5.6

No, I didn't feel it.

Nor did Stella appear to. So much for animals being sensitive to seismic activities.

Wait, by "animal" I mean her, not me. I mean, yeah, in the classification system, sure, but...Anyway, it's not that she's insensitive, she was just concentrating really hard on something else at 8:04.

Grados de inocencia

Los santos inocentes de Miguel Delibes

If you're going to deliberately commit copyright infringement, for God's sake, do it on your own dime 76 dimes!

_______________________

He'd been sitting in his car at the entrance to Parking Lot 5 for at least 15 minutes, waiting for something like this to happen to him. She performed an inadvertent strip tease by too quickly pulling off a sweater as she got into her own car. But infinitely more gratifying was the vision of the parking space she left vacant for him upon pulling away.

Sab Story 28 oct.

Bretón de Herreros re: Avellaneda

"...es mucho hombre esta mujer."

Más de un siglo después, Corral re: Avellaneda - "Esa mujer no tenía pelos en la lengua."

Gertrudis Gómez de Avellaneda publicó en 1860 una serie de artículos, La mujer en que utiliza el adjectivo barbuda, intentando explicarles a sus lectoras que aspiran al campo literario que los hombres entonces dominaban. Les dice, "Pasadnos este adjectivo, queridas lectoras, porque se nos ha venido naturalmente a la pluma al mencionar esas ilustres corporaciones de gentes de letras, cuyo primero y más importante título es el de tener barba."

Más de un siglo después, CRG empieza a escribir de la "mujer barbuda" en su blog y, claro, el vello en su capítulo de Un hombre a la medida. Organizó La semana de la mujer barbuda. y solicitó fotos de mujeres con barbas postizas. Lo encontré sumamente interesante como cabía perfectamente con su hábito de borrar características genéricas en sus obras, pero no tuve la menor idea cómo incorporar esto dentro de la tesina.

Sab de Gertrudis Gómez de Avellaneda

It's my blog and I'll...

...talk about shoes and clothes if I want to. I got the shopping jones something fierce today. I knew that proposing Thrift Center or Value Center would be futile (and it would be antisocial to go alone), and since we were heading up to Napa, the Outlets would have to do. In the Barney's outlet I had a moment of illumination which needs a little bit of confessionary background... I did watch Sex and the City and enjoyed every season but the last, which got a little annoying with the product placement and its ventimoronic story lines. I also found Carrie's obsession with shoes a little tiresome and more than a little ridiculous, so this morning in Barney's, just for "shits and giggles", I tried on this pair of Manolo Blahnik "huaraches."

I totally get it now.


And while I'm on the subject, I think it might be time for a new (and maybe littler) LBD.

¡¿This Is Why I'm Hot?! 26/10

After having heard the song at the ARC earlier today, I finally get around to looking up the lyrics to find out why rapper Mims (¡¿Mims?!) is hot and the disappointment is palpable. Not only is the reason vague and unsatisfying - "I'm hot 'cause I'm fly," but the even more incomplete follow-up explains why (male) listeners can't aspire to hotness - "You ain't 'cause you're not." Among other faux pas and absences of logic the rapper at one points says that he goes from " 'Frisco to Sac-Town." While we don't really don't call it " 'Frisco" we do sometimes say "Sac-Town." Tourist or not, I hope he left before 3:00 or after 7:00 because traffic in that direction is hella bad.

Rob Harvilla of The Village Voice offered this logical/grammatical analysis of the song.

I'd also been wondering what exactly Anthony and Geoff in 116 have access to, and the t-shirt Anthony had on today toyed with my curiosity until the elevator we were sharing reached the 3rd floor and I had to ask, "Really?".

Sin título 25/10

Why I'll never make it in the translating business - I'd denigrate that wonderful first sentence of La Regenta, "La heroica ciudad dormía la siesta."

The heroic city was taking a siesta. Loses something in translation

The heroic city slept the siesta. ???

The heroic city was napping. No cultural context.

The heroic city was having a lie down.

The heroic city was snoozing.

The heroic city was slumbering. OK, maybe, maybe... was dozing

The heroic city slumbered. dozed A bit closer.

The heroic city was catching 4o winks. ...catching some zzz's ...getting some shut-eye.

The heroic city was partaking in post-prandial respite.

The heroic city was logging some rack time

Wednesday's child/Un día de la mier...coles. 24/10

This might explain a few things.

