FOUR JOBS YOU'VE HAD IN YOUR LIFE:
1. Instructor, Freshman Composition (college-level)
2. Assistant to the Director, University of Virginia Art Museum
3. Peer Advisor Student Coordinator (don't ask, I don't even know what I did)
4. Teaching Assistant, Summer Theatre Institute, Live Arts
FOUR MOVIES YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER:
1. When Harry Met Sally
2. Charlie’s Angels
3. X-Men 2 (even though I’ve never read the comics)
4. Aimee and Jaguar (even though it always makes me want to cry)
FOUR CITIES YOU'VE LIVED IN:
1. Charlottesville, VA
2. Phoenix, AZ
3. Durham, NC
4. Rochester, NY
FOUR TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH:
1. CSI
2. Medium
3. What Not to Wear
4. Law and Order: SVU (TBJ, too, of course, but I’m going for current shows)
FOUR PLACES YOU'VE BEEN ON VACATION:
1. La Palma, Canary Islands
2. Berlin
3. South Korea
4. Vienna
FOUR WEBSITES YOU VISIT DAILY:
1. www.cnn.com
2. www.yahoomail.com
3. www.google.com
4. www.livejournal.com
FOUR OF YOUR ALL-TIME FAVOURITE RESTAURANTS:
(this one is really, really hard)
1. Maas, Charlottesville, VA
2. Republic, New York, NY
3. Tazaki Sushi, San Francisco, CA
4. Piaci’s, Fort Bragg, CA
FOUR OF YOUR FAVOURITE FOODS:
(I’m fudging on the “four” part of this category a bit)
1. thin-crust, fresh, hot pizza, from Piaci’s or Pomodoro or Venetto’s (latter two in Rochester); or, alternatively, Crozet Pizza in Crozet, VA also has amazing pizza
2. French fries (I’m a French fry connoisseur) and papas arrugadas (totally different, but both potatoes)
3. Barbeque baby back ribs and korean beef (both in the “meat” family)
4. garlic fried tofu with sugar snap peas
FOUR SCHOOLS YOU'VE ATTENDED:
1. University of Rochester
2. University of Virginia
3. Mary Baldwin College
4. New York University (for a summer, but still)
FOUR PLACES I'D RATHER BE RIGHT NOW:
1. Berlin
2. Mendocino (riding on the beach)
3. Los Angeles (could it be I’m a West Coast girl at heart?)
4. New York City
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
all better
Just a little life update vis-a-vis my grumbly post from a few weeks ago:
All seems to be well again on the Northern front. Besides the fact that it is bitterly cold--right now it's 25 degrees Fahrenheith, but feels like 12, according to weather.com (and when the radio announcer says "a high of 30 today," I laugh. 30 is not a high. It's a low that just happens to be the warmest it's going to get for the next three months)--I'm feeling much more upbeat. We've started locking the cats downstairs at night, so they still have access to the litterbox, a couch and various other comfy pieces of furniture but can't come scratching at our door at 5am. The dog seems to be much better lately, and the vet told us it was probably something weird he was getting into in the yard that was upsetting his tummy. I feel like I'm getting back on track with my work, not to mention that I told my advisor today (and now she officially my advisor because I finally asked her...yay!) that I would give her a very drafty abstracty/proposal-like thing (for my dissertation) on Friday, which is scary but good because I really need deadlines to get anything done.
All seems to be well again on the Northern front. Besides the fact that it is bitterly cold--right now it's 25 degrees Fahrenheith, but feels like 12, according to weather.com (and when the radio announcer says "a high of 30 today," I laugh. 30 is not a high. It's a low that just happens to be the warmest it's going to get for the next three months)--I'm feeling much more upbeat. We've started locking the cats downstairs at night, so they still have access to the litterbox, a couch and various other comfy pieces of furniture but can't come scratching at our door at 5am. The dog seems to be much better lately, and the vet told us it was probably something weird he was getting into in the yard that was upsetting his tummy. I feel like I'm getting back on track with my work, not to mention that I told my advisor today (and now she officially my advisor because I finally asked her...yay!) that I would give her a very drafty abstracty/proposal-like thing (for my dissertation) on Friday, which is scary but good because I really need deadlines to get anything done.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Why was this SVU episode called "Alien" anyway?
I almost had a panic attack when I thought, around 10:30pm, that SVU was going link lesbianism and pedophila. I was all ready to post an angry LJ entry, and April was gearing up for a furious email to NBC. But I should have know better. It's SVU. No plot device is ever final at 10:30pm; in fact, you can't usually be sure that a plot is certain until Dick Wolf's name appears and obscures any hope of episodic closure.
That said, I actually liked tonight's episode. Olivia was a goddess, defending lesbianism left and right, and despite a plot that rather resembled a tangled ball of yarn it was so twisty, I found myself very engaged and invested in the show. I cheered when Casey said, triumphantly, "And that's a hate crime." I swore at the television in righteous anger because I knew much earlier than the detectives that the grandmother was trouble ("It's that bitch telling the girl lies. Lies, I tell you."). Although I didn't know it was going to be all the lawyer's idea--a nice touch to avoid turning the grandparents into completely scary monsters. I loved that the moms' lesbianism was defended at every turn (mostly by Olivia), although I had to agree with that judge that it totally wasn't cool for, the second mom, Zoe, to claim that she had no legal standing one moment and then try to claim legal guardianship the next. But I suppose it's a lesson: don't try to use things you don't like about the system to your advantage. It'll bite you in the ass every time.
All things comsidered, this was an episode in which all the characters were complicated (and sometimes uncomfortable) shades of grey (except the sleazy lawyer...no mercy there). I like that. Complexity is good.
And on a completely unrelated note: Jon Stewart is love. :)
That said, I actually liked tonight's episode. Olivia was a goddess, defending lesbianism left and right, and despite a plot that rather resembled a tangled ball of yarn it was so twisty, I found myself very engaged and invested in the show. I cheered when Casey said, triumphantly, "And that's a hate crime." I swore at the television in righteous anger because I knew much earlier than the detectives that the grandmother was trouble ("It's that bitch telling the girl lies. Lies, I tell you."). Although I didn't know it was going to be all the lawyer's idea--a nice touch to avoid turning the grandparents into completely scary monsters. I loved that the moms' lesbianism was defended at every turn (mostly by Olivia), although I had to agree with that judge that it totally wasn't cool for, the second mom, Zoe, to claim that she had no legal standing one moment and then try to claim legal guardianship the next. But I suppose it's a lesson: don't try to use things you don't like about the system to your advantage. It'll bite you in the ass every time.
All things comsidered, this was an episode in which all the characters were complicated (and sometimes uncomfortable) shades of grey (except the sleazy lawyer...no mercy there). I like that. Complexity is good.
And on a completely unrelated note: Jon Stewart is love. :)
Monday, November 28, 2005
oh yeah, it's monday...
Seven Reasons Why I’m Losing My Eternal Optimism
(for the moment)
1. My favorite radio station has switched to 24-hour Christmas music.
2. Despite the fact that I didn't really have anything to do today, I managed to do very little actual work. This is becoming a trend.
3. My favorite student this semester did not turn in her partial research paper draft and seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. Another one of my students may have plagiarized (sudden lucid and articulate prose that's not really typical of his writing), but I can't figure out where from.
4. Our dog had yet another bout of inexplicable, stinky and messy digestive upset last night. We think (hope) it might be a food allergy. But it keeps coming and going without apparent cause, which makes us nervous and him sad (because he's usually so well housetrained and gets upset if he has an accident).
5. My cat, Olive, sleeps too much. To make up for all her sleep during the day, she wakes us up at 5am scratching on the bedroom door. April's a very light sleeper, and while I'm a fairly deep sleeper, I'm obviously still being unconsciously disturbed because I wake up feeling exhausted.
6. I seem to be universally behind on everything--schoolwork, my dissertation, correspondence, even my hobbies, like livejournal and karate.
And the kicker...
7. Our water heater broke last week right before we went away for Thanksgiving. It was supposed to be replaced today, but when the plumber came he announced that I'd ordered the wrong water heater and would have to ask Sears to correct the error. Then he left, and I spent the next hour on the phone with the DIY triumvirate (Sears, Home Depot, Lowes) trying to figure out which had the best deal on the type of water heater I needed and who had them in stock (since what I need is apparently less common than the normal natural gas water heater). I finally purchased one from Lowes, and now I just have to hope that the plumber is able to come tomorrow when I'm home (and that everything goes smoothly) so we don't have to go another day showering in the gym or at a friend's house (not to mention the fact that I had to wash dishes tonight--they were getting scary--by boiling lots of water).
