I thought some transparency was in order and explained, "My strategic approach has been unique in its lack of, um, strategy."

Guess which symbol(s) represent "my normal approach".

No, you won't get a prize if you're the first to submit a correct answer.That was an ironic/hypothetical question/command.

It's possible that I've subverted the message of this T-shirt which you can buy on its insightful, um, site.

Basically, I'm having trouble controlling my own academic destiny. I think I prefer being told what to read by when by somebody else. I can't and don't expect them to do that for me when it comes time, but I do know that their five different perspectives will guide me as I stumble toward strategy...

Recipe

Serendipity Sandwich

If you have all the ingredients (in bold) you could make this roast chicken sandwich.

Spread some cream cheese on one slice of whole grain bread. Press dried cranberries (AKA sparkling jewels) into the cream cheese. If you don't have them, you could use raisins (golden or dark brown). Put some roast chicken on that slice. Put some kind of greens on top of the chicken. On the other slice, spread some vidalia onion mustard, or if you don't have that, mix some mayonnaise with curry powder and chutney if you have those. Put that slice on top of the other one and cut it the way you like it.

Don't eat this kind of sandwich with Cheez-Its. Accompany it with fancy potato chips with flavors like sea salt and black pepper or sun-dried tomato or Asian chiles. Fresh fruits would be better than potato chips, though.

Drink something like mango/banana/orange juice with it, and if you have any, add champagne to that juice.

Re: Casualidad tras casualidad

Tuesday morning I'd finally opened El error del acierto and read a few pages. On my way to work I thought, "I must write and communicate my elogios". Of course I can't deny that I like it so much because it validates the kind of work I want to do, but even if I weren't in complete agreement with its premise, I would recognize the value of this work. And later on that day... its author, as he has done so often with me, yet again acertó.

I hit the 6 button in the elevator so I could stop to check my mailbox on my way to the office.
The customary aphorism this time read, "Soy bien fácil, me voy con cualquiera."


I recognized the handwriting immediately, but even if there'd been no note, I'd have known who sent it. We share an affinity for the plastic bags from our favorite bookstores (and really, are there any that aren't?). They never get "reduced or recycled" and only rarely are they "re-used". If you ever get something packaged in one by either of us, you will know that you are held in highest esteem, greatest affection and are worthy of the precious bag we've been hording for what it represents...I still haven't unwrapped the book. As I walked back to my office, I turned the package over in my hands and smoothed the plastic until it was transparent and I could read the book's title and author, La novela según los novelistas, Cristina Rivera Garza (coordinadora). When I got to the office, I crinkled the plastic. One of many things I love about Librerías Ghandi is that they use bags made of strong enough plastic to provide secure transport for the books I buy there, even when I'm shlepping them 5 miles through the Mexico City airport...the sound of that unique plastic, the store's logo, the word "for" preceding my name swirled through my head and heart and there were tears dropping onto the yellow plastic when I entered the office. "¡Pero, mujer!" she exclaimed, "¿Qué te pasa? Qué tienes?" Cuando se lo expliqué, creo que me entendió perfectamente.

I immediately turned on the computer to fire off a thank you in response to the message that was waiting.

"Anyway, it is a brief book, so enjoy. It is a gift from C. who never
says "you betcha."
Best,

I am sending the book with"

"¡¡Thank you!! "C.'s" gift, sin exageración, salvífico, as are interactions with you in general. This book in its more than apt wrapper is... perfecto. You always know...very few people have as high a rate of acierto with me as you do." Anyway, I'm a little fahrklempt. So much so that I can't turn off the italics...
Thank you so much.
Do let's talk soon.
Love,
Val

"Esta semana sí vas a trabajar," me dijo.

Y tan grande fue mi sentido de culpa que automáticamente empecé a balbucear algo sobre mis estudios. Afortunadamente me cortó, sonriendo, recordándome que tendré muchos papers que leer.