Los "días de ésos", en su mayoría, son los miércoles. Apartarme de la oficina ayudó un poco, desayunar también, igual que la lectura de Chernon-Deutsch (esp. la parte de la función de lenguaje en La Regenta). Quitarme las gafas e insertar los lentes de contacto me hizo sentir algo más viva. Hablar con una amiga y seguir sus consejos también ayudó. El ejercicio. Aunque sea miércoles corrí los 38 min. y sí ayudaron un poco las endorfinas, pero solo hasta que me puse a levantar pesas. Me senté en la primera máquina y me invadió de nuevo la tristeza fuerte. Ya sé que hacer ejercicio puede servir (o sorprender) de una especie de catarsis, pero eso de las ganas de llorar en público "a moco y baba" a la Galdosiana es ridículo...lo que por fin funcionó para quitármela fue el seminario. Por 3 horas no pensé en nada que no fuera literatura decimonónica. Y esto me convenció más que nada, de que sí, ¡me encanta! Di la presentación sin accidente.

SMART Goals du semaine - safe foods and beverages

1. Buy produce the day I plan to use it. Why: I'm so sad that I've wasted products of the land. Tonight in a futile attempt to find dinner ingredients that didn't come from a restaurant, I pulled open the left crisper drawer looking for edible vegetables. (Not the right drawer; it contains only camera film, also possibly expired.) Only the baby carrots, sealed in a ziploc seemed safe (hmm...realized that there's a whole generation of people who think that's what a carrot looks like when it comes out of the earth...if they even know carrots come out of the earth.) I pulled out three ears of corn that had been in there since July (?) and when I saw the black and white mold, I hesitated for a moment, thinking "¿Enchiladas de...?" I snapped out of it, realizing that I prefer my cuitlacoche (no, I'm not translating it) straight from the can and I'm also pretty sure that this delicacy since Aztec times isn't really the same as fridge mold.

2. Set up coffee-maker the night before. Really, how hard is it? It's the easy part, the hard part is finding the travel mug.

3. Find the damn travel mug. Wash it. Why: the regular ceramic coffee mug with handle but no lid doesn't really work when driving a 5-speed, as elegant as it may seem. Nor do the empty water bottles I often use in my attempts to "Reduce, reuse, recycle". I spill a lot of coffee, the plastic buckles from the heat of the liquid, which probably also releases harmful chemicals.

"Research"

When does it cease to be truly necessary and just become an excuse that prevents writing?

Masiello, Francine, Ed. Juana Manuela Gorriti: Dreams and Realities. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.

"From the time that she became directly involved in the transformative events of the nineteenth century, Gorriti expressed a clear disdain for political life. In Perfiles, a text published the year she died, Gorriti reflected on the tedium of politics: 'Destiny…determined…that an absorbing, bitter, destructive force would surround me – politics.'” (xxii-xxiii) Gorriti seemed to desire both an immersion into political life (she knew that the female voice was absolutely necessary in this arena, for example) and a retreat from it. Evidently, dreams and realities in conflict for this author, who's becoming more compelling with each new discovery about her life.

Juana Manuela Gorriti

Hija de padre rico venido a menos, exiliada, intelectual, casada con amantes, madre de 4 hijas, doyenne of the Peruvian and Argentine literary circles, difundadora de la escritura y la Cultura...

Presentation/Paper; Voice/Text

21 oct.



Batticuore, Graciela. El taller de la escritora: Veladas Literarias de Juana Manuela Gorriti:Lima-Buenos Aires (1876-1892)

De la introducción: "Nacidos para ser escuchados antes que leídos, estos trabajos de índole diversa se convierten en textos al integrar el tomo de las Veladas Literarias de Lima..." (19, énfasis mío)

Haven't read the chapter that treats that yet, but should be interesting, as I've been considering speaking/saying. Is it more complex a process to make a text meant to be read more "listenable" or to alter a text meant to be easy on the ears of an audience of many into a meaningful reading for a variety of silent individuals who bring their own experiences and interpretations to that text? Is my very recent interest in writing that was meant to be read aloud compared with writing meant to be consumed silently justifying "...un trabajo bien armado que entretuvo también."?
_________

20 oct.