Okay, I'm done now. After all, Monday is almost over, right?
(for the moment)
1. My favorite radio station has switched to 24-hour Christmas music.
2. Despite the fact that I didn't really have anything to do today, I managed to do very little actual work. This is becoming a trend.
3. My favorite student this semester did not turn in her partial research paper draft and seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. Another one of my students may have plagiarized (sudden lucid and articulate prose that's not really typical of his writing), but I can't figure out where from.
4. Our dog had yet another bout of inexplicable, stinky and messy digestive upset last night. We think (hope) it might be a food allergy. But it keeps coming and going without apparent cause, which makes us nervous and him sad (because he's usually so well housetrained and gets upset if he has an accident).
5. My cat, Olive, sleeps too much. To make up for all her sleep during the day, she wakes us up at 5am scratching on the bedroom door. April's a very light sleeper, and while I'm a fairly deep sleeper, I'm obviously still being unconsciously disturbed because I wake up feeling exhausted.
6. I seem to be universally behind on everything--schoolwork, my dissertation, correspondence, even my hobbies, like livejournal and karate.
And the kicker...
7. Our water heater broke last week right before we went away for Thanksgiving. It was supposed to be replaced today, but when the plumber came he announced that I'd ordered the wrong water heater and would have to ask Sears to correct the error. Then he left, and I spent the next hour on the phone with the DIY triumvirate (Sears, Home Depot, Lowes) trying to figure out which had the best deal on the type of water heater I needed and who had them in stock (since what I need is apparently less common than the normal natural gas water heater). I finally purchased one from Lowes, and now I just have to hope that the plumber is able to come tomorrow when I'm home (and that everything goes smoothly) so we don't have to go another day showering in the gym or at a friend's house (not to mention the fact that I had to wash dishes tonight--they were getting scary--by boiling lots of water).
Okay, I'm done now. After all, Monday is almost over, right?
Monday, November 14, 2005
No. It's not enough to say, "she's pretty."
For your reading pleasure (and my viewing pleasure), my top ten favorite women on television (formerly a meme stolen from LiveJournal), in no particular order:
1. Abby Lockhart, ER
There's something about Maura Tierney's acting that holds everything else together on ER. Even though I've all but stopped watching the show, I still tune in occasionally just because I miss her (and Neela and Kerry, too). I read someone describe her acting style as mise-en-scene. I agree completely; she always makes Abby an integral, if brilliantly understated, part of every scene. Plus, Abby's beautiful and quiet and a little dark, but she's also fiery and intelligent and cynical. I like that kind of complexity in a woman.
2. Kelly Gaffney, Law and Order: Trial by Jury
Again, understated beauty and brilliance. Obviously, it's a bit of a theme for me. Kelly is probably the television character I most identify with personally, although I couldn't explain exactly why. Maybe I identify with Kelly because I also think Tracey Kibre is sexy as hell and a damn fine lawyer (double entendre intended). ;)
3. Alex Cabot, Law and Order: Special Victims Unit
Because the show hasn't been the same since she left. And because the ending of "Loss" still makes me ache and her presence in "Ghost" still makes me swoon.
4. Gabrielle, Xena: Warrior Princess
Especially in Season 6 (she wasn't as feisty or as sexy earlier when she was all innocent and pure). I'm embarrassed to admit that very few of my television girlfriends have been able to come close to being as sexy to me as final season Gabrielle--she was strong and sensitive, emotional and courageous, confident, clever... It must be the short skirts and weapons, because blonds aren't usually my type.
5. Tina, The L-Word
Actually, this list is quickly disproving my assertion that blondes aren't usually my type, but let me just say this: I love Tina. I think she's gorgeous and resourceful and generous. I think she and Bette make a beautiful couple as long as Bette doesn't start being an insensitive, manipulative jerk again. However, my first love on the The L-Word was Marina (Karina Lombard)--now she could make me swoon every time she came on screen--but since Marina is no longer on the show (and, besides, my love for her was a bit on the shallow side) I had to transfer my affections elsewhere.
6. Allison Dubois, Medium
I like Allison because she's such a realistically-flawed character despite her supernatural gifts. Her visions are never wrong and yet she never interprets them correctly the first time around (you'd think she'd have figured that out by now). She's rash. She's emotional. She can be insensitive, uncompromising, and self-absorbed. She's a good wife and mother, but she's neither perfect nor obedient. She's not easily subdued. And, in the end, she's always right.
7. Sara Sidle, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
I really can't explain this one at all. She's cocky and acerbic and irritating half the time and dark and brooding the rest, but every once and a while she smiles or laughs or says something particularly sarcastic (and funny) and I find myself charmed.
8. Karen Walker, Will and Grace
Honestly, I hardly ever watch the show anymore, but Karen just makes me laugh. And laugh. And laugh. Maybe I have a twisted sense of humor, but she's by far my favorite TV sitcom character. And besides, Megan Mullally has a stunning singing voice.
9. B'Ellana Torres, Star Trek: Voyager
This one is a real toss up for me because I love Seven of Nine--and not actually for the stereotypical reasons (the leggy, busty blond thing), but because she's both laid bare and completely enigmatic simultaneously and because Jeri Ryan played her with such incredible panache. But ultimately B'Ellana trumps Seven because she was my favorite from the very beginning (before her Klingon ridges started to get lighter and lighter season after season and she got softer and less rebellious). I liked her when she was brazen and feisty and got into a fist fights with other crewmembers. I liked her before she and Tom started to get all lovey-dovey (I didn't mind them dating, only that they became mundane and romantic).
10. Willow, Buffy: The Vampire Slayer
I loved her in Season 4 when she's trying to find a place for herself--both in terms of her sexuality and in terms of her witchcraft. I liked her when she was a little more naive than end-of-show Willow, when she was just learning that she had more courage and power than she ever thought possible. There was always something about her naiveté mixed with her intelligence that was simultaneously empowering and touching. Plus, she's adorable. What can I say?
***
Mostly what this list proves is that I'm fickle and easily seduced by beautiful women. But only on television. And they have to be complex and intelligent, not merely beautiful. I do have some emotional depth after all.
1. Abby Lockhart, ER
There's something about Maura Tierney's acting that holds everything else together on ER. Even though I've all but stopped watching the show, I still tune in occasionally just because I miss her (and Neela and Kerry, too). I read someone describe her acting style as mise-en-scene. I agree completely; she always makes Abby an integral, if brilliantly understated, part of every scene. Plus, Abby's beautiful and quiet and a little dark, but she's also fiery and intelligent and cynical. I like that kind of complexity in a woman.
2. Kelly Gaffney, Law and Order: Trial by Jury
Again, understated beauty and brilliance. Obviously, it's a bit of a theme for me. Kelly is probably the television character I most identify with personally, although I couldn't explain exactly why. Maybe I identify with Kelly because I also think Tracey Kibre is sexy as hell and a damn fine lawyer (double entendre intended). ;)
3. Alex Cabot, Law and Order: Special Victims Unit
Because the show hasn't been the same since she left. And because the ending of "Loss" still makes me ache and her presence in "Ghost" still makes me swoon.
4. Gabrielle, Xena: Warrior Princess
Especially in Season 6 (she wasn't as feisty or as sexy earlier when she was all innocent and pure). I'm embarrassed to admit that very few of my television girlfriends have been able to come close to being as sexy to me as final season Gabrielle--she was strong and sensitive, emotional and courageous, confident, clever... It must be the short skirts and weapons, because blonds aren't usually my type.
5. Tina, The L-Word
Actually, this list is quickly disproving my assertion that blondes aren't usually my type, but let me just say this: I love Tina. I think she's gorgeous and resourceful and generous. I think she and Bette make a beautiful couple as long as Bette doesn't start being an insensitive, manipulative jerk again. However, my first love on the The L-Word was Marina (Karina Lombard)--now she could make me swoon every time she came on screen--but since Marina is no longer on the show (and, besides, my love for her was a bit on the shallow side) I had to transfer my affections elsewhere.
