Just because you can zip them doesn't mean they fit.

The euphoric state produced by being able to zip my "skinny" jeans this morning without that tug dissipated quickly as I regarded my reflection in them. I think they must be what caused my dizziness in the elevator. Note to self: don't bend over in a moving elevator to rummage for car keys in bag on floor and straighten up suddenly as the elevator bounces to its stop. Especially not while wearing jeans that may be cutting off circulation.

"Those are really cool boots! Where'd you get 'em?"

La nueva novela de CRG

El convento de Dos Mundos

Going to see CRG tomorrow at Stanford is an opportunity I cannot miss, but for the first time EVER I'll be missing a seminar. And it's Peluffo's class and the reading is Eva Perón. I so much would have loved to hear what she has to say (Peluffo, not Perón, I'm actually getting a little impatient with Evita's memoir).


Also, have chosen to take Friday off...so thankful for Monika and Matt, who will be covering. At least Friday is test day. And speaking of, again, so thankful - Monika is doing the finishing touches to Test#3 as I write. Doing the test was another stresser that made this week so out of the ordinary. Yet, it became something salvific. Below, I reproduce Monika's ingeniously creative e-mails along with an e-mail of mine. The Skype conversation referred to in my missive served to pull my head from where it was entrenched (my ass) and placed it gently back where it belongs.

From: m
Subject:=?iso-8859-1?q?RE:=20Examen=203=20todav=EDa?=
To:todos
Date:Wed, 28 Nov 2007 07:05:30 +0100 (CET)

Estimados hermanos,
Que no corra la sangre y que haya paz. Sus sugerencias aún están llegando a los buzones de este santo monasterio. Sus peticiones serán atendidas debidamente, disculpen a la hermana Valerie, que ha sido rápida y veloz en su ejercicio espiritual de componer el examen 3. Gracias, hermana, los hermanos de la Congregación de TA´s del Santo Suplicio te lo agradecemos. Ahora, en la noche, me retiraré a mi celda y meditaré profundamente con la ayuda del señor(oh, Norma, que todo lo ves) e inspirada por ella,llevaré a cabo la mejor de las tareas para que todas las sugerencias queden debidamente atendidas para mañana a la hora del ángelus (o sea, bien prontito). Que la paz sea con vosotros,ave.
La hermana Sor Teo de Loteria

From: V
To: M
GENIAL! Casi escupí un buche de vino tinto sobre el teclado de "mi precioso". ¿Tengo tu permiso reproducir esta carta en mi blog? Y, de veras, discúlpame...sí hice unas correciones, y no sabía que te estaban enviando más, pues no me han llegado ningún
otro e-mail...¿quieres pasármelos para que pueda ayudarte? No quiero que pases demasiado tiempo en este examen...bueno te busco en Skype...o te hablo por teléfono.
V.

From:M
To: V

Estimada madre superiora, Sor Valeria de los Ángeles,
su Excelencia puede reproducir esta misiva en su diario o bitácora internáutica sin agravio alguno para mi persona ¡Por supuesto! Es un honor. En cuanto a las
correcciones, no se preocupe ni se desvele su señoría, que ya fueron enmendadas. Mañana añadiré aquellas otras de la hermana Angélica y del padre Fray Omar.
Ahora me voy a la cocina, donde el padre Fray Alvariño se encuentra preparando unas viandas como cena, creo que precisa ayuda...
Un devoto abrazo,
La hermana Sor Presa de los Exámenes y Papers.

---

Bah Humbug

Each year I am less and less in the Christmas spirit. Like everyone else, I am appalled that the Christmas commercialism begins so early. Even the food doesn't appeal. Red and green don't look nice together. I guess there are also some personal reasons why I no longer feel the magic or enchantment or the warmth of the season. The last time I felt it was when we went to MT to the brothers' houses. But that can't happen every year. A large part of my attitude is a reaction to hearing Christmas music in not even mid-November.

I realize that every year there are fewer Christmas songs that I can even tolerate. Some of them follow, along with their antitheses and some are quite incongruous and I cannot even begin to explain why they've made the cut or haven't.

1. "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" (but not "Jingle Bell Rock")
2. "Do You See What I See?" (but not "Little Drummer Boy" or -gasp-"Silent Night")
3. "Blue Christmas" (but not "White Christmas")
4. "Good King Wenceslaus" (but maybe not "We Three Kings")
5. "The Office Xmas Party"(but not "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer")
6. "Silver Bells"(but not "Jingle Bells")

LaLaLa #2

Although not a huge fan of this style of naïf art, I was kind of looking forward to going to the Grandma Moses exhibit at the Crocker Art Museum in Sacramento with Sylvia. When I was in 4th grade, our beloved teacher Mrs. Sisson had us study Grandma Moses. The artist was an amazing person, having started painting in her 70s and painting so prolifically. The exhibit was lovingly curated and viewers paused longer than the average time before each painting, sucked in to what Sylvia called the artist's "mind maps" of her village. Even I spent a lot of time looking at the detail and vaguely remembering Mrs. Sisson's lesson. I think we read a book, watched a documentary and did paintings of Poplar "in the style of..." Some of those paintings, would definitely have been less cheery than the endearing and actually quite elaborate "Sugaring Off" (below). Just imagine muddier snow, rusted-out rez cars instead of horse-drawn buggies, way more dogs running around and a few passed-out drunks up alongside some of the buildings. Title would be "Sleeping It Off." Yes, just add making fun of Grandma Moses to the list of reasons why I'm probably going straight to hell.



