Friday, November 21, 2008
Ercassiel, that's me.
Obviously a former Knowledge Bowl team captain is not one to be pointing the Nerd! finger, but this is another level.
Quite the devolution, oh brother o' mine.
Brother Caleb, 20, gifted me a playlist today. Here were his messages accompanying each selection.
Holly
I just heard this the other day, and it's been stuck on repeat since then.
Caleb
Holly the tool
girl song. but a good song
Caleb
Holly the Shoobie
an instrumental that changed the way i listen to music. wait until the guitar at 2:10. blew me away.
Caleb
I Once Heard Holly was so dumb that she tried to eat a ROCK FOR BREAKFAST LOLOLOLLOLOLOOLOL
Once you're over that blast of humor. This is a great, chill song to listen to.
Caleb
Loser Sister McGee
one of my favorite punk bands. they go for a softer approach with this one. disregard the lyrics, i think he's a subpar lyricist, but its adorable how hard he tries.
Caleb
The last two selections (including one by a group whom Caleb described as "nasty") were addressed to Holls Ballz and birthday girl lame-o, respectively. It was signed, "xoxo from NC," which is now the playlist's new title.
Monday, November 17, 2008
that stubborn darkness
for the most part, it takes a lot for a question posed of me to make me uncomfortable. i try to be thoughtful and forthright answering any question, and don't often have qualms about it.
i also cannot lie. and when i say "can't," i actually mean "not physically able." (really, i lose to 7 year olds in games of BS.) it's not a convenient trait. there are a lot of times we need to oblige people, and even when i deliberately make myself do that, i get this deer-in-the-headlights look plastered across my face that reads "SCRIPT ERROR," and it's awkwardly obvious that i don't believe what i'm saying.
by far, the question that has made me the most uncomfortable of late has been, "so how do you like costa rica?" except there is usually an implied (or sometimes explicit) exclamation point after that question mark, coming from someone sitting, like me any other time i'm not abroad, at a computer in a house with cottage cheese in the refrigerator, Lou Dobbs on the television, poorly-maneuvered SUVs on the roads outside, and that damn 45˚N latitude sunlight slipping through the slats in the blinds before you've hardly had time to kick off your shoes after work.
i sit and try to summon any latent powers for mendacity, but i realize i might as well be trying to make myself sprout chest hair. those carefully culled skills in diplomacy fail me. the truth? i don't like costa rica. i'm thankful for the job. actually, not many people like san josé, and i'm probably one of the more optimistic ones about the job. most gringos don't stay long-term, and if they do, it's often because there aren't any better job prospects in the crumbling economies to the north. but that's not the point.
i spent much of the last year in depression, something that makes it nearly impossible to appreciate anything, let alone moving to central america with a job in my profession of choice. the depression is something that's danced around the periphery for a few years, only touching down for a few fleeting moments at a time in the past. but last year, i was no match for it. i got obliterated.
there was a small group of people who knew what was up, but mostly, i was hesitant to discuss it because what general understanding there is of depression is clinical, and i am quite convinced, and others have confirmed, that this was not a chemical depression, although it did have very chemical-physical effects. (that was another awkward comment i wished i could fib a response to: "you look great!" thinking: this is no diet i would ever wish upon anybody.) i also decided very specifically in one moment that i did not want to write about depression, because i wanted no one to empathize with what i was in. (writing = poignant articulation of empathy) i still don't. i don't ever want to empathize with myself and revisit those places. at least not right now.
lastly, i avoided bringing it up because there was this small part of me that really wanted to think that if i moved, even if the move wasn't going to address any of the core issues, the depression would just go away.
but it didn't. i didn't think it could, but the depression got a lot worse when i got down here, a functional depression in only the most rudimentary way. everybody in the states (innocently enough) wanted to know how awesome it was here, and all i wanted to say that the clouds and i both rained all day. not being able to go to the wedding in july was hard, hard, hard (mostly because i try not to ask a lot of Money, not demand too much, but when it excludes me from attending my own kin's wedding, then i get resentful). but the thought had crossed my mind that if i went up to seattle, i wouldn't come back down to costa rica. except no one would understand why i'd given up on costa rica and this picture-perfect job so quickly, and i'd come out looking like some ungrateful, insufferably morose 20-something who couldn't buck up and buckle down and get it done. oh, and i'd be jobless, too.
(and no, this thought and others did not develop out of conversations with anybody. it was nothing anybody planted or insinuated, just an example of what happens when these ideas would get masticated ad nauseam in my head and snowball to fantastic lengths, and i knew of no way to stop or extract them.)
along the way, small things helped immeasurably: impromptu emails from heidi or emily, a skype call with lily or nana over a poor connection in a café, even the chance to clumsily take back up skills that had been on hiatus and tell a story to adena. little emails from people saying how much they liked this post or that one. (wait, really? you really like what i write and weren't just obliging me in saying you wanted my rambling emails from afar and now aren't just politely responding? cool!) i'd prop my computer up on the ledge of my window to grasp some waft of an internet signal from across the street and load pages of dooce, sit back down and read about someone bravely facing an even more serious depression. music, of course, helped, too, some say too much, but all i know is it was the one thing that could make me stop crying. that and french fries.
and then, the gnawing stopped at the end of july, and those acids slowly dissipated and drained out of my spinal chord and stomach over the month of august. why, i don't know. nothing materially changed, but the depression is gone for now, and for that, i am grateful. there's a part of me that's wary, or feels it'd be naïve, to claim victory. since i don't know how/why it ended, i don't see how i can assert it won't come back. and in that sense, trying to keep yourself from falling into depression feels like trying not to dream a nightmare. you can try to follow as many old wives' tales as you want and not eat right before you go to bed and think happy thoughts or better yet listen to sweet lullabies or soothing voices as you doze off, but you could have a happy or nonsensical dream, or a nightmare all the same. but i am attending to it, rest assured.