6. Allison Dubois, Medium
I like Allison because she's such a realistically-flawed character despite her supernatural gifts. Her visions are never wrong and yet she never interprets them correctly the first time around (you'd think she'd have figured that out by now). She's rash. She's emotional. She can be insensitive, uncompromising, and self-absorbed. She's a good wife and mother, but she's neither perfect nor obedient. She's not easily subdued. And, in the end, she's always right.
7. Sara Sidle, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
I really can't explain this one at all. She's cocky and acerbic and irritating half the time and dark and brooding the rest, but every once and a while she smiles or laughs or says something particularly sarcastic (and funny) and I find myself charmed.
8. Karen Walker, Will and Grace
Honestly, I hardly ever watch the show anymore, but Karen just makes me laugh. And laugh. And laugh. Maybe I have a twisted sense of humor, but she's by far my favorite TV sitcom character. And besides, Megan Mullally has a stunning singing voice.
9. B'Ellana Torres, Star Trek: Voyager
This one is a real toss up for me because I love Seven of Nine--and not actually for the stereotypical reasons (the leggy, busty blond thing), but because she's both laid bare and completely enigmatic simultaneously and because Jeri Ryan played her with such incredible panache. But ultimately B'Ellana trumps Seven because she was my favorite from the very beginning (before her Klingon ridges started to get lighter and lighter season after season and she got softer and less rebellious). I liked her when she was brazen and feisty and got into a fist fights with other crewmembers. I liked her before she and Tom started to get all lovey-dovey (I didn't mind them dating, only that they became mundane and romantic).
10. Willow, Buffy: The Vampire Slayer
I loved her in Season 4 when she's trying to find a place for herself--both in terms of her sexuality and in terms of her witchcraft. I liked her when she was a little more naive than end-of-show Willow, when she was just learning that she had more courage and power than she ever thought possible. There was always something about her naiveté mixed with her intelligence that was simultaneously empowering and touching. Plus, she's adorable. What can I say?
***
Mostly what this list proves is that I'm fickle and easily seduced by beautiful women. But only on television. And they have to be complex and intelligent, not merely beautiful. I do have some emotional depth after all.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
note to self: burning feathers smell...bad
I know Halloween isn't until Monday, but, as far as I'm concerned, once the costume is "out of the bag," so to speak, then Halloween is pretty much over. Not that I don't also have a sort of ambivalent affection for the hundreds (I am not exaggerating) of children that will come to our door Monday night (last year April had to run out for more candy), but now that I'm no longer able to legitimately trick or treat (nor would I really want to), Halloween is more about the costume than anything.
That said, last night April and I went to a Halloween party (hence dressing up before the actual holiday). She went as Medusa (poor thing--she looked great, but the wires holding the snakes on her head gave her a monster headache and a bruise on her scalp!); while I had first considered going as Perseus, the Gorgon's slayer, I eventually decided that I wanted to have a costume that was a least slightly more interesting in its own right. So, continuing with the Greek myth theme, I decided to go as Icarus. You know, that belligerent teenager who wouldn't listen to his father when the old man was trying to teach his son how to fly? Not heeding the paternal warnings, Icarus flew too close to the sun, the wax holding his wings together melted, and he plummeted into the ocean. Actually, as a child I never liked Icarus because I couldn't imagine so pointedly disobeying my parents (interestingly, this is also why I disliked Beverly Cleary's Ramona), but now I think there's something fascinating about his rebellion. Or maybe I just wanted a good excuse to dress like a boy and have wings. I don't know.
I do have a rather long history of cross-dressing Halloween costumes (most from my childhood): a teenaged mutant ninja turtle (Raphael, for those interested), a knight, Robin Hood, a notebook and pencil (okay, that's gender-neutral, but it shows what a complete and utter nerd I was/am), etc... Last year, I was a Samurai; the trend continues. Although, every once and a while I feel the need to have a sexy, girly costume (Artemis, a devil, a spidery-witch). I always like to look at least somewhat attractive, but gender is apparently not so important.
Anyway, part of the fun of the Icarus costume was buying cheap wings and setting them on fire (they actually didn’t really “catch” on fire, which is probably good, but were very prone to singeing at the touch of flame). I was pleased with the result—wings frayed and singed and covered in blood-red wax (see below)—but not so pleased with the resulting odor. I guess I’ve never burned feathers before, but they smell a bit like burning hair or flesh. Not pleasant. And even though I did the actual burning outside, the smell clung to the feathers and gave me a headache for about the first hour I was wearing them. Luckily, by the time I actually made it to the party, the smell had mostly dissipated—at least, no one seemed too unwilling to sit next to me, so I assume it had lessened somewhat.
So, note to self: allow at least 1-2 hours for burning feathers to lose their smell before they are worn.
That said, last night April and I went to a Halloween party (hence dressing up before the actual holiday). She went as Medusa (poor thing--she looked great, but the wires holding the snakes on her head gave her a monster headache and a bruise on her scalp!); while I had first considered going as Perseus, the Gorgon's slayer, I eventually decided that I wanted to have a costume that was a least slightly more interesting in its own right. So, continuing with the Greek myth theme, I decided to go as Icarus. You know, that belligerent teenager who wouldn't listen to his father when the old man was trying to teach his son how to fly? Not heeding the paternal warnings, Icarus flew too close to the sun, the wax holding his wings together melted, and he plummeted into the ocean. Actually, as a child I never liked Icarus because I couldn't imagine so pointedly disobeying my parents (interestingly, this is also why I disliked Beverly Cleary's Ramona), but now I think there's something fascinating about his rebellion. Or maybe I just wanted a good excuse to dress like a boy and have wings. I don't know.
I do have a rather long history of cross-dressing Halloween costumes (most from my childhood): a teenaged mutant ninja turtle (Raphael, for those interested), a knight, Robin Hood, a notebook and pencil (okay, that's gender-neutral, but it shows what a complete and utter nerd I was/am), etc... Last year, I was a Samurai; the trend continues. Although, every once and a while I feel the need to have a sexy, girly costume (Artemis, a devil, a spidery-witch). I always like to look at least somewhat attractive, but gender is apparently not so important.
Anyway, part of the fun of the Icarus costume was buying cheap wings and setting them on fire (they actually didn’t really “catch” on fire, which is probably good, but were very prone to singeing at the touch of flame). I was pleased with the result—wings frayed and singed and covered in blood-red wax (see below)—but not so pleased with the resulting odor. I guess I’ve never burned feathers before, but they smell a bit like burning hair or flesh. Not pleasant. And even though I did the actual burning outside, the smell clung to the feathers and gave me a headache for about the first hour I was wearing them. Luckily, by the time I actually made it to the party, the smell had mostly dissipated—at least, no one seemed too unwilling to sit next to me, so I assume it had lessened somewhat.
So, note to self: allow at least 1-2 hours for burning feathers to lose their smell before they are worn.
Friday, September 23, 2005
NYTVF
Next weekend (September 29th-October 2nd) is the first annual New York Television Festival (www.nytvf.com), and as an extreme lover and...ahem...scholar of television, I'll be flying down to NYC for the weekend to attend screenings and panels and just generally enjoy the company of fellow television enthusiasts.
My schedule's fairly limited--since I'll be in and out of NYTVF programs both Saturday and Sunday--but I'll be arriving early Friday morning and will have most of the day Friday free (and I'll even have some time in between events on Saturday and Sunday if you're willing to meet me in Chelsea/Greenwich Village). So, anyone who's around and would like to meet me for coffee or brunch or lunch or dinner or drinks, please please let me know. :) I'd love to see you.
Also, on the off-chance that anyone I know is going to be at the festival itself, I'd love to meet up. Drop me a line.
I promise a full report when I return.
My schedule's fairly limited--since I'll be in and out of NYTVF programs both Saturday and Sunday--but I'll be arriving early Friday morning and will have most of the day Friday free (and I'll even have some time in between events on Saturday and Sunday if you're willing to meet me in Chelsea/Greenwich Village). So, anyone who's around and would like to meet me for coffee or brunch or lunch or dinner or drinks, please please let me know. :) I'd love to see you.
Also, on the off-chance that anyone I know is going to be at the festival itself, I'd love to meet up. Drop me a line.
I promise a full report when I return.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Viewer discretion is advised...
So much has been going on lately, both in the world and in my life, that posting has seemed like a far-off and unfathomable possibility. Still, I’ve been planning a long update (please note the word long for those of you with places to be or only a passing interest in my life) for several days now, and since I’m currently battling a cold (April’s apologies, unnecessary though they are, for “giving” me a cold are still ringing in my ears) and am pretty much incapacitated where real mental powers are concerned, I thought I’d go ahead and take pen to paper, so to speak, and let it all out.
