable by anyone who has, you know, knees.



Useful if you were thinking of entertaining a couple of the seven dwarves, maybe.



This almost hits the trifecta. It's bulky, hideously ugly, but is not completely useless, I suppose.

Best. Breakfast. Ever.

Sometimes life just hands you a little gift. Out of the blue, for no apparent reason. This morning was one of those times. (Out of respect for privacy, I've changed the names - everything else is just as it happened).

About 11am, and I had gone out in search of breakfast. I ended up in a little courtyard cafe near the center, and decided to risk the "hot cakes" with my coffee. Passing the time alternating between doing my homework for tomorrow's class and watching the world go by. At one of the other tables in the cafe, there were what appeared to be two elderly U.S. couples - with all the appearance of retired academics. Which is nothing unusual here in Guanajuato - at a guess, at least a quarter of the audience at the symphony on Friday night had been retired Americans. What was unusual about these folks is the way they were staring at me. Which bordered on being a little rude, to tell the truth.

At this point, I should explain something about my wardrobe. When you work at a company like Genentech for as long as I did (16 years), you end up with a lot of T-shirts. At times it seemed as if every company milestone, every new product launch, was celebrated with free T-shirts for all employees. Sometimes you ended up with T-shirts for projects you had barely worked on. Anyway, as luck would have it, this morning I was wearing one of my Lucentis T-shirts. Lucentis was a product I had done quite a bit of work on, and remains one of my proudest Genentech memories.

In brief, Lucentis is a drug that was developed to fight AMD (age-related macular degeneration), the leading cause of blindness in the elderly, and a condition against which there had previously been few effective treatments. Left untreated, AMD leads to a gradual, inexorable loss of central vision, with losses of 4 to 5 lines on an eye chart within 2 years being typical. Often it strikes otherwise healthy, active people and the effect on the quality of life can be devastating. As it turned out, Lucentis, which was approved for use in the U.S. before I left Genentech, is spectacularly effective in treating the disease. Its particular mechanism of action causes it not only to slow the loss of vision associated with the disease, but in many cases results in subjects regaining previously lost vision, often after only a single treatment (its major drawback is that it is given by intraocular injection, so there's a thqueamishness factor, but given the terrific effectiveness, this didn't seem to bother patients all that much).

Anyway, it's rare to get the chance to work on an experimental drug whose eventual results turn out to be as good as those for Lucentis, so I've always had fond memories of that particular project. But, back to this morning. What was causing my neighbors in the cafe to stare at me so oddly? You've guessed - it was the Lucentis T-shirt. Eventually, one of the two women approached and asked if I worked for Genentech. Upon learning that I had, pointing at my T-shirt, she asked if I had worked on Lucentis. When I said I had, she just burst into tears and hugged me. By now, I was a little teared up myself. She dragged me over to their table, saying all the time "You saved Frank's life. Mine too."

After introductions all around, it turned out that Frank, her husband, had developed wet AMD (the aggressive form of the disease) several years earlier, had been losing vision rapidly, when his ophthalmologist suggested enrolling him in one of the ongoing clinical trials for Lucentis, which was still an experimental therapy at that point. In his particular case, results had been immediate and striking, and he had been able to maintain vision with just a couple of maintenance shots since the trial had ended a couple of years ago.

It's a little embarrassing, truth be told, to be on the spot, soaking up all the credit for an effort you knew actually involved hundreds, if not thousands, of other employees. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good. It feels awesome. I've been roaming the streets of Guanajuato since then, with a huge grin on my face, humming to myself in a way that is making people look at me funny.

I didn't get to pay for my pancakes this morning. We chatted for a long time over breakfast, and I just kept thinking to myself - "what a gift". It's the kind of experience that life rewards you with occasionally when you work for a company like Genentech. I remember, on my first sabbatical, when I was travelling in Europe, this Dutch woman I'd never seen before in my life came up to me on a train in Germany, threw her arms around me and thanked me for saving her father's life (he had been treated with tPA during a heart attack). But I just wasn't particularly expecting anything unusual when I went out to breakfast this morning. Which made it all the more sweet, somehow.

This post is dedicated to all my former colleagues at Genentech, and to those on the Lucentis team in particular.

(And yes, I'm sorry, but it goes well beyond my current blogging skills to put that little trademark sign by Lucentis)

Doggerel

Guanajuato, it appears, has no strip clubs for men. Oddly enough, there is one for women. Which leads to the following rumination in (a kind of) verse:

Suppose you are a young man in search of a little nocturnal entertainment aquí en Guanajuato.
If you are foolish enough to ask for the location of the nearest strip joint, you may well elicit the response "You wanna what?! Oh,
no señor, we have no place for that kind of perversion en nuestra ciudad".
So you may just have to entertain yourself with some kind of improvised homemade sexual aid, knick-knack, or doo-dad.

If, on the other hand, you are una mujer of a certain edad,
Who wants to have a night out on the townm leaving los niños with their dad.
Then yes, if you want a night of bawdy entertainment, free of your ball & chain and los nippers,
Every Wednesday night you can come on down to the Rodeo lounge and be entertained by the finest of Mexican male estripers.

I make no apologies for the above. Remember, at times like this, I am merely an empty vessel, channeling the muse of awful doggerel.

