in response to this:
Meh.
I don't like katy perry because i'm not convinced she's *anything* really, other than a person who is adept at following trends and maximizing her potential to attract a demographic with disposable income.
I get grumpy sometimes when I read these types of articles because they sound sorta reactionary. Either we act like little magical girls or we act like assertive jerks. Great.
I sympathize with the manic pixie persona for a reason that is pretty well phrased in the blog they linked with dumb photo of the hipster girl with the bike: Life is too short to not be who you want to be. I think for me, at least, those book and movie characters (and bloggers) resonate because in my world, which is generally ugly and messy and really pretty depressing, the idea of valuing mostly aesthetics and whimsy is pretty soothing.
I want the life where my parents pay for everything, where I look and dress like a doll. I want the life where I eat French pastries and talk to my equally fashion-y and artsy (privileged) friends about something interesting I noticed in a re-reading of Ionesco plays. Let's go to Japan and develop the right sensibility for layering our clothes, okay?
But I know I can't have those things, and if I am to be honest, I know that most of those bloggers don't have those things either. And so we all curate our lives, putting the parts we think are notable and important on show. We can choose to highlight that we found exactly the right flowery dress at the thrift store or some academic achievement or, in my case, I curate segun what I've become obsessed with in a particular moment.
I think the whole thing about little girls is only sort of valid. I feel like women are torn in all sorts of directions. Be businesslike, professional, and assertive. Be sexy and "know what you want". Be nurturing and motherly. Blah blah blah. All at the same time. For me, these displays of girlish behavior feel sort of like retrieving to a safe space. I don't plan on being assertive any time soon, I don't know what I want, and I have only a dog to mother. I feel like some of this is just linked to the general uncertainty of being in our mid-20s in particularly uncertain times. The flappers had the ethereal silent film stars to contend with, and apparently these particularly assertive women have the Zooey Deschanels (who admittedly takes the whole thing pretty far) of the world as their foils.
So I'm not sure it really is all about "the peen". I'm not sure what it is men in general or specifically the ones I have known want or need but I'm pretty sure that my love of quirky girly things will continue misunderstood as it has been until now.
On another note, I am pleased to report that it is fall in Baltimore. Hmph.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
bad thought vomit
I'm stressed out about my job. I'm stressed out about the organization that hired me. I have piles of work that will remain undone. I am worried to discover who will hold me accountable for this. I am more worried to discover that I may not be accountable for all this. I don't know how I will ever possibly get all my "ducks" in "a row".
I am gloomy about a boy. A wholly different boy called me at 3 am yesterday. I was not amused.
I am moving to a new place. I miss the old place. I am not welcome there anymore.
I miss my dog. I am worried about the dog. What if the dog doesn't like the new place?
As much as I want stability, I dread the monotony of adulthood: what will happen when the days of couchsurfing, of stumbling around dark bars, of eating when you are long past hungry, of all this not-knowing, end?
Is it time to stop resisting? Is it time to finally start acting old? Because I thought I still had some fight left in me, but the path of least resistance is looking awful good these days.
I am gloomy about a boy. A wholly different boy called me at 3 am yesterday. I was not amused.
I am moving to a new place. I miss the old place. I am not welcome there anymore.
I miss my dog. I am worried about the dog. What if the dog doesn't like the new place?
As much as I want stability, I dread the monotony of adulthood: what will happen when the days of couchsurfing, of stumbling around dark bars, of eating when you are long past hungry, of all this not-knowing, end?
Is it time to stop resisting? Is it time to finally start acting old? Because I thought I still had some fight left in me, but the path of least resistance is looking awful good these days.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
unmailed, unwritten letters
So this is my first letter that I will never send. I enjoyed the process, so I think I will write more of these.
--------------------------------
I like you. I like it when I am killing time between the early morning animal feeding and starting work and you show up with your big dog and open all the blinds in my room so the sunlight will come in.
I like it when we talk about things that are very complicated and when we play at pretending to be puppies or goats and then we do puzzles and stay quiet in the same space. When we're quiet, I try not to think in words. I like it when we brush the horses and talk to them more than we do to each other.
I like how you always try to scare me when I'm working by myself somewhere. I like how I get nervous when I'm coming to a place where I know you are. I like that actually being with you doesn't make me nervous.
I like it when we wrestle on the floor of my room, and when we kiss there, too.
I liked the day that we agreed that maybe it's important to be sweet to people to protect them from the real world, to offset all the terrible things out there, and I liked the way you kissed me after that and told me that was to make up for what was happening out in the world.
I probably won't ever say these things to you, because I'm too shy and anyway the way things have worked out between us makes me feel like you wouldn't really like it if I told you any of these things, let alone all of them in one single saccharine and ridiculous overture, the written equivalent of furiously batting my eyelashes at you. Which maybe in another universe there exists a Nicole who bats her eyelashes, but I can only do it in a self-deprecating way and I suppose that is also the way that I like you: in spite of myself and how terrifically insecure liking you makes me feel.
And so I write this letter to you, boy, not just as a letter but as a meditation on sweetness in general, on breathing it in and out and letting it flow through me and hoping I can make other people feel as good as they make me feel and not expecting a single other thing to come of it.
Hmmph.
--------------------------------
I like you. I like it when I am killing time between the early morning animal feeding and starting work and you show up with your big dog and open all the blinds in my room so the sunlight will come in.
I like it when we talk about things that are very complicated and when we play at pretending to be puppies or goats and then we do puzzles and stay quiet in the same space. When we're quiet, I try not to think in words. I like it when we brush the horses and talk to them more than we do to each other.