I hate that today is called "Patriot Day." I'm not sure I can explain why I hate it, but I do. Maybe it's because hallmark.com has it listed as such on its website. What? Are we supposed to send cards to people in honor of Patriot Day? Maybe it's because it turns what should be a day remembrance for lives tragically lost into nationalist propaganda, something that has been happening from the very beginning and which actually infuriates me. Maybe.
And, of course, there’s Katrina. I knew a girl named Katrina once—a whirlwind of incomprehensible emotions and totally unexplainable rebelliousness, cold one minute, burning the next. I barely knew her, but had great contempt for her brashness. And of course I adored her, too. Not much different with this Katrina—except for the adoration bit—as Katrina has come to stand for everything from the hurricane itself to its startling, appalling and devastating aftermath. The first few days, I kept finding April teary-eyed in front of the television, first because of the human devastation and then because of the animal suffering. I envy her empathy. I cringe inwardly every time I hear myself telling her to turn the television off or change the channel. I don’t mean to be the stoic or to avoid—even though I know that’s exactly what I’m doing, always retreating. I’ve donated money; I would be there if I could; I’m not heartless. Am I trying to convince myself? Maybe I’m practical. Or maybe I shut down when empathy gets too hard.
Instead of watching the news, I’ve been watching CSI with a vengeance. Even though watching it before I go to bed routinely makes it impossible for me to go to sleep without worrying that a murderer is lurking under my bed. I do love the show now (due, in part, to watching it for hours on end with my dear friend Christina in her 90 degree, not air-conditioned, apartment earlier this summer), which means—for better or for worse—that I’ve found a new fandom to obsess about. I can see April mentally sigh every time she asks what I’m doing and finds I’m reading another piece of fan fiction, and even though I’m fairly sure she thinks I’m a little obsessed (I wouldn’t disagree with her), I also think she realizes sometimes I need a little obsession. Sometimes it’s nice to lose myself in something mindless and beautiful and insignificant—in terms of my life and the world at large—for a while. And besides, sometimes I find it incredibly cathartic to tell someone how much I enjoyed their work. I’m a feedback junkie in another sense than the one usually described—if I love something, there’s no greater pleasure for me than telling the writer just how wonderful I think their work is. Especially now, some things still need to be wonderful.
Unfortunately, I haven’t been as persistent with my friendships as I have with my online feedback. A friend of mine wrote me a beautiful and very sweet email today after we hadn’t spoken in almost a year, and it got me thinking about all the correspondence I’ve neglected because I’ve “been too busy” or just plain lazy. True, I saw six different friends this summer through various visitations (Germany, Minnesota, two in LA, two in my own house), all of which were lovely. I count myself extremely lucky that I got to spend time with people I love—and that, over the years, I’ve met so many incredible people in my life I am truly proud to call friends—but there are so many people I haven’t even spoken to in months (if not longer). My long-ago ex in Mississippi whom I’ve been thinking about a lot lately because of Katrina, even though she’s in a central part of the state. My high-maintenance southern belle in Virginia with whom I used to have arguments about feminism and whose love letters (written to others, of course) used to make me cry because they were so beautiful. One of my best friends with whom I used to spend hours on the phone each night, when we were living only a few miles apart, and who now lives in Georgia and we never speak anymore because we don’t seem to know what to say to each other. My dahling in New York City whose name I’d love to see in lights so badly it almost hurts. A friend who once got me through a nasty break-up with her kindness, though she may not ever know how much what she did for me meant, who has now seemingly disappeared in Africa somewhere seeking the love of her life. And so many more: a friend with a baby in North Carolina, a friend with a new restaurant, my rubber ducky, my gay-boy soon-to-be-architect, a friend in Michigan who taught me the joy of pumpkin muffins…it goes on. Not to mention that I haven’t talked to either of my grandmothers in ages. But I suppose there’s only so much one person can do. And I have April. Who’s taught me how to accept love as such and not ask so many questions. I’m grateful for what I have, but deeply sorry sometimes that I can’t stop the world on its axis and just…catch up.
On a brighter note, my life is nothing to complain about. I’ve had three sessions now of the first class I’ve ever taught on my own and my students are just so lovely. I may not think this once they’re first papers come in and I’m struggle to explain to them in the margins why this or that sentence doesn’t make any sense without coming off as scolding or uncompromising, but for now I absolutely adore them. I remember being a freshman, too, and their enthusiasm, their freshness, is invigorating.
All right, this meandering, navel-lint-contemplating purging has gone on long enough. Next time I’ll post something more about my students because I’m eager to share my love for them with the world. I’d like to write this whole mess off and say it was the cold medication, but I haven’t been taking any. Not stoicism this time, though, just plain old stubbornness.
I hate that today is called "Patriot Day." I'm not sure I can explain why I hate it, but I do. Maybe it's because hallmark.com has it listed as such on its website. What? Are we supposed to send cards to people in honor of Patriot Day? Maybe it's because it turns what should be a day remembrance for lives tragically lost into nationalist propaganda, something that has been happening from the very beginning and which actually infuriates me. Maybe.
And, of course, there’s Katrina. I knew a girl named Katrina once—a whirlwind of incomprehensible emotions and totally unexplainable rebelliousness, cold one minute, burning the next. I barely knew her, but had great contempt for her brashness. And of course I adored her, too. Not much different with this Katrina—except for the adoration bit—as Katrina has come to stand for everything from the hurricane itself to its startling, appalling and devastating aftermath. The first few days, I kept finding April teary-eyed in front of the television, first because of the human devastation and then because of the animal suffering. I envy her empathy. I cringe inwardly every time I hear myself telling her to turn the television off or change the channel. I don’t mean to be the stoic or to avoid—even though I know that’s exactly what I’m doing, always retreating. I’ve donated money; I would be there if I could; I’m not heartless. Am I trying to convince myself? Maybe I’m practical. Or maybe I shut down when empathy gets too hard.
Instead of watching the news, I’ve been watching CSI with a vengeance. Even though watching it before I go to bed routinely makes it impossible for me to go to sleep without worrying that a murderer is lurking under my bed. I do love the show now (due, in part, to watching it for hours on end with my dear friend Christina in her 90 degree, not air-conditioned, apartment earlier this summer), which means—for better or for worse—that I’ve found a new fandom to obsess about. I can see April mentally sigh every time she asks what I’m doing and finds I’m reading another piece of fan fiction, and even though I’m fairly sure she thinks I’m a little obsessed (I wouldn’t disagree with her), I also think she realizes sometimes I need a little obsession. Sometimes it’s nice to lose myself in something mindless and beautiful and insignificant—in terms of my life and the world at large—for a while. And besides, sometimes I find it incredibly cathartic to tell someone how much I enjoyed their work. I’m a feedback junkie in another sense than the one usually described—if I love something, there’s no greater pleasure for me than telling the writer just how wonderful I think their work is. Especially now, some things still need to be wonderful.
Unfortunately, I haven’t been as persistent with my friendships as I have with my online feedback. A friend of mine wrote me a beautiful and very sweet email today after we hadn’t spoken in almost a year, and it got me thinking about all the correspondence I’ve neglected because I’ve “been too busy” or just plain lazy. True, I saw six different friends this summer through various visitations (Germany, Minnesota, two in LA, two in my own house), all of which were lovely. I count myself extremely lucky that I got to spend time with people I love—and that, over the years, I’ve met so many incredible people in my life I am truly proud to call friends—but there are so many people I haven’t even spoken to in months (if not longer). My long-ago ex in Mississippi whom I’ve been thinking about a lot lately because of Katrina, even though she’s in a central part of the state. My high-maintenance southern belle in Virginia with whom I used to have arguments about feminism and whose love letters (written to others, of course) used to make me cry because they were so beautiful. One of my best friends with whom I used to spend hours on the phone each night, when we were living only a few miles apart, and who now lives in Georgia and we never speak anymore because we don’t seem to know what to say to each other. My dahling in New York City whose name I’d love to see in lights so badly it almost hurts. A friend who once got me through a nasty break-up with her kindness, though she may not ever know how much what she did for me meant, who has now seemingly disappeared in Africa somewhere seeking the love of her life. And so many more: a friend with a baby in North Carolina, a friend with a new restaurant, my rubber ducky, my gay-boy soon-to-be-architect, a friend in Michigan who taught me the joy of pumpkin muffins…it goes on. Not to mention that I haven’t talked to either of my grandmothers in ages. But I suppose there’s only so much one person can do. And I have April. Who’s taught me how to accept love as such and not ask so many questions. I’m grateful for what I have, but deeply sorry sometimes that I can’t stop the world on its axis and just…catch up.