I hadn't been to the Crocker for over a year and was surprised at the construction and expansion project. The museum is really one of the state's best art museums and allegedly the oldest West of the Mississippi (and the Crockers were related to Elena Poniatowska). One of the coolest things about the permanent collection is that most of the art has a plaque that offers an explanation/interpretation of the work and alerts viewers to special details (e.g. looking beyond an obvious fireworks display in a painting and noting that flames are shooting out of Mount Vesuvius in the background). These explanations, surprisingly, are not in the least bit patronizing.

But the very coolest thing was the 2nd floor's center gallery. The paintings there are now hanging salon style. (See page 3 of exhibitionlayout.pdf)

I must have seen this style of hanging art before. But I either don't remember it or am such a peasant I actually haven't. Both are very real possibilities. Since I would never dare profane the space of a museum with my camera, I'll let Tommy Huynh's photo that I found on flickr.com illustrate this gallery that had me absolutely enchanted.

I figure that since I credit the photographer it's probably OK to copy his photo that he probably wasn't supposed to take in the museum in the first place anyway.

__________________________

Sylvia showed me Thrift Town out on Arden after we left the museum. A pink and orange paisley button-down shirt, a burnt-orange linen blazer that I hope will make me look like a professor and jeans that have a henna tattoo iron-on detail on the end of the legs and in a size number that made me very happy (never mind that I can't really sit down in them...they'll be my museum-going jeans).

Advice

Was thinking about my mom's words of wisdom today - other than the typical "say please and thank-you" type. Somewhat incongruously, instead of sitting me down for a proper feminist "sex talk" she just handed me her copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves (first edition), saying, "Here. You're an advanced reader. We can talk about it afterwards if [read mathematically iff ] you have any questions." Never sentimental, she didn't offer a loving yet cautionary speech when she dropped me off at college the first time. She just wrote the first 3 of these gems on the little notepads the RA had hung on our doors. The rest were passed down over the years when needed.

• Keep your room clean.


• You know where the clinic is. If you have to, use it.


• Don't fuck up.


• Always have a "Plan B".


• Don't drink from the swizzle stick. It's tacky.


• Handwrite thank-you notes (but not if you've said thank you in person). Don't type them. It's tacky.


• No matter how much a man tells you he loves you, never let him see you putting on your pantyhose.


• Don't wear white shoes (or linen) or drink gin and tonics after Labor Day or before Memorial Day.


• There's always money for travel.


• If you see_____(insert name of current or former stepdad), don't talk to him or give him any money.


• Don't open your wedding gifts at the reception. It's tacky.


• Read. (unspoken and understood)


• Read quality books, certainly, but a good trashy novel once in a while won't kill you.


• Oh for God's sake, Valerie, STOP cracking your knuckles! You're going to have arthritis by age 25.


• You should get a dog.


• Vía radio now, but always at the moment I most need it, "Don't worry.....'bout a thing..... 'Cause every little thing..gonna be allright."


• To be continued when memory serves...

I do try to follow all of these, but haven't done so well on the wearing of linen and drinking of gin and tonics only between Memorial and Labor Days. Mom actually gave a dispensation of the linen thing after living in Rosarito for a few months. And the g and t's...well, sometimes we just have to extend the season, due to mitigating circumstances and/or temperatures. Oh, yeah, and those thank-you notes...

A writer's writer writes about writers, writing...y mucho más

Tusquets, 2001


Started the study-reading of Javier Cercas' Soldados de Salamina. It raises interesting questions about the value of literature written by authors who supported and/or were part of the falange. Excellent transition de parte de la profe. Cristina, from Cela to Cercas. Soldados is quite an easy, compelling "read" and from the first few pages, it's evident that the story would translate smoothly into screenplay. Indeed, the filmic version (click for the excellent site) of the novel was extremely sucessful and nominated for an Oscar. I look forward to seeing the film next week - the protagonist appears to have undergone a sex change. As much as this novel can "pass" for literatura popular, there is a literary weight to it which enabled its being used in this seminar and as subject of critical works. Of particular interest are the writing about writing angle, the above-mentioned question about questionable authors and the nods to or strong presence of other authors, here especially to Chilean author Roberto Bolaño (who died, age 50 at the apex of his career in 2003 Obituary in the UK's Guardian Unlimited). Instead of citing the first sentence of the novel here or even the first mention of Bolaño (in which Bolaño reveals to the narrator that he has read and liked both of his books and displays the worn copies to prove it), I'd like to copy the following. It's now perhaps a bit eerie...definitely a tribute to Bolaño mixed with a bit of respectful competitiveness on the part of Cercas...