I like how you always try to scare me when I'm working by myself somewhere. I like how I get nervous when I'm coming to a place where I know you are. I like that actually being with you doesn't make me nervous.
I like it when we wrestle on the floor of my room, and when we kiss there, too.
I liked the day that we agreed that maybe it's important to be sweet to people to protect them from the real world, to offset all the terrible things out there, and I liked the way you kissed me after that and told me that was to make up for what was happening out in the world.
I probably won't ever say these things to you, because I'm too shy and anyway the way things have worked out between us makes me feel like you wouldn't really like it if I told you any of these things, let alone all of them in one single saccharine and ridiculous overture, the written equivalent of furiously batting my eyelashes at you. Which maybe in another universe there exists a Nicole who bats her eyelashes, but I can only do it in a self-deprecating way and I suppose that is also the way that I like you: in spite of myself and how terrifically insecure liking you makes me feel.
And so I write this letter to you, boy, not just as a letter but as a meditation on sweetness in general, on breathing it in and out and letting it flow through me and hoping I can make other people feel as good as they make me feel and not expecting a single other thing to come of it.
Hmmph.
Friday, May 27, 2011
how to speak forgotten language
so much of this blog feels to me like a letter to the people that i love. this entry is playing catch-up, but it is the response i've been wanting to write to you, j.
life just changes so quickly sometimes!
when I first got your email, i was delighted and complacent. my life had just fallen into a funny rhythm on the farm. i was planting things and digging holes and sanding lead paint off of boards (wearing a pair of motorcycling goggles to keep the paint out of my eyes). i was coming home at the end of the day and making crazy cooking projects with a boy. hustling random little jobs to do nothing more than tread water, slowly propelling forward. you know this life.
i guess i was spending every night satisfied or drunk or not alone, and the bliss of those weeks in retrospect reminds me of konstantin levin in anna karenina, what with his "special feeling" that he was afraid of ruining by sharing with others.
well, those weeks are over and the farm is over and i've been living in my brother's house in spartanburg for the past couple of weeks. suddenly, my life is altogether different. i also didn't want to write to you during the bulk of the shuffle because what does a person facing uncertainty in all main areas say? "i just lost my job, my home, and a boy, but i've got other stuff goin' on!" the truth is that, while the uncertainty was exciting and daunting and depressing in turns, i didn't know what to say about it.
for the past few weeks my life has been like a vacation. i miss my farm schedule and so i wake up and run. you know i am a terrible runner. after the run, i come home and do a couple of half-assed yoga poses. you know i get distracted so quickly! i hang out with my brother's kids and when they start to say or do things that i say or do, i am both embarrassed and unbelievably flattered. sometimes i cook very simple things. (variations on the theme of bean salad? anyone?)
now, it seems the pieces are beginning to fall again, tired from fluttering for now.
but the shuffle has made me misplace so many of the other things i wanted to tell you! i wanted to contrast the sparseness of hemingway and the lushness of garcía márquez, i wanted to tell you about the potential for goat cheese-making and flowers, and surely there were other things, too.
and past lives! for some reason, this pattern, which seems so good and effortless and right when you do it, doesn't make sense in my clumsy hands. instead, i find myself thinking of the implications of this silly life i'm living now. a woman who went on one of our delegations to mexico suggested i write a series of vignettes and call them "stories of a nonprofit girl", and the idea quite appeals to me. i feel like so much of this life is so absurd and other people can relate to aspects of it, which is even more absurd, if you think about it.
other than that, i am still committed to my bad cooking projects and worse art projects, though i am somewhat understandably feeling discouraged about my photography for the moment. the other day, i went ramp harvesting and then we made pickled ramps and i think harvesting ramps induced in me one of the happiest feelings i have ever had.
all that, and also, someone who stayed on the farm told me she often writes letters she never even intends to send. in a weird heartachy time i was having a few weeks ago, i wrote one of these to a boy and dang! that shit feels good. has anyone done much of this? am i discovering something super-obvious? i think i might post the one i wrote next post.
so. all this to say, that even with the craziness and uncertainty and big, bad feelings, i am amazed by how many times recently i have had the fleeting assessment that i am happier right now than i have been in years, or maybe ever. the older we get, the more like ourselves we become, and when i can settle and breathe into those dark, tight spaces in myself, especially in scary, horrible moments, the more aware i become of my capacity for tolerance and survival, and damn. it's a relief.
life just changes so quickly sometimes!
when I first got your email, i was delighted and complacent. my life had just fallen into a funny rhythm on the farm. i was planting things and digging holes and sanding lead paint off of boards (wearing a pair of motorcycling goggles to keep the paint out of my eyes). i was coming home at the end of the day and making crazy cooking projects with a boy. hustling random little jobs to do nothing more than tread water, slowly propelling forward. you know this life.
i guess i was spending every night satisfied or drunk or not alone, and the bliss of those weeks in retrospect reminds me of konstantin levin in anna karenina, what with his "special feeling" that he was afraid of ruining by sharing with others.
well, those weeks are over and the farm is over and i've been living in my brother's house in spartanburg for the past couple of weeks. suddenly, my life is altogether different. i also didn't want to write to you during the bulk of the shuffle because what does a person facing uncertainty in all main areas say? "i just lost my job, my home, and a boy, but i've got other stuff goin' on!" the truth is that, while the uncertainty was exciting and daunting and depressing in turns, i didn't know what to say about it.