On a brighter note, my life is nothing to complain about. I’ve had three sessions now of the first class I’ve ever taught on my own and my students are just so lovely. I may not think this once they’re first papers come in and I’m struggle to explain to them in the margins why this or that sentence doesn’t make any sense without coming off as scolding or uncompromising, but for now I absolutely adore them. I remember being a freshman, too, and their enthusiasm, their freshness, is invigorating.
All right, this meandering, navel-lint-contemplating purging has gone on long enough. Next time I’ll post something more about my students because I’m eager to share my love for them with the world. I’d like to write this whole mess off and say it was the cold medication, but I haven’t been taking any. Not stoicism this time, though, just plain old stubbornness.
Friday, August 12, 2005
the last hurrah
It is with deepest sadness that I report that the great and loyal Alexia Mercedes Benz, better known as simply Alex, has been retired from service. Built in 1992, Alex has been my car since 1999, ferrying me through thick and thin, inclement weather, fog, heat and snow. She has never left me stranded on the side of the road, though together we have blown tires (2, plus a bent rim), lost mufflers (1), blown fuses (3), and gone through innumerable quarts of oil. She has accompanied me to three different universities, has driven through at least seven states (and the District of Columbia) , and has survived mulitple girlfriends. Many times, and without complaint (except the last), Alex has stalwartly driven the two-hour commute to DC from my parents' house, the four-hour drive to my grandparents for Thanksgiving and, most impressively, the nine-hour drive from Western NY to Virginia (and back). She was a dream to drive: smooth and fast and powerful and sleek. And she always won when I drag raced her down Route 29.
The past six years I have watched fireworks through her sun roof, been dazzled by her James Bond-esque built-in phone system, and driven her proudly through great snow storms when others were too nervous to drive. I've backed her into a tree, a house, and a brand new Saab, and despite the fact that I ran her into a telephone guide wire in a snowstorm and ripped half her bumper off (which then was held on by duck tape for the next two months), she's always been the most dignified car I've ever seen. Even in the past year, as she steadily began to leak more and more oil, I felt inexplicably pleased with all the things she has taught me: where and how to add oil, how to add coolant and transmission fluid, how to drive in snow or heavy rain, what a broken muffler sounds likes, how to change a tire. More than anything, I have been continually impressed by Alex's incredible integrity--even as she progressively began to falter she never stopped running, and I truly believe that she never would. There could be nothing left but an engine, a driver's seat and a steering wheel, and Alex would still be merrily churning along without fail.
Unfortunately, she has been suffering from an increasingly drastic series of ailments (as well as some that are more minor): over the winter her four-wheel drive broke due to a leak in her hydralic fluid (this alone would be a $5000 repair) and she leaks oil heavily to the point that on the drive to Virginia this last time her engine temperature was reaching dangerous levels. Also, the CD player stopped working, her radio antenna is jammed, and unlocking her from the driver's side door causes the car alarm to go off. And, this weekend, during an impressive thunder shower on the drive home from DC, Alex's muffler began to sound like the engine of a prop plane. I tried to laugh it off by making brrrmmming sounds with my lips in imitation, but after some thought we realized that for everyone involved the best decision would be to leave her at my parents' house and rent a car with which to return to New York.
This is not such a shock. I've been planning to get a new car for a few months now, but I think I wasn't properly prepared. I'd like to think, however, that Alex's suddenly manic muffler was her way of telling me that it was time to let go--of her, of the past--and just enjoy the memories. And while I'm excited about the prospect of a new car, I can't help but be just a litte heartbroken over the loss of Alex, who sits behind my parents' house awaiting an uncertain future.
The past six years I have watched fireworks through her sun roof, been dazzled by her James Bond-esque built-in phone system, and driven her proudly through great snow storms when others were too nervous to drive. I've backed her into a tree, a house, and a brand new Saab, and despite the fact that I ran her into a telephone guide wire in a snowstorm and ripped half her bumper off (which then was held on by duck tape for the next two months), she's always been the most dignified car I've ever seen. Even in the past year, as she steadily began to leak more and more oil, I felt inexplicably pleased with all the things she has taught me: where and how to add oil, how to add coolant and transmission fluid, how to drive in snow or heavy rain, what a broken muffler sounds likes, how to change a tire. More than anything, I have been continually impressed by Alex's incredible integrity--even as she progressively began to falter she never stopped running, and I truly believe that she never would. There could be nothing left but an engine, a driver's seat and a steering wheel, and Alex would still be merrily churning along without fail.
Unfortunately, she has been suffering from an increasingly drastic series of ailments (as well as some that are more minor): over the winter her four-wheel drive broke due to a leak in her hydralic fluid (this alone would be a $5000 repair) and she leaks oil heavily to the point that on the drive to Virginia this last time her engine temperature was reaching dangerous levels. Also, the CD player stopped working, her radio antenna is jammed, and unlocking her from the driver's side door causes the car alarm to go off. And, this weekend, during an impressive thunder shower on the drive home from DC, Alex's muffler began to sound like the engine of a prop plane. I tried to laugh it off by making brrrmmming sounds with my lips in imitation, but after some thought we realized that for everyone involved the best decision would be to leave her at my parents' house and rent a car with which to return to New York.
This is not such a shock. I've been planning to get a new car for a few months now, but I think I wasn't properly prepared. I'd like to think, however, that Alex's suddenly manic muffler was her way of telling me that it was time to let go--of her, of the past--and just enjoy the memories. And while I'm excited about the prospect of a new car, I can't help but be just a litte heartbroken over the loss of Alex, who sits behind my parents' house awaiting an uncertain future.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Vacation Update Interlude...Family Pictures
I'll continue with the regularily scheduled vacation update (only a relatively short Germany post left now) in the near future, but for now I wanted to post a couple of cute family photos from my trip to La Palma. Enjoy.
A group shot of me, April, my parents, my aunt and uncle and one of their dogs, Fina. Benny, the other dog, was off hunting lizards and wouldn't sit still for the photo-op.
Benny
Fina
Me and the lovely April
A group shot of me, April, my parents, my aunt and uncle and one of their dogs, Fina. Benny, the other dog, was off hunting lizards and wouldn't sit still for the photo-op.
Benny
Fina
Me and the lovely April
Friday, July 15, 2005
Of Volcanoes, Salt, Mountains and Mojo
Since I don’t have the energy for yet another bout of effusive prose (and you may not have the stamina, for which I do not blame you in the least), part 2 of my post-vacation log will be more photo diary than journal.
june 8-11 ~imagining how jules verne felt on the precipice~
The day after our exhausting La Palma arrival, April and I duly set off for the beach, where we sat and sat and sat for the better part of a day. Heavenly, but not really of much interest. The day after (the 9th), however, my aunt and uncle took us for a little drive to the southern tip of the island where we visited the Teneguia volcano, one of many volcanoes scattered across the island. Teneguia is the most recently active of the islands’ native fiery fissures, having last erupted in 1971. It’s both beautiful and a bit intimidating and we, ever the explorers (or so we’d like to believe), bravely tromped across its craggy surface searching for openings, from which you can still feel the hot, moist air rising from its molten core far below.
In the image below you can see the slopes of the volcano and the hardened lava on which some industrious soul has fostered a successful vineyard!
And here’s me trying to look stalwart and adventurous while unfortunately my aunt looks like a mini version of herself. Funny, that camera angle…
On our return home from the volcano, we also drove by the Teneguia salt mines (unfortunately, on the ride home, April also became queasy—a recurring incident on La Palma’s twisty-turny road system…the things we go through to experience beauty). Although these heaps of salt may seem nothing more than mild, unintentional allusions to Sodom and Gomorrah, I found them oddly fascinating and strangely beautiful. And, of course, ever the fledging foodies, we took a bag of Teneguia sea salt home with us. This will come in handy should we ever try to make what quickly be came my favorite local dish. Papas arraguadas are small potatoes boiled in and encrusted with sea salt and tradionally served with another local favorite, mojo, a red or green (depending on the ingredients) coarse puree of cilantro, peppers and garlic. This is truly the food of the gods. Well, Pele at least.