By the time I'd read the 2nd sentence of the presentation my nervousness completely dissolved. As I read the quote in which Almodóvar explains that La flor is a film of sentiments, I could feel the audience hook in and enjoy the "see how it is" of this wonderful film. Only got one question - and yes, it was the kind that took five minutes to ask and ended up not really being a question...During the break many expressed that they see Almodóvar in a more literary way. Karl's response to this - "Well, Duh!"

My nervousness returned when Magalí cued up her PowerPoint for her "Cruzando fronteras, construyendo otros mundos: Alteridad y pluralidad en los nuevos discursos zapatistas" (yeah, I know, but it was a great presentation - Magalí is not one of those "zapaturistas" who consider wearing a Sub-Comandante Marcos T-shirt an act of ...um...activism).

Even though I had settled back into my spot in the audience, my MacBook was still at the podium where it had been and would continue to be throughout the day. After discovering that Milagros' PC was not cooperating in showing images, conference organizers Mónica y Álvaro pressed my computer into service. Now, I realize that I have a somewhat unnatural attachment to this little white rectangle, so it was kind of good for it to see other people. Back to Magalí's presentation...she ended with a song from rapper Boca Floja. My computer plays all songs automatically through the iTunes application. When it came up on the screen, I gasped. I shrunk in my seat, expecting to see my whole library flash before my eyes, leaving me more exposed to my peers and professors than if someone had ripped off my pinstripe suit and left me standing in my undies and shoes. I stared helplessly as several of the song titles flashed by. ("Fade Into You" - not too bad; "Gitaneros trianeros" - excellent; "This Is How a Heart Breaks" - Oh, dear God! "Suck It To Me" - At least it's Almodóvar. I was afraid that Peaches' "I don't give a Fuck", or the James Bond theme or worse would just start playing for no reason) Fortunately, only someone who knew what to look for would catch them. Mónica quickly got rid of the display and I relaxed again, knowing that my Mac had not "gone to strangers".

Negro/Rosa

19 oct.



Now that I've decided what to say about the negro/rosa debate that is La flor de mi secreto it's time to decide what to wear. The pink suit or the black suit. I honestly didn't plan to reflect in my dress the conflict I'm dealing with in my paper. But I reallyreally want to wear one of those suits - they're the only things I have that will work for this event. OK, it has to be the black suit. If I felt that my paper was a bit less lightweight, I would wear that Pepto Bismol-pink suit. I can wear it for some future presentation that doesn't involve me saying the color rosa ad nauseum. So yes, the black pinstripe suit - with a pink shirt...maybe that little visual representation of my topic will take critical minds off the drivel I'll be spouting about it... and the fact that I only cite four or five previous studies...and that there's a lot more plot summary than I'd like...and that it's mostly "See how it is"...and that my voice is extremely hoarse...and that I'm going to go about 5 minutes over...

Pause

Certain immobilizing aspects of ordinary life - getting a (rare) manicure from someone with LEP (or LSP), the "free" with fill-up drive-through car wash, a routine dental appointment - once in a while have the unexpected upside of inducing an almost meditative state from which I emerge as refreshed as from a 20-minute nap. But yesterday... Flipping radio stations on my way to gas up I have to stop at the longest red light in Yolo County, where instead of getting irritated, I roll down the window and experience one of those moments of refreshing blankness. When I come out of it, I discover to my utter horror, that "How Deep Is Your Love?" is not only blaring from my speakers, but it's almost over and I am ta-ra-reando along with it. Serenity shaken a bit and the song is still in my head.

Some reconsiderations

In the song "Distantly in love", Jimmy Buffett confesses, "I can't help but be ruled by inconsistency."

Well, shit, if he can admit it, anyone can. Maybe. Or maybe it's just a question of changing one's mind...or maturing...or becoming accustomed...or finally getting hip to something...

Here are inconsistencias mías and some things I've changed my mind about, some of them after vehemently expressing opposing opinions (that's ok, my own words actually don't taste too bad when washed down with enough whine).

1. Now I actually quite like the resurgence of decoration on the back pockets of jeans. Such a variety.


2. Turning on the radio on the way home I heard the sustained and smooth yet somehow searing notes that could only come from Carlos Santana's guitar. While I've always respected him and appreciated his unique style, it's never really moved me. Tonight, however, that guitar style worked on me. I mean, for me. Or both.



3. Those gorgeous Italian grey wool pants that I thought made me look all tall and "all that" actually make my ass appear positively elephantine. No pic. Ever.