for the past few weeks my life has been like a vacation. i miss my farm schedule and so i wake up and run. you know i am a terrible runner. after the run, i come home and do a couple of half-assed yoga poses. you know i get distracted so quickly! i hang out with my brother's kids and when they start to say or do things that i say or do, i am both embarrassed and unbelievably flattered. sometimes i cook very simple things. (variations on the theme of bean salad? anyone?)
now, it seems the pieces are beginning to fall again, tired from fluttering for now.
but the shuffle has made me misplace so many of the other things i wanted to tell you! i wanted to contrast the sparseness of hemingway and the lushness of garcía márquez, i wanted to tell you about the potential for goat cheese-making and flowers, and surely there were other things, too.
and past lives! for some reason, this pattern, which seems so good and effortless and right when you do it, doesn't make sense in my clumsy hands. instead, i find myself thinking of the implications of this silly life i'm living now. a woman who went on one of our delegations to mexico suggested i write a series of vignettes and call them "stories of a nonprofit girl", and the idea quite appeals to me. i feel like so much of this life is so absurd and other people can relate to aspects of it, which is even more absurd, if you think about it.
other than that, i am still committed to my bad cooking projects and worse art projects, though i am somewhat understandably feeling discouraged about my photography for the moment. the other day, i went ramp harvesting and then we made pickled ramps and i think harvesting ramps induced in me one of the happiest feelings i have ever had.
all that, and also, someone who stayed on the farm told me she often writes letters she never even intends to send. in a weird heartachy time i was having a few weeks ago, i wrote one of these to a boy and dang! that shit feels good. has anyone done much of this? am i discovering something super-obvious? i think i might post the one i wrote next post.
so. all this to say, that even with the craziness and uncertainty and big, bad feelings, i am amazed by how many times recently i have had the fleeting assessment that i am happier right now than i have been in years, or maybe ever. the older we get, the more like ourselves we become, and when i can settle and breathe into those dark, tight spaces in myself, especially in scary, horrible moments, the more aware i become of my capacity for tolerance and survival, and damn. it's a relief.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
in which i try to explain a few things
"Okay," she sighed glumly as she trudged up the steps.
I've had internal narrators for as long as I can remember. They've always spoken English. It's kind of like living in my own cooking show. I think there's some theory about how most children from immigrant families see themselves as natural interpreters, not just of a language, but often of the entire immigrant experience. I'm not sure if a related theory exists about the intricate and self-aware monologues of these children. Maybe not all of us have rich inner lives full of constant self-scrutiny.
You see where this is going, right? I don't just interpret the experience for others. My brain is on a constant and thorough mission to synthesize and analyze the experience for...itself?
Anyway, most of this shit is in my wiring and inside of me and I can't understand "the experience" of growing up in my family, or moving around all the time, or ending up in Appalachia over and over again, or not relating to my Colombian family, so most of the time I just identify how I feel and tell people stories about other times I've felt that way.
So, I think I'm gonna try to write some of these stories down. I think some of them are actually pretty good stories, and I think in the context of my new ridiculous life here in Madison County, they are even more absurd and therefore awesomer.
Hmmph.
I've had internal narrators for as long as I can remember. They've always spoken English. It's kind of like living in my own cooking show. I think there's some theory about how most children from immigrant families see themselves as natural interpreters, not just of a language, but often of the entire immigrant experience. I'm not sure if a related theory exists about the intricate and self-aware monologues of these children. Maybe not all of us have rich inner lives full of constant self-scrutiny.
You see where this is going, right? I don't just interpret the experience for others. My brain is on a constant and thorough mission to synthesize and analyze the experience for...itself?
Anyway, most of this shit is in my wiring and inside of me and I can't understand "the experience" of growing up in my family, or moving around all the time, or ending up in Appalachia over and over again, or not relating to my Colombian family, so most of the time I just identify how I feel and tell people stories about other times I've felt that way.
So, I think I'm gonna try to write some of these stories down. I think some of them are actually pretty good stories, and I think in the context of my new ridiculous life here in Madison County, they are even more absurd and therefore awesomer.
Hmmph.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
while the wind howls low
So!
I've been living in Marshall for almost a month now! It's been a hard month, riddled with a lot of questions like "Is this really a good idea?" and thoughts like "I never should've left Mexico." Mostly, though, I have amazing moments full of the heart-exploding and mind-boggling idea that I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing, when I want to be doing it, and that there's really almost nowhere else I'd rather be. I can see how magical that is, and how lucky I am.
That said, this shit is pretty lonely. Even if it's getting better, it's a big change from being forced to be around people so much of the time, like in Mexico or Colombia. Hmmph.
Also, finding part-time work is hard. Also, today I got offered a full-time job working the night shift at a factory. Also, sigh!
Good things have happened, though! I've been learning a ton about farms and animals and mushrooms. I've been baking a lot, too! I think I just need to remember to breathe and that everything is going to be fine and all that.
Also, listen. You should bake challah. The smell of baking challah all up in your space is magical. I am operating with this recipe: http://smittenkitchen.com/2008/09/best-challah-egg-bread/ BUT! The braiding instructions were basically impossible for me to understand. So, I made one super-ugly challah loaf using those written instructions (which I messed up) and then I freaked out and curled up into a ball on my floor and maybe even whimpered a little. Then, I reminded myself that I am unreasonably tough and that tough people shouldn't really whimper for too long (it's unbecoming). So then, I looked up challah-braiding on YouTube and found this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22p3wIHLupc and DUH! I am totally one of those "can you draw me a picture?" people, so....