The salt mines:
Banana plantations, another local crop, also cover the island, leaving much of the land—from a birds-eye view—covered in an eerily leafy and textured green.
On the way home from Teneguia, we also stopped by an incredible plaza (called “La Glorieta” and located in the town of Las Manchas). The entire plaza was covered in mosaics—the ground, the surrounding walls, the benches—and teeming with artfully arranged plantlife.
After a day like this, all we really could do was eat—lots and lots of mojo and papas—and collapse into bed. What happy exhaustion!
june 12-14 ~water, water, everywhere~
My parents joined us on the island on the 10th, and their arrival involved some more driving tours of the island—which involved, unfortunately, more battles with car sickness—and more revelry (i.e. Spanish champagne and general gluttony). On the 12th, my father, aunt and uncle, April and I embarked on a mini-expedition to hike along an incredible cliff-face. Getting there was hard enough—the last 12km of our journey took almost an hour (in a car!) as we slowly wound our way over an unpaved and very rocky road up the hike’s starting point. The hike itself came complete with a death-defying drop on one side and a series of thirteen tunnels along its route, which had to be navigated with flashlight and cautious steps. My favorite tunnel, the thirthteenth, was completely waterlogged due to excessive winter rains; we had to navigate the passage over only a foot of exposed rock floor (the rest was under a foor or so of streaming water) and large, continuous trickles of water from overhead. (My mother, smart lady, stayed home and did crossword puzzles by the pool. I really can’t blame her.) It was one of the most terrific hikes I’ve ever been on though we frequently hit our heads on the sharp tunnel ceilings and both of our flashlights went out going through the third tunnel (so that, for the next three hours, we had to navigate by touch and the meager sparkles of light from families’ beams). The views were spectacular, the tunnels fantastically fun and the drops breathtaking. Here’s a sampling:
One of the earlier tunnels, made so bright only because of my camera’s flash:
And the views:
Despite all the gorgeous vistas, my favorite moment (and also one of my favorite photographs from the trip) of the hike was the moment I discovered the rock rose. So much smaller than her towering surroundings and yet magnificent all the same, she grows where nothing so beautiful and lush would seem to be capable of taking root:
The hike was surely the climax of our time in La Palma—all of which was fantastic—and a few days later we said our adieus and traveled on to Germany, land of the terrific French fries, never-ending cathedral construction sites, and much, much more.
june 8-11 ~imagining how jules verne felt on the precipice~
The day after our exhausting La Palma arrival, April and I duly set off for the beach, where we sat and sat and sat for the better part of a day. Heavenly, but not really of much interest. The day after (the 9th), however, my aunt and uncle took us for a little drive to the southern tip of the island where we visited the Teneguia volcano, one of many volcanoes scattered across the island. Teneguia is the most recently active of the islands’ native fiery fissures, having last erupted in 1971. It’s both beautiful and a bit intimidating and we, ever the explorers (or so we’d like to believe), bravely tromped across its craggy surface searching for openings, from which you can still feel the hot, moist air rising from its molten core far below.
In the image below you can see the slopes of the volcano and the hardened lava on which some industrious soul has fostered a successful vineyard!
And here’s me trying to look stalwart and adventurous while unfortunately my aunt looks like a mini version of herself. Funny, that camera angle…
On our return home from the volcano, we also drove by the Teneguia salt mines (unfortunately, on the ride home, April also became queasy—a recurring incident on La Palma’s twisty-turny road system…the things we go through to experience beauty). Although these heaps of salt may seem nothing more than mild, unintentional allusions to Sodom and Gomorrah, I found them oddly fascinating and strangely beautiful. And, of course, ever the fledging foodies, we took a bag of Teneguia sea salt home with us. This will come in handy should we ever try to make what quickly be came my favorite local dish. Papas arraguadas are small potatoes boiled in and encrusted with sea salt and tradionally served with another local favorite, mojo, a red or green (depending on the ingredients) coarse puree of cilantro, peppers and garlic. This is truly the food of the gods. Well, Pele at least.
The salt mines:
Banana plantations, another local crop, also cover the island, leaving much of the land—from a birds-eye view—covered in an eerily leafy and textured green.
On the way home from Teneguia, we also stopped by an incredible plaza (called “La Glorieta” and located in the town of Las Manchas). The entire plaza was covered in mosaics—the ground, the surrounding walls, the benches—and teeming with artfully arranged plantlife.
After a day like this, all we really could do was eat—lots and lots of mojo and papas—and collapse into bed. What happy exhaustion!
june 12-14 ~water, water, everywhere~
My parents joined us on the island on the 10th, and their arrival involved some more driving tours of the island—which involved, unfortunately, more battles with car sickness—and more revelry (i.e. Spanish champagne and general gluttony). On the 12th, my father, aunt and uncle, April and I embarked on a mini-expedition to hike along an incredible cliff-face. Getting there was hard enough—the last 12km of our journey took almost an hour (in a car!) as we slowly wound our way over an unpaved and very rocky road up the hike’s starting point. The hike itself came complete with a death-defying drop on one side and a series of thirteen tunnels along its route, which had to be navigated with flashlight and cautious steps. My favorite tunnel, the thirthteenth, was completely waterlogged due to excessive winter rains; we had to navigate the passage over only a foot of exposed rock floor (the rest was under a foor or so of streaming water) and large, continuous trickles of water from overhead. (My mother, smart lady, stayed home and did crossword puzzles by the pool. I really can’t blame her.) It was one of the most terrific hikes I’ve ever been on though we frequently hit our heads on the sharp tunnel ceilings and both of our flashlights went out going through the third tunnel (so that, for the next three hours, we had to navigate by touch and the meager sparkles of light from families’ beams). The views were spectacular, the tunnels fantastically fun and the drops breathtaking. Here’s a sampling:
One of the earlier tunnels, made so bright only because of my camera’s flash:
And the views:
Despite all the gorgeous vistas, my favorite moment (and also one of my favorite photographs from the trip) of the hike was the moment I discovered the rock rose. So much smaller than her towering surroundings and yet magnificent all the same, she grows where nothing so beautiful and lush would seem to be capable of taking root:
The hike was surely the climax of our time in La Palma—all of which was fantastic—and a few days later we said our adieus and traveled on to Germany, land of the terrific French fries, never-ending cathedral construction sites, and much, much more.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Learning Spanish would have been a start...
Finally, Part 1 of my summer 2005 travel chronicles. I know you all have been sitting on the edge of your seats. ;)
june 6-7 ~ flying is for the birds
Already, from looking at my father’s meticulously planned travel itinerary, I knew it was going to be a harrowing beginning to what I hoped would be a wonderful vacation. Three flights in all over the course of a 24-hour period, a 6 hour layover in Newark...April and I were determined to make the best of it, and I had already jokingly agreed to take her to dinner at some horrid airport restaurant-bar during our holdover in Newark. Unfortunately, as is often the case, in exchange for our eventual safe flights and lovely vacation, the Travel Gods extorted a toll. In our case, it was a 6 ½ hour delay—due to storms somewhere in the “friendly skies” between Western New York and Newark—made all the worse because we weren’t any closer to our intended destination. In fact, we were sitting, stuck, in an airport not five miles from our house where are pets were probably already starting to suspect that we weren’t coming back for a while. We were practically tearing our hair out by the time we made it to Newark and ran pell-mell through the airport (terrifying how a six-hour layover can turn into an almost-missed connection at the whim of the weather) just in time for our flight to Madrid. And once we settled down on the last leg of our journey, from Madrid to Santa Cruz de La Palma (the capital of the island of La Palma, one of the Canary Islands, an archipelago owned by Spain but located off the northwest coast of Morocco) we had almost forgotten our annoyance. Regrettably, just as our anxiety level was simmering down to a low rumble, it dawned on us that we were flying to a Spanish-speaking island and hadn’t bothered to learn any Spanish.
I have an (lame) excuse for this glaring cultural snafu: my aunt and uncle (on my father’s side) live on La Palma and as they are German, it had never occurred to me that I might have to anything more linguistically difficult than translate German to English and back again for April. In my mind, La Palma was an island inhabited only by Germans (or, perhaps, just my aunt and uncle) and any other language skills wouldn’t be necessary. Okay. Really, we just forgot. I blame travel anxiety.