J.G. Posadas' account of the shooting of Esperanza G. ("La Malagüeña") by María Villa ("La Chiquita")

Someday I'm going to laugh at these words, but..."I can't wait to read their papers!"

Bulb out yesterday...migraine.

I miss being in seminar.

Had I been in that one I would have explained why I think the director shot the protagonista walking around her apartment, then sitting to count her money in just a shirt with her nether parts exposed. It was to direct the gaze of the viewer lower, but not to objectify the character. So what was the point of this? Titillation? No. To make the viewer uncomfortable? Perhaps, but it's more than that. Think a bit. Which part of their bodies do prostitutes associate with their earnings? Caye went into prostitution for 2 very specific reasons. She is saving her earnings to get a boob job because she thinks guys are attracted to women with bigger breasts than hers. And she's not talking about the guys who are her clients. She wants romantic, happy ever after love with a man who will "come pick her up after work". It is for him that she plans to buy the breasts. Since they will not be shared freely with clients, they remain private and as such, they are kept covered up in all the shots we see of Caye. Meanwhile, her "privates" are anything but and the director's choice to make them so very public indicates that he does indeed understand at least a little something about the nature of prostitution and the prostitute herself. This also evokes the stereotypical refusal of the prostitute to kiss on the lips, something echoed in literature and film, such as (and I hate to admit that I've re-thought this movie) Pretty Woman. The kiss was also reserved for a lover, someone who elicited feelings. Prostitutes, in their work duties and while submitting to health inspections (say, of the Porfiriato or in Nevada) were able to turn off all feelings that might otherwise flow to and from the area below the waist. Their genitals function as tools of the trade. Perhaps because of their proximity to the heart, Caye's dream breasts belong more to the realm of love.



Sorry, but no, I can't go back and edit. My battery level is 8% and my computer's is only slightly higher.

"So, how do you style your hair?"

And other questions I can't just answer like a normal person...

• "What do you think of the election?"


• "How many miles do you run?"


• "What are you wearing, baby?"


• "Who's your favorite author?"


• "Where do you see yourself in 5 years?"


• "What's your dream?"


• "If you could invite anyone, living or dead, to your dinner party, which 5 people would you, and why?"


• "How was your day?"


• "So, when do you finish with school?"

Obra Germinal seminal incia Semana Cine Prostitucional

The cinematic version of Gamboa's Santa was the first "talkie" produced in México, 1931.
I get to see it tomorrow!

In my world, it does qualify as an ¡X-Treme! sport.

Ran, 20-somethings on the sidewalks in the decimononic light of my neighborhood. Who do we have to **** to get some working streetlights around here?

What happens in Vegas...

...sometimes doesn't really happen in Vegas.

It had quite the opposite effect.

These days words like "literature", "writer", "publish", "editor", "culture", "journal", "author" provoke mixed feelings. While I was excited about attending LitQuake's Literary Pub Crawl 2008, I went prepared to feel a bit of stress at the least and sinking feelings of inadequacy and irresponsibility at the worst.

Inadequacy not because I want to write fiction or poetry or travelogues - I don't. At all. My concern was more about how I was going to take anything from the event that I could use in my studies. She said that maybe not everything had to relate to my work, maybe I could just go and listen and enjoy and even though I said, "Yeah, maybe." I was trying to figure out how to hear the Latino lit. selections and the erotica selections and testimonio that all appeared to be happening at once as well as hear James read. OK, so I was also worrying about whether there'd be time for a burrito and horchata before any of it.

Our lack of ablility to get our act together (aka: the "Karl and Val Factor") solved all of those problems. We arrived at Valencia St. when the first section was already underway by about 30 minutes, so we decided to get a slice of pizza, then head straight to the Elbo Room and get a seat and drinks and settle in for the Opium and Canteen writers' readings.

Arinell is as close to "New York Style" as it gets around here. Burning the roof of my mouth on the thin foldy-over pizza was so totally worth it! So was having to eat standing up on the sidewalk outside of the joint, setting the bright red, cloying fruit punch we shared on a newspaper dispenser.