Last week, I baked this: http://smittenkitchen.com/2011/03/sally-lunn-bread-honeyed-brown-butter-spread/ and also these brownies: http://www.salon.com/food/francis_lam/2011/03/11/browned_butter_brownies/index.html Both were good, but neither was something that I would replace any other recipe with. Those brownies are super-interesting, though, and worth making once. I'm guessing that somewhere between the Sally Lunn recipe and the challah recipe, I will find my dream bread, which is somehow buttery and eggy and cakey all at once.
Sigh. That is all for now.
I've been living in Marshall for almost a month now! It's been a hard month, riddled with a lot of questions like "Is this really a good idea?" and thoughts like "I never should've left Mexico." Mostly, though, I have amazing moments full of the heart-exploding and mind-boggling idea that I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing, when I want to be doing it, and that there's really almost nowhere else I'd rather be. I can see how magical that is, and how lucky I am.
That said, this shit is pretty lonely. Even if it's getting better, it's a big change from being forced to be around people so much of the time, like in Mexico or Colombia. Hmmph.
Also, finding part-time work is hard. Also, today I got offered a full-time job working the night shift at a factory. Also, sigh!
Good things have happened, though! I've been learning a ton about farms and animals and mushrooms. I've been baking a lot, too! I think I just need to remember to breathe and that everything is going to be fine and all that.
Also, listen. You should bake challah. The smell of baking challah all up in your space is magical. I am operating with this recipe: http://smittenkitchen.com/2008/09/best-challah-egg-bread/ BUT! The braiding instructions were basically impossible for me to understand. So, I made one super-ugly challah loaf using those written instructions (which I messed up) and then I freaked out and curled up into a ball on my floor and maybe even whimpered a little. Then, I reminded myself that I am unreasonably tough and that tough people shouldn't really whimper for too long (it's unbecoming). So then, I looked up challah-braiding on YouTube and found this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22p3wIHLupc and DUH! I am totally one of those "can you draw me a picture?" people, so....
Last week, I baked this: http://smittenkitchen.com/2011/03/sally-lunn-bread-honeyed-brown-butter-spread/ and also these brownies: http://www.salon.com/food/francis_lam/2011/03/11/browned_butter_brownies/index.html Both were good, but neither was something that I would replace any other recipe with. Those brownies are super-interesting, though, and worth making once. I'm guessing that somewhere between the Sally Lunn recipe and the challah recipe, I will find my dream bread, which is somehow buttery and eggy and cakey all at once.
Sigh. That is all for now.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
letting out yells until i died of the cold
Well, so much for that whole "this year's gonna be different!" on the blogging front thing. Siiiigh.
Look, I know the next person is just as full of pithy observations as I am and can fit them in 140 characters or less, but these are crazy times!
So, a few thoughts, to get us back on the right blogging track:
I left Colombia. I was probably equal parts sad and totally effing relieved to leave. I love Medellín: I love the heady wafts of diesel fumes, I love the implacable, mania-inducing green-ness, and I love the sharpness of everything there. At the same time, I'm just not used to it and it makes me feel like I have to be on my toes all the time, and, well, I don't like feeling that way.
So, now, this blog is different. While in its most recent incarnation it was intended to document my goofy adventures living and working in México, I'm not doing that stuff anymore, but I'm sure as hell doing some other dumb stuff.
I moved to Madison County, North Carolina. I'm living in the middle of nowhere, and I'm a photo/farm intern. So far what this means is I file things, I rip things, I scan negatives, I stare at things in Photoshop for far, far too long, and and I feed animals. It's really not a bad deal, especially if you, like me, have always wanted to live among animals.
However, transitioning places is always difficult, and more so when you are not forced to share your space with other people. I think this is very specifically what I mean about suspecting that I am not as introverted as some people think I am. I love sharing space and things and time with other people. I'm just shy. Not having a constant flow of people to share things with (whether they like it or not!) totally weirds me out. I'm adjusting, though, and hopefully I'll meet some people soon, anyway.
Finally arriving at a point where I have so much quiet time and space has given me the leeway to start thinking about processing my transition time: out of México, through Colombia, and finally to here. They are all such different places, in some ways extremes. Today I had a phone call where someone asked me how I was feeling, not in the context of "let me place your feelings on my radar" that is so often used when asking that question, but actually expecting an answer. I know this is dumb, but I started to tear up a little. I realized how long I'd been compressing all these feelings, because I couldn't deal with them right then.
I guess the point is that the landing, while safe, has been a little bumpier than I expected. Something else I've been thinking a lot about is the fact that while I can be positive about these decisions I've made and their outcomes and say that they don't really matter or whatever, they definitely happen, and that is enough to give me pause right now. Why does anything have to happen? I wonder about the boring lives of adults, and I wonder how long I can stave one of 'em off. I wonder if everything always has to be so damn difficult otherwise. And THEN, I get to thinking about all the terrible stuff that's happening in the world, the stuff in Japan, for example, and the perspective on "difficult" shifts a few thousand miles.
Hmmph.
Other notes: mucking stalls is not really a bad chore at all! The mountains are overrun with ladybugs, even these days, which are pretty cold. I have no idea how to make friends without a friendship wing-person.
I'm not getting paid very much money but today I had this fleeting thought that was like, "I can't wait 'til I get paid so I can buy more yarn for my dishtowel project!" That's right, folks! I'm cornering the hipster dishtowel market. I'm gonna be semi-blog-famous. It's gonna be great.