Counting sheep

Suppose you are a shepherd in Swaledale. The annual sheep-shearing festival is coming up and you want to keep track of your flock. How do you keep count? Here's how:

1. Yan
2. tan
3. tether
4. mether
5. pip
6. azer
7. sezar
8. akker
9. conter
10. dick
11. yanadick
12. tanadick
13. tetheradick
14. metheradick
15. bumfit
16. yanabum
17. tanabum
18. tetherabum
19. metherabum
20. jigget

I find it hard to convey just how much joy the discovery of this little vigesimal counting system brought me.

If you would like to read more about this, and other similar schemes, here is a link:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yan_Tan_Tethera

I defy anyone to count out loud to twenty using this scheme and not have a big - sheepish - grin by the end.

Oh, OK, here's one more:

yan, tan, tethera, pethera, pimp. sethera, lethera, hovera, covera, dik, yan-a-dik, tan-a-dik, tethera-dik, pethera-dik, bumfit, yan-a-bumfit, tan-a-bumfit, tethera-bumfit, pethera-bumfit, figgot.

Apparently these schemes are also popular among knitters in the north of England and South of Scotland.

And here's a wee folksong:

Yan, tan, tethera, tethera, pethera, pimp.
Yon owd yowe's far-welted, and this yowe's got a limp
Sethera, methera, hovera, and covera up to dik,
Aye, we can deal wi' 'em all, and wheer's me crook and stick?
I count 'em up to figgits, and figgits have a notch,
There's more to being a shepherd than being on watch;
There's swedes to chop and lambing time and snow upon the rick,
Sethera, methera, hovera, and covera up to dik.

Yan, tan, tethera, tethera, pethera, pimp &c..
From Caistor down to Spilsby from Sleaford up to Brigg,
There's Lincoln sheep all on the chalk, all hung wi' wool and big.
And I, here in Langton wi' this same old flock.,
Just as me grandad did afore they meddled with the clock.
Yan, tan, tethera, tethera, pethera, pimp &c..

We've bred our tups and gimmers for the wool and length and girth,
And sheep have lambed, have gone away all o'er all the earth.
They're bred in foreign flocks to give the wool its length and crimp,
Yan, tan, tethera, pethera, pimp.
Yan, tan, tethera, tethera, pethera, pimp &c..

They're like a lot of bairns, they are, like children of me own,
They fondle round about owd Shep afore they're strong and grown;
But they gets independent-like, before you know, they've gone,
But yet again, next lambing time we'll 'a' more to carry on.
Yan, tan, tethera, tethera, pethera, pimp &c..

Yan, tan, tethera, tethera, pethera, pimp,
Fifteen notches up to now and one yowe with a limp.
You reckons I should go away, you know I'll never go,
For lambing time's on top of us and it'll surely snow.
Yan, tan, tethera, tethera, pethera, pimp &c..

Well, one day I'll leave me yowes, I'll leave me yowes for good,
And then you'll know what breeding is in flocks and human blood;
For our Tom's come out o' t' army, his face as red as brick,
Sethera, methera, hovera, and covera up to dik.
Yan, tan, tethera, tethera, pethera, pimp &c..

Now lambing time come reg'lar-like, just as it's always been,
And shepherds have to winter 'em and tent 'em till they're weaned
My fambly had it 'fore I came, they'll have it when I sleep,
So we can count our lambing times as I am countin sheep
Yan, tan, tethera, tethera, pethera, pimp &c..

http://www.ramshornstudio.com/lincoln_sheep.htm

At the concert

Last night was Nastasia's final night here in Guanajuato, so we went to the concert at the Teatro Principal and went out drinking afterwards. Like the previous Friday, the concert was by the symphony orchestra at the University, this time under the considerably shakier baton of a different guest conductor. After the 3rd symphony by the Mexican composer Carlos Chavez (1899-1978), the rest of the program was strictly middle European - Wagner's Prelude to Act 1 of Lohengrin, followed by two works by (Richard) Strauss, "Don Juan" and the (hootchy-cootchy) "Dance of the Seven Veils" from "Salome".

There were some distinctly rough moments with the strings in the Wagner, but things recovered just fine for the Strauss. My favorite part had little to do with the music, and everything to do with the visual image. The dance of the seven veils calls for reinforcement in the percussion section - I was transfixed by the guy second from the left at the back of the percussion section, who matched the wrestler Stone Cold Steve Austin both in looks and weight, and whose only function appeared to be to play the triangle. Which he did very nicely - it just looked hilarious!

My first margarita aquí in Mexico later last night must be considered a mistake if the verdict of Monte is to be taken into account.

Enough already. I'm as tired of writing about my gastrointestinal progress or lack thereof as you must be reading about it.

Hasta pronto!

D

In the hotel

One of the advantages of staying at the hotel is the anonymity it provides. So that occasionally, one hears conversations like this one (reproduced here in its entiretly):

Speaker 1: So, I've figured out exactly what you should do with the rest of your life.
Speaker 2: Tell me.
Speaker 1: You should totally finish medical school. But then you should make it a point never to practice medicine.
Speaker 2: Why's that?
Speaker 1: That way, when you come south to work as a gunslinger here in Mexico, you will totally have earned the nickname "Doc".
Speaker 2: Awesome!

