Ni puta idea de cuál es mi palabra favorita. Esa es mi primera asignación 'seria' en mi primera clase en casi diez años desde que me gradué de universidad (y digo "mi primera asignación seria", pq si les digo cuál es realmente la primera asignación, se me estotean de la risa). Esa es una quinta parte de lo que será mi 'portafolio de redacción'.
Cuál es mi palabra favorita y por qué.
Creo que le jugaré esta, creo que la dejo pasar ... pero también creo que es hora de ir buscando opciones para ingresar a la escuela graduada. Se me había olvidado lo mucho que el currículo universitario tiene que compensar por las lagunas de aprendizaje que deja el fabuloso Departamento de Educación puertorriqueño.
Tengo que agradecer a mi padre por haberme jeringado tanto con el idioma, la corrección en el habla y la expresión escrita, etcétera etcétera etcétera ("No se dice 'cajjo', se dice 'caRRRRRRRo'.") ¡Gracias, papá!
Les aviso cuando termine de dividir estas palabras en sílabas, ¿okei?
Érase una vez tres hermanas hermosas: La mayor bruñida de estaño catalán, con la inocencia de una dulce amapola. La del medio nació cubierta de un velo seductor andaluz, y sus ojos y boca brillaban con carcajadas que brotaban de lo más profundo de la tierra. La menor era una visión de alba pureza, como hecha de fina y delicada filigrana de porcelana y hebras de carbón.
Al crecer las hermanas, sus semblantes fueron cambiando: La amapola de la mayor se rizó en una dura bola marchita, ajada y descascarada por los vendavales de la vida cotidiana. La seducción telúrica de la mediana se fue desgastando sobre una roca de resentimientos, dejando atrás una tosca semilla de amargura. Mientras la pureza de la menor fue ganando tornasoles y máculas de hoja dorada y ceniza papal.
Poco a poco el tiempo fue desgranando a las hermanas ... Hasta que al final de sus vidas sólo quedó: La ñoñería de la primera La majadería de la segunda Y la pretensión de la tercera ...
Those two weeks come and gone, I'm back in the office, and already missing my vacations... or the vacations from my vacations (vacations squared).
First of all, for those of you who like looking at pictures of other people having fun, or mediocre points of view of a city that has been photographed since the first brick was laid, then go here.
I refuse, however, to give a blow-by-blow recount of the whole trip, mainly because it would make this post too long, and besides, I forget details easily... it would be frustrating.
So, without further ado:
Things I Loved
1) Visiting Chickpea, now known as Tahini. Different name, same awesome menu. However, the unconditional awe died a bit when we found a much better place at half the price very near the Clark Street Station in Brooklyn. However: finally getting a whole Shawafel in my tummy? Priceless!
2) Finally seeing the Alice in Wonderland sculpture (also known as the Margarita Delacorte memorial). It was everything I thought it would be, and more. If you delve into the Flickr set I linked at the top, you'll see I was very thorough in documenting all details possible, including a tiny snail right under the biggest mushroom, and a squirrel peeking out of the base of the Cheshire Cat's tree. It was big enough even for ME to climb into Alice's lap, and that was more than enough for me.
3) Running by accident into the Hans Christian Andersen sculpture, featuring a lovely, charming, adorable rendition of the Ugly Duckling. It was totally unexpected and heartwarming.
4) Di Fara's. Suffice it to say it has ruined all other pizzas for me. If you're looking for flashy, quick, blow-you-out-of-the-water experience, go elsewhere. This place was slow and not mind-blowingly friendly. It's a hole in the wall with more than a few kinks that need ironing out, from the layout of the tables to the state of the acoustic ceiling.
However, if you're looking for a sublime experience comparable to finally finding the truth about how death works, then this is the place for you. As soon as you cross the door, the first thing that hits you is the respectful silence. It's like walking into hallowed grounds, and indeed! Watching Dominic De Marco go about his business making pizza pies was like a religious experience - that is to say: I'm not conventionally religious, I also find the same kind of satisfaction from watching a beautiful sunset. Well, these were beautiful, delicious, delectable pizza pies. The best I've had. And the only thing that it provokes in me now is bittersweet tears: thankful that I had the opportunity of tasting such delicious pizza; dismayed that it will probably be a long long while until I taste it again (let's hope Mr. De Marco will last on this earth a great deal longer).
5) Sharing more than a few interesting experiences with Eze. Tears were shed, laughs were had. The whole trip was intense in any and all ways imaginable. However, the days shared with Eze, just the two of us by ourselves, were the best. I came to realize that, even through the bitter arguments, we are more like each other than what I would have first thought. We behave differently, but the things that attract us are pretty much the same.