Today, I also went on a drive. Marshall gets sorta cloudy and grey in this weird way, and I drove down almost to Asheville and it was sunny down there, and probably ten degrees warmer! I was sorta surprised at the difference, and in the sunlight the mountains were so beautiful and I remembered what I liked about this place years and years ago: in spite of its uninhabitable terrain, it is still heartachingly gorgeous. The way the light fell on everything was so exciting that I actually kicked myself for not having a camera (probably the first time in months that I've had that feeling). Then I got all excited about my drive and I ate some french fries and it was a pretty good day!
So, my new life is nowhere near as exciting or colorful as my old one. But it's got some stuff going for it. For starters, the fact that it's mine. And then also the fact that it's real. Eh, I'll put up photos soon.
Look, I know the next person is just as full of pithy observations as I am and can fit them in 140 characters or less, but these are crazy times!
So, a few thoughts, to get us back on the right blogging track:
I left Colombia. I was probably equal parts sad and totally effing relieved to leave. I love Medellín: I love the heady wafts of diesel fumes, I love the implacable, mania-inducing green-ness, and I love the sharpness of everything there. At the same time, I'm just not used to it and it makes me feel like I have to be on my toes all the time, and, well, I don't like feeling that way.
So, now, this blog is different. While in its most recent incarnation it was intended to document my goofy adventures living and working in México, I'm not doing that stuff anymore, but I'm sure as hell doing some other dumb stuff.
I moved to Madison County, North Carolina. I'm living in the middle of nowhere, and I'm a photo/farm intern. So far what this means is I file things, I rip things, I scan negatives, I stare at things in Photoshop for far, far too long, and and I feed animals. It's really not a bad deal, especially if you, like me, have always wanted to live among animals.
However, transitioning places is always difficult, and more so when you are not forced to share your space with other people. I think this is very specifically what I mean about suspecting that I am not as introverted as some people think I am. I love sharing space and things and time with other people. I'm just shy. Not having a constant flow of people to share things with (whether they like it or not!) totally weirds me out. I'm adjusting, though, and hopefully I'll meet some people soon, anyway.
Finally arriving at a point where I have so much quiet time and space has given me the leeway to start thinking about processing my transition time: out of México, through Colombia, and finally to here. They are all such different places, in some ways extremes. Today I had a phone call where someone asked me how I was feeling, not in the context of "let me place your feelings on my radar" that is so often used when asking that question, but actually expecting an answer. I know this is dumb, but I started to tear up a little. I realized how long I'd been compressing all these feelings, because I couldn't deal with them right then.
I guess the point is that the landing, while safe, has been a little bumpier than I expected. Something else I've been thinking a lot about is the fact that while I can be positive about these decisions I've made and their outcomes and say that they don't really matter or whatever, they definitely happen, and that is enough to give me pause right now. Why does anything have to happen? I wonder about the boring lives of adults, and I wonder how long I can stave one of 'em off. I wonder if everything always has to be so damn difficult otherwise. And THEN, I get to thinking about all the terrible stuff that's happening in the world, the stuff in Japan, for example, and the perspective on "difficult" shifts a few thousand miles.
Hmmph.
Other notes: mucking stalls is not really a bad chore at all! The mountains are overrun with ladybugs, even these days, which are pretty cold. I have no idea how to make friends without a friendship wing-person.
I'm not getting paid very much money but today I had this fleeting thought that was like, "I can't wait 'til I get paid so I can buy more yarn for my dishtowel project!" That's right, folks! I'm cornering the hipster dishtowel market. I'm gonna be semi-blog-famous. It's gonna be great.
Today, I also went on a drive. Marshall gets sorta cloudy and grey in this weird way, and I drove down almost to Asheville and it was sunny down there, and probably ten degrees warmer! I was sorta surprised at the difference, and in the sunlight the mountains were so beautiful and I remembered what I liked about this place years and years ago: in spite of its uninhabitable terrain, it is still heartachingly gorgeous. The way the light fell on everything was so exciting that I actually kicked myself for not having a camera (probably the first time in months that I've had that feeling). Then I got all excited about my drive and I ate some french fries and it was a pretty good day!
So, my new life is nowhere near as exciting or colorful as my old one. But it's got some stuff going for it. For starters, the fact that it's mine. And then also the fact that it's real. Eh, I'll put up photos soon.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
but it may not be true
So get this.
Yesterday, I fell off a moving bus.
I KNOW.
Also, this.
Some days, Medellín is too damn much for me. It's brash and rough and aggressive and wily.
But that was yesterday. Today is different. Today was a much softer day, and at different points, my little paisa heart swelled with pride and I thought, "this is the best fucking place in the WORLD." What I'm saying is, it's happening! I am getting to like this place all on my own!
Also, my internet has been broken for the past four days. There's no TV in the apartment so mostly I've been listening to audio books and reading "The Savage Detectives" in Spanish, which is way better once you have a vague grasp on Mexico City geography. This is a nice life.
Also, my mamita is back in the hospital. No one can figure it out. It sucks.
I can't get the photos uploaded from my computer so I see no need to prolong this post. That is all for now.
Yesterday, I fell off a moving bus.
I KNOW.
Also, this.
Some days, Medellín is too damn much for me. It's brash and rough and aggressive and wily.
But that was yesterday. Today is different. Today was a much softer day, and at different points, my little paisa heart swelled with pride and I thought, "this is the best fucking place in the WORLD." What I'm saying is, it's happening! I am getting to like this place all on my own!
Also, my internet has been broken for the past four days. There's no TV in the apartment so mostly I've been listening to audio books and reading "The Savage Detectives" in Spanish, which is way better once you have a vague grasp on Mexico City geography. This is a nice life.
Also, my mamita is back in the hospital. No one can figure it out. It sucks.