4. While I can't exactly say that I now like Bemberg's film Camila, it makes for a better supplement to study of Argentina during the Rosas regime than it does entertainment. Maybe it's just that Profe. Ana using it gives it the cachet that another profe./another Santana couldn't. Plus, it caused Bobby to exclaim, "Ea...¡es Víctor de La Regenta!" upon seeing the actor who plays Camila O'Gorman's father and me to lean over Jon to whisper to Bobby, "¿Es la abuela de Camila la mamá del Padre Fermín de La Regenta?" Anything or anyone who makes a link between the seminars I'm taking deserves a second, positive gander.



5. I've completely v-chipped South Park for its treatment of one of maybe three things/people that are, for me, "untouchables". That being said, however, when I have to listen to someone spew unpleasantness (sometimes deserved, but usually not) at me I push the "play" button in my head and let the words and melody of "Kyle's Mom's a Bitch" provide background music, if not drown out whatever he/she is saying that I don't wish to hear.

6. The indoor track is not always boring, but rather a pleasant and definitely safer place to disconnect completely during a run.



7. 40 is not the new 30. It's the new black.

8. My presentation might actually be short enough after all and it won't suck as much if I do show the clips.

9. Breakfast really shouldn't consist wholly or partially of Cheez-Its™. Except in cases of emergency. (I may change my mind on this one again.)



10. Just because it's a list doesn't mean it has to have 10 items.

"I could tell you were blogging...the expression on your face."

Olivos en Russell Blvd.

I discovered this olive grove (if a grove can consist of two rows of trees) last Wednesday...a lovely bit of serendipity. Wednesdays are usually my days off from running, but for some reason I went out. Today, I went to the ARC, thinking I'd be unable to run today, and planning to use one of those machines. On my way out of the locker room, however, the image of that olive grove came to mind...and I went outside. It was my intention to walk, but the ankle felt OK. I ran very carefully in the light drizzle. 38 minutes of pure unadulterated Ramones lifted the mood induced by the grey skies and an entire morning spent in my office. How can I not respond to the unbridled joy of those earlier songs? Four chords were enough and "1-2-3-4!" was as valid a line as "Oh yah!" and repeating "Sheena is a punk rocker." or "I wanna be your boyfriend." enough times eliminated the need for too many other lyrics. My euphoric mood lasted until the return to the building. Unfortunately, by the time I got back to the car (yeah, I drove...don't judge me!) I just wanted to listen to "Volver, volver" by Vicente Fernández as many times as I could, but it's not really the same without the tequila blanco, so I let the next song on the disk, Bonde do Rolê's jubilantly obnoxious "Solta o frango" grab me by both hands and yank me the hell up out of that muddy little mood.

__________________________

This blog and I might need to spend some time apart...

How many are too many...

An alphabetical (?) list expressing attitudes on the continuum between (and including) idle curiosity and paranoid worry about personal and/or societal excesses

...Dollar Stores in a town of 130,000?
...empty wine bottles in the recycling bin per week?
...housing developments?
...strings of lights?
...students from my Spanish 2 summer course transferring into my Spanish 3 course this fall?
...times that Diego Rivera appears in this blog?
...times to hit the snooze button?
...versions of Romancero gitano?
...minutes spent writing in this blog? (wait, I don't really want to know)

"Your blog would be a good place to practice your English," she said.

El matadero Su lectora y su lectura


El matadero is Esteban Echeverría's Argentine allegory por excelencia. This tale that serves as prototype to the South American novel deserves its own numbered definition in the Dictionary of Literary Terms under "civilización vs. barbarie". The irony-rich story takes place during Lent of 1839 in a slaughter yard (matadero). The author's election of this vile and violent setting (the type of setting ignored by his contemporaries) is deliberate and reflects the micro-cosm that is the Argentina of that time - where the white elite, eyes ever on Paris, co-habitate (?) (conviven) with the rough customs of the gauchos, mulattos and blacks who come to the city as service workers. This author avant-la-lettre in so many ways, is perhaps the first to employ language in such a way that the chaotic mix of that society also becomes audible to the reader. In her introduction, Fleming states that, "Pero las formas populares locales y, sobre todo, las expresiones toscas y groseras presentes de hecho en la lengua natural, no tenían aún cabida en la literatura." (81) So true...the rougher language used by el populacho and employed in the most important moments of this relato would still take years to insert itself into literary prose. Echeverría utilizes the previously untapped and extremely valuable narrative potential of the languages of the masses, especially when placed in juxtaposition with the language of the elite. Through it, he characterizes his, um...characters, reflecting the intersticial environments surrounding the stockyard (I knew "slaughteryard", above, didn't sound right!). The presence of a first person narrator, who inserts himself in and whose involvement with the story is unclear, places Echeverría firmly in the grand tradition of Spanish American literature. However, it must be noted that in the opening sentence (¡finally!) this narrator (we know it's a himself by the use of the adjective difuso) could very well be speaking as or on behalf of the author, who, with it, rebels against certain time-worn "hispaniard" literary conventions. (Thanks for coining that one, K. I hope you don't mind my broadening the definition of your neologism.)
"A pesar de que la mía es historia, no la empezaré por el arca de Noé y la genealogía de sus ascendientes como acostumbran hacerlo los antiguos historiadores españoles de América, que deben ser nuestros prototipos." (91)

