leaving on a jetplane

I am sitting beside a tiny window just behind the wing of a -checks safety info card in seat pocket- 737 jet headed for Houston. Well, it will be headed there, as soon as it gets off the ground somewhere here between "Baltimore", "Washington", and "International". Once in Houston, I will have an hour to reaccustom myself to solid ground before hopping onto another plane (I cannot guarantee that I will remember to hop down the boarding ramp, but it could be amusing) which will take me to Mérida, Mexico. That will be my home for the next seven weeks, and the stay is expected to be the greatest adventure that my juwinaq years have witnessed. I shall do my best to keep you informed of the highlights and (if there are any) the lowlights.

Recap of the last few days: I flew home last Wednesday (which explains my lamentable absence from the blog party), and there I was reminded of what GREEN looks like. I also spent a few days catching up with the fam, got several inches of hair chopped off (Naiad has photos), visited my high school Spanish teacher (after my family, she is the first person I just have to see whenever I am in town -¡cariño, señora!), got to tell a high-school Latin 1 class how scary and intense College Latin is (because I'm such an expert, right?), and ran around town buying things like hats and flip-flops and diarrhea medicine (not because I am sick, but because I am going to get sick, I swear. And did you know that diarrhea means "flow through"? You can thank Naiad for that one. Moving on.) Oh yeah, and I finished my translation project. FINISHED! It was Very Hard, and I started Way Too Late, but like I have said, I have Wonderful Professors. I sent it off to my prof's email today, about ten minutes before I left for the airport, along with a translator's introduction entitled "What Rhymes with Procrastination?" I'm not sure it quite fits...

Okay, One More Thing and then I think it's time for a Nap. (I'm feeling rather German, with all these capital Letters.) So I'm walking to the gate at BWI, feeling pretty great about the fact that I finished my translation project, managed to take pictures with my family so that I can show them to the nueva familia en México, and made it to the check-in counter with fifteen minutes to spare. And I'm thinking, "Wow! I'm going to Mexico! This is going to be the best summer ever." And then, "Hmm, I remember putting a few pairs of underwear in my carry-on bag, and the rest must be in... oh crap! (NO pun intended. Gross.) They're in my underwear drawer at home, NOT in my checked luggage, and therefore NOT going with me to Mexico." D'oh! Isn't there an unwritten law that says that, Every Traveler, traveling Any Where, on Any Day, must forget to pack One Thing? Well, I guess that's the one for me this time. But not to worry. As far as I know, Mexicans also wear underwear, and there are stores in Mexico that sell underwear. I will just be going shopping a little sooner than I had expected. If you ever need an excuse to go shopping, I know a pretty good one.

A Pair of Young Quail Scurries Down the Street and I Laugh Out Loud as I Watch from Above

Sometime between one and two o'clock Saturday morning, I lost an individual very dear to me.

Between nine-thirty a.m. and twelve-thirty p.m. I made various attempts at resuscitation, resurrection, even reincarnation, but to no avail. A few fellow mourners participaring by phone from their cubicles in New Delhi could assist me only with the autopsy. Conclusion: hard drive = toast. Unfortunately, it is not the kind that makes a delightful breakfast when smeared with homemade strawberry jam, but rather the kind that you forgot you left in the old toaster that doesn't pop up anymore and now it is so charred that you can't salvage a single edible crumb. And that crumb, of course, represents the research paper you have been working on all week.

Lesson one: Back up important files.