I can't get the photos uploaded from my computer so I see no need to prolong this post. That is all for now.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
que revolución hay en mi corazón?
Today was a dumb day. I basically used my wiles (yeeees) to not leave the apartment all day except twice. The first time I left, I only walked to another apartment in the same complex so I'm not sure that really counts. When it started to rain, I decided the apartment was in need of a deep-clean, so I busted out the Avett Brothers and went at it.
There is nothing like spending a few hours on your hands and knees scrubbing grout to really make you long for a trip to the Exito! (Seriously, what is happening to me?) Anyway, I was pretty sketched out by the way Celina had told me to get places, but I ignored my suspicions and walked to la Ochenta and then tried to find the Exito de Colombia, assuming it would magically appear on 80 and Colombia. I was wrong, and some lady at a drug store told me to walk to the one in Robledo, which was "close, maybe five blocks". I knew she was wrong because she pointed in the direction I had come in and I had walked at least 6 blocks, but I figured "Hey, maybe it's seven blocks in that direction!" So, on I went!
And this is how I walked to Robledo. Robledo, by the way, is not worth walking to. I realized I was backtracking in a weird way, because I crossed this weird creek behind my apartment (actually, now that I mapped that, it's even funnier what I did because I was walking in exactly the wrong direction). So, finally, I got to Robledo. A neat thing about getting to know Medellín this way, on foot, is that I get to see how ridiculous the Paisa knack for exaggerating distances is. To the untrained ear, "I live allllll the way up in Robledo" implies that it is far. However, now I know that it is not far at all, or even inconveniently situated. At all. With my newfound confidence, I'm definitely gonna start taking my camera on these dumb jaunts.
Anyway, after I did my grocery shopping (no canned black beans, but they had canned goulash!), I decided a chicken nugget snack was in order (Hi! I am five years old!). Since every Exito has a Frisby, I found the one here and went to buy chicken nuggets. The lady was really mean and acted like I was an idiot because I didn't understand when she greeted me by brashly grunting that all she had was a medio pollo. I asked, "no french fries?" To which she replied, "Oh, yeah." So finally she actually came out to the counter (this exchange was happening with her standing way back in the kitchen area and exchanging snide glances with the only other person working there) and said, "so you want half a chicken?"
"What? No. I want french fries."
"You don't want half a chicken?" she asked again, serving up some chicken nuggets for a waiting customer who must've ordered before me.
"Don't you have any more of those?" I asked, pointing at the nuggets, looking into her eyes searchingly, pleadingly.
"Yeah, that's what I'm telling you. I have half a chicken." I couldn't understand how that meant she had nuggets. Did 'half a chicken' mean 'half a chicken's worth of chicken parts'?
"Okay, I'll take it. With the french fries. And a soda. To go."
"Fine. But I don't have a lid for the soda. And it's gonna be a few minutes."
I sat and waited. Sitting and waiting gave me time to reflect on something that always trips me up. Half a chicken. Because chickens are living beings, I am always confused by that type of terminology. After all, it's hard for me to think of someone referring to my thigh separately from my drumstick, so often I forget that those are two different pieces. What I'm saying is, as I was sitting, I realized that half a chicken is not one or two pieces, but more like four pieces of chicken. Furthermore, upon inspection at home, I realized that the chicken I was working with must've been a really interesting specimen because it had three breasts and a wing (no nuggets--gypped all the way around). So now I'm stuck with a bunch of crappy chicken. This is gonna take days to deal with.
Life is hard.
Also, there were good articles on the internet today. This one was particularly moving. Seriously, read the comments. Some of the things resonated with me really deeply. I think there were other things I thought about that were interesting today. Oh! This song! Ha! I am owning my loner-ness?
Now that I am reading back through this whole thing, it seems weird and sad to me, but it was a satisfying day! I guess there are always things that are hard to express, and things that can be gratifying in ways that are surprising. Maybe tomorrow will be a more obviously impressive day, but I'm moving through, and I'm doing okay!
There is nothing like spending a few hours on your hands and knees scrubbing grout to really make you long for a trip to the Exito! (Seriously, what is happening to me?) Anyway, I was pretty sketched out by the way Celina had told me to get places, but I ignored my suspicions and walked to la Ochenta and then tried to find the Exito de Colombia, assuming it would magically appear on 80 and Colombia. I was wrong, and some lady at a drug store told me to walk to the one in Robledo, which was "close, maybe five blocks". I knew she was wrong because she pointed in the direction I had come in and I had walked at least 6 blocks, but I figured "Hey, maybe it's seven blocks in that direction!" So, on I went!
And this is how I walked to Robledo. Robledo, by the way, is not worth walking to. I realized I was backtracking in a weird way, because I crossed this weird creek behind my apartment (actually, now that I mapped that, it's even funnier what I did because I was walking in exactly the wrong direction). So, finally, I got to Robledo. A neat thing about getting to know Medellín this way, on foot, is that I get to see how ridiculous the Paisa knack for exaggerating distances is. To the untrained ear, "I live allllll the way up in Robledo" implies that it is far. However, now I know that it is not far at all, or even inconveniently situated. At all. With my newfound confidence, I'm definitely gonna start taking my camera on these dumb jaunts.
Anyway, after I did my grocery shopping (no canned black beans, but they had canned goulash!), I decided a chicken nugget snack was in order (Hi! I am five years old!). Since every Exito has a Frisby, I found the one here and went to buy chicken nuggets. The lady was really mean and acted like I was an idiot because I didn't understand when she greeted me by brashly grunting that all she had was a medio pollo. I asked, "no french fries?" To which she replied, "Oh, yeah." So finally she actually came out to the counter (this exchange was happening with her standing way back in the kitchen area and exchanging snide glances with the only other person working there) and said, "so you want half a chicken?"
