Formando nación...paradojas indeed

De Descuentros de la modernidad de Julio Ramos. Combina con las lecturas (Escenas norteamericanas) de Martí.



"En términos de la arqueología del orientalismo que elabora Said, la literatura de viajes escrita por latinoamericanos en el XIX nos sitúa ante cierta paradoja: no se trata, en esta literatura, de un sujeto europeo produciendo estereotipos y clasificaciones de una 'extrañeza' subalterna y dominable; se trata en cambio, de intelectuales latinoamericanos que buscan, en los discursos modernos de la biblioteca europa, las claves para resolver los 'enigmas', las 'carencias' de la identidad propia" (146).

"Acaso con mayor derecho que la antigua Europa, los Estados Unidos figuraban como el espacio moderno por excelencia, una sociedad nueva, donde el progreso había logrado desencadenarse del peso de la tradición" (147).

Playlist: "Traffic Jam Taizé"

Some songs that probably should be considered de rigeur for commuters whose trajectory involves I-80.

Their simple and/or repetitive words and/or melodies (or some element that I don't entirely understand or know how to explain) might induce a pleasant state of meditation while still leaving you alert enough to drive yet sufficiently mellow not to fly into a road rage.

Once I realized it was just another telenovela, I dropped my guard.

Grey's Anatomy (2005)


Sometime during last quarter, one of my officemates asked shyly, "Do you watch Grey's Anatomy?" I didn't. I don't really watch any TV. But, I also have to admit that I'd dismissed the program without having seen even a preview. It seemed like another incarnation of ER, which I didn't watch either. Plus, I have Scrubs on my Netflix and I really like it, and thought that Grey's Anatomy might just be a schmaltzy version of that. My officemate continued, "I own the DVD, if you'd like to borrow it...It's really good." I tried to offer the excuse, "I shouldn't borrow it...it might be months before you get it back." "Oh, it's OK, I've seen it already. Just try it," she insisted. The DVD stayed in my desk drawer for a few weeks, but I did bring it home, thinking, I'd watch it while grading papers or similar. I watched the first episode while folding clothes earlier this week. As far as medical dramas go, it seems to fall somewhere between ER and Scrubs. But more than that, with its what I think are probably stock TV characters and its 98% predictable scenarios, it's actually a telenovela! Once I realized that, I got on board, forgiving the full-circle Sex and the City- style narration of the beginning and end of each episode and the romantic angle bien trillado. I was also able to stop concentrating on the lack of multi-generational representation in the program and just let myself get caught up in the drama. The "intern years as competition" emphasis probably worked well for young audiences accustomed to "reality" TV, I think. But it was the moment in which the protagonista advocates cooperation above competition that made me decide to continue watching. OK, that and some manipulation (¿?) of sentiments...

En fin, it did what a good telenovela should.

Unfavorable Review #1 Taquería Mijita in the San Francisco ferry building

"You are hungry and cranky," she said. "Making me order, knowing how bad my Spanish is..." She sat down across from me, plunking down our order number, a 70 pasted to the back of the el arpa card from ¡Lotería! sticking up from its metal holder. I took a sip of my agua de fresa. She muttered, "I probably ordered a fish taco, carnitas, and a dead body..." When I'd wiped up the agua de fresa I'd spit onto the bright floral print oilcloth covering the table, I said, "You did fine, ¡mijita!"

Mijita

***

It was the closest and cheapest and nothing soaks up a wine tasting or feeds your soul like beans and tortillas. The Mexican kitsch decor, in the right circumstances, might make up for the menu's faults. The menu itself is extremely limited - Fish, Carnitas and Carne asada tacos, quesadillas, queso fundido, beans (excellent). They would do well to add burritos with rice as an option - since everyone expects the ferry building to be overpriced, they could charge about $9.50. As it was, the tacos were overpriced, and the agua de fresa watered down, even for a drink with agua as the first word. The service was surly. And to be clear, my friend's Spanish had absolutely nothing to do with that! However, come to think of it, the carne in the carne asada didn't taste quite right...

"Oh, cute hair..."

...she greeted me at the door.
"No it's not," I snapped.

"I look like a state senator!"

"Oh come on, don't sell yourself short. I'm thinking U.S. Rep. at the very least."
"¡That's even worse!" I wailed.

The thing of it is, I liked my hair when I last saw it in the salon, in the gleaming mirror, under the track light that illuminates every hair, washed and made shiny with high-quality shampoo. Somehow during the five minute drive to my friend's house, the sleek, almost bob transformed into a hair-helmet.