So, all other boring travel details aside, we did, finally, arrive in La Palma. And yes, the sun was shining and the air was dry and warm and refreshing all at once and, Madonna wasn’t lying, “la isla bonita” (yep, that’s what they call it) has a lovely tropical island breeze. I’ve been to La Palma before, years ago, but I had forgotten the intense beauty of the stark volcanic landscape—black lava rocks covered in hardy grasses, cacti, incredible tropical flowers, and skittering lizards—and the never-ending blue of the sky (or, alternately, the studied concentration of the clouds cascading over the Caldera—the main volcanic crater of in the center of the island, surrounded by high, mountainous ridges which run down the central length of the land).
My aunt and uncle picked us up from the airport, exhausted but happy, and we all drove back to their gorgeous house in El Paso (on the western coast of the island). The photo below is an image of their incredibly lush yard—the climate is so temperate on the island that plants just grow all year round. You may also be able to see one of their gorgeous Spanish hunting dogs (Podenkos) in the background—they got both dogs from an organization that specializes in rescuing these often mistreated hunters.
From the moment we arrived my aunt began plying us with fantastic Spanish champagne (also, bourbon in our coffee) and she didn’t stop offering (but we stopped accepting) until the day we left. She even left a big bottle of champagne (which we drank, of course) in the apartment where we were staying in Puerto Naos. Usually used by my uncle’s mother when she comes to stay in the winter, the apartment is literally two blocks from the beach (my aunt and uncle live slightly further inland) and April and I spent our first day after our arrival lounging on the beach and eating pizza (We embarrassed ourselves completely, by the way, when we couldn’t even manage to say “the bill, please” in Spanish. We gestured wildly until the waiter took pity on us.).
This picture, of me and April floating on our backs in the ocean, was taken by my father when my parents arrives a few days later, but it conveys our feeling of relief and relaxation on that first day just the same.
In part two, we’ll hike along cliffs, wade through watery tunnels, eat lots and lots of good food and bid farewell to sunny La Palma on our way to Berlin. Stay tuned.
Don’t worry, the subsequent parts of my travel log will be much shorter with far more pictures; this is just the verbose intro.
june 6-7 ~ flying is for the birds
Already, from looking at my father’s meticulously planned travel itinerary, I knew it was going to be a harrowing beginning to what I hoped would be a wonderful vacation. Three flights in all over the course of a 24-hour period, a 6 hour layover in Newark...April and I were determined to make the best of it, and I had already jokingly agreed to take her to dinner at some horrid airport restaurant-bar during our holdover in Newark. Unfortunately, as is often the case, in exchange for our eventual safe flights and lovely vacation, the Travel Gods extorted a toll. In our case, it was a 6 ½ hour delay—due to storms somewhere in the “friendly skies” between Western New York and Newark—made all the worse because we weren’t any closer to our intended destination. In fact, we were sitting, stuck, in an airport not five miles from our house where are pets were probably already starting to suspect that we weren’t coming back for a while. We were practically tearing our hair out by the time we made it to Newark and ran pell-mell through the airport (terrifying how a six-hour layover can turn into an almost-missed connection at the whim of the weather) just in time for our flight to Madrid. And once we settled down on the last leg of our journey, from Madrid to Santa Cruz de La Palma (the capital of the island of La Palma, one of the Canary Islands, an archipelago owned by Spain but located off the northwest coast of Morocco) we had almost forgotten our annoyance. Regrettably, just as our anxiety level was simmering down to a low rumble, it dawned on us that we were flying to a Spanish-speaking island and hadn’t bothered to learn any Spanish.
I have an (lame) excuse for this glaring cultural snafu: my aunt and uncle (on my father’s side) live on La Palma and as they are German, it had never occurred to me that I might have to anything more linguistically difficult than translate German to English and back again for April. In my mind, La Palma was an island inhabited only by Germans (or, perhaps, just my aunt and uncle) and any other language skills wouldn’t be necessary. Okay. Really, we just forgot. I blame travel anxiety.
So, all other boring travel details aside, we did, finally, arrive in La Palma. And yes, the sun was shining and the air was dry and warm and refreshing all at once and, Madonna wasn’t lying, “la isla bonita” (yep, that’s what they call it) has a lovely tropical island breeze. I’ve been to La Palma before, years ago, but I had forgotten the intense beauty of the stark volcanic landscape—black lava rocks covered in hardy grasses, cacti, incredible tropical flowers, and skittering lizards—and the never-ending blue of the sky (or, alternately, the studied concentration of the clouds cascading over the Caldera—the main volcanic crater of in the center of the island, surrounded by high, mountainous ridges which run down the central length of the land).
My aunt and uncle picked us up from the airport, exhausted but happy, and we all drove back to their gorgeous house in El Paso (on the western coast of the island). The photo below is an image of their incredibly lush yard—the climate is so temperate on the island that plants just grow all year round. You may also be able to see one of their gorgeous Spanish hunting dogs (Podenkos) in the background—they got both dogs from an organization that specializes in rescuing these often mistreated hunters.
From the moment we arrived my aunt began plying us with fantastic Spanish champagne (also, bourbon in our coffee) and she didn’t stop offering (but we stopped accepting) until the day we left. She even left a big bottle of champagne (which we drank, of course) in the apartment where we were staying in Puerto Naos. Usually used by my uncle’s mother when she comes to stay in the winter, the apartment is literally two blocks from the beach (my aunt and uncle live slightly further inland) and April and I spent our first day after our arrival lounging on the beach and eating pizza (We embarrassed ourselves completely, by the way, when we couldn’t even manage to say “the bill, please” in Spanish. We gestured wildly until the waiter took pity on us.).
This picture, of me and April floating on our backs in the ocean, was taken by my father when my parents arrives a few days later, but it conveys our feeling of relief and relaxation on that first day just the same.
In part two, we’ll hike along cliffs, wade through watery tunnels, eat lots and lots of good food and bid farewell to sunny La Palma on our way to Berlin. Stay tuned.
Don’t worry, the subsequent parts of my travel log will be much shorter with far more pictures; this is just the verbose intro.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Mad Hot
Mad hot pimping for one of the best documentaries I've seen (hell, one of best movies I've seen, period) in quite a long time:
Mad Hot Ballroom features three NYC public schools taking part in a 10-week ballroom dancing program for fifth graders (about 60 NYC schools participate in the this program, which started 10 years ago with just two schools). I went to see the movie because I love ballroom dancing, and I expected to be entertained and perhaps even amused by the kids and their teachers as they trained to compete in the culminating city-wide competition. What I didn't expect was to be blown away by the wit, intelligence, and enthusiasm of the kids and their incredible dedication to what basically amounts to a required phys. ed./arts course. It would already have been a good film because the kids were great and the concept was interesting, but it was a great film because it was exceptionally put-together, providing an insight into the children's lives without seeming overbearing (as the classes are very multi-cultural and many of the kids, particularily from one of the schools, are from working-class families). No voice-over, no (visible) interviewers, just teriffic dance footage (boy, these kids can dance--and, mind you, some of them had never even heard of ballroom dancing before) and shots of the kids and teachers at school and at home learning and talking about dancing and their lives.
It's so obvious how important the dance program is for many of the kids that the film could probably serve as a very persuasive tool for folks lobbying for the continuation of arts programming. Hell, I even wanted to teach public school in New York City after watching the film and that's no small feat!
http://www.paramountclassics.com/madhot/
Mad Hot Ballroom features three NYC public schools taking part in a 10-week ballroom dancing program for fifth graders (about 60 NYC schools participate in the this program, which started 10 years ago with just two schools). I went to see the movie because I love ballroom dancing, and I expected to be entertained and perhaps even amused by the kids and their teachers as they trained to compete in the culminating city-wide competition. What I didn't expect was to be blown away by the wit, intelligence, and enthusiasm of the kids and their incredible dedication to what basically amounts to a required phys. ed./arts course. It would already have been a good film because the kids were great and the concept was interesting, but it was a great film because it was exceptionally put-together, providing an insight into the children's lives without seeming overbearing (as the classes are very multi-cultural and many of the kids, particularily from one of the schools, are from working-class families). No voice-over, no (visible) interviewers, just teriffic dance footage (boy, these kids can dance--and, mind you, some of them had never even heard of ballroom dancing before) and shots of the kids and teachers at school and at home learning and talking about dancing and their lives.