____________________________________

Hope it didn't hurt as much to read as it did to write.

And the Nobel Prize/Academy Award for Best Use of Otter Pops goes to...

Not even eleven minutes into my run this afternoon I twisted my ankle and fell. I was near the IHOP, far enough away from home to have to call to be picked up. While it did hurt like hell, it wasn't severe enough for me to hash the trip to Cache Creek Casino we'd been planning since last night. Now, none of us gamble and I feel hinky about supporting the gaming industry (even "Indian" casinos) and the atmosphere can provoke thoughts and evoke feelings that prevent me from seeing this as the entertainment others seem to enjoy. But once in a great while, someone will get a wild hair up his/her ass and just want to drive up 505 and I fully support it! The last time was three years ago. I didn't play, but spent the time savoring the kitsch of the karaoke contest, a Chinese acrobat show and the lounge singer. There were no lounge acts tonight - due to "Ricky Nelson Remembered" tribute concert. So the company, the mini-road trip and Vietnamese coffee were tonight's motivations for getting off my high horse (properly outfitted to do so, I might add, as cowboy boots provide excellent ankle support). I popped some Advil, got in the back seat, elevated my leg, and stuffed some Otter Pops down my boot to abate the swelling. By the time we arrived, the Otter Pops had melted (with no leakage as I removed them). Once inside we headed to Fat's restaurant (hour and a half wait) so we turned to leave, and several security guards rushed by us and seized one of the patrons in the casino and drug him out! It seemed a bit surreal...most of the players didn't even look up from their machines. After dinner (comida mexicana) we split up, agreeing to meet later at the bromeliad outside of Fat's. My sensory overload was dulling. Pleasant odor of cigarette smoke, though, and I wondered if it would be absorbed into my clothes and if tomorrow I've have a little olfactory reminder of going out at night. Trying to get some feelings back, I looked at the eyes of people coming towards me and people sitting at play. I watched $100.00 bills leaving their fists and being laid down on tables or disappear face up into those slots and register digitally on a screen. Eventually I put four $1.00 bills into a nickel machine with a proper pull handle and a game I didn't really understand. Maybe it was a bit entertaining...I think. I did win $20.00 and was happy ("That's a book!"), but not elated, nor moved to take a bigger risk. The Vietnamese coffee was paradoxically calming and I think three years from now, I'll start with one.

10 Things to do Before I'm 40:

10 Things to do Before While I'm Still 40:
1. Write a "Top Ten" list
2. Not wear cocktails attire at work during laundry crises (though vice versa usually acceptable)
3. Grow hair to at least shoulder length (?)
4. Play lead guitar and sing back-up in punk band
5. Learn names of presidential candidates for 2008 (other than Clinton and Obama)
6. Find perfect red lipstick
7. Do FAFSA for 2007-2008 school year
8. Get out of town
9. Sing along LOUDLY with mariachis. (Combine this with 8. en Plaza Garibaldi and I won't need to do anything else on this list)
10. Stop being such a baby about Critical Theory. This means no longer letting out a squeak, slamming my book shut and throwing it across the room whenever I read the names Heidegger, Judith Butler, Walter Benjamin, Jean Franco, Bakhtin, Homi Babha, Jean Franco, Foucault, Hélène Cixous, Lacan, Derrida (eek! Sorry, couldn't help it).

To help keep the bullshit-o-meter in good working order:

Speaking of over-done...(11/10)

And the theme of yesterday still lends itself to discussion today, as we will enter into the topic of filmic adaptations (especially of the novels from the XIX). Some cites from the readings.