For someone for whom use of language is of supreme importance, I am too frequently quite inarticulate in my attempts to communicate in that most fraught of relationships - the one between a woman and her hairdresser. It was even harder than usual yesterday. My stylist spun me around in the chair and said, "So, what are we doing today?" while peering at my hair studiously (In her eyes I read the unvoiced question, "Did she take safety scissors to her own bangs?"). I began with my usual, "Um...", and continued like I'd rehearsed it, "sort of like it is now, but a little shorter with some more layers sliced into it?" "Mmmm hmmmm," she replied like an interrogating officer waiting for the suspect to give up some information she can actually use. I announced, "I'm growing it out!" I paused, adding "um...obviously," after realizing that I hadn't been to the salon since the beginning of Fall Quarter.

"Do you have a plan?" she asked.

"Yeah, after this I'm picking up my friend and we're going into the city and staying overnight and going to the beach and SFMoMA and City Lights books and..."

She somehow managed to stay polite and professional as she followed up with, "That sounds fun. I mean, do you have a vision for what you want your hair to look like when it does grow out?" I looked up at her. She's a little intimidating.

"I guess. Um. No," I answered. "Well I do," she said, squinting sternly at me. I was a little leery until she said, "I was thinking about your hair last night." "¿Really?" Even though it's her job and she is very conscientious that way, I was ridiculously flattered. She's been cutting hair longer than I've been speaking Spanish. Hipper and cooler in one piece of jewelry than I'll ever be in an entire outfit, she has long flaming red hair and wears cool clothes (like yesterday's black vinyl pants) and thick framed rectangle glasses that make her look like a wise and beautiful anime figure. So she described her vision and I said, "OK, do it." She described the advantages, beginning with something about how it might be nice for me to have an "update" (¡!) and ending with, "And it won't add much time to your hairstyling regime." The word much gave me pause, but I didn't say anything. I have never had the guts to tell her that my "hairstyling regime" is waving the hairdryer in the general direction of my head with one hand while taking a hit off my maintenance inhaler with the other...but then, after almost 10 years I guess she's probably figured that one out on her own. I left the salon, promising to at least try to aim the hairdryer a bit more precisely...and I was optimistic. Maybe having an actual style would lend me an air of no sé qué as I try to move into a more professional/professorial stage... and it had received the best friend stamp of approval...

Things like hair just don't matter at the beach.


When we did get to the city, the first stop was the beach, where the wind blew my sleek, shiny, political hair back into its usual state of anarchy.

Blog re-frito 2

I prefer to think of this as not a "re-run" but a recovered manuscript...



TUESDAY, MAY 16, 2006
No me permite poner acentos

Escribo de: California
El tiempo: delicioso
Estoy luciendo: blusa color café sin leche y el vestido de mezclilla que compré en "el chino" en Burgos (tamaño XXL?!)
En casa conmigo: Todos
Estado de animo: Nerviosa por el examen mañana y enojada y resentida porque esta clase no es como las clases de Corral. Esta clase debe ser la más fácil por la manera en que se da y las expectativas, pero me ha costado mucho trabajo. No soy buena para aprender de memoria y regurgitar fechas y nombres. Es muy probable que no saque una A. Nerviosa porque voy a viajar en avión el viernes. Mi sobrina se gradua en Montana. Nerviosa al tener que dejar a la Stella no totalmente recuperada despues de su cirugía. La cadera ( ¿La cresta de STELión? ) parecer haber sanado muy bien, pero temo que algo le pueda ocurrir y mi padre aquí cuidándola sin saber que hacer. Nerviosa porque están revisando la tesis. Nerviosa porque pronto mi vida cambiará.
Libro: Un milagro en equilibrio de Lucía Extebarría. Todavía. No he tenido tiempo para leer a gusto. Pero me sigue gustando. Y, claro, estoy leyendo y releyendo las fichas.
Música: Gnarls Barkley y ya compramos hoy el CD de The Raconteurs
Antojo: to read a fuck-off novel. OK, so Un milagro en equilibrio kind of IS a fuck-off novel, but because I read Amor, dudas y prozac first and because Extebarría's reputation, for me, precedes her, I can't really just kick back and read it as I would any other novel written in diary form. Also, it won the Planeta prize, so I guess it doesn't count. Maybe I'll go get one on Thursday and take it on the plane.

posted by vhecht @ 10:16 PM
0 comments

Once a mere thing to click, the final step in making a post ...

... the "publish" button has just now taken on multiple semotic significances as it reaches beyond its meaning for this blog.

In all its polyphonic glory, it is: nagging; a sinister mocking; a panicky demand; a simple statement of job duty; and encouragment if the voice is one I hear every day or is ecuatoriana by way of New York City or argentina accompanied by a serious nod.

Maybe you should ask your professor.

"What if I write about these for my Cuban Lit. seminar?"