not that anything goes back to the same, not that it ever does, although i wish it could for reasons i tell myself are silly to hope for. (if things went back to before, it'd mean we didn't grow or learn. not that we always ask to be so knowing.) i mostly wish i didn't feel like i'd changed so much. i feel more eroded or raw now. i find myself scared to cry, and have to dutifully remind myself that healthy people cry from time to time, and just because i do now doesn't mean i'm depressed again. some of the weight's back and i sleep better, although i am being woken up a couple nights a week with allergy attacks. (wrote lots of this post at about 4 am. thanks mold!)
yes, there are times, mostly on the highways out to the coast, watching the litany of billboards in english selling condo developments, when it's hard to enjoy living here because i can't get past the notion that costa rica has whored herself and culture to the first world, that her only identity is in being eco/gringo-social-conscious-friendly. both other foreign countries i've lived in had such distinct national heritage, albeit one was obnoxiously arrogant about theirs and the other painfully meek, it's hard to grapple with a country whose national motto, pura vida, was first coined by foreigners in the '50s, and then turned into a tourism ministry campaign a couple decades later. there are times when i resent the idea that i abet hordes of people in their criminal failure to engage in their host country as we inoculate them against learning spanish under the guise of our benign little paper and its chipper sun logo. but that admittedly is me being cynical.
all this to say, yes, it has been hard here, and the idyllic image of life in the tropics is hard for me to know how to promote. but it's not costa rica's fault. if anything, the beaches are an incomparable antidote.
i also cannot lie. and when i say "can't," i actually mean "not physically able." (really, i lose to 7 year olds in games of BS.) it's not a convenient trait. there are a lot of times we need to oblige people, and even when i deliberately make myself do that, i get this deer-in-the-headlights look plastered across my face that reads "SCRIPT ERROR," and it's awkwardly obvious that i don't believe what i'm saying.
by far, the question that has made me the most uncomfortable of late has been, "so how do you like costa rica?" except there is usually an implied (or sometimes explicit) exclamation point after that question mark, coming from someone sitting, like me any other time i'm not abroad, at a computer in a house with cottage cheese in the refrigerator, Lou Dobbs on the television, poorly-maneuvered SUVs on the roads outside, and that damn 45˚N latitude sunlight slipping through the slats in the blinds before you've hardly had time to kick off your shoes after work.
i sit and try to summon any latent powers for mendacity, but i realize i might as well be trying to make myself sprout chest hair. those carefully culled skills in diplomacy fail me. the truth? i don't like costa rica. i'm thankful for the job. actually, not many people like san josé, and i'm probably one of the more optimistic ones about the job. most gringos don't stay long-term, and if they do, it's often because there aren't any better job prospects in the crumbling economies to the north. but that's not the point.
i spent much of the last year in depression, something that makes it nearly impossible to appreciate anything, let alone moving to central america with a job in my profession of choice. the depression is something that's danced around the periphery for a few years, only touching down for a few fleeting moments at a time in the past. but last year, i was no match for it. i got obliterated.
there was a small group of people who knew what was up, but mostly, i was hesitant to discuss it because what general understanding there is of depression is clinical, and i am quite convinced, and others have confirmed, that this was not a chemical depression, although it did have very chemical-physical effects. (that was another awkward comment i wished i could fib a response to: "you look great!" thinking: this is no diet i would ever wish upon anybody.) i also decided very specifically in one moment that i did not want to write about depression, because i wanted no one to empathize with what i was in. (writing = poignant articulation of empathy) i still don't. i don't ever want to empathize with myself and revisit those places. at least not right now.
lastly, i avoided bringing it up because there was this small part of me that really wanted to think that if i moved, even if the move wasn't going to address any of the core issues, the depression would just go away.
but it didn't. i didn't think it could, but the depression got a lot worse when i got down here, a functional depression in only the most rudimentary way. everybody in the states (innocently enough) wanted to know how awesome it was here, and all i wanted to say that the clouds and i both rained all day. not being able to go to the wedding in july was hard, hard, hard (mostly because i try not to ask a lot of Money, not demand too much, but when it excludes me from attending my own kin's wedding, then i get resentful). but the thought had crossed my mind that if i went up to seattle, i wouldn't come back down to costa rica. except no one would understand why i'd given up on costa rica and this picture-perfect job so quickly, and i'd come out looking like some ungrateful, insufferably morose 20-something who couldn't buck up and buckle down and get it done. oh, and i'd be jobless, too.
(and no, this thought and others did not develop out of conversations with anybody. it was nothing anybody planted or insinuated, just an example of what happens when these ideas would get masticated ad nauseam in my head and snowball to fantastic lengths, and i knew of no way to stop or extract them.)
along the way, small things helped immeasurably: impromptu emails from heidi or emily, a skype call with lily or nana over a poor connection in a café, even the chance to clumsily take back up skills that had been on hiatus and tell a story to adena. little emails from people saying how much they liked this post or that one. (wait, really? you really like what i write and weren't just obliging me in saying you wanted my rambling emails from afar and now aren't just politely responding? cool!) i'd prop my computer up on the ledge of my window to grasp some waft of an internet signal from across the street and load pages of dooce, sit back down and read about someone bravely facing an even more serious depression. music, of course, helped, too, some say too much, but all i know is it was the one thing that could make me stop crying. that and french fries.
and then, the gnawing stopped at the end of july, and those acids slowly dissipated and drained out of my spinal chord and stomach over the month of august. why, i don't know. nothing materially changed, but the depression is gone for now, and for that, i am grateful. there's a part of me that's wary, or feels it'd be naïve, to claim victory. since i don't know how/why it ended, i don't see how i can assert it won't come back. and in that sense, trying to keep yourself from falling into depression feels like trying not to dream a nightmare. you can try to follow as many old wives' tales as you want and not eat right before you go to bed and think happy thoughts or better yet listen to sweet lullabies or soothing voices as you doze off, but you could have a happy or nonsensical dream, or a nightmare all the same. but i am attending to it, rest assured.
