My Computer Has Had It

I'm not that mean to the computer. I leave it in one place, I try to be nice to it -- try to win it over with nice shiny presents like more RAM or a new hard drive when the other one starts to hiss and bleep loudly at me. Why CAN'T I leave it on? (Said protestingly.) When I go to Samsung on Monday morning for class, ALL of THEIR computers are on. (said in a "But mom, everybody else's mom said they could go!" kind of tone. Whining.)

And so my computer flipped out this past weekend. Now it screams (no, really) at me when I turn it on, and sometimes it just refuses to turn on. Forgive me if posts get a little more sporadic until I can figure this new computer trickery out.
Or until I get that new Mac I've had my eye on.

Measurements

I used to be somewhat obsessed with this musical called Rent. Although that time has since passed, being replaced by new obsessions, I can still sing any lyric and hum any tune from the show, remember the storyline and stage perfectly. Like any true follower, I even dragged one of my best friends into its gravitational pull, and we used to study the words and symbolism behind the songs. We bought the t-shirts. One of the best songs of the batch was Seasons Of Love, which poses a simple question: how do you measure a year? In time, in memories, in hurts, in hopes?

We arrive at the point. Just about a year ago, give or take a few days, I came to Madrid. I arrived with tons of baggage, both kinds, and it took me a while to unload it all. Since then, I've been through some really crappy times and some great ones. For the most part, the streets look the same, and the people are definitely as they have always been. It's been strange being back, and sometimes not in a good way. I guess I've mentioned this all before, the way that the memories tend to get so polished and shiny that before long you realize that you've been buffing away all the sharp edges, all the real bits. I don't know how you're supposed to measure a year's accomplishments and failures, happiness and boredom, hurts and loves; but maybe it starts by acknowledging that every one of our hours is made up of all those things in the first place.

Baby, 2 Months

If this picture of Baby doesn't melt your heart than you are devoid of one.

P.S. No one can figure out how the recessive blue-eyed gene triumphed over the dominante Puerto Rican. Caucasian invasion!

Suddenly & Inexplicably, I ♥ Mac

something new to salivate over

L'examen de Català

brief selections from my catalan oral exam, taken this morning

So, you obviously live in an apartment here in Madrid. What's your ideal house? Where is it?

"Um, yes, yes, my ideal house is in the sea, on the beach, in the beach, on the beach. I like the beach. I like to have a big house. My ideal house has many many rooms. I like big rooms. I would like a kitchen big, a big bath... Everything big!" At this point I extend my arms crazily, trying to dazzle my interviewers with sudden movement. I try to salvage dignity by giving them a little extra. "Near to the city, on the beach, because I am from a small village, I like the city, I like a big place."

You board the plane and find that someone is on your seat. Inform the person of this problem.

"Um, yes. Yes, we, you are in my seat. I have a ticket, this is a ticket, the ticket I have, here. Look." I hold out my hand to an invisible seat-stealer and point to my invisible name, totally buying my own act. "I think you are, no, you are in my seat. I'm sorry. Look. My ticket."

Sticking Up For The South

In a phenomenon known to scientists all over the world, we always long for what we don't have. It's the whole "grass is greener on the other side" thing, but much more than a cliché. We always want what we don't have in front of us, the better thing, the newer, cleaner version, the 2.0 upgrade. Similarly, we always long for where we are not. The heart, landed in Madrid, immediately turns its thoughts towards home, singing praises of Southern differences. I've thought a lot about this lately.

Most of these thoughts stem from the fact that a particularly outspoken student of mine and I continually fight over the merits of Atlanta and its Olympic Games. He insists that he knows nothing new about Atlanta after its Olympic Games, which to him means that Atlanta poorly promoted itself and was not in actuality worthy of the Games. I stumbled over words in indignity. Who are you to question Atlanta in such bad English! Pshaw! I have found camaraderie in another student in the same class, who happens to come from the South of Spain. We glance at each other, rolling our eyes when the other guy is talking, and making faces. Apparently there are a lot of similarities between Southerners the world over. And apparently I'm a horrible teacher.