I need hardly add that both participants in this conversation were male.

Medias Naranjas

Earlier tonight I went to see this play, "Medias Naranjas", at the Teatro Principal. It could best be described as a series of short sketches, each depicting a different aspect of love ("medias naranjas", literally, 'two halves of an orange', is a Spanish expression meaning - roughly - 'soul mates').

Schnitzler it wasn't, but it was fun, and funny in places. I was just happy that I understood most (90%?) of it.

Cultural life in Guanajuato

So, apart from the six or seven hours of daily classes, what does life have to offer aquì en Guanajuato? Well, recently I've been availing myself of the CineClub at the University of Guanajuato, where for only $3.00 one can choose to see stuff that's a little more highbrow than Iron Man and Indiana Jones. Not that there's anything wrong with either of those two movies, which I fully intend to see once the crowds have died down.

On Sunday at the CineClub I went to see "Atonement"; yesterday, I saw Cate Blanchett in "Elizabeth: the Golden Age". Both excellent films, neither of which I would probably have gone to see in San Francisco (note to self - you should get out more).

Tonight I'm going to see a play ("Media Naranja") at the Teatro principal, and then tomorrow evening the University orchestra is putting on another concert. So there's no shortage of cultural fare, most of it remarkably good.

Sadly, I have to note that Monte is bothering me again, vengeful undiscriminating bastard that he is.

Extra Krispy

The somewhat heavyset gentleman depicted above, who is perched, Prometheus-like, overlooking the city of Guanajuato, is called Pipila, and is something of a local hero.

What, you might wonder, did Pipila do to attain his status as hero? Something to do with fire, one might guess.

Your guess would be correct. Did he bring fire to the people of Guanajuato?

Well, yes, in a manner of speaking. In a heroic action that once again proves that heroism probably depends on one's point of view, during assorted hostilities surrounding the revolutionary fervor of 1810, Pipila's contribution to the conflict was to bring fire to the Spaniards who had holed up in the Alhondiga fortress/granary pictured above, essentially burning everyone inside to a state of crispy goodness.

I guess the criteria for being a revolutionary hero were a little different back then. Then again, maybe not all that different.

Latin for the modern world

Not necessarily in the same order as in the original post:

1. Yo mama's so stupid when she found a coin with Caesar's name on it, she tried to give it back to him.
2. Yo mama's so fat, when she's in town Rome has 8 hills!
3. Yo mama wears combat boots.
4. How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
5. Auntie Em. Hate you. Hate Kansas. Taking the dog. Dorothy.
6. If walking is all that good for you, how come our mail carrier looks like Jabba the Hutt?
7. Ask my opponent why he wants to tax American flags in order to fund gourmet meals for convicted murderers.
8. Taste laser death, alien insect scum!
9. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries.
10. Man, that shit is potent --- I am like totally in the subjunctive.

No pans at the ...

Three classics

As promised, random sampling from my winter reading binge:

1. Eugene Onegin

Tatyana falls for Eugene, who rebuffs her (gently).
Time passes.
Tatyana marries a prince.
Eugene falls for Tatyana, who rebuffs him (gently).

And Pushkin whips the whole affair into this wonderfully frothy souffle, which any Russian will tell you is one of the summits of Russian poetry. It certainly disproves the notion that all of Russian literature is dark, brooding, and gloomy. The Penguin Classic translation is by Charles Johnston. Having just re-read the chapter about Onegin translations in Douglas Hofstadter's "Le Ton beau de marot", I'm inclined to seek out some of the other versions as well.



2. Madame Bovary



Flaubert is da bomb!

Seriously, who knew? I suppose if I had done French, rather than German, in high school I would have discovered Madame Bovary before now. Better late than never. Obviously, I knew what Madame Bovary was about before reading it. But I had no idea how brilliantly Flaubert would suck me in to the story. He pulls no punches, just lets the story unfold to its horrifying, inexorable conclusion.

What I hadn't expected were his unerring eye for the details of the life of the bourgeoisie, which he lays out for us in unsparing detail. Or how he manages to make us care about Emma, and to sympathise with her, even as she makes one misguided choice after the next. The flair with which he executes the set pieces. And the power of some of the images - Emma cramming her mouth with arsenic, the final stream of black liquid (like vomit) that flows from her mouth, just after the innkeeper's remark about how peaceful she looks.

It's not hard to understand why this book caused such a scandal upon publication.

Way to go, Gustave!



3. Dante's Inferno

When I finally decided, earlier this year, to try to plug some of the holes that my 'classical education' had somehow left unfilled, "The Inferno" was high on my list. Since I don't know any Italian, choosing a decent translation was one of the first questions to be addressed. I spent an hour in Cody's comparing various options (there are a gazillion translations out there) - this was one of two that I ended up buying. Surprisingly (to me at any rate), roughly half of the available translations chose the low road of not even bothering to preserve Dante's famous terza rima metric scheme, with the excuse that only a 'literal translation' can convey the meaning adequately. Fie on your lazy asses, say I - it obviously can be done, even if you are too lamebrained to try. So I rejected the 'literal translations' out of hand, for the same reason that I would not choose a translation of 'Eugene Onegin' that didn't at least try to preserve Pushkin's meter, when it is obviously such an intrinsic aspect of the work. I can't vouch for the fidelity of Carson's translation, but I liked it a lot. (I liked the other translation I read as well, but that's part of a different review). He does well by the terza rima, while managing to achieve an overall natural flow of the language. At times it is highly colloquial, which might disturb the purists:

"Ratbreath, when he heard this, rolled his eyes,

and hissed 'Don't listen, it's a dirty trick,

so he can jump. He must think we're not wise.'