not that anything goes back to the same, not that it ever does, although i wish it could for reasons i tell myself are silly to hope for. (if things went back to before, it'd mean we didn't grow or learn. not that we always ask to be so knowing.) i mostly wish i didn't feel like i'd changed so much. i feel more eroded or raw now. i find myself scared to cry, and have to dutifully remind myself that healthy people cry from time to time, and just because i do now doesn't mean i'm depressed again. some of the weight's back and i sleep better, although i am being woken up a couple nights a week with allergy attacks. (wrote lots of this post at about 4 am. thanks mold!)
yes, there are times, mostly on the highways out to the coast, watching the litany of billboards in english selling condo developments, when it's hard to enjoy living here because i can't get past the notion that costa rica has whored herself and culture to the first world, that her only identity is in being eco/gringo-social-conscious-friendly. both other foreign countries i've lived in had such distinct national heritage, albeit one was obnoxiously arrogant about theirs and the other painfully meek, it's hard to grapple with a country whose national motto, pura vida, was first coined by foreigners in the '50s, and then turned into a tourism ministry campaign a couple decades later. there are times when i resent the idea that i abet hordes of people in their criminal failure to engage in their host country as we inoculate them against learning spanish under the guise of our benign little paper and its chipper sun logo. but that admittedly is me being cynical.
all this to say, yes, it has been hard here, and the idyllic image of life in the tropics is hard for me to know how to promote. but it's not costa rica's fault. if anything, the beaches are an incomparable antidote.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Since when have you been purple?
An article on the #1 fan of the perennial purple champions, Saprissa: an 81 year old who's even streaked her hair with shades of violet.
*
La abuela más morada de Costa Rica
En su casa hasta la “refri” y la escoba son moradas. Su sueño es ver un partido del Deportivo Saprissa en el extranjero
Jugadores del monstruo, directivos, aficionados, la Ultra... todo mundo la conoce como la abuela del Deportivo Saprissa.
Con casi 82 años y vecina de San Ramón, María Cecilia Núñez, es sin duda la aficionada más fiebre de Costa Rica.
Su pelo está teñido de morado y los toques de blanco lo ponen las canas. En su casa la escoba, la “refri”, los adornos y hasta el chorreador de café son de color remolacha; como su corazón.
¿Desde cuándo es morada?
Desde que tenía 11 años. Era una chiquilla, el equipo ni siquiera estaba en primera división. Leía los relatos de los partidos en el Diario de Costa Rica.
¿Cómo llegó a ser tan fiebre?
Hace unos 15 años empecé a ir al estadio porque era socia. Iba solo al Saprissa, pero luego empecé a ir a todo el país. He estado en Osa, Puntarenas, Liberia, Limón, Pérez Zeledón y Alajuela.
¿Va a todos los partidos?
A todos, juegue donde juegue. Voy solita en bus y todo mundo me cuida en el estadio.
¿Algún juego fuera del país?
No, ese es mi sueño de toda la vida. Me encantaría ver a Saprissa jugando en otro país.
¿Cuándo empezó a ser tan reconocida hasta por los jugadores y entrenadores?
Fue en la época en que el presidente era Enrique Artiñano.
¿Cuál jugador la chinea más?
Todos han sido muy buenos conmigo y han venido a mi casa. Erick Lonis es de los que más me chinea, incluso me pagó un palco mucho tiempo.
¿Todavía es socia?
Sí y accionista (ríe). Tengo apenas dos acciones, no como el señor Vergara.
¿Conoce a Vergara?
Sí, fue muy amable conmigo.
¿Cuáles son los mejores jugadores que ha tenido el monstruo?
“Catato” Cordero, el “Príncipe” Hernández y “Cutty” Monge. Jugaban increíble.
¿Y de los actuales?
Apoyo a todos. Admiro mucho a Jervis Drummond y a Víctor Cordero por su entrega.
¿Qué opina de Porras?
Es excelente portero, una lástima que se retire. Yo incluso lo llamo por teléfono para saludarlo.
¿Y de Keylor Navas?
Va a llegar muy lejos.
¿Por qué perdió Saprissa en Honduras?
No sé qué les pasó. Viera cómo he sufrido con eso, hasta se me llenaron los ojos de agua.
Así es ella
María Cecilia Núñez
Edad: cumplirá 82 años el próximo 22 de noviembre.
Hijos: cuatro.
Dato: Nació en San Ramón. Todos sus hijos son saprissistas y le ayudan a coleccionar cosas y a pintar su apartamento.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Subject: your perspective
On Thu, Nov 6, 2008 at 1:38 PM, Holly wrote:
Mark,
We were all ready to run your perspective and had it laid out on the page, until we realized you've already published it online on another site (insert link).
Please know that we require material we print to be original, and as such, had to pull this perspective.
Best,
Holly
On Thu, Nov 6, 2008 at 1:56 PM, Mark wrote:
Dear Holly and staff at Tico Times,
My profuse apologies. Truly. If this doesn't forever squelch my chance for future pieces with the Tico Times, please know it shan't happen again. I should have realized this would be your policy and I have no excuses.
Again, I am very, very sorry for the trouble and unnecessary work this has caused you all.
With much contrition,
Mark
On Fri, Nov 7, 2008 at 11:28 AM, Mark wrote:
Dear Holly,
I feel awful about what happened, and about all of the needless work I caused you and others. I am sure I am not a very popular person in the TT world right now.
Am I banned from future submissions? Obviously, I fervently hope not but if so, I will have to count it as a very painful lesson.
Regardless, again, I am very truly sorry.
Sincerely,
Mark
On Fri, Nov 7, 2008 at 12:06 PM, Holly wrote:
Whoa, tranquilo. You're hardly banned from submitting things in the future. This was just a heads up.
Best,
Holly
On Fri, Nov 7, 2008 at 12:39 PM, Mark wrote:
Great! I guess I can put the noose away now.
Thank you very much, Holly. Hasta la proxima vez, entonces.
Paz,
Mark
Mark,
We were all ready to run your perspective and had it laid out on the page, until we realized you've already published it online on another site (insert link).
Please know that we require material we print to be original, and as such, had to pull this perspective.