Fortunately, all of my music (except those eight Gotan songs I bought the other night) are on my iPod, and that's pretty much infallible. (Right?) Besides, Naiad and Singing Leaf together have copies of just about all my music. Singing Leaf also has most, if not all, of my Spain photos, and Naiad has most of the photos I have taken here in the last several months. I did lose a significant number of poor-to-mediocre photos, plus a few of the shots I took in DC last summer which I thought were quite lovely. All of my completed schoolwork from the last few years that I really care about, I still have in hard copy somewhere. As for incomplete schoolwork, well, it's frustrating and inconvenient to have lost it, but really, it is not the end of the world. Especially when you have amazing professors like mine who say things like, "Okay, I just won't submit a grade for you and we'll work it out when you can get the paper done. And drop me a note or give me a call if you ever need anything." Really. I love my teachers. I don't know what I ever did to deserve them. Oh, this one also said yesterday, in response to my, "I lost my hard drive. So, I pretty much lost my entire life," "No! Your life is the people you associate with..." I'm not sure if he was going to continue that, because I interrupted with "I know, I know it's not that big of a deal." But it brings me to

Lesson two: Thank God (or whomever/whatever you may prefer) for what you have.

Like that teacher. And your roommate who hears you sobbing over your lifeless computer (I know, pathetic, but it is the middle of finals week) and is immediately at your side trying to soothe you. And another roommate who hears you scream and curse at the Dell OnCall tech who won't help you because you can't remember the phone number you had two and a half years ago and rushes out of her room to see what is the matter. And your dad who calls you back and manages to find that cursed phone number. And your mom who listens to your ranting and then entertains you with a million frivolities (and some more important topics) for a good hour and a half until you have to go take an exam. And the amazing memory you were fortunate enough to be born with. And warm sunshine and blue sky and spring flowers. And books. And paper and ballpoint pens (and a piece of pencil). And hint-of-lime Tostitos. And memories of freshman year with Singing Leaf. And... and... and... tarps. Never mind.

This is getting way too long and rambly. Remainder abridged...

Lesson three: Detach yourself (surgically, if necessary) from technology every once in a while. For your health.

Lesson four: Start term paper earlier than two days before extended due date, so when computer dies you don't have to worry about re-writing/finishing it in between taking final exams, conjuring translation projects, flying cross-country for three days at home, and leaving for a two-month stay in Mexico.

Lesson five: Something about timing. Being able to label the timing of such an occurrence as sarcastically impeccable, curiously convenient, cynically just, ironically perfect. Not sure where I was going with that.

Lesson six: When you contact a Dell technician with a dying (really, you're just hoping it's not dead yet) laptop on your hands (or lap) four days from the end of the semester, and he or she asks you how you are doing, honestly, what do they expect you to say???

Hmm, that wasn't really a lesson. I guess I'm done. Stick a fork in me. Or in my computer. If that's the best you've got. Are you familiar with that scene in Office Space with the fax machine and the baseball bat and the gangsta rap music? Yeah. So inspiring...

I plucked some words from the Lexicon and arranged them in neat rows

I am aware, perhaps even painfully so, of the recent dearth of posts on my blog. I could excuse myself by referring to term papers and final projects and exam preparations, but that would suggest that I have been spending most of my time on these things, while the truth is that I must begin working on these things. Carefree college co-ed I am not. Alliterative amateur aspiring toward an angst-ridden anthology I am. Or something like that.

As usual, the things that have most anxiously begged to be written I have not been able (or willing) to put into words. So here is something on the lighter side. It is writing, tamen, and there is something to be said for that. I just don't know what.

I have given it a name, and it is


"Black and white and moonlight"

Fistfuls of sticky white rice
with green leafy garnish
cling to flimsy skewers
held up to a tungsten flame
surrounded by darkness.
April night from my window.




By way of a footnote, which is not really/directly/entirely/integrally (I am indecisive; I'll make it choose-your-own-adverb) related to anything above, so perhaps it is more of an ankle note, because it starts out related, but then it sort of bends and twists and maybe even pops out of place... umm. Blast metaphor. As an addendum, anyway, I just got up to go check my Latin book to make sure I was using tamen correctly, and as soon as I got up I noted the darkness of the room and decided that this must be remedied. In the course of my directing myself to the light switch, reaching for it and flipping it on, the sensation of chilly toes reached my brain and I thought that since I was going back to my bedroom, I might as well get some socks while I was there. I was distracted by the colorful striped socks I chose, I suppose, because I returned to my computer with warmer (and more colorful) feet, but alas, none the wiser with respect to tamen. Maybe I should keep my Latin book in my sock drawer. Maybe not. It is funny, tamen, how our brains work (or don't). Nonne idem credis tu? (My apologies to those of you who actually know Latin. I am trying to keep it alive and kicking, but it is me it is kicking, I fear. Hmm, fear clause... and I'm done.)

for my Spanish-speaking readers...