And he, whose AKA was Señor Slick,

replied: 'It's dirt indeed, to get my comrades

in the shit; in fact, it's rather sick.'

Now Harley Quinn, unlike the other blades,

was eager for some sport. "

Canto XXII, lines 107-114.

As for the work itself, I think you all know the story. I haven't read "Purgatorio" or "Paradiso" yet - it seems highly likely to me that the "Inferno" is the most fun of the three, if only because it's entertaining to see how he uses it as a vehicle for getting even with his enemies. But, if you've been putting it off for years because you're intimidated by its status as a "classic", don't be put off any longer. It's actually a lot of fun, and easy to read. Comparing translations is an auxiliary source of entertainment, for those (like myself) who enjoy that kind of thing

Sunday Salmagundi (Part 2)

Useful Latin phrases for the modern world:

1. Mater tua tam stulta est ut cum invenerit nummum ferentem nomen caesaris, huic eum restituere conata sit.
2. Mater tua tam obesa est ut cum romae est, urbs habet octo colles.
3. Mater tua criceta fuit, et pater tuo redoluit bacarum sambucus.
4. Mater tua caligas gerit!
5. Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam possit materiari?
6. Mehercle, illa materia tam valida est ut funditus in modo subiunctivo sim.
7. Quaerite a competitore cur vectigal vexillis americanis imponere velit ad epulas comparandas homicidis condemnatis.
8. Si quidem pedibus ire tam salubre corpori est, cur similis est noster tabellarius forma illi iabbae hutico.
9. Amita Aemilia: te Kansiamque odi, canem mecum abduco - Dorothea.
10. Oppetite mortem lumine amplificato stimulata emissione radiorum, cimices extraterrestriales foedi!

Note that the majority of these phrases have been taken from the most excellent book: X-Treme Latin: All the Latin You Need to Know for Survival in the 21st Century, by Henry Beard.

The plain people of Ireland: But, but, but!

The management: What is it now, wretches?!

The plain people of Ireland: You haven't told us what these phrases mean.

The management: You have a point. Check back in a day or two. In the meantime, maybe you could amuse yourselves by guessing.

Sunday Salmagundi (Part 1)

Or, if you prefer, Guanajuato Gallimaufry:

God, Astor trots a dog.

Are we not drawn onward, we few, drawn onward to new era?
Was it Eliot's toilet I saw?
May a moody baby doom a yam?
Sis, ask Costner to not rent socks "as is".
Murder for a jar of red rum.

O Geronimo, no minor ego.
Drab as a fool, aloof as a bard.
Never odd or even.
Bar Arafat, a far Arab.
Cain: a monomaniac
Drat Saddam, a mad dastard.
Draw, O Caesar. Erase a coward.

God saw I was dog.
Go deliver a dare, vile dog!
Doc Note: I dissent. A fast never prevents a fatness. I diet on cod.
Don't nod.
Dogma: I am God.

Don't nod.
Do geese see God?

Life on the edge (x3)

No, the title of this post has nothing to do with Guanajuato. Or Mexico. Or my travels. It does have to do with my literary travels, however. For those of you who might wonder what I was up to this winter, when this blog was so long dormant, one of the answers (besides mundane stuff like taxes, estate planning, and time at the dentist - there's a hellacious trifecta right there, eh?) is that I was reading. Possibly more than is healthy - it's a bit of an addiction - and I was steaming through close to a book a day for a while there. For those of you interested in the full story, there's a little link to goodreads.com somewhere on this page, clicking on it will take you to a site where all the gory details are listed.

But on the assumption that not everyone cares that much about my reading trajectory, I thought it might nonetheless be interesting to include some of the recent highlights and lowlights on this blog. Which is what this post, and the next, is about.

In this post, I want to mention three books I read in almost consecutive order during last autumn. The connecting theme is that each examines lives lived under extreme circumstances; other than that, the books could hardly be less similar.

The first was Jose Samanago's "Blindness". In brief, I enjoyed it quite a lot, once I got over some initial dislocation with his deceptively simple, fable-like prose style. The recent movie adaptation appears to be getting mixed reviews. Here is a link to my review of the book:

http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/8126425

The second was "The Sparrow" by Maria Doria Russell. Rumor has it that a movie of this book, starring Brad Pitt, is in the works.

http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/8262494
http://www.amazon.com/review/R3917NFSYHWJR4/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm

The third, and by far the most irritating, was Russell Hoban's "Riddley Walker". The charitable judgement might be 'an ambitious failure'; a less charitable assessment would involve the phrase 'pretentious, time-wasting drivel'. I tried to be fair in my review, lord knows I tried:

http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/8685319

Of the three, I would give my highest recommendation to "The Sparrow". Highly ambitious, not always successful, but its characters and their situation still remain with me.

That's it from the world of apocalyptic fiction for now. If you were expecting a reader's guide to "The Road", you're on your own. Cormac whatever his name is manages to attain a level of pretentiousness in his style which is incompatible with my reading habits.