"Esa tarde, mientras escuchaba con creciente interés la historia exagerada de Miralles, pensaba que muy pronto iba a leerla en uno de los libros exagerados de Bolaño, pero cuando llegué a mi casa, después de despedir a mi amigo y de pasear por la ciudad iluminada por farolas y escaparates, quizá llevado por la exaltación de los gin-tonics yo ya había concebido la esperanza de que Bolaño no fuera a escribir nunca esta historia: la iba a escribir yo" (164).

Despistados

Annual Thanksgiving pilgrimmage to Namaste Indian Cuisine in Concord.

Wow, I don't think I feel like writing tonight...

New chair from IKEA.

I'm almost as IKEA-phobic as Lauren Henderson's detective Sam Jones. The IKEA experience might be easier if the little food store downstairs sold Absolut and if you could actually stop off there first instead of being routed up an escalator and through every single display before the ride (powered by your feet) stops at the cash registers on the first floor about 3 miles from where you came in. After spending that much time in that vast expanse of saddeningly flimsy furniture, there was no way I was leaving empty-handed. Purchased the chair (original purpose was a chair, if not that exact one, but it all worked out) and some candles. Each time I've been to IKEA, I get the tealights.


I'm so afraid that the next time I'm in there, my brain will completely short-circuit from the sensory overload that place induces. An even more frightening possibility is that I'll buy one of these pillows.

Translation pains

I have attempted to translate part of my proposal for my final paper in the Latin American Lit. seminar. It's rough on purpose. The Spanish is smoother. I think. I won't include it here, as my purpose is just to try to capture a bit of what goes on mentally when I translate. Too bad I can't show you what the headache looks like. I seem to display a bit more interference from Spanish on my English than vice versa. Or perhaps not. At any rate, if so, I hope it's only evident in my cacademic writing.

Not because of the translation, but the content, I realize, reading over this post that...

...I may have just set off my own Bullshit-o-Meter!

"Juana Manuela Gorriti, diffuser of american culture: Cocina eclética and other collaborations of Pan-american women writers."

In her introduction to her translation of Sueños y realidades (Dreams and Realities) by Juana Manuela Gorriti, Francine Masiello states that

Gorriti sought to provoke a gendered revolution consistent with domestic reserve, a recognition of women in the public arena, but consonant with the law. This domesticated version of feminist militancy was aimed at achieving self-sufficiency for women while keeping them in less contentious public spaces (xxxiv).

I think it remains to be seen whether Gorriti was exactly "militant”, but overall, I do agree with Masiello. The houses of Gorriti's homes in Lima and in Buenos Aires, locations of her literary salons * well would have fit perfectly among those public spaces. Although she did invite men to these gatherings, they are it is the women who I intend to treat (¿?) examine in this work. The evolution of the XIX century woman from just merely "Angel of the House" to that as well as increasingly sophisticated reader and writer, in some cases is evident in Gorriti's writing as well as in the writing of some the women invited guests at her veladas. in which I propose to study, in general, the type of proto-feminism that Gorriti practiced exhibited, and more specifically, how her efforts fostered a spirit of panamericanism and a sisterhood of latinamerican Latin American writers. I will attempt to analize analyze how her compilation of cooking recipes (Cocina ecléctica) and her literary salons involved the American women (at least certain privileged American women, that is) in the political, cultural and social lives of the continent.
* Subject of Batticuore's excellent study El taller de la escritora: Veladas Literarias de Juana Manuela Gorriti: Lima – Buenos Aires 1876-1892.

This is why we can't have nice things.

Article in today's Chronicle on what passes for political scandal in Vallejo.

(11-19) 12:29 PST Palm Springs Vallejo's vice mayor, [Gary Cloutier] who is locked in a tight race for mayor of the Bay Area city, has been arrested [locked in and locked up] on suspicion of public intoxication in Palm Springs after he allegedly stumbled out of a bar and attempted to drive away, police said today. Read all about it.



Comments from area residents

"I almost feel bad saying this, but he's even hot in his mug shot." "If I had to deal with the idiots in this town, I'd go to Palm Springs and get plastered, too." "One vote, Leo. One vote."