"What? No. I want french fries."
"You don't want half a chicken?" she asked again, serving up some chicken nuggets for a waiting customer who must've ordered before me.
"Don't you have any more of those?" I asked, pointing at the nuggets, looking into her eyes searchingly, pleadingly.
"Yeah, that's what I'm telling you. I have half a chicken." I couldn't understand how that meant she had nuggets. Did 'half a chicken' mean 'half a chicken's worth of chicken parts'?
"Okay, I'll take it. With the french fries. And a soda. To go."
"Fine. But I don't have a lid for the soda. And it's gonna be a few minutes."
I sat and waited. Sitting and waiting gave me time to reflect on something that always trips me up. Half a chicken. Because chickens are living beings, I am always confused by that type of terminology. After all, it's hard for me to think of someone referring to my thigh separately from my drumstick, so often I forget that those are two different pieces. What I'm saying is, as I was sitting, I realized that half a chicken is not one or two pieces, but more like four pieces of chicken. Furthermore, upon inspection at home, I realized that the chicken I was working with must've been a really interesting specimen because it had three breasts and a wing (no nuggets--gypped all the way around). So now I'm stuck with a bunch of crappy chicken. This is gonna take days to deal with.
Life is hard.
Also, there were good articles on the internet today. This one was particularly moving. Seriously, read the comments. Some of the things resonated with me really deeply. I think there were other things I thought about that were interesting today. Oh! This song! Ha! I am owning my loner-ness?
Now that I am reading back through this whole thing, it seems weird and sad to me, but it was a satisfying day! I guess there are always things that are hard to express, and things that can be gratifying in ways that are surprising. Maybe tomorrow will be a more obviously impressive day, but I'm moving through, and I'm doing okay!
swimming pools and owls
Well! A few days have passed and my visit is feeling much softer. My sense of mobility is improving and that is helping tremendously. I spent the weekend in San Jeronimo, a town that used to be about three hours away but is now only an hour away with the construction of a massive tunnel that runs through a mountain and takes about seven minutes to get through. It's supposed to be warm there, but it hasn't been particularly warm any of these last few times I've visited. That didn't stop me from getting into pools like this one:
life is hard?
Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I also ended up at a couchsurfing meeting in the centro. As much as people talk about how scary it is, I really like the centro here. It's still pretty old school, with old cafes and kinda sleazy bars and neat museums. I don't tend to be as impressed with the brand new construction that crops up all around the outer edges of the city. That's probably not too surprising.
So, that's been my life lately. It's been helpful to remember (and constantly remind myself) that part of the reason I wanted to come here was to get to know this place on my own terms and see if I could love it. It's also helpful to remember the Legacy-of-Luna-esque lesson of flexibility making things easier.
Also, I know this is gross, but, y'all, chorizo, like this, makes things easier:
(We were supposed to be meeting someone to hang out and instead ended up in this town, Sabaneta, which is famous for delicious chorizo and we decided it was okay to be sort of late and make a quick stop for chorizo. This is how we are.)
I'm still not sure how long I'll stay here, but I'll worry about that some other time. There's more eating to do. There's also more reading to do! Mel did me the favor of passing along this article, which I understand has been making its rounds on the internet. I've totally been quietly obsessed with one of these blogs (this one), and I had no idea about the Mormon thing! But, dude, whatever! I love it like I love cooking blogs and design blogs and even those vintage outfit blogs, just because I love imagining a world of air conditioning and people shopping at Target and having all the right kitchen tools when they need them. Something about imagining those things is so comforting. Also, owl crafts.
I've been reflecting on my love of owls lately. My love of owls began before the dawn of the designy, cute screenprinted owl craze, with this weird shelf that was directly above the kitchen sink in the house I grew up in. It was full of owl figurines. I always loved the idea of people collecting things, and it appeared my mother had been collecting these owls. There were all kinds of owls--owls made of tiny seashells, creepy realistic owls, cartoonish owls.... One time, I asked my mom why she liked owls so much and she explained that one person had given her one owl and she had displayed it at our house and then EVERYONE started giving her owls. It was really disappointing to realize that my mom hadn't even sought out to start the collection, but now that I am nearing the end of my nomadic life (for now), I'm fantasizing about stealing her owl collection for my new home, where I'll sit around and read Mormon blogs and write in this blog and make owl crafts in my free time.
Right?
life is hard?
Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I also ended up at a couchsurfing meeting in the centro. As much as people talk about how scary it is, I really like the centro here. It's still pretty old school, with old cafes and kinda sleazy bars and neat museums. I don't tend to be as impressed with the brand new construction that crops up all around the outer edges of the city. That's probably not too surprising.
So, that's been my life lately. It's been helpful to remember (and constantly remind myself) that part of the reason I wanted to come here was to get to know this place on my own terms and see if I could love it. It's also helpful to remember the Legacy-of-Luna-esque lesson of flexibility making things easier.
Also, I know this is gross, but, y'all, chorizo, like this, makes things easier:
(We were supposed to be meeting someone to hang out and instead ended up in this town, Sabaneta, which is famous for delicious chorizo and we decided it was okay to be sort of late and make a quick stop for chorizo. This is how we are.)