Coming soon - 3 classics you might want to (re)consider.

tricentennial

Hard to believe this blog has made it to 300 posts.

What's new? Well, last night I attended a concert by the Orquesta Sinfonica de la Universidad de Guanajuato. This cost all of $7.00 and was a fine experience. (It's possible that my status as a don Quijote student could have gotten me a 50% discount, but I didn't really have the nerve to ask for it). With 'director huesped' Stefano Mazzoleni and guest pianist Dimitri Romano, seven bucks seemed like a bargain already.

Unfortunately, I forgot the universal rule followed by program directors everywhere, namely their obscure compulsion to stick the audience with some vile modern rubbish, presumably in the name of 'progress' or showing how 'avant-garde' they are. Generally, they will front-load the program with this dreck so that there can be no hope of escape. So the smart concert attendance strategy these days is to arrive late and miss the first piece. No such luck last night, however - I arrived on time and was thus subjected to a purgatorial 16 minutes of noise by some 'composer' called Nicola Sani. If I say that, according to the program notes, one of his primary influences was the despicable assmarmot Karlheinz Stockhausen, fraudulent bane of concertgoers the world over, I think you will get the picture.

Fortunately, the remainder of the program was entirely satisfactory, though the closest it got to any of the mainstream romantic repertory was a suite of airs and dances by Respighi. Ol' Dimitri was da bomb on the piano, it has to be said.

And, miracle of miracles, despite it being Friday night here in ol' Guanajuato, I slept like a log in my interior courtyard room, undisturbed by any ambient acoustic pollution.

Today, if I'm up for it, I intend to take the 4-hour walking tour of the city. Possibly including mummies! Watch this space for further developments.

Price update

A highly selective listing of the prices of various goods and services here in Guanajuato: (all prices are based on an assumed exchange rate of 10 pesos to the U.S. dollar)

Cappuccino in a street cafe: $1.60 - $2.10
My lunchtime ham sandwich at the dQ cafe: $1.40
1 hour at the internet cafe: $1.00
1 package of Imodium (12 tablets): $5.90
1 can of Gillette shaving cream: $3.10
1 half-liter bottle of Sprite: 70 cents
1 one and a half liter bottle of soda: $1.40
1 bottle of Corona in a bar: $1.80 - $2.30
1 entree of fajitas de pollo: $7.00
1 entree of chicken Milanese: $7.50
1 cup of cafe americano: $0.80 - $1.20 (avoid - it's barely potable)
2 weeks of laundry, washed and folded: $3.50 (madrileños, take note!)
1 night at the Hotel del Frayle: $55
1 breakfast donut* : $0.60

All of which explains why a 200-peso note starts to feel like a huge bill, embarrassing to ask to have changed.

*: purchased at the local 7-11 (or OXXO) store, and possible culprit in yesterday's episode of gastrointestinal distress)

The Emperor of Scent

One of the unexpected, random pleasures of the internet world we live in is the occasional connections, however tenuous, that are formed. Regular readers of this blog will recall that I have, on occasion, amused myself by mocking the perfume reviews of the New York Times resident perfume critic, Chandler Burr. That is not the full story, however, and it would be reprehensible of me not to set the record straight here. You see, a few months ago I read Burr's book "The Emperor of Scent" (an account of the scientific work of maverick scientist, Luca Turin, on the biochemistry of smell) and was amazed and delighted to find the book an extraordinarily brilliant, awesomely written accomplishment of the highest order. I have written a more complete review of the book over on the goodreads site, here (be sure to read all the way down - the review actually appears in comment #4 on the thread):

http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/15242638

Why bring this up now? Well, first of all, it seems inexcusable not to set the record straight. But also - in a message that made my day - yesterday I received an extraordinarily charming e-mail from Chandler himself, thanking me for all my comments on his writing, both negative and positive.

I don't know. It was just really sweet. Now, go out there and buy yourself a copy of "The Emperor of Scent". It could be a handbook for excellent science writing for the non-scientist. As I wrote in my review, it left me slackjawed in admiration.

All of which makes me hope I never hear from this guy

http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/16882623

Or this guy

http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/11583920

Actually I did receive an e-mail from Seth Godin, in response to my review on Amazon, offering to refund me the cost of the book. Though I suppose it is to his credit, I found it more creepy than anything else.

And if anyone wants to excoriate my own literary efforts, you know where to find it:

http://gaelstat.com/book.aspx

En el hotel

An open letter to Montezuma

Dear Monte:

This is just a little note to say "ENOUGH WITH THE REVENGE ALREADY!!" What are you thinking? I really think you must be mixing me up with someone else. Let me just say at the outset that, although I have visited Spain, that's as far as the association goes. A simple fact-checking of history would suggest that, as an Irishman, I have far more in common with the colonized, rather than the colonizers. So, if you could let up already with your fabled revenge, I sure would appreciate it.

And here's a thought on a related, albeit tangential, subject. I know that when the makers of the fine bottled water, "Cryspura", brought in the naming experts to find a suitably evocative name for their product, that they wanted the name to conjure up images of a crystalline source, outstanding in its purity. What they seem to have overlooked, particularly to someone undergoing the wrath of Monte, are the subliminal associations with such other words as "Cryptosporidium" and "spoor". Which is probably not what they had in mind.

