tozudo/meloso

I like to think that my spanish lexicon has reached such a level in which it's rare I hear a word my brain does not recognize...how satisfied I feel, I think to myself, having finally mastered a second language...

And that is the beauty of reading. Just when I feel so high up on my spanish horse, I open up some piece of literature and it takes but only a few moments to knock me right back down. You know nothing Renée, it tells me. You know nothing more than lists of cognates and multiplication tables of verbs. Oh, and your rolled r sucks.

But I am not dismayed. Learning spanish has been a beautiful, beautiful thing, once I got past having to learn boring stuff like expressing the basics of survival (which reminds me of a time in Buenos Aires when I ate or drank something gnarly and literally thought my appendix was bursting, I had never experienced such pain; and because my host mom paid small attention to my pleas of "Me duele!" the first day, I pulled out the "Estoy muriendo!" the second, and after she gave me nothing but pills (I wanted a ride to the hospital), I resorted to the computer and pulled up the spanish wikipedia page for appendicitis and shoved it in her face... I'm still bitter about the laugh she had to suppress..but for the record, I was fine by day four).

Anyway, what I was getting to is that I find much joy in learning new, cool words like tozudo (fancy word for stubborn) or meloso (sticky or sugary), and then immediately finding moments to use them...

Like in listening to the voices floating out of my living room right now. I am trying not to eavesdrop but this small apartment just makes that impossible. There are two, a he and a she, and they are arguing the way two people at the beginnings of a relationship often do: with a soft choice of words, with a certain reserve. Despite the calm, he remains so tozudo, he just won't give up his point. And she, with her husky, meloso voice, goes over her side of the case over and over again, as if trying to soothe an upset child with a lollypop and soft strokes of a teary cheek.

preschool dirge

I call this Preschool Dirge, or Preschool is Killing Me, thank you Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

Oh, Preschool,

How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.

I loathe thee to the depths of darkness and gloom and night

That my soul can fall to, try as I might

To dance and sing and succumb to farce.

I loathe thee more than Satan's breath does stink

And does it ever reek of dung and festering wounds.

I loathe thee freely, as men sin and fight,

I loathe thee truly, as they fear naught and all,

I loathe thee with a passion like none other

It fuels my temper, burns my skin

Only a brief six hours, but nay be there cover.

I loathe thee with a hate I will not lose

For it's eternal--I loathe thee with my breath,

My body, and my soul--because I did not choose:

To be a ragged clown until my death.

monday

I have a total of 14 fabulous photos from my Christmas bicoastal adventure, but I have chosen this one of Bizmark crossing the Golden Gate to inspire my overdue post:

Bizmark was a Christmas gift to my sister from my cousin Susie, who saw this creature and knew no one else could possibly love it as much as Ash would. It might be the best gift she received this year, which isn't to undermine the rest: there was the good (awesome skin care products for life), the bad (Marley and Me, the dvd), and the ugly (so-ugly-it's-cute, Bizmark).

I wish my i-phone photography skillz were better because then Bizmark's two yellow teeth might have made it, or maybe even his brother (my gift from Susie, another "Ugly Doll"--they are literally called this), Officer Crump, could have squeezed in for a smile. But taking one-handed photos on the i-phone is not easy. I dare you..right now..try it.

Anyway, despite his low score in ugliness, Bizmark is still quite photogenic, especially when posing with such a lovely scene: the golden gate bridge on a beautiful, clear day + pick-up trucks and SUVS. What's there to say...besides 'merica, f*ck yea?

What's sad is that, although I say this motto in 100% joking manner, because I love to make fun of American pride, deep down, way, way down in the very pits of my tormented, cynical soul, there is a little voice that whispers, maybe even quivers in such lovingness: 'merica, f*ck yea.

Can't wait to be back again.

happy thanksgiving

T'was Thanksgiving eve

And here in Madrid

A girl sat in her kitchen

And stared into her fridge

She worried and fretted

Grimaced and sighed

Chugged OJ from the bottle

Sat down and cried

She reasoned and rathered

But no conclusion came

There was no other option

Than give into her shame

And in that weak moment

The great deed was done

She gobbled it down

And the chocolate was gone

T'was a whole bar

Family size, to be sure

It's a damnable craving

Only such lengths can cure

She roamed out to the street

Doubled over with ache

The pleasurable pain

She just could not shake

Drunk with her folly

Silly with crime

She welcomed this holiday

For the 24th time.