Best,
Holly
On Thu, Nov 6, 2008 at 1:56 PM, Mark wrote:
Dear Holly and staff at Tico Times,
My profuse apologies. Truly. If this doesn't forever squelch my chance for future pieces with the Tico Times, please know it shan't happen again. I should have realized this would be your policy and I have no excuses.
Again, I am very, very sorry for the trouble and unnecessary work this has caused you all.
With much contrition,
Mark
On Fri, Nov 7, 2008 at 11:28 AM, Mark wrote:
Dear Holly,
I feel awful about what happened, and about all of the needless work I caused you and others. I am sure I am not a very popular person in the TT world right now.
Am I banned from future submissions? Obviously, I fervently hope not but if so, I will have to count it as a very painful lesson.
Regardless, again, I am very truly sorry.
Sincerely,
Mark
On Fri, Nov 7, 2008 at 12:06 PM, Holly wrote:
Whoa, tranquilo. You're hardly banned from submitting things in the future. This was just a heads up.
Best,
Holly
On Fri, Nov 7, 2008 at 12:39 PM, Mark wrote:
Great! I guess I can put the noose away now.
Thank you very much, Holly. Hasta la proxima vez, entonces.
Paz,
Mark
Monday, November 3, 2008
REAL DOG LOVE!!!!!!!
She came to look for help, her dog was urinating blood...........The result, kidney stones. 15 kidney stones, some huge, some small were removed.
Her owner loved Canela so much that she sat with her every day for at least 2 hours in her cage were she had the after treatment.
Our own shelterdog “Tica” is looking at this situation, not understanding, probably asking herself: “Are they both up for adoption?”
Canela and her owner left as a happy couple.
Cured and well!
We thought this picture was worth sending out to all our animal friends!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Lights & Music
You have generally three options for appreciating music from Central America:
The album's as tight as the cover art.
No Lo Soporto, Avión
Three Argentinian lady rockers, a sly mix of jaunty riffs and glossy harmonies. "Nunca Iré":
Austin TV, Fontana Bella
Instrumental rock group from, not Texas, but the DF and who deserve much more praise than I'm able to lavish here.
Os Mutantes, Everything Is Possible
The original Tropicália/Latin psychedelia trio. Here they are with Gilberto Gil with "Domingo no Parque" ... tão bom:
!!! [Chk Chk Chk], Louden Up Now
Caribou, The Milk of Human Kindness & Andorra
And "Melody Day" off the latter:
Cut Copy, In Ghost Colours
Two sick things:
1) this album
2) me, of describing albums.
So just listen to it.
- Get into Latin music.
- Live vicariously through friends in the states and Europe who can actually go to all the cool festivals and concerts.
- Make the most of the concerts you get to go to here.
1. Bailamos ... just like Enrique
Bonde do Rolê, Bonde do Rolê With LasersYes, this Brazilian trio is one of the best baile funk bands right now and produced by one of the best DJs out there, but I want to talk about the album cover.
In college, I had a friend who was rather fixated on doom. There was the "practice of doom," 
"quiz of doom," and the "library of doom." So, when I was studying in Cochabamba, I sent him a postcard of Cochabamba's Cristo, upon which I'd drawn lightning bolts coming out of the Cristo's hands and eyes, big clouds overhead, and the words "POSTCARD OF DOOM" across the top. (And no, it's not sacrilege: It's a statue they made to attract tourists and compete with Rio; it's not God.) When I got back to campus, you can imagine how pleased I was to see the postcard posted on their fridge.
"quiz of doom," and the "library of doom." So, when I was studying in Cochabamba, I sent him a postcard of Cochabamba's Cristo, upon which I'd drawn lightning bolts coming out of the Cristo's hands and eyes, big clouds overhead, and the words "POSTCARD OF DOOM" across the top. (And no, it's not sacrilege: It's a statue they made to attract tourists and compete with Rio; it's not God.) When I got back to campus, you can imagine how pleased I was to see the postcard posted on their fridge.Then a couple months ago, I came across this album, and just about snorted my tea because I was sure they'd ripped their cover art from that postcard. I forwarded it to said friend, and the best part? "Haha -- I still have that post card! I will never throw it away," he wrote.
The album's as tight as the cover art.
No Lo Soporto, Avión
Three Argentinian lady rockers, a sly mix of jaunty riffs and glossy harmonies. "Nunca Iré":
Austin TV, Fontana Bella
Instrumental rock group from, not Texas, but the DF and who deserve much more praise than I'm able to lavish here.
Os Mutantes, Everything Is Possible
The original Tropicália/Latin psychedelia trio. Here they are with Gilberto Gil with "Domingo no Parque" ... tão bom:
2. Thank goodness for co-workers' cousins who go to the Pitchfork Festival, make a mega-mix (read: burned DVD with 400 songs) in preparation, and send it to the cousin for him and his coworkers to rip, resulting in – check it – 30 new albums in one fell swoop. Christmas ain't got nothin' on September this year.
!!! [Chk Chk Chk], Louden Up Now
Definitely was calling these guys "that group with the three exclamation points," until someone told me about the "chk chk chk" part. I'm figuring they had to add the chks because if you put "!!!" in a search engine, you actually get nothing. And if you are not searchable in the Google, THEN YOU DON'T EXIST.
If they can name their band for a palatal aspiration, I might just go ahead and name my band after Josh's inimitable machine-gun sound. He's really good at it, has been since the age of 2. It's pretty awesome.
Caribou, The Milk of Human Kindness & Andorra
Sharp vocalists and adroit instrumentalists and bold musicians. Trifecta [insert: chk chk chk] Here's "Brahminy Kite" off the former album:
And "Melody Day" off the latter:
Cut Copy, In Ghost Colours
Two sick things:
1) this album
2) me, of describing albums.
So just listen to it.