Just sayin', that's all. Peace out.

Pride and Prejudice

One of the interesting - and unexpected - aspects of this trip has been how much more friendly people have been once they find out that I am Irish, and not from the U.S. (as they tend to assume at first, reasonably enough, given my clothes). There's a distinct undercurrent of antipathy towards their neighbors to the north, which doesn't take much to surface.

A typical exchange would be the one I had the other day with the ladies in the don Quijote cafe, who make my life-saving one o'clock sandwich every day (without it I would faint dead away by two o'clock). Upon learning that I was from Ireland, several things happened. First, the volume of the ingredients stuffed into the sandwich has doubled ever since. Then, with suitable looking around and lowering of their voices, they proceeded to complain volubly - and at considerable length - about the perceived 'arrogance' of the U.S. students. Note that I say 'perceived arrogance', because - frankly - I think it is largely a matter of prejudice and perception. As far as I can see, the U.S. students are your average bunch - by and large pretty polite, with the occasional glaring exception.

But - further lowering of the voices - true vituperation was reserved for the students from Texas. And, in this regard, I regret to say that the cafeteria ladies were not the only ones to express frank contempt and hostility. I've heard it from sources as diverse as the waiter in the hotel restaurant, from the guy in the internet cafe, from the desk clerk at the hotel. So, I don't know what it is that Texas has done to Guanajuato in the past, but the rancor seems to run fairly deep.

All of which prompts one to an examination of one's own conscience about ugly stereotypes and potential racial prejudices. I'm not sure I should be particularly proud of the result. Because in my case the answer is that I didn't really have very many preconceived notions about Mexico or Mexicans at all before coming here. Which I suppose you could view as an admirable lack of prejudice. But which I think should be more honestly viewed as a kind of breathtaking, slightly colonial, arrogance - I'd just never given much thought to the country or its people, despite living a few hours flight away.

The silver lining? I am actively working on demolishing that wall of ignorance.

En la escuela

This week is pretty quiet at the don Quijote school here in Guanajuato - by my estimation there can't be more than about 40 students, as opposed to the maximum occupancy of about 120, and last week's contingent of maybe 70. The drop in numbers this week is because most of the huge contingent from the University of Alabama at Huntsville finished last Friday. There are a couple of stragglers still completing internships here in the city, but they are few and far between.

As a result, the pace is fairly intensive. In my first two classes of the day (from 9:00 to 10:45 and 11:15 to 13:00) there are just three of us in the class, and in my final conversation class (13:15 to 15:00) I am the only student. So there's no hiding or sleeping in that class. Fortunately, Manuel, the teacher is terrific. Actually, all three teachers are terrific, and it's been a real joy to feel my Spanish, dormant for the winter, come roaring back to life.

OK: "roaring back to life" would be a bit of an exaggeration, but the point is - the geeky fun I get from learning the language endures.

Also, I changed rooms within the hotel last night, and it has made a major difference. I am now ensconced in this enormous suite, the whole general effect is one of royalty down on its luck - the decorating ethos would best be described as 'shabby genteel'. But - blessedly - quietly shabby genteel.

Which is especially important this week. This is the time that the university students finish their exams, and they take to the streets in celebration in large numbers. The local version of what are known in Spain as 'tunas' (wandering student minstrel bands) are called 'callejoneadas' here in Guanajuato (from the word 'callejon', or 'alley') were out in full force last night, so having a room away from the street, overlooking an internal courtyard, was crucial in order to have any hope at all of sleeping.

Soundtrack for a blogger

Earlier today, as I was sitting at the outdoor cafe, swatting away a singularly determined wasp who had his sights on my cappucino, the following sequence was played on the maitre-d's mix tape:

"Faithfully" ---- Journey
"Cool Change" ----- Little River Band
"Total Eclipse of the Heart" ----- Bonnie Tyler (the full version)

It was as if I had never left graduate school. I swear, the sensation of being back in Chapel Hill, studying for comprehensive exams, was visceral, and totally overwhelming.

All of which, for the conspiracy-minded, raises the interesting question (it was a premixed tape, after all) - does someone in that particular cafe have a particularly unusual sense of humor, and a predilection for playing mindgames with tourists of a particular vintage?

And what is it about the songs we heard on the radio at particular times in our lives that makes them stick with us for ever? It's not as if one hears much from or about the Little River Band these days, but there's at least a half-dozen of their songs that have the capacity to transport me back a quarter-century within seconds.

I decided against the madeline for dessert.

¿Where in the world?

David's itinerary for the foreseeable future:

mid-May --- June 7th : Guanajuato, Mexico (see photo above)
June 7th --- 12th : San Francisco
June 12th --- 15th : Charlottesville, VA (at a very important wedding)
June 15th --- 18th : Research Triangle, NC (catching up with friends)
June 18th --- 22nd : Ontario, CANADA (visiting family and friends)
June 22nd --- 28th (approx) : San Francisco
June 29th --- September : ¿¿¿¿¿¿ BUENOS AIRES ???????
October --- November : ESPAÑA

details of the Buenos Aires trip still in the works, but now that I am finally on the road again, I am highly motivated to make sure it happens. The home comforts of San Francisco are alluring, but can also be a trap, of sorts, I have decided.