Once inside the Elbo Room, we elbowed up the bar and ordered drinks. While waiting for the readings to start, we observed the local indie literati in all its glory, the males with dark straight hair and wearing zip-up jackets with collars and rectangle glasses with dark substantial frames, females with all colors of straight hair wearing skirts that were in defiant mismatch of every other article of clothing on their thin frames. Very very cool. And then, for about an hour I sipped wine and listened to six very talented writers read their wonderful stories. And I took nothing from them for anything I will write. Except maybe for a little courage.

The readings and the wine combined to relax and open my mind. But they were nothing compared to meeting Zach Houston.

Zach types poems onto sticky labels using a tiny blue typewriter. His hand-lettered sign that advertises his Poem Store stopped us in our tracks. Of course I had to have one. He charges whatever his clients wish to pay for a unique poem, written before their eyes. He asks that the recipient provide him with a theme and then his poetic process takes over. As I waited my turn, I figured out my theme and made a mental note to ask him to make my poem diagonal. As he finished up the poem for the girl in front of me, he mentioned to her that he was psychic. When she and her companion left, he asked for my theme. "Emotion," I answered. It wasn't until he was almost finished that I remembered. "Oh no!" He looked up, "What?" Dismayed, I replied, "I meant to ask you to make it diagonal..." Still looking at me, he said, "I know. It will be." When he'd finished, I saw, early in the poem, in its sixth line, typed long before I'd interrupted him, the word - "diagonal".

Mañana...

...and I do mean it.

Just got back from this!

Birthday cake!

You have to be careful about calling yourself an artist. That’s for posterity to decide. It’s better to say you’re in pursuit of a proud tradition…. Your challenge is not to embarrass that tradition.’ -Wayne Thiebaud, UC Davis art professor emeritus

UC Davis turns 100 this year, and who better to take, I mean, make the cake than (not just) pastry artist Wayne Thiebauld? And yes, I would say that posterity has indeed decided.

Of course I see symbolism and meaning everywhere. Why wouldn't I?

But tonight, in an attempt to avoid it, I tried watching Dancing with the Stars. I really did. But after about 45 seconds, the image froze up and was replaced by yellow and blue lines flickering across the screen, evoking yesterday's migraine. Celebrity Exposé did the same thing. I changed channels using the tiny screen option for a few seconds when I came to Univisión. A mere hour earlier I'd declared, "I think I need to be watching a telenovela."

Fuego en la sangre may or may not fill the bill. But I took as a sign the fact that it was the first channel that was coming in clearly. It's pretty bad, but it does contain several elements that have always appealed to me: its title is not the name of the protagonist; ¡Vicente Fernández sings its theme song!; it features lush colores and comida típica mexicana (in this case, pan dulce); several of the personajes masculinos display skilled horsemanship; a long sequence of prayer and candle lighting to La Virgen de Guadalupe; the phrase "¡No puede ser!" ripped forth from the mouths of several characters; the hottest escenas de cama take place between the villains, who clearly do not love each other; Jorge Salinas y Adela Noriega; an element of social conscience...

But the best thing? A culture-packed Verizon Wireless commercial featuring ¡the legend of La Llorona!

"Mom, where's my...???"

I'm guardedly impressed that my friends who are parents can more often than not answer that question when their children bellow it at them. I'm also a little envious. When I reached whatever age it was that I was supposed to be responsible for my own things, it became something of a banned question in my house. Mom only had to explain a couple of times that she wasn't the last one who was using the mood ring/yellow high-heeled right Barbie shoe/etc., was she? In addition to responsibility, she was teaching me logic when she softened her response by adding that whatever I was looking for was probably in the exact same place that I'd left it. Of course, if I remembered that, I wouldn't have to ask. But I knew from her tone that I shouldn't push it by saying so.