"Um...they're cute. They're really...cute. Are they...um...serious enough?"



"Maybe I should write about something a little more...a little less..."

"But they're so you!"

Domingo de resurreción...

Parte del ritual dominical

Todo (¿?) terminó el domingo.

Marqué los exámenes de mis alumnos hoy en la mañana en Strada. Mandé las notas electrónicamente a mi supervisora al regresar a la casa. Terminé con un alto porcentaje de estudiantes con una nota de "A". En vez de felicitarme, me preocupo...pero las notas son las merecidas.

Me siento rara cuando trabajo en un café - no me gusta llevar el trabajo de mis estudiantes fuera de la oficina. En primer lugar, temo que voy a perder todo el taco de exámenes o composiciones. También experimento algo de culpa. Me siento tan irresponsable por no haber terminado mi trabajo antes. Y también hay el miedo irracional de que algún stalker va a ver el nombre de un/una estudiante mío/a y buscarlo/la -¡aunque estuviera en Berkeley...y no hay ninguna seña de identificación en los papeles...y aunque a nadie le importe un bledo lo que estoy haciendo! Otra cosita irracional - que a alguien se le occura mirar lo que estoy haciendo y que vaya a acertar, "Tsk, tsk. ¡Qué irresponsable es ésa! No sólo no terminó su trabajo durante horas de trabajo, sino ahora corre el riesgo de perder todo ese taco de trabajo estudiantil."

It all ended on a Sunday.*

I graded my students' exams this morning at Strada. I sent the grades electronically to my supervisor upon returning home. An unusually high percentage of my students got A's. Instead of being pleased, I'm worried...but they are earned fair and square.

It feels strange to work in the café...I don't like to take my students' work out of the office. In the first place, I'm afraid I'm going to lose a whole stack of exams or compositions. I also feel a little guilt, a little irresponsible for not having finished before. Then, there's that irrational fear that some stalker is going to see the names of my students and look for them, even though there's nothing to identify them or where they are...and even though no one really gives shit what I'm working on! I don't let that stop me, there's also the irrational thought that someone will look at what I'm working on and figure it out, "Tsk, tsk. How irresponsible! She didn't finish her work during work hours and now she's risking losing her students' papers by taking them out of her office."

*OK, that doesn't work in English because it's a play the title of Elena Poniatowska's Todo empezó el domingo (It All Started on a Sunday).

For three days it's felt like...

...somebody put something in my drink.

Normally don't like to put a youtube as a blog, but I'm being lazy because it feels like somebody put...

And I like the anachronistic nature of this combo.

Blog de anywhere

UC Davis Olive Oil "press" release. Estuve el miércoles./I was there Wednesday.








Banquete fin del trimestre. Todavía estoy aquí./End of quarter banquet. I'm still here.

Things I can do after Saturday

I miss this place.

1. Get a haircut

2. Buy: printer ink, Spring Quarter Textbooks, new gym bag, I-Klear

3. Clean

4. Read: those intriguing articles in Revista Iberomericana that I came across during the research, Hasta no verte Jesús mío now that I have a copy that's not missing 80 pages, Fools Crow

5. Go somewhere?

What kind of person asks for this for her birthday?

And what kind of friend actually gets it for her?


I have an expert on MLA citation as my Guest Blogger today!

Val: So, first things first. Thanks again for being my guest blogger today! Would you like to tell our reader about yourself and how you’re associated with String of Lights and/or this topic you’re writing about or should I?

Rower: I taught the String of Lights author (almost) everything she knows about MLA.

Val: Do you have a blog? Would you like to put a link to it here?

Rower: I do, but no thanks.

Val: What takes up most of your day?

Rower: Work, learning, reading String of Lights

Val: What kind of music do you listen to?

Rower: All kinds—especially partial to classical orchestral and piano music.

Val: What question would you have liked me to ask you? And what would your answer be?

Rower: Question: If you were a blog, what would your theme (skin) be?
Answer: Something with boats and water.

Perfecto. On to your post

MLA. Three letters that strike terror into the hearts of students everywhere—or at least bring out the question “Why bother?” Let me tell you why you, too, should hope students everywhere learn to bother.

MLA is the Modern Language Association which, among other things, maintains a style guide. MLA is based on the importance of words, so its internal logic is about getting readers to the original text as quickly as possible. When reading a paper following MLA style, citations occur in the text parenthetically and readers interested in following up have the first item in the works cited entry (author usually) and the page number (or paragraph number) from which the quote or paraphrase is taken.