Friends' Thanksgiving (post started 17/11/07)

It's been either six or seven years that Friends' Thanksgiving has been going on at 231. It has been, traditionally, a relaxing day spent with people who do not share DNA (before going on to spend time with those who do). This year, the event will be tomorrow and fewer people than normal will be coming. Those who will be coming are some of my favorite people to sit around the table with and I know the meal will be enjoyable and the atmosphere one of friendship, love and warmth, even though we don't all see each other as often as we used to. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday and the meal always has something beyond alimentary aspects - comfort, joy, humor, etc. And I cannot help thinking of literary meals that have had the power to heal a character.



One of the first novels I could read normally after Mom died was The Heart Song of Charging Elk by Jim Welch. The salvific meal from this novel takes place in a Paris jail, where the eponymous protagonist has landed after a series of mishaps that separate him from the Buffalo-Bill Wild West Show he's been touring with. We will see that a meal prepared and served with care and regard for the one who will consume it has incredible healing force.

"For two days, Charging Elk had lain on the sleeping platform and sung his death song. It was a powerful song and it took him away to his own country. He did not feel the cold or see the close stone walls. He did not notice when one of the wasichus brought him soup or emptied his slop bucket...But this day, the third sleep, his song was weak and he was afraid it was losing its power. He no longer felt his nagi lifting inside him, hovering, waiting to be freed for the long journey home.

Then, around midday, something happened that caused him to quit his death song entirely. One of the helpers entered his room, carrying a small platform and a tray. He smiled and talked soothingly, pointing to the window, then to the shaft of light on the opposite wall. He pointed to the tray and rubbed his belly, and Charging Elk followed the man's finger and he saw real food. A cooked bird and several small potatoes, accompanied by a large chunk of bread and a piece of chocolate. He saw the usual mug of pale tea, but he also saw a small bottle of what looked to be mni wakan. It had no paper with the French writing stuck on it, but he could see the dark juice through the deep green of the bottle...The helper noticed that he was looking at the wine. He pointed to the bottle and put his thumb against his lower lip, tilting his head backward. Then he left, laughing.

Charging Elk had not eaten anything solid for several days...he was anxious to be dead and away from this stone room, this foreign land. It had been easy to quit eating the things that floated in the soup and the sour bread, but the sight and smell of real food made him almost grateful that he had not gone away...

Charging Elk looked at the bird for a long time before he found the strength to swing his legs over the edge of the platform and stand up...He stood for a moment, waiting for his sight to come back; then he reached down and touched the bird gingerly, almost a caress. It had been roasted and its smell filled the small room. He pulled a piece of skin from the carcass and tasted it. He thought it might be a wasichu trick, that it might be poisoned or diseased. But the skin tasted good...

After he finished the chicken, he popped the small potatoes, one by one, into his mouth...He chewed the dark bread...

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the blue packet of cigarettes and the matches Yellow Breast had given him. There was one cigarette left...He put it to his lips and struck a match. The thought of making prayers, of performing the yuwipi's ceremony with the tobacco, did not occur to him. And for the first time in several sleeps he felt warm and satisfied with this life and did not wish to end it...

Charging Elk leaned back against the stone wall and watched the smoke curl up into the shaft of light toward the window. He saw Yellow Breast's eyes in the smoke and he saw that the eyes were troubled, almost frightened, with what he saw in Charging Elk's face. He had given Charging Elk this tobacco to make prayers with; and now he had given him a meal of real food and a bottle of mni wakan. Charging Elk would drink it after he finished his smoke because he knew that Wakan Tanka had sent Yellow Breast to help him. Charging Elk smiled...He wanted to live, to continue to breathe the air of this strange country among these strange people. Just a short time ago, this thought would have caused Charging Elk great heartsickness; now he was content to smoke the cigarette and think of his life as here and now - no matter what, he would survive. And when the time came, he would go home to his people. Wakan Tanka would see to that" (104-107).

SMART Goals, Thanksgiving, 2007

• Buy and thaw turkey earlier


• Start drinking later


• Refrain from altering recipe of or making disparaging comments about nasty green bean casserole (or anyone's "sacred cow" Turkey Day foods, for that matter)


• Avoid sending anyone to store


• Find "prayer" alternative to the hackneyed, though usually insightful and non-intimidating What-are-you-thankful-for?-let's-start-with-you-and-go-around-the-table activity (note: cannot substitute this question, as there will be some under-12s there)

Recent Quotes

Of course, the quotes that follow most likely have no significance to anyone other than me, but I do want to remember them and those who uttered them (names will be changed to protect the...)

Picasso print jackets

"It's probably a sign of a mental problem that I can't wait until I'm old enough to wear things like that." --R.R. 16 nov. Glen Cove Safeway

"Holy shit! I didn't know that casket store back there was called The Casket Store!" (as though he knew all along that there even is a casket store "back there") -- aug. or sept. driving East on Tennessee St.