3. You're darn right I gather the rosebuds that are concerts.
Soulwax decided to grace San José with their presence, hopping down from Tokyo via the DF before slingshotting back up to New York. Can we just stop and reflect on this a moment? No one ever stops by San José en route to NYC. A miracle. That being said, I wonder why more artists don't pass by (and not just wait until they're past their prime and can't sell out a tour in Europe or the U.S.), because, the people here who love these shows are starving for this type of stuff and, consequently, eat it up.
Bottom line: it was a rocking show. When it got to the point (after Soulwax's set, when 2 Many DJs were up there) where they pull people up to dance on the stage, I went ... and outlasted everyone else until it was just me bouncing around the stage. Addie swears I was up there for two hours, while I say at most it was 30 minutes. Alex was more diplomatic and said it was probably an hour. In any event, it was a blast. In subsequent days, I was icing my foot, knee, neck, and back from literally jumping around for all the time I was up on the stage, plus the rest of the time when we were all just dancing in the crowd.
One of the photographers from a social website snapped this one of me up there. I didn't realize it at first, but now I'm about 97% sure this is me leading everybody in overhead claps. You can see the various blurred arms in the crowd.
Bottom line: it was a rocking show. When it got to the point (after Soulwax's set, when 2 Many DJs were up there) where they pull people up to dance on the stage, I went ... and outlasted everyone else until it was just me bouncing around the stage. Addie swears I was up there for two hours, while I say at most it was 30 minutes. Alex was more diplomatic and said it was probably an hour. In any event, it was a blast. In subsequent days, I was icing my foot, knee, neck, and back from literally jumping around for all the time I was up on the stage, plus the rest of the time when we were all just dancing in the crowd.
One of the photographers from a social website snapped this one of me up there. I didn't realize it at first, but now I'm about 97% sure this is me leading everybody in overhead claps. You can see the various blurred arms in the crowd.
The best part of that night was arguably that those El Alto boots were finally worn to an event that merited their presence. Although Addie's karaoke later was a contender, too.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Curdle That Blood! Work That Accordion!
OK, let's lose some fans here: Alison Krauss annoys me. Her voice and tonality are too perfect, too rounded. I don't feel the emotion in it. There's no tension. When I hear her, I just sit there and wonder if she ever gets mad, or even sweats, for that matter, because listening to her, I can't imagine that she ever pushes herself like that.
Not that it's just about soft vs. loud. There's spare, achingly pretty Gillian Welch, and there's forced shouting like Régine Chassagne does sometimes that grates.
So whom do I love? These artists, among others, especially in these songs, where you know the singer isn't just sweating, but probably about to pop all the blood vessels in his or her eyes from these lyrical convulsions, songs that throb intensely enough to throw off your inner ear balance and make you dizzy:
"Grass," Animal Collective
"Charmer," Kings of Leon
"You'll Find a Way," Santogold
"Faberge for Shuggie," Of Montreal
And the original King of the Primal Scream, Little Richard in "Good Golly Miss Molly," naturally.
Now, the instrumental counterparts to the oral paroxysms:
Bass: "Moby Octopad," Yo La Tengo (Honorable Mention to the keyboard); "The Girl I Love, She Got Long Black Wavy Hair," Zeppelin; "Balaclava," Arctic Monkeys
Guitar: "I Turn My Camera On," Spoon; "Patty Lee," Les Savy Fav; "Production City," The Whigs; "Pulling a Train," Six Finger Satellite
Drums & Percussion: "Brahminy Kite," Caribou; "Dear Can," !!!; "Woman on the Screen," Boris; "Pulling a Train," Six Finger Satellite
Most Capable Implementation of an Accordion (Along With Julieta) and All Other String, Wind and Reed Instruments by Current Artists: A Hawk and a Hacksaw
Here's "Fernando's Giampari," from The Way the Wind Blows:
Not that it's just about soft vs. loud. There's spare, achingly pretty Gillian Welch, and there's forced shouting like Régine Chassagne does sometimes that grates.
So whom do I love? These artists, among others, especially in these songs, where you know the singer isn't just sweating, but probably about to pop all the blood vessels in his or her eyes from these lyrical convulsions, songs that throb intensely enough to throw off your inner ear balance and make you dizzy:
"Grass," Animal Collective
"Charmer," Kings of Leon
"You'll Find a Way," Santogold
"Faberge for Shuggie," Of Montreal
And the original King of the Primal Scream, Little Richard in "Good Golly Miss Molly," naturally.
*
Now, the instrumental counterparts to the oral paroxysms:
Bass: "Moby Octopad," Yo La Tengo (Honorable Mention to the keyboard); "The Girl I Love, She Got Long Black Wavy Hair," Zeppelin; "Balaclava," Arctic Monkeys
Guitar: "I Turn My Camera On," Spoon; "Patty Lee," Les Savy Fav; "Production City," The Whigs; "Pulling a Train," Six Finger Satellite
Drums & Percussion: "Brahminy Kite," Caribou; "Dear Can," !!!; "Woman on the Screen," Boris; "Pulling a Train," Six Finger Satellite
Most Capable Implementation of an Accordion (Along With Julieta) and All Other String, Wind and Reed Instruments by Current Artists: A Hawk and a Hacksaw
Here's "Fernando's Giampari," from The Way the Wind Blows:
Friday, October 31, 2008
I'd hope my opponent uses this picture against me if I ever run for political office.
Just when you might be thinking a little too highly of yourself, your brother finds a childhood Halloween photo in which you look like a panda that has just happily devoured a sloth. Wearing ruffles and tights.
Here's to being never too concerned with our own nobility.
Happy Halloween.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
Word.
Glorious words, which must sound even better when Brits are excitedly extrapolating upon them. I've been trying for the last five minutes to pronounce that one and still can't.
*
. She laughed. "It won't last. Nothing lasts. But I'm happy now."
. "Happy," I muttered, trying to pin the word down. But it is one of those words, like Love that I have never quite understood. Most people who deal in words don't have much faith in them and I am no exception – especially the big ones like Happy and Love and Honest and Strong. They are too elusive and far too relative when you compare them to sharp, mean little words like Punk and Cheap and Phony. I feel at home with these, because they're scrawny and easy to pin, but the big ones are tough and it takes either a priest or a fool to use them with any confidence.