Now you may be thinking, “That’s swell if you are a nerd and have nothing better to do than look up people’s quotes.” MLA teaches more than good housekeeping in the writing of papers. It teaches how to follow a set of guidelines. Standard operating procedures. It teaches attention to detail. Ever have the tire place forget to tighten the lug nuts? Not cool, is it? Guarantee that tech didn’t bother to learn MLA. It teaches that if you want to be trusted and taken seriously, you must adhere to the standards of your area. Most importantly, MLA recognizes that words still do mean things and that words are important enough to check.

* Interestingly enough, personal webpages are covered in the 6th Edition, as are posts to bulletin boards, but blogs are not. I've made an executive decision to italicize the title of the entire blog. I'd set the individual posts off in quotation marks " " if I were going to cite them in a We're Excited Works Cited page.

Notes for next quarter

1. Start papers in Week 2.

2. Although there's almost always a serendipitously useful article to be discovered, I can only read Letras Libres and Nexos in the library for fewer minutes than I do actual research.

3. Check calendar to make sure PMS doesn't coincide with PWS (Paper Writing Semana). See #1.

4. Internet use: "Checking e-mail" shouldn't take from 9:00-9:30; Reading blogs of favorite authors doesn't automatically count as studying (and reading stories about chupacabra and watching Rafaella Carra videos on YouTube never count as studying)


5. Do not agree to be a reader for Profe. Anyone. Not that anyone will ask, but if anyone does, do not make eye contact and politely decline, citing the three seminars as a reason.

6. Park in same spot each day at the ARC, thereby avoiding the time-wasting 2nd "cool-down", or wandering around parking lot trying to remember where I parked.

7. Don't forget to go to Comp. Lit. Seminar. What kind of seminar meets from 1:00-4:00 anyway?

8. Maybe it's time to look for a new sushi lunch place...

If it can be blogged ...

Let's write a poem about this broken cassette, using the meter Emily Dickinson would have. Come on, it's easy! I've been told that almost all of her poems can be sung to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas"!
I'll start:

I found it in the parking lot
broken - a spoken word cassette






(OK, now you!)

Maybe it makes more sense this way...

(en 2006) “such a contextualizing –concrete contextos contextuality…”continuously
espera estudios culturales geopolíticos. globalización Grossberg imbuidos indica institucionales its latinoamericanos manojo own que reflect resonancia self-reflection
también therefore y que,

How much for aural?

One of the headlines on AOL yesterday declared that "Hookers are hot!" Clicking the link resulted in another Top 20 from Spinner.com, titled "Love for Sale"

In keeping with my type 4 personality, I'm not sure how I feel about hookers being the hot topic.

On the one hand, it's very cool to be able to say, "I was into hookers (ACADEMICALLY! ACADEMICALLY!) before hookers were hot." I'm pleased with myself for having chosen a dissertation topic that's always timely, but also I do realize that sources will much easier to find now, in light of the Spitzer "scandal" (NPR story yesterday morning for example) and the scandal provides an interesting tangent for 1. comparison with Latin America 2. the political power of prostitutes and other questions that will bring a "reality" check to my study.

On the other hand... I wonder who'd be most annoyed if I suddenly dismissed it precisely because it is too hot. God forbid I do something that's already "being overdone".

"Everyone's Irish on St. Paddy's day!" - inclusive or imperialist?

So, at 8:00 the night of the 14th, I called the O'Rodgers' residence,

"Hi, are you honoring that RSVP date for reals this year or can I still come?"

Today the hostess gave a little speech and presented awards to people who've been to all 15 parties. I believe I've been in attendance for 10 of those 15 years. I love that every year they make it multi-cultural and ask for food/drink from a heritage country or any other country, for that matter. I went with a heritage country for a change this year (Hungary) and made a paprika cheese spread accompanied by rye bread. Ghastly! I figured I was doing well, since I usually start whatever complicated recipe I'm making way too late and get the party on the late side with something that still needs 20 minutes to cool or 20 more minutes in the oven.

Menu: Portuguese beans, corned beef 'n cabbage, scones 'n clotted cream, guacamole chips, chocolate covered strawberries, Irish soda bread, Harp, vinho verde de Portugal, green lemonade, marinated mushrooms, cucumbers...conspicuously absent - the Portuguese lemon bread, the Italian meatballs, the M&Ms

From conversations: "What do you mean the McK------s aren't coming????!!!!" "How can she be in 1st grade already?" "Oh, cool you're here! I think I might need a designated driver..." "State champions..." "She took that elbow early in the game and played three quarters with a tampon stuck up her nose!" "Are you serious? The McK------s aren't coming?" "What's in this?" "What, no corned beef and cabbage?" "Would you be interested in tutoring high school students?" "NFW" "So on Monday, Senator O'Bama will claim Irish ancestry?" "Where the hell are the McK-------s?"

Unformed for now

Can the academic be an activist?