"My crotch feels just rotten." -- Special Ed. teacher Charlotte R., getting into her truck at 3:00AM after teaching all day and suffering the worst session of contract negotiations, 1992.

"Yo vi una película? y no me acuerdo como se llama? pero hay un viejo que está amamantando...?" ("I saw a film? and I don't remember what it's called? but there's this old man breastfeeding...?") #2 and I exchanged looks across the table, each wondering whether the old man was simply breastfeeding or breastfeeding someone.

Hola, Valerie: Espectacular accidente con el pie y el teléfono, digno de apuntarse en los anales de la intrahistoria del Dpto. Puedo imaginar al teléfono en el fondo del arroyuelo, como Ofelia cuando decidió lanzarse al río." ;-) ("Spectacular accident with your foot and the phone, worthy of note in the annals of intradepartmental history. I can imagine the phone at the bottom of the creek, like Ophelia when she decided to throw herself into the river.")--Álvi en su respuesta a mi e-mail re: el accidente telefónico, nov. 2007.

My classmates rock! Two from E.

Hi Val,
That sucks!  (But I got a kick out of your description, I could imagine the
whole thing in slow motion).  Glad your ankle is ok. My phone number is...
Have a good weekend :-)

One more thing that I hope makes you feel better, I dropped my phone in a
toilet in the bathrooms of the social science building during a break from
I's class once, and I reached in and got it!  On the upside it still
worked.

In the sky

Daylight Savings Time ended more than a week ago, but it was only a few days ago that "Fall Back" has its drawbacks. When I was a teenager, I loved it because it meant getting to stay out an hour later and when I turned 19, it meant an extra hour in the bar, if that's where I was. Now, I'm not so sure it's all that cool. People talk about that "extra hour of sleep", but I've never managed to find it. I guess for some people it's nice that it's light early in the morning, but for me, it just makes me feel like I'm running even later than I actually am. It also is unsettling that it gets dark so early; that makes me feel like I'm even farther behind than I actually am.

I reallyreallyreally want to think I saw the comet on my way to Davis yesterday morning. I saw something intensely bright hanging in the sky as I curved around the on-ramp to I-80, going East on Tennessee St.

I wish I could go shopping at Nugget every day...

I've been to the two Poniatowska events and I'm still processing them...wanted so much to write a review of them. Much simpler, less profound than I thought. Don't want to rush out and read everything she's written, but found it easy to listen to her. Perhaps it was the comment, directed toward aspiring writers of fiction, that talking to prisoners would provide them the best ideas and material for their stories. I can see why that could be true, but found it very off-putting in its exploitative nature and it would have been more offensive, I guess, coming from someone male or younger or both. She's a sweet, smart lady, who plays apolitical and at times resorts to Josephine Ludmer's tretas del débil.

Meanwhile, behind in my reading of La familia de Pascual Duarte and it is quite true that the violence and cruelty that pervade this novela tremendista are principal reasons for that. I'm absolutely dreading seeing the film adaptation. Since this novel uses the "found manuscript" technique, I cite several opening sentences.

libros206imagen1.jpgDedicatoria del cabrón que tendría que ser Cela, "Dedico esta edición a mis enemigos, que tanto me han ayudado en mi carrera." (I dedicate this edition to my enemies, who have helped my career so much.") y las primeras frases de las primeras partes. De la "Nota del transcriptor" - "Me parece que ha llegado al ocasión de dar a la imprenta las memorias de Pascual Duarte" (15). De la "cláusula del testamento..." - "Cuarta: Ordeno que el paquete de papeles que hay en el cajón de mi mesa de escribir, atado con bramante y rotulado en lápiz rojo diciendo: Pascual Duarte, sea dado a las llamas sin leerlo, y sin demora alguna, por disolvente y contrario a las buenas costumbres" (21). Y de la narración del protagonista, la dedicatoria, "A la memoria del insigne patricio don Jesús González de la Riva, Conde de Torremejía, quien al irlo a rematar el autor de este escrito, le llamó Pascualillo y sonreía." (23). y las palabras que afirman a la vez que contradicen la dedicatoria, y análisis del personaje protagónico "Yo, señor, no soy malo, aunque no me faltan motivos para serlo." (25)

"Doing laundry - it's like going shopping."

Well, it is if you haven't done any for a couple of weeks, anyway. Had some interesting outfits going on for a few days there. There was one serendipitous wardrobe discovery, however. One item that I can't ever go without is the bra, and one day last week, there were no clean ones. I contemplated handwashing my flimsiest and holding it out the car window to dry in the wind on the drive to work, but decided to look one last time...lo and behold, I came across the one I'd bought last summer, not knowing what kind of bridesmaid dress my sister-in-law would be requiring of me. I never had a chance to wear the "convertible" bra. The straps can be reconfigured numerous ways - the bra came with more options than the Toyota purchased on about the same day. Not only that, it's padded (am still wondering why bras in my size even come with padding at all...) and the cups are sort of molded. I put it on under a sort of tighter shirt and a few minutes later caught sight of my reflection and suddenly appreciated the magic of this contraption - while wearing this bra, "they" can no longer simply be described as big boobs. They are, efectivamente, a "rack".

