viernes, febrero 17, 2006
Last things
I'm going half mad getting things done before I leave this Sunday. I am NOT complaining nor will I, since this is a wonderful gift from our Alma mater and, as our neighbor says, work has to be done. And it is not often one gets the chance of doing it without being forever interrupted, distracted, and annoyed by the unfortunate chores of everyday life (with an extra goodly dollop of mom-pleasing activities). I can't help wishing, however, that some sort of magical device would kindly grant me an extra 24 hours (counting as a "fratuday" or something) so I could go without feeling this IvegotmomentumandIcantstopnow-runningsofastIwilltakeoff [and so I will in about 52 hours, allowing a wide margin of error given my now-long-gone math skills] paranoia.
I'm going half mad getting things done before I leave this Sunday. I am NOT complaining nor will I, since this is a wonderful gift from our Alma mater and, as our neighbor says, work has to be done. And it is not often one gets the chance of doing it without being forever interrupted, distracted, and annoyed by the unfortunate chores of everyday life (with an extra goodly dollop of mom-pleasing activities). I can't help wishing, however, that some sort of magical device would kindly grant me an extra 24 hours (counting as a "fratuday" or something) so I could go without feeling this IvegotmomentumandIcantstopnow-runningsofastIwilltakeoff [and so I will in about 52 hours, allowing a wide margin of error given my now-long-gone math skills] paranoia.
martes, febrero 14, 2006
It was cold, and it rained, so I felt like an actor...
De gozo en gozo y de sorpresa en sorpresa.
Por azares del destino, el domingo me tocó participar como extra en la película The Air I Breathe... seguramente ni siquiera voy a salir a cuadro --aunque mi hermana sí-- pero ya tengo algo más que contarle a mis nietos. (Y sí, it was cold and it rained and I stood there for hours). Y a quienes me conocen y les interesa la teoría de los 6 grados, les agradará saber que ahora están separados por menos grados de Kevin Bacon ya que sale en la mencionada película y conocí al director y toda la cosa.
La lista de ese tipo de cosas se alarga más y más; me siento muy afortunada de tener una vida con tantas aventuras... y de poder compartirlas con tanta gente que quiero y (esta es la parte más milagrosa) que me quiere también.
Ah, y el domingo me voy a UC Berkeley a terminar la investigación para mi tesis...
Espero que todos tengan un día hermoso en esta fecha tan complicada (que te puede hacer muy feliz o muy triste dependiendo de las circunstancia, cosa que no me gusta).
sábado, febrero 11, 2006
La desendorfinización
Esta foto una la amable contribucíon del joven Buenrostro. Cómo es que presenció la Creación es un misterio sin resolver. (Y la otra, por supuesto, es cómo es que tanto él como una cámara estaban presentes en el momento de la Creación para tomar la foto). Al parecer los inmortales no somos tan pocos como yo creía.
miércoles, febrero 08, 2006
Nothing is more boring than being forced to play
Found out yesterday that ballet lessons don't start till Feb. 18. If all goes well, on Feb. 19 I will be flying to San Francisco to visit the Berkeley library. I can't dance until March, then. My endorphin addiction will have to find somewhere else to satisfy its cravings. But where, oh where?
*Whine*
Found out yesterday that ballet lessons don't start till Feb. 18. If all goes well, on Feb. 19 I will be flying to San Francisco to visit the Berkeley library. I can't dance until March, then. My endorphin addiction will have to find somewhere else to satisfy its cravings. But where, oh where?
*Whine*
sábado, febrero 04, 2006
Bye, bye birdie
(Yes, almost a week late, but we haven't forgotten, have we? How long are news new, anyway?)
So what is in a name? All the newspapers, of course, took advantage of the pun. The bull Pajarito tried to fly away and escape its inevitable destiny. Unfortunately, beyond the world he was destined for --el ruedo-- was surrounded and guarded by scores and scores of... I don't mean to insult anyone, but, scores of ENEMIES. Gathered there for the "art" of watching him die. (Of course, his death was meant to be graceful, beautiful, passionate, aesthetic...) He refused, and went where no bull has gone before. A hero, a flying Zeus-bull similar to the one who carried Europa on her back. But how far can a bull really fly? Ultimately, his name didn't give him wings large enough to bear away the 500 kilos that were him to some sort of taurine paradise where bulls smell flowers in the fields (that, I believe, is only reserved for two-dimensional, enormous bulls that can be seen when driving on the highway, with Magno printed on them, or in a Disney cartoon).
I wonder if other bulls admire him. I wonder if his death was better, as it was faster. I wonder if he thought he had a chance. I wonder if he and the Thames whale are somehow in touch with each other, maybe soulmates. I wonder why people concentrate so much on themselves that what matters is that his attempt to run away hurt them...
I wonder if his death can be considered heroic.
Well, not really. I don't wonder about his heroism at all, because, as the Norsemen knew, heroism is completely unrelated to success:
" ... heroism depends on lost causes. The hero can prove what he is only by dying. The power of good is shown not by triumphantly conquering evil, but by continuing to resist evil while facing certain defeat.... Although the Norse hero was doomed if he did not yield, he could choose between yielding or dying. The decision was in his own hands. Even more than that. A heroic death, like a martyr's death, is not a defeat, but a triumph. The hero in one of the Norse stories who laught aloud while his foes cut his heart out of his living flesh shows himself superior to his conquerors. He says to them, in effect, You can do nothing to me because I do not care what you do. They kill him, but he dies undefeated..." (Edith Hamilton, Mythology)
I wonder if he laughed.
(Yes, almost a week late, but we haven't forgotten, have we? How long are news new, anyway?)
So what is in a name? All the newspapers, of course, took advantage of the pun. The bull Pajarito tried to fly away and escape its inevitable destiny. Unfortunately, beyond the world he was destined for --el ruedo-- was surrounded and guarded by scores and scores of... I don't mean to insult anyone, but, scores of ENEMIES. Gathered there for the "art" of watching him die. (Of course, his death was meant to be graceful, beautiful, passionate, aesthetic...) He refused, and went where no bull has gone before. A hero, a flying Zeus-bull similar to the one who carried Europa on her back. But how far can a bull really fly? Ultimately, his name didn't give him wings large enough to bear away the 500 kilos that were him to some sort of taurine paradise where bulls smell flowers in the fields (that, I believe, is only reserved for two-dimensional, enormous bulls that can be seen when driving on the highway, with Magno printed on them, or in a Disney cartoon).
I wonder if other bulls admire him. I wonder if his death was better, as it was faster. I wonder if he thought he had a chance. I wonder if he and the Thames whale are somehow in touch with each other, maybe soulmates. I wonder why people concentrate so much on themselves that what matters is that his attempt to run away hurt them...
I wonder if his death can be considered heroic.
Well, not really. I don't wonder about his heroism at all, because, as the Norsemen knew, heroism is completely unrelated to success:
" ... heroism depends on lost causes. The hero can prove what he is only by dying. The power of good is shown not by triumphantly conquering evil, but by continuing to resist evil while facing certain defeat.... Although the Norse hero was doomed if he did not yield, he could choose between yielding or dying. The decision was in his own hands. Even more than that. A heroic death, like a martyr's death, is not a defeat, but a triumph. The hero in one of the Norse stories who laught aloud while his foes cut his heart out of his living flesh shows himself superior to his conquerors. He says to them, in effect, You can do nothing to me because I do not care what you do. They kill him, but he dies undefeated..." (Edith Hamilton, Mythology)
I wonder if he laughed.