Thanksgiving in Madrid sounds kind of nice, though.

In 2009: ¿Parlez-vous franÇais, anyone?

No joy

No ferrets at the ferreteria. No joy at the joyeria. Whatever happened to the idea of truth in advertising?

The plain people of Ireland: This is a pretty lame attempt at "humor".
The management: You are right, wretches. Much as it pains me to admit it.

la primera semana

So, it's more or less exactly a week since I arrived in Guanajuato. Time for the obligatory summing up. "¿Lessons learned?", as they put it so obnoxiously in the corporate world.

Well, yes. One, at least. I'll try to keep things mercifully brief. But it's easy, really. It's this:

Nothing really works 100% here in Guanajuato. Either it takes a while to figure out some kind of work-around, or things just don't quite pan out the way you had hoped or anticipated. But - here's the thing - people (or at least the people I've met) - couldn't be more helpful or charming. They will go out of their way to help you, or to suggest alternatives, and will generally not leave you until they are satisfied you are OK.

Like this evening, after dinner. There I am, trying to finish my little 200-word essay on the major factors that affect a country's economy. By the time I got out of the restaurant, I had the benefit of the advice of the three tables closest to me (and, had I not head for the door, I probably could have gotten advice from the kitchen as well).

So, let me tell you. I'm not a complete fool. I know a good thing when I come across it. So, yes, of course it's unimportant whether things work exactly the way you think they should. That perfect strangers might actually put aside their immediate concerns just to help someone they have never met. That's good times indeed.

The plain people of Ireland: Here, what kind of rubbish is this? These are dime-store platitudes, nothing more!

The management: I knew this continued silence was too much to hope for. Dime-store platitudes they may be. But - tell me again - how much is it that you are paying to read this blog?

The plain people of Ireland: No need to be like that. We were just trying to help.

The management: ¡Callaos, perritos!

La respuesta a Dolores

My first week here in Guanajuato was spent in the home of the altogether delightful Aurora (a lady of around my own age, give or take) and her equally delightful, but slightly more intimidating mama, Dolores. As luck would have it, Aurora - who works as a public health nurse and is clearly fairly senior in the local system - spent much of the week away at a public health conference in León, so that day-to-day negotiations about such details as mealtimes, food preferences, interactions with the altogether too enthusiastic fumigator, use of the bathroom, and so forth were almost exclusively conducted with Dolores. Yes, you read that right - I said 'use of the bathroom'.

None of these exchanges was rendered easier by the fact that Dolores's main posture at rest was that of someone firmly ensconced in an antechamber of heaven, just waiting for the angel of the Lord to call, an event she clearly considered imminent. To interrupt a spirit so close to some kind of transmigratory experience could be daunting, at best. Particularly when you were already racking your brain just to get the tense right.

It had always been my intent to spend only my first week here with a family, and to find a suitable hotel to move to within that first week. For a variety of reasons, not least of which is that I am a fairly private person at the best of times. I'm also 51 years old, and though I try to be flexible, living under scrutiny for four weeks in someone else's home seems like pushing it, at best. Unfortunately, apparently nobody had communicated any of this to Dolores. Who seemed to take the news of my departure particularly to heart. Almost, it seemed, as a personal affront.
Whose final words to me, as I handed over the keys were: "You were unhappy here, living in our family".

So the purpose of this entry is to give Dolores the answer that I would have liked to give her, but had neither the nerve nor the vocabulary for. Es la respuesta que le habría dado a Dolores, sí hubiera podido:

¡Estimada Dolores!

Me molesta que tenga la (falsa) opinión de que no me disfrutaba del tiempo que pasé con su familia. La verdad es bastante más complicado y tiene que ver con cosas como tener 51 años y tener dificultades acostumbrarse al no poder dormir....

Dear Dolores: Nothing could be further from the truth to say that I didn't enjoy the time I spent with your family. However, at age 51 my ability to accommodate to certain minor details becomes severely limited. In particular, not sleeping, or sleeping only fitfully for six consecutive days will make a person crazy, and willing to do almost anything to avoid three more weeks of the same experience. Even move to - what is clearly in your mind - an unconscionably expensive hotel.
Also, estimada señora, although I understand that your reasons for asking me each and every time I made a move in the general direction of the bathroom:"Are you planning to take a shower now?" had everything to do with wanting to be sure that there would be adequate hot water in this event, and nothing in particular to do with a desire to track my bowel movements, please understand that three days into a foreign trip, when the revenge of the famed Montezuma is exerting its full wrath, the cumulative effect of having each use one makes of the facilities telegraphed to the entire household is more than a little tedious.
As, for that matter, is having someone who is not eating watch every bite you put in your mouth.
I realise that, on occasion, things might get just a little tedious in that celestial antechamber. But no fair to treat the visitors as if they were animals on display, ¿entiende?

Gentle readers: upon re-reading this entry, I am struck by, and saddened by, the note of pettiness that has crept in. However, I have decided to let it stand as is, on the grounds that sometimes one's blog entries provide a useful and necessary release function. And I do hope it is clear that any difficulties were largely a consequence of my own occasionally prickly personality, nothing more.

¡Yes! ¡We have no ferrets!

Despite what you might think, you can't find ferrets at a ferreteria.