Whilst I'm on the subject of girly things...my hair! Met Sylvia before the Poniatowska talk (which I'll review later, maybe - still processing). We sit and after catching up on what's going on for her, she looks at me, or more specifically, my hair (absolutely flat from being washed this afternoon with the "body wash" in the ARC shower and dried with the hand drier). There's an icky pause and then she asks, "Who's doing your hair now?" I say, hopefully quietly, as the row in front of me is all profes. and directly behind me is A. (who just intimidates the hell out of me), "Um...well, nobody, really. I mean, yeah it's still Mel but...I don't remember the last time I've been...haven't had time to even call for an appointment*" Sylvia's response is "Hmmph." Later, stopping by my office in Sproul to use the restroom, Angélica pauses before the bulletin board displaying the photos of all the grad students in our department and says, "I like your hair in this picture. It was más fluffy."

*Hmmm...no time to call the hairdresser or the dog groomer or do the laundry or go to the grocery store, yet this blog is thriving...

SFMoMA

The current exhibits are all wonderful. Olafur Eliasson's "Take Your Time" and "See Yourself Seeing" were so much cooler than I thought they'd be - and I don't just mean the frozen car exhibit, in which a temperature of 11 degrees keeps the car under ice. Visitors have the option of wrapping up in a grey fleece blanket to view the piece. Seems to undermine the message (something about fossil fuels) that extra energy is being expended to maintain that frigid temperature. So many of his installations require manipulation of temperature, and I think they're recycling the water that is necessary to do so. So, the museum smelled musty. As a member, I was tempted to complain, saying something like, "This week the city will be crawling with the world's technoscenti in town for Oracle Open World and so many of them will come to the SFMoMA. How embarrassing that it smells like rank car air conditioner..." Hoping the exhibits overshadow the smell. Particularly charming was the space in front of the elevators on the 4th floor. Eliasson had replaced the light bulbs with some that made it seem like visitors are moving about in a black and white movie. It was so very cool and it brought funny little tears to my eyes.

The Picturing Modernity photography gallery has all new photos, and as RoRo and Karl pointed out, is now on the 3rd floor (a detail that escaped me in my See How It Is). There's a Cindy Sherman self-portrait (oh, wait, that was redundant). A whole wall is dedicated to self-portraits, in fact. There's a spectacular Stieglitz nude - Georgia O'Keefe! And there are some tintypes and cyanotypes now. One of E.J. Bellocq's defaced (literally) portraits of Storyville prostitutes caught my attention - the story surrounding them is that Lee Friedlander found these portraits in a piece of furniture after Bellocq died. No one knows who defaced the portraits - perhaps his brother (a priest), perhaps a lover, perhaps one of the subjects. Of course I'm linking this inspiration for the 1978 film Pretty Baby to Joaquín Buitrago of CRG's Nadie me verá llorar.

Doggone.

¿Dog happened?

Yeah, a dog happened. This afternoon about 6:15. His name is Chuy. Mike and Angélica brought him over, wearing a little red bow tie. Chuy was wearing the bow tie, not Mike or Angélica. He's a year old and adorable. But he's a chihuahua...this house is not chihuahua-proof. Nor are its inhabitants. Stella is stymied by him. I, the dog lover extraordinaire, feel bad for not bonding immediately with him. He's here on a trial basis. He's already peed three times inside. Huge dilemma. Or perhaps not. Chihuahuas are, after all, in. When pet stores are robbed, it's chihuahuas that the thieves stick down their pants and walk out with, right?

Sin título #2

I was and probably will be when it's no longer cool. Not sure if I'm bragging or complaining.

After leaving the Armistead Symposium, I drove to the ARC, since I didn't work out yesterday. (Lunch at Sushi Nobu always trumps ARC) I ran 40 minutes in the rain. In my world, jogging in the rain counts as an ¡X-TREME! sport ;) And like any self-disrespecting Gen-Xer, I had to have technological accompaniment. I pulled a ziploc from the red car's weed box*, dumped out some pills that could have been Tylenol or just as easily Vitamin C or Fioricet, and used it as protection from the rain for my iPod Shuffle. It is my opinion that most physical activities are enhanced by aural stimulation (that last just seems cooler than saying that during a run I'd rather hear music than my own breathing, which often sounds a bit alarming).

*It hasn't ever really had weed in it...in fact, although admitting this only adds to my uncoolness, neither have I. Perhaps I can feel a bit cooler in the good company of Mo Rocca**, who admitted same in a no-longer-recent blog post. I've had similar thoughts to some of those he expresses, but I'm not taking a poll - content for now to remain simply 4:20-friendly.