If I had a child, I probably would also get annoyed if I had to assume the mommy role of Keeper of Everything. Honestly, I probably wouldn't remember that my kid even had a heart-shaped pencil box/Aston-Martin DB9 Hot Wheel/etc. I have enough trouble managing my own objects. If asked about the current location of a toy, it would be hard for me not to answer, "How the hell should I know? Tell you what, you help me find that red USB drive without a top that contains every paper I ever wrote, I'll help you find the arm that came off your GI Joe."

I do realize, of course, that having a kid would probably be the ultimate lesson in responsibility and would decrease my flakiness. I'd want to be more pendiente de the location of everyone's stuff, if only to ensure that, when it came to organization, the child wouldn't end up like her/his mom, but more like mine.

Guest Blogger #5 (sort of)

Today's Guest Blogger got to skip the preliminary interview because he's already filled it out. He also leaves a comment here every once in a while. His post is previously published elsewhere, but I immediately wanted it for SoL (eww, don't like that acronym. Wait! I do like it, because I can chose to read it as sol!).

Our author is perfect for posting on any and all things auto. He's the guy you'd want to come help if your car breaks down. Like mine did this afternoon. I know that many people would come pick you up, but he's one of the few that will insist on driving the bad car to the shop, even knowing that it could crap out at any moment, just because he wants to see or hear or feel "what it's doing". He's the one who got me watching Top Gear and he's written a bit of an ode on it in the form of a Top Ten List, which follows.

Top 10 Reasons Why Top Gear Is Better Than Other Car Shows

10. Testosterone... lots of it.

9. "Star in a reasonably priced car" section of the show where they put a celebrity in a cheap Suzuki and see how fast they can go around the lap. Where else can you see Hugh Grant, Christian Slater, or David Soul (Hutch from the original Starsky and Hutch) drive a junky little car as fast as possible.


8. The heavy use of filters while filming. Lots of polarizers and other filters to saturate the colors and bump contrast. There camera work is lush beautiful and artistic. They know how to show the beauty of a car both through the visual and the great recording of its engine sounds. Watch this clip of their review of the Aston Martin DBS. TopGear.

7. They are not afraid to speak their minds and dislike something because they do not have sponsors to worry about. They are unapologetic for their loves of performance.

6. Great new vocabulary for the American audience. You get to learn new terms like palaver ".. they had a bit of a palaver." and bollocks.

5. They are willing to make a fool of themselves, but not to the point of being clownish.

4. The Stig- Some say he is a tamed racing driver, other say he is a driving god. and even yet others try to guess his true identity since he is the official time tester of all cars on Top Gear, all we know is, he is called THE STIG.


3. The crazy competitions. Buy 1500£ ordinary cars in Africa and race 1000 miles across the Botswana wilds. Race a dogsled team against a heavily modified Toyota four wheel drive pickup to the magnetic North Pole. Race plane and ferry boat against a Mercedes McClaren from London to Oslo. The Bugatti Veyron vs a Typhoon jet fighter. Playing football (soccer) with small Toyota Yarises. Last, but not least, playing clockers with RV trailers.


2. My wife likes watching it.

1. Jeremy, Richard, and James... the hosts. Three very different guys that make the best team on TV. Humor, intelligence, crudeness, pretentiousness and many other fine stereotypical British traits.

At least my red car knows and loves me well enough that if it must dump my ass on the side of the road, it will do so near a fruit orchard.

I'd been bitching about the dearth of live music "around here" for over 11 years.

I always think it's cool to go out and find some, until I realize that listening to it really impedes my ability to hear, much less follow a conversation.

"You need to get out of your comfort zone every once in a while."

So, I'm auditing 2 undergrad classes. OK, to be honest, one is definitely in my comfort zone - Sexo y crimen en México durante el Porfiriato. And to be even more honest, attending that class is a partial requirement of the 8 unit independent study I'm taking with its professor. However, the other one is a class on Latin American Cinema. It's being taught in English and is held in a big lecture hall on the science-y side of campus. The course must have over 100 students and the nearest coffee is not Cargo Coffee. Oh, and, I'm really living dangerously...I haven't even bought the book yet.