-trd, 55
. "Happy," I muttered, trying to pin the word down. But it is one of those words, like Love that I have never quite understood. Most people who deal in words don't have much faith in them and I am no exception – especially the big ones like Happy and Love and Honest and Strong. They are too elusive and far too relative when you compare them to sharp, mean little words like Punk and Cheap and Phony. I feel at home with these, because they're scrawny and easy to pin, but the big ones are tough and it takes either a priest or a fool to use them with any confidence.
-trd, 55
There Were Bunkers on the Hill
"You were always in a perpetual state of fear. Anybody who says they weren’t afraid was a damn liar. ... We didn’t know what morale was; we just knew we had to be there.” -Papa
the only girl i've ever loved
was born with roses in her eyes
but then they buried her alive
one day in 1945
with just her sister at her side
and only weeks before the guns
all came and rained on everyone
-jm
eisenhower said in the war
he kept her picture in his pocket that was closest to his heart
and when he hit shore,
must have been a target for the gunman
-w
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Best of
Some of the better nuggets from the paper over the last few weeks, i.e. the things I keep laughing about, but know everyone will get really annoyed if I interrupt them again with these:
A Florida filmmaker on the phone with me, telling me why we should do a story on his film project that obviously was so inspired:
"I was fasting for 30 days in the jungle. … I'm very obsessive. … When I do something, it's on a grand scale. I was seeking a grand story, and I found this."
It gets better. This was the ad he eventually placed:
"Husband and wife are actors, writers, directors, and also compose all musical score. The film is 2 people, one sailboat, 2 person production crew. We have a complete marketing plan and promotional strategy for this very controversial film with experienced filmmaking background. This is not a vanity project we have devoted our lives to creating a film that will transform the soul and spirit of mankind."
A related testimonial from a restaurant ad:
'We felt transported to Thailand and India ... the sounds, the sights, the smells, the tastes. The food was heavenly, the waiters divine. And we were uplifted, sensually and spiritually."
-a customer from San Francisco, claro.
First there was a workshop on masculinity. Then, there was one on the "Empowerment of Our Sensual Feminity." Then, we got this:
Workshop ACERCÀNDONOS AL CUERPO con esencias florales
Or, a workshop on approaching/familiarizing ourselves with the body with floral essences, emphasis theirs.
There was also a quarter-page color ad ($400) placed this week advertising under the banner of "Arriving September 12!" a self-professed handsome middle age guy who's just looking for some nice marriage-minded lady. I would've called, but you know, I've never been one for long walks on the beach.
One sports bar boasts every week in their ad of their "Pool and Foolball Table," and once for their "Foolsball" table.
And every week I, sadly, have to correct them.
So do the gastronomic security Luddites exist, too?
"With this initiative, Costa Rica puts itself with the avant-garde in Latin America in efforts toward food safety in the gastronomic industry," states a press release.
The humans are included! From a classified real estate ad:
Includes caretakers' cottage with caretaker couple.
Just because it's Liechtenstein
The cooperative hopes to receive funding for the $250,000 project through loans from partners in Liechtenstein.
Be SO THANKFUL FOR COPYEDITORS who are there to put in that critical comma in sentences like this one:
Frank, a Costa Rican visitor for 30 years, built the church, which he then dedicated to his late wife Mary, who passed away four years ago in honor of their mutual love for this country.
Other good lines from various articles:
“He’s delightful and impressive,” Jill says. “He has deep, deep values. You don’t often see that in a good capitalist.”
"A golf course is a sin. No matter what it is, it doesn't make sense. It's not sustainable development," Amit said.
The company said it was the work of the zealous, anti-pineapple protestors.
A Florida filmmaker on the phone with me, telling me why we should do a story on his film project that obviously was so inspired:
"I was fasting for 30 days in the jungle. … I'm very obsessive. … When I do something, it's on a grand scale. I was seeking a grand story, and I found this."
It gets better. This was the ad he eventually placed:
"Husband and wife are actors, writers, directors, and also compose all musical score. The film is 2 people, one sailboat, 2 person production crew. We have a complete marketing plan and promotional strategy for this very controversial film with experienced filmmaking background. This is not a vanity project we have devoted our lives to creating a film that will transform the soul and spirit of mankind."
A related testimonial from a restaurant ad:
'We felt transported to Thailand and India ... the sounds, the sights, the smells, the tastes. The food was heavenly, the waiters divine. And we were uplifted, sensually and spiritually."
-a customer from San Francisco, claro.
First there was a workshop on masculinity. Then, there was one on the "Empowerment of Our Sensual Feminity." Then, we got this:
Workshop ACERCÀNDONOS AL CUERPO con esencias florales
Or, a workshop on approaching/familiarizing ourselves with the body with floral essences, emphasis theirs.
There was also a quarter-page color ad ($400) placed this week advertising under the banner of "Arriving September 12!" a self-professed handsome middle age guy who's just looking for some nice marriage-minded lady. I would've called, but you know, I've never been one for long walks on the beach.
One sports bar boasts every week in their ad of their "Pool and Foolball Table," and once for their "Foolsball" table.
And every week I, sadly, have to correct them.
So do the gastronomic security Luddites exist, too?
"With this initiative, Costa Rica puts itself with the avant-garde in Latin America in efforts toward food safety in the gastronomic industry," states a press release.
The humans are included! From a classified real estate ad:
Includes caretakers' cottage with caretaker couple.
Just because it's Liechtenstein
The cooperative hopes to receive funding for the $250,000 project through loans from partners in Liechtenstein.
Be SO THANKFUL FOR COPYEDITORS who are there to put in that critical comma in sentences like this one:
Frank, a Costa Rican visitor for 30 years, built the church, which he then dedicated to his late wife Mary, who passed away four years ago in honor of their mutual love for this country.
Other good lines from various articles:
“He’s delightful and impressive,” Jill says. “He has deep, deep values. You don’t often see that in a good capitalist.”