Case to prove the point?
6) Union Square. We spent more than a few nights dallying around this area, from there to Saint Mark's Place and back. We felt incredibly at ease spending our dead hours just sitting on a bench (or on the plaza steps) just looking at the people go by.
7) The Metropolitan Museum of Art! I just wish I had a whole week to stay and peer at every single piece closely. To read all the information tags and the stories behind the expositions. There were SO MANY rooms I never got to visit ... this is a definite re-visit candidate, by all means. If only to sit in the Renaissance sculpture room (so pure and white when doused in sunlight ... so full of history!) Go to my Flickr set if you want to see a bit more of what I believed to be worth the furtive snapshot - cameras were allowed, however, I felt a bit like an outlaw. Taking pictures were my way of swiping my favorite pieces into my pockets and taking them home. (Don't miss the tiny heads and bulls "collections"!)
8) Trying new types of cuisine. I had Thai food for the first time in my life, as well as my first cup of Turkish coffee ever. I cannot say these were the best culinary experiences in my life, but at least I can say I tried it at least once. (In my opinion? Turkish coffee is extremely thick ... too thick to enjoy)
9) The smell of real roses. I had NO idea wild roses could smell so good. A whiff of one of these finally brought the comprehension that had eluded me all my life: I finally understood the passion for the smell of a rose. I finally understood why people obsess over these flowers. And I realized that it's of fools to pretend that a reaped rose will smell the same as one that's safe and sound still tied to the ground. We will never really capture the smell of a rose without sacrificing the sweetness of its aroma by its own death.
10) The John Lennon Memorial. A beautiful homage, forever kept alive by The People.
11) I finally saw a trilobite fossil! Forever haunted by the image of these animals, seeing them in other creatures, like the horseshoe crab and the Ohmu... and when I came to see what they were actually (sort of) like: they were freaking SMALL! Hahahah! Mini-Ohmus... cute! This was in the Natural History Museum, and the whole trek through the museum was fascinating and educational. As with the Metropolitan Museum of Art, this museum would require a few entire days to see and fully enjoy it.
12) Other places I tried and/or loved: - Max Brenner - It's ALL about the chocolate. You step through the door and the chocolate aroma ATTACKS you! Lovely place!
- Così - Their specialty is sandwiches, but they also make "hearth-baked dinners" which actually means: a bunch of pieces of chicken and ham and bacon topped with a fuckload of cheese and put through the broiler. DELICIOUS!
- Bamn! - This is what I imagine true pop-Japanese cuisine to be like nowadays. Everything is bought through dispensing machines. How alien! But they surprised me with two over-the-counter offerings: green tea ice cream (I prefer the twist vanilla-green tea ice cream, it's softer to the palate), and snow cones (I had a cherry-flavored one, which is a slight departure from the traditional raspberry flavor we favor so much here)
- The AMC IMAX Theater - Totally new experience! We watched The Dark Knight there, which has a few IMAX scenes in it. Totally worth the over-price, but I just wish we had been able to see it with the usual movie theater gang.
- Ricky's - Take a beauty supply hole-in-the-wall, put it on steroids, keep the prices down ... what do you get? HEAVEN!
- Anthropologie - Incredibly expensive, but so uniquely cute! Thankfully, I'm not rich, otherwise I'd blow my savings account on this brand.
- Fanelli's Cafe - We went in without expectations. We got good beer and food at adequate prices. The surprise? Looking up and seeing "Saloon Certificates" that dated up to 1873!!!
- FuerzaBruta - Just ... watch the video... and be aware that whatever you see in there is not even an infinitesimal piece of the things you experience in those 50 minutes you spend in that room surrounded by insane performers.
Damn it's hot in here! I'm getting constant headaches, and while I still ADORE this place, the headaches are sorta ruining it for me. I'm hoping my body will get used to it. The heat is dry and I'm thirsty all the time. Lots of family quarrels, of course, we're like a TON of people in the same house. The drama, the drama!
But we already re-visited Saigon Grill (a Vietnamese cuisine franchise) and realized the place is REALLY awesome. Nicely priced, GREAT food, all in all a very good experience. I visited the CO Bigelow apothecary at 6th Avenue, and while I did find the tinted mint lip gloss I wanted, the rest of the merchandise was cruelly expensive. But I found a beauty supply somewhere down the same street and was able to get some soap, shampoo, conditioner, and a beautiful blue Orly nail color.
We went to Time Square last night, and it was WAY more crowded than the last time we went. Still felt bombarded by the excess of lit advertising. Went into the Sephora store there, and was overwhelmed by the variety of items and the crowd in there.
I'll keep posting while I'm able. Today, we will be enjoying a family day in the house (my father-in -law's sister's house).