**Oh no! Maybe it adds even more depth and complexity to my uncoolness that I think Mo Rocca is cool. And since this post has taken on an element of "truth or dare", I daresay that I probably have what passes (for me) as a celebrity crush on Mo Rocca. The possibility that he doesn't like women makes him even more appealing because although the crush is really more cerebral than celebrity, I don't have a lot of time to spend properly mooning over him.

Sam's Symposium

When I got into my car this morning, the song that was playing on the radio when I pulled into the driveway yesterday picked up almost exactly where it left off. Now, this wouldn't normally be cause for comment, but the song was Steely Dan's "Do It Again"... ¿A cool coincidence or a pathetic metaphor or other symbol that makes me realize how much time I spend in my car traveling the exact same stretch of I-80?

This morning, I was on my way to the Symposium organized in honor of Profe. Sam's many years at UCD.
These never start on time.Sam Armistead

I wondered why the event was being held at the Buehler Alumni Center instead of the University Club, but was glad it was because that meant that I'd walk in half and hour late, rather than 45 minutes late. I arrived as the first panelist was speaking, having missed the Chancellor's welcome. I had to walk pretty far up towards the front before I found a seat at the end of a row to slip into, which tells me that I was not the only one running late. I found a seat in front of Matt's and behind Manuel's aisle seats. As each panelist presented their work, it became clear why the Buehler Alum Ctr. was indeed the appropriate venue. The presenters had been students of Sam's at some point during the past 50 years and worked flores and acknowledgements to him into their papers. The papers this morning were all excellent and in themselves a loving tribute to Sam and all manifested his influence - the theme of the conference could have been subtitled: "Things That Professor Armistead Likes". Adrienne wisely closed the Q/A session after Sam related an anecdote about his last trip to Lisbon/Madrid. In both cities, he met with university high muckety-mucks, who, knowing his work, introduced themselves as descendents of Jews who, um..."converted" during the Inquistion. La señora madrileña loudly and proudly introduced herself by all four names that were so overtly Catholic that they could only be converso names, declaring herself "conversa de los cuatro costados".

Hit me.

Anyone taking any hits off this blog?

Primera frase - Valle-Inclán 8/11/07

Sonata de otoñoRamón del Valle-Inclán

En esta novela, la primera de las cuatro Sonatas (una de cada estación del año o de la vida del protagonista), presenta a Xavier, Marqués de Bradomín con la muchas veces repetida frase adjectival, "feo, católico y sentimental". Valle-Inclán, en esta novela decadentista por excelencia, modela su protagonista en los Don Juanes de la tradición literaria española, pero con unas diferencias. Su protagonista, por ejemplo, no tiene rivales, ni se olvida facilmente de sus amantes, a pesar del primer párrafo de Otoño, "<<¡Mi amor adorado, estoy muriéndome y sólo deseo verte!>> ¡Ay! Aquella carta de la pobre Concha se me extravió hace mucho tiempo."

In this novel, the first of his four Sonatas (one for each season of the year, or in the life of the protagonist), the author introduces Xavier, Marqués de Bradomín with the much-repeated adjectival phrase, "ugly, catholic and sentimental". Valle-Inclán, in his decadent novel, models his protagonist on the Don Juans of the Spanish literary tradition, but with several differences. His character, for example, doesn't have any male rivals, nor does he easily forget his lovers, despite the first paragraph of Autumn Sonata, << My adored beloved, I'm dying and my only desire is to see you!>> Oh, Poor Concha! I lost that letter a long time ago."

Fwd: ...de la gran Puta(h Creek)

From:
Subject: ...de la gran Putah (Creek)
To: xxxxx123@xxxxxx.com
Date: Wed, 07 Nov 2007

Hola a todos:

Forgive the generic copy 'n paste nature of this missive, it has to go
to various groups of people. And please try to forgive the Delibes-esque first sentence.

My cell phone is now at the bottom of Putah Creek, where, from my prone position, I watched it land this morning with a heart-breaking splash and for a split second leave its imprint in the thick astro-turf green stillwater scum after flying out of my hand when I twisted my ankle and fell whilst crossing the pinche special little bridge on my way to Parking Lot 5. I can't get a new phone until the plan until the end of December unless I want to pay a large stupidity fee. But until then, please use the home number, I'll be checking messages obsessively. If you need that number, please let me know.
Um...can I have your phone numbers again? They are, of course, stored in my waterlogged phone, which is probably at this moment releasing toxins into the water and harming the fish and the ducks of the creek.
Thanks,
Val
P.S. Yeah, left ankle again. Ankle is fine - accident occurred at 10:00ish, ran on it by 11:30.