I apologize to the non-Hispanophiles out there. Some things just cannot be translated.

Esta tarde tuve este diálogo con un amigo varón:

yo: ¿Cuál día será?
él: Creo que el veintiseis.
yo: ¿El veintiseis? Que voy a casa el veinticinco...
él: ¡¿Te vas a casar el veinticinco?!

How 'bout this weather we're having?

I know, lame. I'm writing about the stereotypical I-have-nothing-to-say-but-I-feel-the-need-to-make-conversation topic. But look at it this way: it's a topic, and a concrete one at that, and I intend to stick to it. Which is more than I can say for my last handful of posts.

And besides, for me, the weather is not just an empty conversation topic. Really. As a child I first became obsessed with the weather during the Blizzard of '93. Norm and I were on a first-name basis. Up until I came to college, I saw meteorology as one of the principal career options for my future. I think I even wrote about it in one of my admissions essays to Cornell (which has one of the few strong programs in meteorology/atmospheric science). I can almost guarantee that it was anecdotal and cheesy. Sometimes that works.

Only recently did I come to a realization of my continuous obsession with the sky (hence the name). It was Naiad who pointed it out to me. And it's true. I always notice the color of the sky (did you see how blue it was yesterday? today I would say it's more the color of a dingy white sock. no gold toes in sight), the shape of the clouds (sometimes I try to compose verse about them, usually with little success), and any precipitation that happens to be falling from that great expanse over our heads (and I don't mean a leaky ceiling).

Which brings me to my point (yes, I actually have one). Today, the 6th of April, 2006, it is snowing. Snowing. In April. And sticking to the ground. I actually trudged through a half-inch of snow/slush on my way home from class this morning. And now my pants are wet. Pant cuffs, that is. On the way to class I was listening to the snow falling on my umbrella (as silly as umbrellas in the snow appear to me, I have been known to propagate absurdity from time to time). It was, I'll admit, a sort of pleasant, delicate percussive sound, rather more comforting for its constance than perturbing for its incessance. It was perhaps not ideally accompanied by Ben Folds' crooning in my ears, but I declined to do something to change that because my hands were occupied with the task of clutching Wheelock to my chest under my umbrella. Because, even though I sometimes find him abominable, I saw no reason to let him become a snowman.

So here I am, watching the snow fall outside my window, thinking about how just three days ago the weather was so gorgeous and so perfectly sunshiny spring that I sat outside in the giant pinball machine for three hours and got a really beautiful sunburn to prove it. I should have seen this coming (the snow, not the sunburn, although I really should have seen that coming too. but it was such a beautiful day and I had a 5-hour break between classes). I mean, I have lived here long enough to know that the weather is terribly fickle. Even though we have had several days of springlike weather this year, I was reluctant to put away my winter scarves because I just knew that winter wasn't really over. After Monday, I figured that spring just had to be here to stay. So I put them away.

I'm afraid the sky may be spiteful. This might be my fault. I am sorry.

fragments

Yesterday in my lit class we were talking about Luigi Pirandello's Six Characters in Search of an Author. In the course of our discussion there arose the question of whether one theatrical scene can define a character, and, to extrapolate, whether one action can define a person, or whether one day can define an entire life. I am generally reluctant to commit that just one part can adequately represent the whole, so I offer to you a variety of snippets which I collected today. Do let me know if you can conjure some sort of synthesis of them, and/or if you can identify the source of any of the quotes.

one. "Conjugate volo, velle, volui, in the present subjunctive." "?????"
zwei. "the awfully pleasant chatter of the birds"
tree. the "witty, ironic Dane" tells us that in order to find ourselves we must be continually aware of our relationships with others as we simultaneously acknowledge our isolation
the fourth. "All things go, all things go to recreate us, all things grow, all things grow"
cinco. "So, how many language classes have you taken?"
seis. "Have you ever heard of a little group called the Sierra Club?" "nope"
seven. "what a mountain learns from a cold river"
wajxaqib. "y amanece Madrid"
neun. "alamlax!" "no, alamnax!"
diez. "The guys with '666' inscribed on their foreheads, up in the ASB"
julajuj. "I might have to name my child 'Avocadomom'"
zwölf. "the evil spirits know where the good music is"
thirteen. "I saw the chocolate through the blinds."