Ah ... and the Doctor Martens boots? Nice for walking... SHORT distances. I'm nursing blisters right now as we speak. :-) Yayyyy ...
No hace mucho le comentaba a mi papá una observación que hizo Ezequiel acerca de mi comportamiento durante nuestra última visita a New York City. Ezequiel se fijó que a mí no me da la nostalgia por el terruño patrio que a él sí. Del mismo modo que él sufre del patriotismo disparado por la separación, le ocurre igual a mi hermano, a familiares y amistades ... según me cuentan, es encontrarse de pronto rodeado por todo aquello que es grandioso, exaltado, fabuloso, las maravillas del mundo civilizado ... y sin embargo encontrarse con que están extrañando las brisas tropicales y el chirrido del coquí en el patio.
Y pensándolo bien, Eze tiene razón: a mí no me da eso. Como él lo dijo en ese momento, a mí me sueltan en las calles de New York City y yo sigo caminando sin mirar hacia atrás, sin brindarle un segundo pensamiento a Puerto Rico (y sus garitas y sus palmas y sus güiritos flotando en el aire al lado de los reyes magos tallados en madera... sí, estoy segura que en esas mierdas es en lo que piensa la gente cuando empiezan a extrañar a Puerto Rico ... jamás se les ocurre extrañar el tapón tan jodido de la Milla de Oro un lunes en la tarde, o en lo difícil que es conseguir un fucking estacionamiento en Plaza las Américas en los fines de semana).
Esta mañana se me ocurrió preguntarme por qué no me salía del corazón extrañar a Puerto Rico a la distancia. ¡A no equivocar esto con odio! A mi Puerto Rico me parece hermoso en su caos y desorden: no sólo tiene un ecosistema fascinantemente variado, sino que la misma civilización, en su violencia y cafrería, en lo pintoresco de sus personajes, es una obra maestra de la evolución y de-evolución.
Pero si me voy de viaje, si levanto el vuelo ... no lo extraño. Extraño a mi familia y a mis amistades, seguro! Pero a Puerto Rico como entorno no.
Así venía hoy de camino al trabajo, pensándolo ... y de pronto sonó "Estadio Azteca" de Andrés Calamaro, y se me aguaron los ojos - taco instantáneo en la garganta. Y me dí cuenta en ese momento que, jodido como suene, el patriotismo del que sufro es heredado. Las ansias por un terruño patrio no son por mi propia patria sino por la de mi papá. Imposible como suene, pero mi lealtad está atada a un país que ni siquiera conozco bien.
La añoranza que mis compatriotas sienten cuando oyen los acordes de un cuatro se despierta en mí cuando oigo "El Cóndor Pasa". Mis compañeros boricuas ven las playas como la primera señal de Casa, yo sueño todavía con visitar nuevamente los montes y valles que marcaron el compás de una de mis navidades hace más de diez años.
Es cuestión de percepciones heredadas, creo yo.
O tal vez, a diferencia de muchísima gente, mis raíces no se agarran del tronco del árbol del cual nací, sino del terreno al cual le he dedicado mi corazón.
Last night I dreamt up my daughter again (it's the second time ... maybe third ... in this lifetime).
The first time it was a pregnancy, I remember it was as vivid as morning sickness itself.
The second time the girl was 7 or 8, and gazed at me calmly, like waiting. She had black straight hair, and a nose shape that later on I came to understand whose it was.
This third time, the kid was just a baby, maybe one year old. Same nose, same eyes, brown, downy hair. Gestures that echo those of the owner of the original nose shape. And a round, elfish face.
It's an odd day, an odd time, to be attacked by motherhood blues. It will go away.
So, well ... it's only 10 days away now, and Eze & I (plus a few other interested and involved parties) have been mulling over what our plans are for our vacations at NYC. First and foremost, of course, there's the family. Seeing otherwise would be ungrateful, to say the least, since it was my father-in-law that paid for the plane tickets, and it is his sister who will shack us in during our 13-day stay.
But apart from that, we have plans, and hopes, and wishes. So many that I had to write it all down on a list - excitement often impairs clarity of thought, although I'm aware that we will probably not get to do everything we want to do, nor see all we want to see. But a list will help, when at a loss for clear plans... so this is it (in no particular order, although, bear in mind: first things that come to mind are usually either the most important or the most urgent).
- I want to finally see the Alice in Wonderland sculpture by George Delacorte, in Central Park
The first time I saw a photograph of this sculpture I was 6, and in total awe of its bigger-than-life quality. At least it seemed bigger than life to little ol' me, considering that the picture included a throng of little kids clambering over the statue, and that they were dwarfed by Alice's figure. Since then, I've longed to do the same. Maybe this time around, I'll finally be able to sit atop a mushroom. :D
- I want to go back to Chickpea and have the shawafel I didn't get back then.