"A golf course is a sin. No matter what it is, it doesn't make sense. It's not sustainable development," Amit said.
The company said it was the work of the zealous, anti-pineapple protestors.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Piropéame, porfa.
What would Latin America be if you couldn't get catcalls every 100 yards? Not Latin America, that's for sure.
I knew one girl who did a research project on catcalls, or piropos, in Cuba, and the women there told her that they were disappointed on days they didn't get catcalls and usually resolved to put more effort into their public presentation the next time they went out. It's a shame catcalls have mostly negative connotations in the states, because it's a cute game for the most part. Not anything to put a lot of stake in, but some good fun all the same.
Pretty much any gringa gets attention here simply because the fair skin is the rarer foreign trait, and I smile thinking how Norwegian qualities are thus turned into something exotic. That being said, I felt the most uncomfortable in La Paz when it was clear they were hitting on me because I was white, the whiteness being the desirable beauty trait, especially in a country so painfully aware of its skin colors and races and the vestigal colonial value of white over dark. To get a lecherous, even if ultimately benign, sucking-in of a hiss calling attention to your skin's lack of pigment every afternoon on the street was not flattering.
Thankfully, the skin color gradient is more varied here in Costa Rica, so I don't stand out as much, and even less so if I keep my sunglasses on. Whereas I honestly can't think of a memorable line I got in La Paz (or at least memorable in the good way) – although the Cochabamba buses did have these funny loud catcall whistle-replicating horn they would frequently let wail – it's a much more amusing game here.
By far, the most common pickup lines you get are lots of awkward Spanglish sayings, "Hi, beautiful lady. Goodbye." Sometimes they directly translate favorite Tico terms, and you get a "Hello, my queen." But others have stood out, for the simple fact that these are the ones that got me to turn around:
Least Sleazy, Somehow
One afternoon, I had a lanky middle-aged guy with one of those perpetually concave torsos in a button-down shirt, grin, cock his hand in pistol fashion to point at me, then pull it up to his ear in a telephone gesture, and follow with a wink.
Most Confusing
One morning as I was walking downtown on the main pedestrian thoroughfare, as I passed this one guy, he leaned in ever-so-slightly, and gave this completely asexual "meow," as if he were really trying to accurately imitate a feline.
Most Terrifying
It was the same type of lean-in move as above, except this time there were two guys walking together, and right when they were a couple feet in front of me, they suddenly split to either side of me, leaned in and gave low, throaty "ojos" in unison.
Most Unnecessary Double Standard
OK, so this wasn't a piropo, per se, but one time when I was wearing one of my better sundresses, I passed an elderly lady who had a very concerned look as she surveyed my legs. Once we passed each other and I guessed we were about five yards apart, I turned around and found her still looking at my lower half as she walked away with a HUGE SCOWL ACROSS HER FACE, one that involved all her eyebrow, forehead, and mouth muscles. And I just thought, really, amid all the other flesh that's shoved and smashed into tops four sizes too small, you're going to bother to judge me? At least my dress fits ...
Best Attention to an Editorial Assistant's Sensibilities
On my way to work, a guy resting up against a car hood a few meters away says, in stilted English, "I really enjoy looking at you this morning," and the only thing I could think was, "Wow, I just got hit on in a complete sentence!"
I knew one girl who did a research project on catcalls, or piropos, in Cuba, and the women there told her that they were disappointed on days they didn't get catcalls and usually resolved to put more effort into their public presentation the next time they went out. It's a shame catcalls have mostly negative connotations in the states, because it's a cute game for the most part. Not anything to put a lot of stake in, but some good fun all the same.
Pretty much any gringa gets attention here simply because the fair skin is the rarer foreign trait, and I smile thinking how Norwegian qualities are thus turned into something exotic. That being said, I felt the most uncomfortable in La Paz when it was clear they were hitting on me because I was white, the whiteness being the desirable beauty trait, especially in a country so painfully aware of its skin colors and races and the vestigal colonial value of white over dark. To get a lecherous, even if ultimately benign, sucking-in of a hiss calling attention to your skin's lack of pigment every afternoon on the street was not flattering.
Thankfully, the skin color gradient is more varied here in Costa Rica, so I don't stand out as much, and even less so if I keep my sunglasses on. Whereas I honestly can't think of a memorable line I got in La Paz (or at least memorable in the good way) – although the Cochabamba buses did have these funny loud catcall whistle-replicating horn they would frequently let wail – it's a much more amusing game here.
By far, the most common pickup lines you get are lots of awkward Spanglish sayings, "Hi, beautiful lady. Goodbye." Sometimes they directly translate favorite Tico terms, and you get a "Hello, my queen." But others have stood out, for the simple fact that these are the ones that got me to turn around:
Least Sleazy, Somehow
One afternoon, I had a lanky middle-aged guy with one of those perpetually concave torsos in a button-down shirt, grin, cock his hand in pistol fashion to point at me, then pull it up to his ear in a telephone gesture, and follow with a wink.
Most Confusing
One morning as I was walking downtown on the main pedestrian thoroughfare, as I passed this one guy, he leaned in ever-so-slightly, and gave this completely asexual "meow," as if he were really trying to accurately imitate a feline.
Most Terrifying
It was the same type of lean-in move as above, except this time there were two guys walking together, and right when they were a couple feet in front of me, they suddenly split to either side of me, leaned in and gave low, throaty "ojos" in unison.
Most Unnecessary Double Standard
OK, so this wasn't a piropo, per se, but one time when I was wearing one of my better sundresses, I passed an elderly lady who had a very concerned look as she surveyed my legs. Once we passed each other and I guessed we were about five yards apart, I turned around and found her still looking at my lower half as she walked away with a HUGE SCOWL ACROSS HER FACE, one that involved all her eyebrow, forehead, and mouth muscles. And I just thought, really, amid all the other flesh that's shoved and smashed into tops four sizes too small, you're going to bother to judge me? At least my dress fits ...