That is all. I need to get translating. Oh, that reminds me. I want to share a quote from the aforementioned Six Characters in Search of an Author (which, by the way, I highly recommend. It is a quick read and an essential piece of modern theater/re. If you read Italian, then by all means go for the original.) Here it is:

THE FATHER: But don't you see that the whole trouble lies here. In words, words. Each one of us has within him a whole world of things, each man of us his own special world. And how can we ever come to an understanding if I put in the words I utter the sense and value of things as I see them; while you who listen to me must inevitably translate them according to the conception of things each one of you has within himself. We think we understand each other, but we never really do.

a day of firsts

I would like to apologize to all my faithful readers (yes, both of you) for the recent barrenness of my blog. It’s not that I haven’t had a million things to write about (okay, maybe only 999,999). For the last week or so, though, it seems that my mind, heart, and body have not once been on the same page. Nay, but rather they appeared to be island-hopping, and each had its own unique itinerary. It felt a bit like that Whose Line game where at all times one of the players has to be standing, another sitting, and the third lying down. Sometimes I think the distant stars themselves have been juggling these three parts of me. And I’m the monkey in the middle. That is, what’s left of me that isn’t being tossed among the galaxies. So I’ve been up and down and all over the place, really, both emotionally and mentally (which really are inextricable, if you ask me). The ups and downs themselves haven’t been the most intense that I’ve experienced, but the transitions between them have been considerably more rapid and more dramatic than normal. The resulting disorientation, dizziness, and general confusion has left me unable to organize my thoughts into a coherent post (as if coherency were a prerequisite to posting). So, despite the fact that writing is often one of the best remedies for emotional-roller-coaster-nausea, it was, alas, inaccessible to me for several days because my neurons had gotten so mixed up that they couldn’t figure out how to deliver the prescription to the pharmacist. Hence the delay. Now that I am feeling slightly more stable, I take this dose less as treatment than as a preventative measure, to keep myself from jumping into another sickening tilt-a-whirl. (I really do not find roller coasters or tilt-a-whirls nauseating. In fact, I think them to be quite exhilarating and would not mind a trip to Hershey Park or King’s Dominion just about any day. But I thought that the metaphor fit nicely. Feel free to disagree. On either point.)

That said, allow me to offer an update with a little(?) capsule of (my) university life.
On Friday, the 31st of March, 2006, I:

(1) woke up on the living room couch (big surprise) after having fallen asleep there at about 3 am. Middle toe of my right foot was feeling a little sore (again). You know how some people clench their jaws (especially while sleeping) when they’re stressed? Well, I think I have started doing that with my toes. On my right foot only.

(2) got to my Latin class five minutes late. My teacher looked pretty annoyed but handed me a quiz anyway, which I quickly filled out (and on which, I later realized, I totally screwed up one of the questions). It was the second time this week that I arrived late and had to rush through a quiz. In fact, those were the only two times I went to Latin this week. Matched my attendance for the previous week. Sometimes I am a horrible student.

(3) went to my literature class, where we listened to a recording of Miguel de Unamuno reading an excerpt from his writing about the possibility of achieving immortality through the written word. Then we chatted about metafiction, which is a preferred topic of mine and so I actually knew what was going on, despite how distressingly far behind I am in the reading for that class. Direct quote from my professor: “When the new scriptures show up–because I really think they will, I’m just waiting for them–if Nephi is playing Grateful Dead tunes, we know they’re messing with us.” I’m so glad to associate with professors who aren’t afraid to say things like that. I first had a class with this particular teacher during my first semester here. I think that first impression has a lot to do with my generally favorable view of this university.