La contaminación auditiva

Guanajuato is a picturesque spot, no doubt about it. What it is not is quiet. In fact, I don't think I've ever spent this long somewhere this noisy. And, though it pains me to admit it, I'm not holding up particularly well. It feels as if I've been taking part in a kind of involuntary sleep deprivation exercise. My major hope is that, when the receptionist at the hotel promised 'una habitación tranquila' that this promise will indeed be realized once I move to the hotel tomorrow.

what are some of the contributing factors to the 'contaminacion auditiva'? Well, in no particular order:

• the gas man
• the dogs
• the fireworks
• the loudspeaker cars
• the strolling bands
• the battle of the birds
• the concerts
• the bar down the street
• the frayed nerves of the Irish test subject

But enough whining. I promised you at least one photo, and here it is:

¡Greetings from Guanajuato!

Yes, folks! About a month later than originally planned, this blog, she is starting back up again. This time to document the great Spanish adventure, part 2. Where 'Spanish' in this case should be taken as referring to the language and not the country. This year, in an effort to reach that elusive pinnacle of success, a passing grade in the DELE superior, I will be focusing my efforts on los paises hispanohablantes on this side of the Atlantic. Beginning aquí en Mexico, where I will be spending a month. Then, after a pause for some travel back in the U.S. and Canada, continuing - hopefully from about July 1st - in Buenos Aires.

Whether in fact I feel ready to take the damned test in August, or decide to wait until November remains to be seen. It's horrifying how much I've already forgotten this past winter.

Soooo.. Easing back slowly into this whole blogging thing - bear with me. It will probably take a while for me to find 'my voice' again. I've actually been here in Guanajuato since Sunday night, but dealing with the usual newcomer's trifecta of altitude, sleep deprivation, and Montezuma has made the first few days just a matter of survival, rather than energetic exploration. I've also located a nice quiet-looking hotel that I will be moving to on Saturday and that should help a lot with the sleep deprivation aspect. There will also be photos. All in due course.

But I will leave it there for now. And conclude by noting that today is my sister's birthday, so here's a birthday shout-out all the way to Ontario

Language skillz - we has them!!!

Oh hell, the internet is no place for modesty, right? So I'll just take a little time out from my massive reading binge to share the results of my Spanish exam in August. You will recall, I took the intermediate level DELE test, administered by the Cervantes Institute.

Part I : Written comprehension (20) and composition (15)
Maximum possible score : 35 points
Passing score: 24.5 points
My score: 34.75 points

Part II : Grammar and vocabulary (20)
Maximum possible score : 20 points
Passing score : 14 points
My score : 18.33 points

Part III : Auditory comprehension (15) and oral expression (30)
Maximum possible score : 45 points
Passing score : 31.5 points
My score : 44.5 points

Overall grade: "APTO"

I even have my official diploma to prove it. Which I'm to lazy to take a picture of, so you will have to take my word for it.

So, bring on the advanced exam in May!! I'll be looking forward to it.

Postcard from San Francisco

So, I've been home for about 4 days. I had half-expected a sense of letdown at this point, but quite the reverse is the case. If anything, there is a sense of exhilaration about life in general. I'm really enjoying the comforts of being home - being able to play the piano whenever the mood takes me, playing with the kitties, seeing friends again, walking around the neighborhood, catching up on my correspondence, going on a reading binge. (What a binge - my goodreads "currently reading" shelf has expanded to 8 books, which is probably something of an underestimate. And, no, I don't have ADD, I just read very fast - for instance, last night I inhaled Carolyn Parkhurst's wonderful "The Dogs of Babel" in a single, 3-hour sitting).

Part of what contributes to this exhilaration is a sense of deep appreciation for what life has given me, as well as a renewed sense of optimism about the future, buoyed by a sense of accomplishment. Because, you know, I did plan and execute my Spanish adventure. And had a blast. Giving me the confidence to imagine, and start to plan, further adventures.

So I think that Buenos Aires in the new year is a definite possibility. Maybe it's time to set up an Argentinian bookshelf on goodreads.

More bad poetry

There is a volcano in Mexico called Popocapetl.
I have a friend in Minsk who lives in a shtetl
And who, though I can't be sure, I'm willing to bet'll
Never visit Mexico because, if he does he says all he'll get'll
Be a bad case of the revenge of Montezuma
And anyway that his favorite Mexican volcano is Ixtaccihuatl
Because, as volcanoes go, the crater is much roomier.
But rather than visit either Popocapetl or Ixtaccihuatl
he'd rather stay home in his shtetl made of wattle
And not risk invoking the wrath of the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl.

MAINLY BY THE BAY

San Francisco Bay, that is. Got home at around 6pm local time. It's now close to 10pm. I'm going to mail my estimated tax payments to the guvmint, then go to bed.

I am pleased to report that the kitties both seem pleased to see me, and no sulking behavior has been observed so far. In fact, Boris is doing his best dynamo act, purring like a furry furnace.

Perhaps tomorrow I will be more coherent. It's good to be home.

Alma Mater

On Friday afternoon I had a chance to visit my alma mater, University College Cork (UCC). Here are some pictures:

Main quadrangle

Ogham stones

Arch

Honan Chapel
(My parents were married in the Honan Chapel, in 1950)