Desire (1975)

Last Tuesday, driving home from Angélica's way the hell out in Sac. off Madison, flipping radio stations (a leitmotif of this blog), I found KYDS 91.5. I can't remember the first song I heard on this indie station, now affiliated with Sac State's KSSU, but it was a rock song from the 80s. Perfect for clearing my head and it ended as I rolled to a stop at one of the many 4-ways. The next song started, and the familiar opening notes of push-pull gently rollicking piano and slightly plodding drum made me brake completely and turn the volume up. I couldn't name it immediately, but I knew it was a song I'd known almost all my life. As soon as the vocals began, I felt my own voice pulled up and out by some sort of tow rope from the past and right on cue, "I married Isis on the 5th day of May, but I could not hold on to her very long..." The rest of the words to Bob Dylan's "Isis" (Desire album, 1975) followed, or perhaps I followed them, like a winding path I hadn't taken for years, but used to walk every day and knew almost instinctively. I probably hadn't heard the song for more than 20 years, but I guess it's been intact inside my head for the last 31 ... I hardly missed a word and even anticipated the syllabic manipulations, enjoying being on oral/choral auto-pilot, smiling and laughing aloud at the loopy, often forced rhymes that we only tolerate from Bob Dylan.

A clip until I can figure out how to make this blog multi-sensory.

Bought the CD Sunday, played it while making cupcakes and was transported to stifling hot summer nights on the plains. "Classic rock, gripping story songs and a gypsy violin," proclaims the sticker on the case of this remastered version. They do lose something, of course, all these years later, without the snaps, crackles and pops of that worn-down album...

In the night skies now

On the next clear night, we should all try to look at this comet.

¿Blog-adicta?

70% How Addicted to Blogging Are You?

I can quit anytime I want to.

LaLaLa#1

The Joseph Cornell exhibit, "Navigating the Imagination" was as amazing as the interactive website promised it would be. So much so, that I'll spare my reader my review, and point to that link while saying, "See how it is!?" I didn't even get to the other exhibits, including Olafur Eliasson's "Take your time" or "Seeing yourself seeing", which also seems very cool (I'll see it Monday, 12 nov.). The coolest box - the Paul et Virginie box, which prompted from me a serendipity-induced smirk, recalling a discussion (during "Court" one day in 624) with Ernesto about how Sab along with Isaac's María, are variations on...

¡Joder, qué idiota!

What qualifies me for idiot status this time: Not paying attention to the dates in the syllabus for Profe Ana's class, I became completely depressed reading of the extreme conditions chilean miners and others endured at the turn of the last century as depicted in the stories of

Subterra by Baldomero Lillo (for 14 nov.) instead of being lulled into almost forgetting the probably equally hard life of the argentine gauchos by getting caught up the lilting rhythms of the octosyllabic La vuelta de Martín Fierro de José Hernández (for 7 nov.).


Aquí me pongo a cantar
Al compás de la vigüela;
Que el hombre que lo desvela
Una pena extraordinaria,
Como la ave solitaria
Con el cantar se consuela.

Who's the bitch now?

The Women (1939)"There's a name for you ladies, but it isn't used in high society, outside of a kennel."

I've been told on too many occasions and in too many variations, "You're so nice, you couldn't be a bitch if you tried." I usually smile or shrug, but deep down, I take it as the insult it probably sometimes is. And I sometimes think that maybe I should "try" a little harder...I actually do have a quite vocal inner bitch and she's got multiple personality disorder. Depending on the situation, she is:

• Dorothy Parker


• Paloma - the alpha bitch


• Peaches


• Any big-haired, loud-mouthed Jersey girl


• Victoria Stilwell


• One or more of The Donnas


• Dianne Feinstein


• Paquita la del barrio - ¿Me estás oyendo, inútil?


• My mom, whose particular brand of bitchiness could be so subtle, but always didactic


• Nora - I conjure up her middle finger rising to my defense as it has so many times behind the heads of my offenders


• Mike, who can make the bitchiest of comments by merely lowering his chin and raising one eyebrow

This list will be updated. By me. Comments not considered.

Default setting #3

Escribo desde/Writing from: mi despacho (véase abajo)/Home office (see below)



El tiempo/Weather: No hace frío ni calor
Estoy luciendo: véase arriba/see above
Estado de animo/State of mind: Frágil/patética - cóctel de tristeza. Receta: combinación de: sueño; tos persistente; falta de cafeina; inseguridad; puros CDs de boleros, mariachi y canciones al estilo en el coche; día de todos santos; poquita hambre; lectura profunda de Los santos inocentes; SPM; to literally top it all off, bad hair day
Libros: Casi no quiero ver los que siguen, pero son Lillo y Valle-Inclán
Música: Lo que ponga iTunes
Vi a: mi clase; los del seminario; los que asistieron a la charla de Cristina Moreiras-Menor