(4) picked up a couple of books related to my translation project at the library. Exited through the east doors onto Brigham square, where I had been told by a friend that there would be a public protest. (This is not a big deal in most university communities, to be sure, but here, it’s pretty big news.) The issue was, specifically, the recent firing of a university employee after he wrote a letter (it is the second one down) to the university’s newspaper exposing the corruptness of student elections, then refused severance pay which would have required him to retract his letter and keep his mouth shut. More generally, the idea is that the university administration makes it very difficult for students and employees to express their concerns and suggestions for change, undermines the very integrity which the institution was built upon by essentially offering bribes to keep dissenters quiet, and nourishes a culture of fear of speaking up and expressing one’s views (this is not the first time an employee has been dismissed under such circumstances). If you are interested, you can read about the event here or here. I approached the scene cautiously, as I had mixed views about the event and, to be honest, I feared the repercussions of getting involved in an illegal protest (since all protests are illegal here unless given prior nigh-impossible-to-obtain permission). It looked pretty peaceful to me, and, having spotted a handful of friends in the group, I inched closer and before I knew it I was standing inside a chalk circle, being offered an apple by a philosophy professor who had taken it upon himself to feed the protestors (note to self: take class from him). It turns out that the protest had been approved that morning after an article about it appeared on the front page of the local paper. The organizers had planned to go ahead with it anyway; this way, they (and we) feared no punishment and achieved a little triumph in the effort to get the administration to let us speak (though the speech was a bit garbled through the duct tape). It was sort of exhilarating to be a part of it. I think I’m finally beginning to understand the passionately political aspect of humanity.

(5) walked with B and a friend of his who, on our way to the store to buy bagels, proceeded to pluck a dandelion flower from the lawn and to eat it. She did it so casually that I didn’t even notice until B complained that she hadn’t shared, and I looked and sure enough, the yellow blossom was gone. I had never seen anyone eat a dandelion before. I still haven’t, really.

(6) watched the latter half of a film about Guatemalan immigrants in the US. Pretty intense film (aka the good kind). And I complain that my life is hard.

(7) played hacky-sack for the first time in my life. Yes, I grew up in this country. Yes, I went to public school. Come to think of it, I even owned one or two at some point. I don’t know what I did with them. Anyway, I’m pretty bad at it, but it was still fun.

(8) examined the floor tiles in the Kennedy Center. (Funny that Saule Cogneur also mentioned floor tiles yesterday. Though I doubt that his experience with them has been quite like mine.) In case you are interested (and even if you are not), the checkerboard pattern on each tile is composed of 38 by 38 squares, half of which are raised squares made up of either 12 or 15 dots (it seems there was some irregularity in the stamp or whatever formed the pattern).

(9) walked home as it was just beginning to rain. I love that smell.

(10) went to a concert put on to raise awareness about the human rights disaster in Burma, where I shook it like a polaroid and wrote my first letter to a senator. Ran into a lot of friends from as many different contexts. Met some new ones. I think I have managed to stumble into the crowd of cool kids. It feels great.

(11) re-discovered why and how much I really like him. I refuse to accept that nothing will ever happen between us, even though (almost) everything tells me that’s the truth. It doesn’t feel so great. In fact, it hurts. A lot.

(12) watched a few episodes of Arrested Development as a temporary remedy. Did not omit the necessary mug of hot chocolate. Fell asleep on the window seat. Naiad woke me up and sent me to bed, where I proceeded to sleep for another nine hours or so. I needed it. It was an exhausting day.

Wow. If you are still reading this, please accept my congratulations. And go take a nap or something. I know I am exhausted. So there you have it: a day in the life of Skylark. It was no ordinary day, I admit, but still I think it is fairly representative of the way my life is going these days. And, I hope, it is an indication of the way it is headed for the near future. I shall keep you updated, both more frequently and more briefly, I hope.