It's so obvious how important the dance program is for many of the kids that the film could probably serve as a very persuasive tool for folks lobbying for the continuation of arts programming. Hell, I even wanted to teach public school in New York City after watching the film and that's no small feat!
http://www.paramountclassics.com/madhot/
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
melting is for ice cream, not me
Home again, home again, and I have to say that when the pilot on the rickety tiny-plane flight told us that it was 95 degrees (and, I could guess from past experiences, stifling humid) at our destination, I almost ran up to the cockpit and told him to turn around. But no, we had pets who were eagerly awaiting our return (at least, I'd like to think so) and a garden to rescue (from three weeks of uncontrolled week growth) and real lives to which we had to return. Suffice it to say, April and I are back in Rochester and it's hot as blue blazes (as my mother always likes to say). Hot enough that we've been taking Fargo (and, occasionally, Regie) into the yard and spraying him with the hose every few hours. We've been hunkering down in the rooms with window air-conditioning and trying to avoid steamier parts of the house. I know, I shouldn't complain lest the weather-gods frown down upon me and curse us with an unnaturally cruel and long winter (who am I kidding? we'll have that anyway), but I just can't help it.
Enough. No more complaining about the temperature. Some people politely, or not so politely (you know who you are! :P) demanded pictures and stories upon my return and rest assured that I will post a long, photo-filled explication of our journeys over the next few days. I'll also be trying to catch up on correspondence, but that may take me a little longer. Bear with me in the coming days and please, if you have some to spare, can you send a few cool summer breezes my way?
Enough. No more complaining about the temperature. Some people politely, or not so politely (you know who you are! :P) demanded pictures and stories upon my return and rest assured that I will post a long, photo-filled explication of our journeys over the next few days. I'll also be trying to catch up on correspondence, but that may take me a little longer. Bear with me in the coming days and please, if you have some to spare, can you send a few cool summer breezes my way?
Saturday, June 18, 2005
You are leaving the American sector...
So, I'm sitting in an internet cafe in Berlin (trying to write on a German keyboard, mind you, which is not really a piece of cake when one is used to touch-typing) and since April is next to me writing a long, probably beautifully-written blog entry, I thought I might do the same. At least, write an entry...no promises on length or beauty. Rest assured, that there will be a long and picture-filled post when I get back to the States in a little over a week; this is just a mini-update.
We're leaving Berlin today--after a three-day dash through the city--and heading to my grandmother's house in a little village about an hour away from Cologne. Somehow, in about an hour, we're going to have to squeeze four large suitcases and four medium-sized people into a tiny rental car! Berlin is my favorite city (Vienna being a close second, but not on the itinerary for this trip) and I'm sad to leave, although I have to say that the saddest departure so far was leaving sunny La Palma, where we spent the first week of our journey eating and drinking non-stop (not our fault--my aunt, who lives there with her two incredible Spanish hunting dogs and her husband--seemed intent on plying us with as much Spanish champagne as humanly possible). We also, of course, sat on the beach and baked (my girlfriend was so worried about the sun, rightly so with her fair complexion, that she used SPF 50 sunblock!); went on a truly incredible hike through the mountains, a hike which included 13 tunnels that had to be carefully navigated lest you hit your head on the sharp rocks above (which we all did at least once, except my uncle); and just generally enjoyed the tropical islands breezes and sunlight (the island is very temperate, not too hot, and was apparently the inspiration for Madonna's "La Isla Bonita").
I promise there will be a more thorough explication in about a week, but I'm worried I might run out of time soon, so I better go. I miss you all and hope everyone is fairing well in my absence.
We're leaving Berlin today--after a three-day dash through the city--and heading to my grandmother's house in a little village about an hour away from Cologne. Somehow, in about an hour, we're going to have to squeeze four large suitcases and four medium-sized people into a tiny rental car! Berlin is my favorite city (Vienna being a close second, but not on the itinerary for this trip) and I'm sad to leave, although I have to say that the saddest departure so far was leaving sunny La Palma, where we spent the first week of our journey eating and drinking non-stop (not our fault--my aunt, who lives there with her two incredible Spanish hunting dogs and her husband--seemed intent on plying us with as much Spanish champagne as humanly possible). We also, of course, sat on the beach and baked (my girlfriend was so worried about the sun, rightly so with her fair complexion, that she used SPF 50 sunblock!); went on a truly incredible hike through the mountains, a hike which included 13 tunnels that had to be carefully navigated lest you hit your head on the sharp rocks above (which we all did at least once, except my uncle); and just generally enjoyed the tropical islands breezes and sunlight (the island is very temperate, not too hot, and was apparently the inspiration for Madonna's "La Isla Bonita").
I promise there will be a more thorough explication in about a week, but I'm worried I might run out of time soon, so I better go. I miss you all and hope everyone is fairing well in my absence.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
leavin' on a jet plane...
April and I are leaving tomorrow for a three week trip to La Palma (one of the Canary Islands, owned by Spain, but off the coast of North Africa) and Germany (Berlin and Cologne) to sit in the sun, swim and visit (my) relatives. We'll have very sporadic internet access while we're gone (in stark constrast to our in-house wireless) and, therefore, I probably won't be responding to posts, comments or emails until June 26th.
Yes, I'll take pictures (and post them when I get back). Yes, I'll miss you all terribly. :) I hope everyone's having a lovely summer!
~Aviva
Yes, I'll take pictures (and post them when I get back). Yes, I'll miss you all terribly. :) I hope everyone's having a lovely summer!
~Aviva
Saturday, May 28, 2005
new look
I know you'll all be incredibly shocked, but I got my hair cut yesterday! Okay, actually, I got my hair cut in February (my hairdresser took about 7-8 inches off the length and gave me honey-blonde highlights), but yesterday I decided that just the decrease in length wasn't enough. So, I got my hair layered, and I have to say, after the inital shock at the fact that my curls now brush my shoulders (!), I have to say that I absolutely love it. Why didn't I do this sooner? Oh, and I got new glasses today as well (although they won't be ready until next week). I told the clerk that I wanted something totally different and he was really incredible--found me at least five pairs that I actually liked (a big feat, since I seem to always end up with exactly the same glasses everytime I get a new prescription). My new glasses are sort of cat-eyed, but with polygonal edges, and have gorgeous, metallic teal on the inside of the rims (brown on the outside). I'm totally in love. Hopefully they'll arrive before I leave for Europe!
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
On Saturday, not reluctantly, but with a bit of trepidation, I competed in my first horse show since I was about 12 years old. All in all, the experience was incredibly rewarding and not nearly as traumatizing as my memories of childhood show experiences. My horse (okay, the stable’s horse, but for those few moments he was mine), Cezar, was an absolute dream—he listened, he collected (that pretty thing horses do with their heads, also known as “on the bit”—you’ll see this particularly during dressage shows), he was calm and sweet and perfect. And to make up for all the near-misses of my childhood, I came out of the adult intermediate division as Champion (two 1st place ribbons and two 2nd place ribbons), although I should add the caveat that there were only three people in my division. Still, I could have gotten third. And, as one of my fellow riders pointed out, if we had ridden in the Open division instead (considered more advanced) we would have gotten our asses kicked by 13-year-olds! The jumps in my division were slightly shorter than I’m used to jumping during class (only about 2 feet), but I think it’s probably a good thing to start slow. Maybe when I show again in August or September I’ll take a risk and join the Open division…
A few pictures, taken by the lovely April who, despite the fact that she claims she can’t use my digital camera, took some great shots.
Such nice head carriage...I think Cezar's my dream horse.
I know, it's a tiny jump. But don't we look pretty going over it?
A few pictures, taken by the lovely April who, despite the fact that she claims she can’t use my digital camera, took some great shots.
Such nice head carriage...I think Cezar's my dream horse.
I know, it's a tiny jump. But don't we look pretty going over it?
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Hello world
I've been haunting LiveJournal for a while now, but I thought it was finally time to transfer some of my personal posts to a format I actually would want to share with my real world friends. I've made too many new online buddies on LJ to want to post personal pictures and such stuff on that site. On the other hand, Blogger and LJ seem like good ways to keep in touch since I know we're all often too busy to email or call regularily. So, below, I've reposted a number of my old LJ posts from the past few months and I hope to update this site regularily. Feel free to comment or drop me a line to say hi.
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