I'm still not sure how long I'll stay here, but I'll worry about that some other time. There's more eating to do. There's also more reading to do! Mel did me the favor of passing along this article, which I understand has been making its rounds on the internet. I've totally been quietly obsessed with one of these blogs (this one), and I had no idea about the Mormon thing! But, dude, whatever! I love it like I love cooking blogs and design blogs and even those vintage outfit blogs, just because I love imagining a world of air conditioning and people shopping at Target and having all the right kitchen tools when they need them. Something about imagining those things is so comforting. Also, owl crafts.
I've been reflecting on my love of owls lately. My love of owls began before the dawn of the designy, cute screenprinted owl craze, with this weird shelf that was directly above the kitchen sink in the house I grew up in. It was full of owl figurines. I always loved the idea of people collecting things, and it appeared my mother had been collecting these owls. There were all kinds of owls--owls made of tiny seashells, creepy realistic owls, cartoonish owls.... One time, I asked my mom why she liked owls so much and she explained that one person had given her one owl and she had displayed it at our house and then EVERYONE started giving her owls. It was really disappointing to realize that my mom hadn't even sought out to start the collection, but now that I am nearing the end of my nomadic life (for now), I'm fantasizing about stealing her owl collection for my new home, where I'll sit around and read Mormon blogs and write in this blog and make owl crafts in my free time.
Right?
Friday, January 7, 2011
new wanders
Well, it's sorta been a while, huh? I got resentful (of myself?) and resolved never to write in this blog again, but the truth is that sometimes the mood strikes and I want to write things here. I am resolving to be more consistent with writing (either here or elsewhere or in one of my twenty-eight notebooks) in 2011. Hmmph (arms crossed).
I'm in Medellín now, in my parents' apartment. I've been forcing myself to be outrageously social for weeks now, so today I decided to fill my quota of alone time. Besides, it's raining. It's supposed to be "summer" here right now, but instead it's decidedly "winter" today in a region where the season changes by the day and is only determined by the apparition of rain and perhaps a slight breeze. Don't serenar yourselves, folks. Careful!
Being here is hard. In truth, I've always had some nostalgia about certain Colombian things: my grandmothers, almuerzos they made, afternoon sunlight. But the awakeness that being here requires is dizzying, frightening. My wit is always five, ten paces behind: my tongue is tied, I don't get it, I don't like it. I've joked often that one of my most beloved skills is my aptness at being uncomfortable, but I think it's because this place is the root of all my malaise. My inability to belong, to "hang", my discomfort with class, family, gender expression: all these things live here. As long as I wander the earth, I can rest uneasy knowing that these things are in a box somewhere in Colombia, but once I arrive upon these soils, they bloom like ink in water. It's fucking exhausting.
I'm tired of being told not to go anywhere alone. I endure countless lunch dates and museum tours that inevitably arrive at the conversational destination of la seguridad. Either someone will steal my bicycle from under me or they will blow scopolamine in my face (best safety advice so far? don't breathe!) or kidnap me. There are boys on motorcycles who come around once a week asking for the cuota everyone owes them for maintaining the peace. It is pretty evident they spend most of their days on the street on more hedonistic pursuits than peacekeeping. But it's even more exhausting to be warned about abstract dangers, like "Don't go out by yourself or someone's gonna fuck with your shit!" Thanks for the warning?
I find myself myself wearing my time in Mexico like a badge--not even in the context of security, just to prove that I've crossed a fucking street by myself in my life. I daydream about walking down a street without the lurking fear that someone is totally gonna "fuck with my shit" because my inability to hang is SO visible that I am like shit-fucking-with bait.
At this rate, my lofty goal of resolving my bad feelings about this place isn't really going to get accomplished this time around, or maybe ever.
That's where I'm at today.
I'm in Medellín now, in my parents' apartment. I've been forcing myself to be outrageously social for weeks now, so today I decided to fill my quota of alone time. Besides, it's raining. It's supposed to be "summer" here right now, but instead it's decidedly "winter" today in a region where the season changes by the day and is only determined by the apparition of rain and perhaps a slight breeze. Don't serenar yourselves, folks. Careful!
Being here is hard. In truth, I've always had some nostalgia about certain Colombian things: my grandmothers, almuerzos they made, afternoon sunlight. But the awakeness that being here requires is dizzying, frightening. My wit is always five, ten paces behind: my tongue is tied, I don't get it, I don't like it. I've joked often that one of my most beloved skills is my aptness at being uncomfortable, but I think it's because this place is the root of all my malaise. My inability to belong, to "hang", my discomfort with class, family, gender expression: all these things live here. As long as I wander the earth, I can rest uneasy knowing that these things are in a box somewhere in Colombia, but once I arrive upon these soils, they bloom like ink in water. It's fucking exhausting.
I'm tired of being told not to go anywhere alone. I endure countless lunch dates and museum tours that inevitably arrive at the conversational destination of la seguridad. Either someone will steal my bicycle from under me or they will blow scopolamine in my face (best safety advice so far? don't breathe!) or kidnap me. There are boys on motorcycles who come around once a week asking for the cuota everyone owes them for maintaining the peace. It is pretty evident they spend most of their days on the street on more hedonistic pursuits than peacekeeping. But it's even more exhausting to be warned about abstract dangers, like "Don't go out by yourself or someone's gonna fuck with your shit!" Thanks for the warning?
I find myself myself wearing my time in Mexico like a badge--not even in the context of security, just to prove that I've crossed a fucking street by myself in my life. I daydream about walking down a street without the lurking fear that someone is totally gonna "fuck with my shit" because my inability to hang is SO visible that I am like shit-fucking-with bait.
At this rate, my lofty goal of resolving my bad feelings about this place isn't really going to get accomplished this time around, or maybe ever.
That's where I'm at today.
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