Best Attention to an Editorial Assistant's Sensibilities
On my way to work, a guy resting up against a car hood a few meters away says, in stilted English, "I really enjoy looking at you this morning," and the only thing I could think was, "Wow, I just got hit on in a complete sentence!"
Can You Come Down With Us?
The Albums That Hardly Employ A Guitar Appreciation Month:
High Places, 03/07-09/07
The pared-down electronic simplicity much in the same vein of Au Revoir Simone, but bolder. And bold is good. Very good. Probably what I'll nominate for Character Trait of the Year.
M.I.A., Arular
She is not a simple lyrics-set-to-a-tune artist: She's a full-on surround-sight/sound experience that infuses the entire nervous system with this writhing artistry. As Joshua Klein put it in describing another album, "such wonderfully weird and inventive craft that reveling in [the artist's] ingenuity and tapping your toes become inextricably linked activities, making the disc the perfect mind/body split: blowing the former while moving the latter." Except listening to this album involves a little more than tapping your toes.
Panda Bear, Person Pitch
Arena indie rock. There's a type of soaring, euphoric quality to this album that makes me think that if I ever went on a hot air balloon ride, this is what I'd listen to.
Wax Tailor
This was a concert, actually. (Hooray for seeing French electronica in Central America!) The performers included Wax on keyboards, a cellist, a flautist, and a visual artist whose electronic scribbled flourishings were projected on the large screen directly above the stage. There was also a small projector to the left that played random clips of WWII-era films and commercials. Good times!
Plus heaps of yummy India.Arie and Dar Williams, courtesy of the equally yummy Lily.
*
The Olivia Tremor Control, Dusk at Cubist Castle
Because there was no way the E6 month would have been complete without this album, but I couldn't fit all 10 green typewriters and the other 17 tracks into my monthly allotment of downloads last time. For all the active bands out there who are dying to have "the White Album" breathed in their reviews, Olivia Tremor is the most successful of any other I've heard. Not that they're trying to specifically emulate the White Album, but the best moments of Dusk harken back to it.
It's important to know that I have this section to promote albums popularly, not pretentiously. One reason I so loath absurdist band and album titles is because it strikes as an elitist move, some artist thinking they're coming off as "deeper" by making themselves more inaccessible (when they usually just end up seeming more convoluted). I would hate for someone to avoid buying, or even sampling, this album because the name – which, now that I think of it, just add a 'b' to the front and it pretty well describes Evo's job – threw someone off or thought that album couldn't be for them. This album is infinitely accessible.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Plucked Her Eyebrows Along the Way
a preface
"one thing was evident, she thought, hollywood had not spoiled holly's goodness, she was so unaffected and friendly, and her words were not just idle ones, spoken for the sake of it. she meant them."
-sbgr, 90
"in 'how a resurrection really feels,' one of finn's recurring characters, a lost soul named holly, crashes into a church on easter sunday – 'limping left on broken heels' – to declare to the congregation that while druggy parties might have killed her, visions and saints have resurrected her. it's a strange tale."
-nym on ths, 7/21
"holly had achieved nothing, and this was entirely due to the unexpected unfriendliness of the efrafan rabbits."
-wd, 256
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Que Viva la Vista de Mi Ventana
My living room is famous.
What can I say? I've got a knack for first suffering through one miserable living situation in which I inevitably get gypped before landing myself in apartments with killer views from the living room, along with pairs of chairs where you can sit and read or maybe just watch it all for hours on end.
Monday, September 1, 2008
OH. MY. GOODNESS.
My life is now divided into the Before Solla and In the Year of Our Solla eras.
Key moments: 1:59 and 2:51
(This, more than anything else, makes me want pick up Hindi again, if only to be able to open up the final dimension of this video, which would be the lyrics and therein the reason for All the Awesomeness.
And you guys are all in trouble now that I've figured out how to embed YouTube videos, or, I should say, now that I've realized that embedding requires nothing more mentally intensive than copying and pasting.)
"Solla Solla Enna Perumai"
Key moments: 1:59 and 2:51
(This, more than anything else, makes me want pick up Hindi again, if only to be able to open up the final dimension of this video, which would be the lyrics and therein the reason for All the Awesomeness.
And you guys are all in trouble now that I've figured out how to embed YouTube videos, or, I should say, now that I've realized that embedding requires nothing more mentally intensive than copying and pasting.)
Friday, August 29, 2008
Soundtrack for a Crab
Miriam posts multiple vids of Grayson and her babbling. I post ones of crabs eating to the beats of a couple different drummers. It works.
Out on Playa Sámara this past weekend, I was on my way to take pictures of the beach at sunrise for a hotel review, when I became completely engrossed by these bizarre multi-colored tree-dwelling crabs along the road. While they were apparently unperturbed by the speeding motor vehicles a few meters away, most of them shot into their lairs when I so much as thought about farting in their general direction.
But not this guy. About 5" long, he had that big papa don air, and there wun't no way he's gonna interrupt his meal fur no silly white girl and her camera.
Out on Playa Sámara this past weekend, I was on my way to take pictures of the beach at sunrise for a hotel review, when I became completely engrossed by these bizarre multi-colored tree-dwelling crabs along the road. While they were apparently unperturbed by the speeding motor vehicles a few meters away, most of them shot into their lairs when I so much as thought about farting in their general direction.
But not this guy. About 5" long, he had that big papa don air, and there wun't no way he's gonna interrupt his meal fur no silly white girl and her camera.
But I like the video with this track, too, because what if those were your baby's arms?
I ended up with about a dozen pictures of the beach and three dozen of the crabs. (I also missed the Palin nomination by about two hours because I was having so much fun figuring out which song's lyrics were most in synch with the footage.)
Monday, August 25, 2008
On Perhaps Prescient Blague-Naming
Dear U.S.S. Mariner,
You don't have to choose! There is one magical word that will grant you both!
Love,
She Who Might as Well Have Named Her Blague for Following the Trials of Her Dear Team from Central America
You don't have to choose! There is one magical word that will grant you both!
Love,
She Who Might as Well Have Named Her Blague for Following the Trials of Her Dear Team from Central America
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