Salas, Daniel Sánchez. "En otras realidad: "La obra literaria de Clarín, Galdós y Valera en el cine español." La imprenta dinámica: Literatura española en el cine español. Coord. Carlos F. Heredero. Cuadernos de la academia.

"Como hemos visto a lo largo de estas páginas, la historia de una adaptación es la historia de una apropiación. La obra original y su contexto viven una nueva vida tiempo más tarde bajo otra sustancia creativa y una nueva situación."


And from Andrew, Dudley. Concepts in Film Theory. Oxford University Press, 1984. A little theory-heavy, but that's very good for me.

"That tale...bears a transcendent relation to any and all films that adapt it, for it is itself an artistic sign with a given shape and value, if not a finished meaning."

"In the case of those texts explicitly termed adaptations, the cultural model that the cinema represents is already treasured as a representation in another sign system...The broader notion of the process has much in common with interpretation theory..."

"There are modes of relation between the film and the text. These modes can, for convenience, be reduced to three: borrowing, intersection, and fidelity of transformation."

"Filmmaking...is always an event in which a system is used and altered in discourse. Adaptation is a peculiar form of discourse, but not an unthinkable one."

"The job of theory in all this is to keep the questions clear and in order. It will no longer do to let theorists settle things with a priori arguments. We need to study the films themselves as acts of discourse."

Even Shakespeare (Cervantes;)... (10/10)

...in Sonnet #76 at first seems to express frustration at his lack of originality. However, he soon makes it clear that he realizes that most of what we write or wish to write has already been written in some version, at least. And, more importantly, that this does not mean we should not write it as our unique expressions will keep it alive and new. We can always bring something original to the already established canon, literary conversations, observations of life, interpretation/analysis of history, etc. I (arrogantly?) don't often apply this to myself. But it has also been echoed to me by many when I begin to whine about how I can't write something because it's already "overdone", "trillado", "hackneyed", "condensed onto a bumpersticker" etc. (Hmmm...interesting how those descriptions lend themselves to almost every topic I want to treat.) I summarize/paraphrase my wise mentors in this way, "If you can't write something absolutely original, write it anyway, but in your own words."
But let us now look to the poet's words, rather than mine.

Sonnet o' the day
Sonnet #76 - 2007-10-08 03:05:47-04 (received today, 10/10/07)
LXXVI.
Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent:
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is told.
(énfasis mío)

__________________________________

Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (29 September, 1547 - 23 April, 1616)
William Shakespeare (23 April, 1564 - 23 April, 1616)

Las manos

Rivera/Posada

Even when the Yankees lose, like they just did this Division Series, the calm and intense elegance of Mariano Rivera's pitching is always worth watching.

If only the words I spoke and wrote would reach their intended receptors as clearly, accurately and concisely as a ball on its trajectory from Rivera's hand to the palm of Jorge Posada's glove...




Posada/Rivera

...or as lovingly and respectfully as José Guadalupe Posada's engraved creation of "La Calavera Catrina" was transferred to the surface via the brush in Diego Rivera's hand.

Heavenly Day...

Entry yesterday

...the title of another KFOG Acoustic Sunrise-induced song purchase. This one is by Patti Griffin from the album Children Running Through. I'd only heard of the artist by name, but the song was perfect for the morning's atmosphere.



Envíos celestiales/Heaven-sent:

-RoRo's unexpected appearance this morning

-Shoes I thought were hideous at first glance, but that I couldn't stop thinking about as I stood in line to purchase other items and had to go back and get.

I almost put them on the desk to take this picture, but my mom's panicked warning, "Don't put new shoes on the table!" popped into my head. Oh, yeah...my desk is technically a table...and the shoes might be new, even though I did get them for $2.50 at the Thrift Center. I finally looked this up and it is an established superstition, the only one my mom really seemed to take seriously, so I guess I will, too. The consequences of placing new shoes on a table range from bad luck for the day to the death of the intended wearer.

-Love La Regenta so far, but agree with author of introduction, it might be a bit better had it been edited...

-Yankees won!