I follow up that question with several more. None of them are aimed as criticism at any particular groups or individuals. Nor am I contemplating any specific acts of activism via my future academic work. They're just the considerations floating around in my addled brain.

Would his/her efforts make a difference?

Does s/he even know enough about the subjects or objects of his/her work to know what they need? Is it her/his place?

Do academics who work social justice-type themes just get criticized for not doing enough anyway if they do attempt activism or accused of being hypocrites if they don't?

Imagen del sitio de la Universidad de Pittsburgh

"Sí, estuvo perfecto," le dije.

Library Latin American Cinema Exhibit Series Presentations
Shields Library – 2nd Floor Instruction Room
5:15 - 6:30 PM
Wednesday, March 12

Dr. Robert McKee Irwin, UC Davis, Department of Spanish and Portuguese
"Latin American Golden Age Film: Mexico's Role in Shaping a Hemispheric Consciousness"

Dr. Ana Peluffo, UC Davis, Department of Spanish and Portuguese
"Gender and Ethnicity in Lucrecia Martel's La Ciénaga"

La ciénaga (2001),dir. Lucrecia Martel (Argentina)

The title belies the complexity of Ana's wonderful presentation, as it also explores the decadence of Argentina's upper class, the indigenous/non-indigenous dynamic and the dysfunctional family among many other interesting aspects of contemporary Argentina. Lucrecia Martel used only one established actress and a very stark, shaky camera style to illustrate the bleakness of the world these characters inhabit. La ciénaga was one of my Netflix films this summer. It was great to hear it analyzed so proficiently yesterday, especially after the course this Fall...considering it in light of literatura gauchesca, Borges, Aira...

Robert's also wonderful presentation was very aptly titled. When many (most?) people in this country think of the Spanish speaking world, images of México come to mind, even when the case in point might be Argentina, which is as different from México as Milwaukee is. Those films diffused typical Mexican "images" all over the Spanish speaking world and none of the other Latin American countries could compete even closely with the cinematic production of their much wealthier neighbor to the North .

I knew I wouldn't be able to wait!

2nd al albertson alison almost analysis anything anywhere asked asociaci attention autoblographical baby became behind believe biblio bit bitches blinking blog blogs blonde bookshelves box bres bridget buy care carts clenching cloud comments consummate continue cool country cultural customer de default del dental diary dictionary different discoved done dr drug el elitist employees england enough ernesto everyone exactly eyes figure finish friend fuck garza generators going greasy grocery hadn't happily hers hits hook-shaped hour i-80 involuntary jones junk knew knows la labels lalala las letras light lights link links lisis literario literary literature longer los love lucky lunar market mayra melting mexican moleskine money mouth multitude nature nice night nor notebooks nugget oh open opening parking patty people pepper perhaps personalities poet possibly posted posts pretty previous probably profession promise promises quite really reason reasonable rebelliously receipt red relevant resumed rico rivera sacramento safeway san seen sent service setting sherry shopping sister sitting skip smart something sometimes sounds soundtrack spa100 stand store story string studied studies super sure switch tacto tears teeth textmex thays things think tickets title today totally town trip true type unique urban used usually valerie verbal vista wait wanting whatever wide-eyed winced words work writing yes

created at TagCrowd.com

I totally need one of these!

It's a type of visualizer that can go on a website (or a t-shirt, or anything really) called a word cloud and there are word cloud generators that will analyze your blog and arrange the most frequently-used words. As soon as I'm done with my paper this quarter, I'm going to learn how to make one. With different colors. And maybe an actual string of lights graphic. That would be so LaLaLa! But I'm also a little afraid of which words a word cloud generator for String of Lights would bring up and in what size font they'd be.

I'm visualizing: ¡!, can't have nice things, LaLaLa, Cultural Studies, ¿?, joder

What would the word cloud in your head today look like?

It's all about me...this time...

I couldn't read for almost two years. Anything. My eyes would just skitter over whole pages of novels and even an article in the trashiest of magazines couldn't hold my attention. About two weeks after, a package from England arrived. I opened it and burst into tears when I pulled out the contents. Alison had sent me Helen Fielding's The Edge of Reason (the sequel to Bridget Jones' Diary), which hadn't yet come out in the U.S. I actually was somewhat able to read that one immediately. It wasn't the story that moved me to those tears... Alison's unique, tailor-made thoughtfulness echoed a previous gesture of hers. The last time I'd seen her, Bridget Jones' Diary had just come out in England and she'd brought it with her on that 1996 visit when we all converged in Spokane. We were sitting on the porch, both reading. She was completely enjoying BJD, laughing aloud every few minutes. After a bit, she handed it to me, though she hadn't finished it, and said she knew I'd finish it in one sitting. She knew this like she knows so many other things about me. The vast gaps in geography and time have not dulled in the least my friend's acute perceptive skills.