Outside of class, Colombian-Japanese Taiki has been asking me about my Southern accent and could I please use more Southern phrases in my speech thank you. He tries to mimic his idea of the accent, but his fake southern accent is atrocious and I feel bad for him. It inevitably sounds like a Puerto-Rican girl from the Bronx. Last night he asked me to use some of our different vocabulary, and after years of practice I was immediately able to produce buggy (shopping cart), my double modals (I might should go), coke (any carbonated beverage). At home this morning, still intrigued by these differences, I went so far as to look them up on my favorite new site in the world, which conveniently has a section over Southern American English. Who knew I speak a DIALECT of English? And I'm totally in favor of calling it Southern American English instead of Hillbilly, Country or Ghetto. That's fancy!

My 4-day Weekend

It pays to have friends in the office staff. The office hasn't really worked out for me lately, so I've generally been steering clear of any eye contact: go in, get the photocopies, and evacuate the premises with all free time still intact. It was a happy surprise that office friend E, who I've been sweetening up with episodes of Lost, decided to take over my Friday classes so I could spend more time with Travis during his visit. I got my Saturday class substituted (I'm allowed to do that twice every three months) and spent the rest of the weekend eating my way through Spain's capital city. When Travis waved goodbye at the police checkpoint on Monday afternoon, my stomach was gurgling unhappily. Commence Operation Summer Skinny!

But while he was here, we had such a great time. One of the highlights was getting a hotel room near my house, just for a change of scenery. It was amazing, since it was on the top floor of the hotel and had a huge balcony that is the size of my living room. I caressed the furniture, never wanting to return to my 1950's pad where electric sockets have wires sticking out, bulbs burn mysteriously, and there is no cleaning lady. Why can't I live in a hotel room? (Ed. Note: This is a rhetorical question and cannot stand up to the weight of scrutinization.)

Highlight #2 was definitely our trip to Segovia, where we saw it's world famous Roman aqueduct. Not much more to say about the city other than that. There were some Roman ruins, we saw, we split. We ate lunch in the mountains during a train layover and enjoyed each other's company. We talked in more than text messages and quick phone calls on my dime. It was pleasant, to use such a weak adjective to describe so electrifying a feeling; pleasant because he relaxes me. It's always relaxing to think about the possibility of such a warm future with someone so special.

Things I Do All Day

I've got a lot to talk about, and the longer I wait the more it piles up and I begin to forget what happened before all the fresh, new information came along. That said, remind me about Travis' second visit to Spain, the Lost epidemic sweeping the Academy, and the Horrible Experience Awaiting Me. Thanks.

But before all of these things, there is something that desperately needs to be told if only for personal release. Pause this idea, though, and rewind to a few months ago when I fell in love with McSweeneys.net and the weekly installments of Lists they produce. These lists are often hilarious and unfortunately quite addictive. Fast forward, and I can't get these lists out of my head. Ladies and gentlemen, a typical day in my head:

Cross the street. I think, "Ways to cross the street while the old woman stares at you." Unable to come up with more than one way (the natural way that I am walking), and giggle to myself. While walking to the Academy, suddenly think "Things to Hum While Going to a Job You Hate" and stop the thought quickly upon realizing that the list is infinity. Get on the elevator, think "People You Don't Want To Be In The Elevator With," but it's only the one guy that's on the elevator, and that's because he's stinky.

You get the point. At this junction, I am no longer able to stop the lists that continually cascade into my brain all day.

P.S. I am so crazy.

Oh, um, are you still here?

Sorry guys. I kinda fell asleep at the wheel this past week, but I come bearing stories. Will resume transmission momentarily.

An Open Letter To The Evil Geniuses At FedEX & FTD.com

Dear FedEx and FTD.com,

I appreciate you both. Even though I've only recently discovered the magic of sending flowers through FTD.com (forgive me when I confess that I'm not a flower person, FTD!), I've been well-acquainted with FedEx and its little brown minions tirelessly delivering my packages. You guys are great.

Therefore, I must admit surprise and a little bit of sadness at your recent attempts this past weekend to foil my Mother's Day surprise flowers for my mother. You make quite a team, and when you use your powers for good, many are made happier and marriages are salvaged. Unfortunately, this past weekend you were lured to the dark side and conspired together cunningly. Flowers delivered to a public school at 5:00pm on a Friday? Diabolical! Automated replies to my seething emails in which my questions are neither addressed nor answered? Devilish! Together you were like two unstoppable evil geniuses, and I was powerless.