Vox humana 3/10

J.L. Borges

"Critical Approaches to Latin American Literature" seminar met for first time today. Profe Ana was her endearing self and this afternoon my mind engaged in an entirely different way...a slow opening and absorption of everything but the name of the author of a critical work I need on Mercedes Cabello de Carbonera.
Brief but detailed explanation of the works on the syllabus.
Introductions. Very cool to hear how my classmates' ideas for specialization have either evolved, narrowed, or completely changed. And very refreshing to hear how candidly the new ones spoke about "not knowing what to expect" and being "nervous"... Intimidating presence of 4 students from Comp. Lit.
Ended with a recording of Borges reading his "Poema conjetural" (1942) and a quick and dirty analysis of the poem. I was the first to answer the opening question - what could Borges be saying about the death of his ancestor? Yes, very uncharacteristic of me, but the wait time was elongating uncomfortably and I didn't want Profe Ana to have to answer her own question. As punishment for that, I got a probing, "Do you agree with that?" Yes, I did. It was a death digna de un "argentino"...a death contrary to the life of this doctor, a man who lived in a world of studies and books and laws who longed to express himself as another type of man - South American del campo...argentino...to fight al estilo gauchesco, but not being able to do that, to be able to die in a violent manner. The borgesian ideas of the double, the mirror, the reconciling of lo europeo/el criollo (even the idea of the eternal image as seen in "El otro") ... I couldn't help but read this is the poetic version of "El sur".

El valor nacadémico de la cultura de las masas

Such a great source! Introduction alone is sufficient to undertake a study on high/low culture in Spanish literature, cinema, etc.

God, I want a cigarette so badly I just know that the way I'm compressing my lips around my pencil is exactly the way to do it and I can almost feel and taste that smoke lingering for a second in my mouth before being drawn slowly down into my lungs and expelled in a perfect stream by a cathartic sigh that also carries away the anxiety over today's tasks.

The link between writing and craving a smoke probably hasn't been established anywhere, but it must exist because for the last year and half opening "Word" produces a virtual nicotine fit in this nonsmoker who has never inhaled any but secondhand smoke.

How Berkeley is too Berkeley?

Ghandi Peace Float
The cupcake cars Karl saw at Burning Man! No photo from today, but they were there!

I don't know why I thought taking University Ave. to I-80 would still be a good idea - after all, I was leaving Berkeley about 2 1/2 hours later than I usually do in an effort to combine errands. Today I added a follow-up eye exam at 9:00. After the appointment I strolled down Telegraph, asleep still with its usual companions, and got to Moe's books about 5 minutes before it opened. I was looking for a copy of Delibes' Los santos inocentes, which I didn't find. But - 41 minutes and 41 dollars later I exited with:
1. a new copy of Pedro Páramo,
2. Arráncame la vida,
3. a recent Paco Taibo, Pálidas banderas, that threatens to move into the turf of the Crack Boys, if only in the multi-national protagonists and settings and elements of the thriller that the back jacket indicates. I believe that Taibo will either show 'em how it's done right or err on the side of Fuentes. (yeah, yeah, writers evolve, but some of them maybe shouldn't),
4. Memoria de mis putas tristes y 5. La increíble y triste historia de la cándida Eréndira y de su abuela desalmada,
6. Sonata de primavera/Sonata de estío -one of the cheap ones from Espasa-Calpe to complete the Valle-Inclán concert,
7. Aves sin nido will merge perfectly with Profe Ana's class this quarter and
8. La ciudad y los perros, once I read it, will help me round out that analysis of its cinematic adaptation that I did for Santana's class.

So, back to University Ave. Traffic was slow and it looked like a parade was in the offing. Now, I do not love a parade, but catching sight of about ¡25 ART CARS! lined up in a row made me slam on the brakes, turn up the next available side street and begin the search for parking. I ended up parking on MLK. After seeing something of what one would expect in a parade in Berkeley (lots of tie-dye, protesters, floats from Waldorf-type schools) and some very cool, unexpected things (all-gay cheerleading squad, Tibetan dancers) I finally decided to ask what the event was. A young man wearing an outsized straw hat and a t-shirt emblazoned with the sentence "No one knows I'm a lesbian." answered, "Oh, it's called 'How Berkeley Can You Be'. It's an annual event." Some of the charm seemed to evaporate a little for me. "How full of yourself, Berkeley, can you be?"* After seeing the art cars (very very cool), I walked back to my parking space. Right in front of the building that houses KPFA. How Berkeley, indeed.


*I'll admit, I'm a little jealous because I really don't think we'd get many spectators in my town wanting to see the answer to "How Vallejo can you be?"