And now...from so so so so far away, she has read, with more attention than it usually deserves, this blog. She sent...





I asked her for clarification of something she'd said in a previous e-mail, though I wasn't really sure I wanted the answer.

But, the comparison was not unfavorable..

"You remind me of Elle in Legally Blonde because duh, have you read your own blog lately? You switch quite happily from discussing the figure of the prostitute in the turn of the century latin american narrative (and probably discuss it in Spanish!) to the perfect Little black dress, fuck me heels and the merits of embroidery on the backside of jeans, and then switch back to some obscure Portuguese poet and so on. So you're reeeeally smart and in touch with your feminine side. You also like dogs, and would never diss a sister. Believe me, the hair colour is actually about the only difference between you."

For the record, she's reallyreallyrealy smart and craftstastic!

"Literature should continue to be studied and textual analysis continues to be relevant,"

was exactly what I was hoping to read.

"But..." he cautioned, "... an exclusively traditional focus would be rebelliously elitist."

Clearly, he does not realize how dangerously attractive that sounds.

Customer SerVICE

Shopping carts abandoned all over town aren't the only symbols indicating that we can't have nice things. Sometimes the carts inside the stores symbolize the ghetto nature of my town. For my third trip to the grocery store today, I decided to go to a different one. At the Lucky, you can choose from an array of shopping carts emblazoned with the names and logos of a multitude of supermarkets Save-Mart, Albertson's (which Lucky used to be), Safeway, Grocery Outlet, etc. This is probably the reason why we can't have a Nugget Market here.

I used to think the Safeway on the hill was a reasonable enough facsimile of Nugget, especially after the re-model. Now it's just like anywhere else. I had to go to the Customer Service counter today on my 2nd trip to the grocery store. I'd left after checkout, getting almost all the way home before realizing that I'd left behind one of my bags (yes, again). I took my receipt to customer service (along with the cart holding the things I'd forgotten the first time) where I was stuck behind not one, but two people buying Lotto tickets or whatever those red and white scantron things are. Like I do every time this happens, I became incensed. Why can't they make it so people who play the lottery can do so without assistance? It seems unfair to me that people employing their "vice" have the undivided attention of grocery store/convenience store employees while those of us there on legitimate grocery store business or immigrants wanting to wire money to their families in the old country have to stand there and wait for them to finish their recreation. Especially when we have frozen food possibly melting in our unmatching carts.

"I just want a Dr. Pepper and a big, greasy patty melt," I said.

"That's your idea of a threesome?"

It is if I'm in the midst of a hangover.

"So, what is your blog's name? Do promise me that you will not spend more than an hour or two in the blogsphere..." he wrote.

I love blogs. I love writing in mine. Today's title, like a few before it, comes from something my mentor said to me, and while promises to anyone are important not to break, his request for a promise gets a wide-eyed serious nod. Oh, and his "hour or two" was quite generous, but sometimes I stay there almost as long as I'm allowed.

I got lost in literary blogs last night for bit. In another serendipitous occurrence, I discoved the blogs of Ivan Thays, Mayra Santos-Febres and other literary personalities that people my bookshelves. I started with a very LaLaLa blog about altered Moleskine notebooks. I'm not sure how I found that one to begin with, but it has a link to one of Thays' blogs, Moleskine Literario, in which the first entry I read is one he's done from Puerto Rico, where he's been, among other literary things, consorting with Mayra Santos-Fébres. Her blog contains a link to Rivera Garza's. And it ends there for me.

Yes, your "baby loves a bunch of authors..."

"You sure got a pretty mouth..."

So that's not exactly what she said, but my dental hygienist always has some sort of praise for my dental care habits. I don't usually brag. About anything. But if Louise says I have excellent oral hygiene, then it's true. She's a consummate professional and I respect her assessments. I hope to be as enthusiastic and knowledgeable about my profession as she is about hers. If only everyone were half as competent, efficient and up on trends in their fields as she is this world would be in much better shape.

She's quite the dental detective. As she began doing whatever she does with that little metal hook-shaped thing, probing between my two front bottom teeth, I winced. "Ah-ha. Sensitive." When she removed the instrument, I said, "Yeah, it is today. I don't know why." She smiled down at me and responded, "Well I do."

Of course she did. She went back to work on my teeth while proceeding to illuminate me as much with her knowledge as with the little headlight she had strapped to her forehead. "You're clenching or grinding your teeth. Do you do it at night?" "No..." I answered, "I don't think so." "Well, you are at some point. Are you under added stress?" "Not really." I paused to think for a minute and she resumed scraping whatever she scrapes. When she again extracted the tool from my mouth, I said, "I know! I do it when I write papers or presentations!" She proposed a night-guard (perhaps a write-guard in my case) if my current solution stops working. Like someone preparing for a big night on E, I try to have gum handy before I open Word. Unfortunately, the act of writing provokes the side effect of the involuntary teeth clenching, but none of the euphoria that the drug allegedly induces.