NO COMMENTTTT

hands

The other day a one-man english theatre show came to our school and put on several age-appropriate performances for the students. The guy was from England and coincidentally dances in Bollywood class with me. The world just gets smaller and smaller with each passing day.

Anyway, being a one-man-troupe, his performances consisted of heavy participation from the audience, with occasional volunteers who joined him on stage. He would shake their hand, ask their names, and then continue to dress them up and provide them with a one-liner and body language of some sort that would leave the rest of the children rolling on the floor laughing.

In one particular performance, he played an crazy explorer in Egypt who had drunk too much camel pee. His two volunteers were first a boy who would play Mohammad the tour guide and second a girl who would play a dancing mummy. After quite a bit of laughs (and confusion on stage), the story had clearly come to an end and the actor asked for a round of applause for his flustered but smiling volunteers. Being quite nervous, they were quick to jump back into the crowd, both accidentally giving their backs to his outstretched hand for a handshake.

In fact, all but one volunteer missed the cue. And of course, these are children we speak of: we cannot blame them for this social faux pas. Nonetheless, every teacher in the room anxiously yelled out half a syllable upon witnessing the event, and for a brief second, tension was high amongst us.

As we say with high-fives ("don't leave me hanging!"), there is nothing worse than a lone, outstretched hand, waiting for the grasp of another. I spent all day thinking about how I'd be okay never seeing a back turned on an amiable handshake again, regardless of age or culture...

But my days at school are filled with non-stop action and each moment could mean the wildest occurrence, from a kid projectile vomiting across his table to a three year old bellowing out something in english that I didn't even intend to teach him ("oh my god!" for example). I quickly forgot about the happenings of the theatre and my reflections on it.

Until today.

It's Friday and I worship Fridays. I've even taken to teaching my Friday students that one line from the song "Friday is my favorite day". In case you don't remember it, it goes like this:

Monday is a bummer,

Tuesday's getting better,

Wednesday is fair,

And Thursday's almost there.

But Friday, Friday, Friday is my favorite day.

They really love that last line, probably because it's super catchy, but I like to think it's because they agree with me. Fridays are holy, and I spend all morning day-dreaming about what I will do at 5 o'clock.

Sometimes I get so caught up with the details that I think about what I will do at 4:50, because being Friday, and this being Spain or something, it's an unwritten law that school gets out anywhere from 10-15 minutes early on this last afternoon of the week.

Today, I was in particular thinking about how I wanted to buy the newspaper, because I like Friday editions and also it's a special day, 11.11.11, and for whatever reason this is important to have written documentation of. Upon making this purchase, I would head to my balcony (where I sit now) and enjoy a nice warm tea. It's a beautiful, crisp autumn day:

But then, for whatever reason, I got to thinking about my departure from school only 15 minutes prior. The look on my boss's face when I sped out of there 10 minutes early, once most of the children from my class had been sent off with their parents at the front door. I had to squeeze through the crowd, and as I waved and wished a good weekend, she looked up at me with a sweaty brow and said in slightly confused tone (which I read as "Off so soon?") "Thank you."

I don't want to give the wrong idea, like my awesome boss is dying to hang out with me or something. But I will note that she often reminds me of their Friday afternoons at the corner bar, after a long week some of the teachers get together and end up downing several large beers...

And this is Spain, this is a school I work in, individualism is not part of the game. The principal of my school, God bless her, is probably one of the most wonderful people in the world, and goes to great lengths to make me feel welcome, as if I had just arrived in this country.

Anyway, I am clearly grateful, but I have never taken her up on the Friday afternoon offer, and I'm not really sure why. I guess I should blame it on my desire to be alone after work, which is totally understandable I suppose...

But nonetheless, I couldn't enjoy my afternoon plan today, thinking about how it didn't even occur to me to stay the extra ten minutes to at least chat for a minute with my co-workers. We had been so busy with the crazy atmosphere of the end of the week, that we didn't get the chance...

I am naturally a bit individualistic, even introverted at times, and I try to constantly remind myself to "cross the bridge", especially in a place where the bridges can be just a tad longer and wider.

But I just can't get it out of my head: why must I constantly turn my back to outstretched hands?

happy halloween from bcn

Spent a long Halloween weekend in Barcelona with Jenna. Back to work for just a three day week...can't complain.