Goddamned be me and my synaptic tantrums.
- On that same line of thought, I want to go to Ray's Pizza again. That pizza is worth a revisit. And maybe have a pizza bagel as well.
- Celebrate our anniversary. July 23rd ... what a day ... four years now, of which 3 have been spent living together. Beautifully. :-) And to celebrate it in style:
- We have plans to visit a friend at Pelham Bay, and also visit Battery Park ... maybe catch view of the Statue of Liberty from afar (no, I'm not interested in seeing her up close ... now bring me to DaVinci's David, and I'll volunteer to lick it!)
- The museum rounds: the Guggenheim, the MoMA, the Metropolitan, etc ... it would take days, and I'm not getting my hopes up on getting to see them all.
- I wanna visit Chinatown and Little Italy, and this one street they talked to me about that is lined with bead stores.
- And more stores:Sephora, CO Bigelow ... and heh heh! maybe I'll give in to that whimsical invitation to Macy's, so my dear friend can laugh at my gawking face while I take in 7 stories' worth of capitalism.
So for those Facebook friends that have been wondering "what the heck is that countdown about": T-10 ... and counting! :D
Congrats! You could survive for 1 minute 17 seconds !
In the first 30 seconds any fluid on the surface of your body would begin to boil due to lack of ambient pressure, this includes the saliva on your tongue and the moisture in your eyes. Your eardrums would most likely burst due to the pressure in your body trying to equalize with the vacuum outside. Unlike what some science fiction films have suggested, your body would not explode.
After the first 15 seconds you would lose consciousness. If you held your breath you could potentially stay alive longer but you risk pulmonary trauma. If you didn't hold your breath you'd pass out sooner, but your lungs might have a better chance of avoiding permanent damage.
The pressure in your veins would rise until your heart no longer had the capacity to pump blood, at which point you'd die.
I haven't created a new look at ShopStyle.com for a long time now (it's an incredibly fun timewaster, though, but I don't have all that much leisure time anymore). However, I've lately found myself revisiting this style more frequently:
It's all in the boots, people. I first became enamored of Doc Martens-style boots at the age of 15. I was in public school, and rules on footwear were much more lax than they've become in later years. I bought my first 10-eye-Doc Martens-imitation pair at a Payless Shoe Store and wore them daily: to school, to hang outs ... I have to confess that I even lost my virginity with those boots on my feet. They lasted more than enough, considering the wear and strain on them, and they were cast into the dark oblivion of my closet as soon as the sole went unglued. Later on, moths did their final work on them and they were rendered irreparable.
Later on I fell in love with another pair, this time off a Delias catalog. They were 14-eye with a raised toe, slightly glossier than what I was used to. They were incredibly uncomfortable at first, but I broke them in, and after that they were a total hit in my life. I loved those boots until their fiery demise five years ago.
I haven't owned a pair of proper boots since then. I guess I thought I had outgrown the boot-wearing phase, but this sudden obsession has proved me wrong. I bought a pair of knee-high boots the other day at Hot Topic:
They look incredibly cool, but I realized today they're not that awesome for walking long distances or for extended periods of time. Part of the boot-craving is to have a good pair of shoes to massacre on my upcoming trip to NYC. These boots do not fit the bill for such a purpose.:-(
So I'm back to square one on my quest for some nice, comfy Doc Martens boots. Maybe I should cut the crap and invest on the real deal. I think I'm ready to commit to boots again.
Since I turned 30, I've felt a certain amount of mania creep into my actions and intentions. I don't know if it was always so, and that I just became increasingly aware of my own nature, to this particular point in actuality in which I am sure I'm on the same league as hippies and hysterical moms. Or maybe things did change as I got to that figurative milestone of The 30s.
But as the mania set in, so did a ridiculous sense of prudence and shame, to the point that I check and double-check the things I write, the facts I disclose. And, yes, I have one particular friend to thank for that level of awareness(yes, you! You know who you are, you lurking scoundrel! I love you, though!), but I can't really let the blame rest solely on others. I guess that the more things I get to write, the less I want to put "on the page". The more complex I become as a person, the less I want to show about me.
A nitpicking of the public image, I guess. And it feels weird, because that's not the way it used to be. At the same time, however, the less I publicize, the more free I feel. Isn't that funny?
I guess that this strange sort of "writer's block" will come to a close as soon as I get my first assignment to write something for a class. I have a feeling that my writings will change, and the absence of the word will give way to a forest of twisted facts entwined with thick tendrils of fantasy and fiction.