Be true to your school.

Our Department is studlier than theirs.


UCD Most Comprehensive Explanation of Cultural Studies Award; Most open-mindedClosest to Sproul Hall Award; Best Thought-Out Program; Most Well-Known Faculty Award

GMU Actually, it's damn impressive! Award; Most Student Publications Award; Hippest, Edgiest Research Topics Award; Oldest CST Dept. in the U.S. Award

El colegio de la Frontera Norte Coolest Website Award; I've Driven By It Award; We Were Doing Cult. Studs. Before Cult. Studs. Was Cool Award; Best Geographic Location for Injections of Real Life/Reality Checks

Parking Lot 5-Sproul -Olson-Shields (aka la biblioteca)- Cargo Coffee Company

Si trazaras con tiza en colores claros una línea en las aceras y otras superficies que piso con tanta frecuencia en estos días, dicha línea no formaría ninguna forma geométrica reconocible. Pero esta forma informe circunscribe el ámbito que habito durante el día...mi jornada, si se quiere.

If you were to draw, with pastel-colored sidewalk chalk, a line on the sidewalks and other surfaces that I tread so frequently these days, that line wouldn't form any recognizable geometric shape. But this form without definable shape circumscribes the world I inhabit during the day.

Las personas del ámbito con quienes me topo andan como yo en estos días. Algunas parecen medio sonámbulas, ideas brillando en sus ojos, las responsables de los ojeras debajo de ésos. Tenemos los brazos o las mochilas llenos de materia impresa. El café en vaso desechable, una extensión de la mano. El "¿Cómo estás?" muchas veces queda sin reciprocarse. Nadie se ofende.

The people who share my surroundings move through their days like I do. Some seem to be half asleep, ideas shining through the blur that must be there on the other side. Our arms and bags are filled with printed matter. Coffee in a disposable cup, an extension of the hand. The "How are you?", not unanswered, many times is not reciprocated. No one takes offense.

Me encanta verlos, aunque sea de paso, en este espacio tan pequeño físicamente, pero tan abierto y amplio de ideas.

I cherish the moments I see them, even in passing, in this space, so small geographically, but so wide open with ideas.

At first I thought it was kinda cool...

I've read or at least recognize the names of all of the authors contributing articles to the Abril-Junio, 2003 issue of Revista Iberoamericana, "Los estudios culturales latinoamericanos hacia el siglo XXI"!!* An examination of their Works Cited pages (called bibliographies in the journal) revealed that my wise advisor was right - "se citan entre sí..." (they all cite each other). In some ways it makes sense. Los estudios culturales latinoamericanos is a fairly small field and, yeah, it is cool that they all know each other and read each other's work.

Critic Carlos Monsiváis (and speaking of familiar names, look who came up 2nd on the Google Search I did so I could put this link for you to click to learn who is Monsiváis!)**

The tone of Monsiváis' article "De cómo vinieron los estudios culturales y a lo mejor se quedan" ("Of how cultural studies came to be and they're mostly likely to stay") is hard to capture in the first read. It is especially interesting to note that his article alone*** has no bibliography whatsoever (and yes, he can "get away with that") and he mentions not one of the Latin American Cult. Studs. studs (or studettes) by name. The absence of the big guns of the Cultural Studies canon in "Monsi's" article does not mean that he is anti-Cultural Studies. Nor am I, but I admit that his non-mention of any of the personalities or theories of the field is admirable and his seeing the applications of Cultural Studies to approaches to literature is personally appealing and encouraging. Carlos Monsiváis is probably "over-cited" himself, but I would argue that there's a good reason for that! Sort of like there's a good reason why places like the Golden Gate Bridge, Yosemite National Park and the Louvre are always packed with tourists. Those places are something to see, and Monsiváis has something to say. About everything and anything.

But back to the point of the post. I still do think it's kinda cool stumbling on serendipity, coincidences and interconnectedness when I research. In fact, it's usually what happens and is what keeps me so excited and LaLaLa about my schoolwork! But back to the issue at hand... It is to be expected that in that 2003 issue dedicated to, um, themselves, there'd be a lot of that intra-citing. And again, there's a reason for it. These are the pioneers, or if not, the developers and it's indispensable to read them. But I have to admit, I look forward to reading the more recent issues which are starting to get some contributions by newercomers to the scene like Edmundo Paz-Soldán (b. Bolivia 1967! Ph.D. UC Berkeley! Professor at Cornell University). He's probably better known for his novels (which are not bad, and have been translated, by the way), but his crítica is probably quite solid and some "new blood" is going to be key - the Cult. Stud. population is getting kinda inbred.