So it was with a thrilling happiness that I learned that my mother received her flowers from the closed FedEx store on Saturday. This surprise was the product of some strange small-town ties that I have yet to fully comprehend. As you may not be aware, FTD.com and FedEx, everyone knows everyone else in small towns. Consequently, before my mother knew about her flowers, several other families did. The generosity of the human spirit, for once, triumphed over your black conglomerate heart.

Your future consumer,
Dean

PS - My mom likes the flowers. High five!

FedEx

A. POX. ON. YOUR. HOUSE.

This is RIDICULOUS

I forgot to mention my brief addiction to Not Pr0n, the internet riddle. This addiction was brief because when something makes you feel this stupid you eventually begin to hate it. Caveat: you need to be either extremely computer savvy or a NASA engineer to successfully beat these riddles. I made it to five with no cheats, and there's no way I could get any further. And there is something like 81 levels.

Resistance Is Futile

Acute Case of Spring Fever

The weather is beautiful outside. The sun is warm, and there is a cool breeze blowing through the city. From my open window I can hear the spring birds chirping melodically. It's somewhat perfect, almost incredible to believe that Madrid can be so beautiful after the dullness of Winter.

But I am inside. I'm trapped inside a class, supposedly teaching students more about the Perfect Aspect in English but in reality staring longingly outside the window. Sending text messages while they work. Making lists when they're not looking. I show videos to reduce my work. I have asked them, on more than one occasion, if they would prefer to have class in the bar.

When I'm not in class, I'm tethered by invisible bonds to the computer. Apart from the infinite entertainment provided by the internet, I have now stumbled upon the joy of downloading movies, old and new. In the past week I've watched My Own Private Idaho (blech, I turned it off halfway through), SuperSize Me (eeeeeeeew), Constantine (not bad), Napoleon Dynamite (a new favorite) and Welcome to the Dollhouse (like Napoleon Dynamite, but not funny or entertaining and somewhat sickening). My new Ultimate Favorite, said with capitalization to demonstrate importance, is Lost. This is an ABC tv show about a ridiculously large number of people who survive a plane crash on a tropical island. That's the basis, from there the stories gets all twisty and surprising. It's a little silly sometimes that EVERYONE on the island has some dramatic, life-altering secret, but it makes for some good 45 minutes. I've downloaded every single episode thus far and spread the infection to various workmates.

Ah, Spring: Update in Spain

Thanks be to the curative power of the sun. The temperature has risen and risen and finally, after months of winter, the sun has broken through. The trees stretch their branches and buds appear, leaves now and then poking through. We hide in their shade. It's warmish now, which makes everyone complain that it's too hot. I am happy to be in my element -- overly warm, sun-baked. Green.

Things are looking up here in Spain. On second and third revision, my schedule for this semester hasn't been as bad as was previously supposed, giving me a bit of free time for Spanish class. Out of the two students, I'm the one who never does his homework. But I'm nice, and the girl in the class is CRAZY, so I think I win. My Catalan class is also great, I'm learning a lot even though Xavier looked me in the eyes the other day and sternly warned me that if I miss another day I won't be able to take the final exam and PERIOD. I nodded, reduced to a three-year old child. Xavier then turned his attention to one of the elderly women in the class and told her the same thing. She looked at me in complicity. I winked at her, as if to say "Haha! We are outlaws!" because I felt suddenly exhilarated. The bad boy of Catalan class.

At a surreal administrative meeting at the Academy we were forced to explain our plans for summer and the upcoming fall; what we're doing, how many hours we are willing to work. I was the first one to go, and all my pent-up passive aggressiveness burst through and I churlishly said, "Not working this summer. Part-time next Fall." I sort of said this with my head swaying slightly. I was two seconds away from adding a snap to the face and a "Girl," too snippy to even add proper pronouns and create full sentences. Fragments and attitude were all the office was getting out of me. I'm happy for the experience, but peace out to Full Time English Teacher. RIP.