Edmundo Paz-Soldán. Perhaps a new author to discover.

*Trying hard not to say something bitchy like "nevermind that by Abril-Junio, 2003 we were already almost 4 years into the siglo XXI..." Oops. Just did.

**Egan es mi profesora.

***I can't count as an article Marc Zimmerman's "Estudios y procesos culturales latinoamericanos después del 11 de septiembre: un collage de anécdotas y meditaciones parciales" for precisely what follows the colon.

Don't you hate it when people drone on and on about their workouts?

Him: I'm too lazy to run. I just lift.
Me: I'm too lazy to lift. I just run.



I knew I was coming back to campus today so I left all my stuff on my desk and went to the ARC. I changed in the parking lot. No, not my clothes! I just took off my glasses and put in my contact lenses. It took a few seconds, but that completely woke me up, unlike the coffee I'd been drinking all day. After changing (in the locker room like a normal human being) I headed out toward the Olive trees, thinking, "OK, 20 minutes, then lift." When my watch said 10:00 I realized I wasn't ready to turn around (or lift, for that matter) and thought that it might be a good day to follow the green arrows to the mysterious branch of the Davis Bike Loop that lies across Russell Avenue. Although I hate having to cross busy streets during a jog, it wasn't too bad. After a few minutes, the apartment buildings were replaced by cute little wooden houses with natural landscaping. The path winds through a residential area there, and twists with the land, often coming right up to the yards. Looking closer, I saw that it was a housing development, a charming one, certainly, but a planned community all the same. Even the recycling bins were aesthetically pleasing. I glanced up at a street sign in case I got lost on the way back. I looked at its cross street sign. The names seemed familiar. Literary. After a few more I realized the streets took their names from the Tolkien novelística. Cute, but weird. But very Davis. Everything was so...well-kept community. I jogged around women in pastel yoga outfits and several yuppie-granola dads walking impressively well-behaved dogs and appallingly ill-behaved children. I was struck how, from the songs pouring out of my shuffle to my baggy purple wife-beater to my cut off, fraying sweats, nothing about me matched the place! I finally came to a gate at 19 minutes, passed through it and found myself at another intersection of two busy streets. I was gratified to see an abandoned shopping cart on each corner and one of those STOP...Running Red Lights signs on the covered bus stop. Comforting and home-like. Next time I'll stick to the path that runs along the empty field and the olive grove. I never feel like I want to mock that path that's so familiar. I always see someone I know. As I neared the ARC, at the exact moment my Shuffle cued up the Pixies' "Here Comes Your Man," Manuel rode toward me on his bike. He looked so surprised that I wished that instead of a wristwatch I were wearing a Flava-Flav stopwatch around my neck so he could see how long I'd been going. I got back to the ARC 48 minutes after I'd left it and before lifting (yay!) went immediately into the conveniently located cyberlounge to e-mail myself the blogideas knocked loose by the run. I'll post them at some future date.

Those three little words...

I had sushi lunch yesterday with a much younger man. Last year I worked in the office next to his and one day the sight of my John Deere mug lured him in, attracted as he is to all things Country-Western. The fact that I grew up in MT intrigues him, although I'm definitely not the stereotypical Montanan. He's become something of an honorary family member - his phone number even gets the ringtone I've assigned to anyone to whom I'm related by DNA or the power of the great state of Montana - the theme song from "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly." In fact, in my role as surrogate auntie, I've tried to give good advice in response to his questions on all manner of issues while offering the disclaimers that I'm not the typical _____, and that he'll always get the often-skewed Val view of the world. But I think that's why it's good that he knows me.




I drove yesterday, it was my turn, although it meant giving up the precious parking space. But anything for my favorite nephew! Upon return to Parking Lot 5 after lunch (Sushi Nobu's going downhill, by the way), I vultured the main area a bit, then tried my luck in the back corner. Eureka. I turned on my right blinker. "There's nothing there," he said. "I think I saw one." "No. You didn't." Employing una treta del débil I said, "Well, let me just see, I'm probably wrong, but I can always just turn around." "Oooo Kayyy, if you really want to..." he said, patronizing beyond his years. "I do," I said, "and if I'm wrong so be it." I approached as slowly as I could, toying with him, even turning on my left blinker before pulling into the pristine slot. "Aw, fuck!" he said. I stopped the car, cut the engine and turned to him and ordered, "Say it." "Dammit, Valerie! No!" I persisted, "Say it, bitch!"

"You were right."