Twittear

I highly enjoy finding new words in Spanish. Like this one: twittear, meaning to tweet. (pronounced: twee-tay-ar)

Which leads me to a philosophical question. There's your basic "Can something exist without a name?" (The answer, for all intents and purposes, is no.  But I'd LOVE to hear a good argument to the contrary!) But the one that thinking of twitter prompted me to ponder is "Can a 'thing' exist without a verb to accompany it?"

Well, I'm off to go read me some Cervantes, aka...the master of prompting philosophical inquiry.

(Seriously...I think he might be better at it than Socrates OR Plato.  Just sayin')

Seville & Córdoba

I love field trips. That said, they are only fun when you have time to do all your other work. Needless to say, instead of getting out and enjoying Seville during the two evenings we were there, I spent lots of time reading about Eva Perón's crazy propagandistic life. Which was cool, since I kind of love analyzing propaganda. But it still means I didn't get out much.

But that doesn't mean I didn't see some amazing sights. Because I totally did! And I have pictures to prove it!

We hit up some of the usual sights: The Mosque of Córdoba (did you know that it is actually a cathedral, but pretty much everyone refers to it as a mosque?), and the Cathedral/Giralda and Alcázares Reales (Royal Castle-Fortress-thing) in Seville.

My pictures of the mosque really don't do it justice. I wanted to be able to show how the inside was built to resemble a forest, but there's just no way to capture its beauty and grandeur. 

It's got some lovely intricate arches, and I would love to be to tell you what they are in English, but I only know their name in Spanish: Arcos polilobulados. If someone can tell me what that is in English, they will totes get a postcard!

But of course, the strangest, craziest part about the mosque is the part that the tourist/art history images seem to forget. Like I said, it is technically no longer a mosque, but rather a cathedral. When Fernando III (el Santo) invaded Córdoba in 1330, one of the first things he did was have the mosque sanctified as a Christian church. It's kind of the way that they did things back then. Conquest a city, convert the enemies' sacred places into your own, and then rule with an iron fist. (I kind of added that last part...but the first parts are totally true!).

Of course, as unique and wonderful as the mosque is, its architecture wasn't really in keeping with the Christian architecture of the time. So someone (I think it was an archbishop), got the idea to build a cathedral within the mosque. He hired a baroque architect and got the approval of the Pope to make the new Cathedral of Córdoba. 

And they built this:

Believe it or not, that Baroque monstrosity is actually plopped in the middle of all those beautiful striped Islamic arches. There's even proof on the arches themselves.

Apparently, King Carlos V (the king at the time of the creation of this hybridization) remarked something like this: "It's a shame that they ruined something so unique with something so mundane."

Apparently he was not a fan. 

It sure lets in a lot of light, though.  

Magic Bags

You know how car designers are always trying to make small cars seem larger than they are on the inside? I think that bag designers try to do the same thing, because I have some shoulder bags that I can fit so much into, I would swear that they are enchanted.

Like Mary Poppins' bag, but better. Because I can see what I've got in it.

Anyhow, my program took a field trip to Seville and Córdoba last weekend, and I used my two magic shoulder bags to bring all my stuff.

Granted, I've started to enjoy packing as little as possible when I travel, and it was only a three-day trip (of which large portions of 2 of the days were spent on a bus), but the brown bag is almost entirely full of homework and books.

So I basically packed the whole trip's-worth of clothes (including an extra pair of shoes!) into what is my computer bag...the beautiful Vera Bradley on the left (Pattern: Barcelona--how perfect is that for Spain?)

Pix later.
D

Dear Frank Martin:

You are awesome. Part of me wishes that I had a little Frank Martin on my shoulder to yell and scream at me every day to be a better person and live up to my potential. And part of me is deathly terrified of that image.

Frank Martin...hell hath no fury.

A little Frank Martin on my shoulder (like a little guardian angel) would be so...motivating. For instance, you've got some fantastically motivational quotes:

"I try to teach kids and I demand that people maximize who they are. I don't accept people not striving to be the best they can be. That's what I've been doing my whole life. I don't accept people doing less than what they're capable of and I demand they maximize what they can be."--From K-State Media Day 10/21/2010


And then you have the quotes that make me scared to sleep at night. 


"Wednesday, if they don't come in and compete, I am gonna destroy 'em". 


If I were one of your players, that would have made me cry.


So, dear Frank, please keep doing what your doing and motivating the world. But If I ever get the chance to meet you, please be nice.


Thanks,
D


PS: It's a great day to be a Wildcat!


PPS: I can't wait for November 2.


PPPS: Do you think that they will show K-State b-ball games in Madrid?

Don Quijote Ch. I

"En un lugar de La Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme..."

And thus it begins. "Some place in La Mancha, whose name I do not wish to recall..."

It's actually one of the greatest opening lines of all time in my book. It's not that the author doesn't know the name of the place. He just doesn't want to tell us. Makes you kind of want to punch him in the face.

He goes on to not tell us the age of the protagonist, nor the epoch in which the story is said to have occurred, nor the name of the protagonist. "But his name is Don Quijote!" I hear you say. WRONG! Don Quijote is the name he gave himself. Cervantes tells us that his name was either Quijada or Quesada, or even Quejana before he baptized himself Don Quijote. He also tells us that there are multiple authors to the story but declines to tell us who they are or how their stories differ.

Basically, when it comes to Don Quijote, we know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

In such a completely undefined word as the world of Don Quijote, Cervantes helps us to question our ability to know the truth.

But he did that in the Prologue, too.

Scooters!

Motorcycles are pretty popular here. I've even seen a dude on a Vespa scooter, but by far the most awesome scooter that I have seen has been this one:

That's an indoor electric scooter. They have them in what is only the most awesome library in Madrid: the CSIC (Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas). It's an open-stack library (like in the States), and is really bright and open and airy and beautiful.

The scooters are for the librarians to use when they have to seek out a big stack of books for someone. They may also be for patrons to use if they have to search out a big stack of books, but that was a little unclear to me.

It's really a toss-up in my mind as to which library is better: This one or Firestone in Princeton? I think that Firestone has more and better books. But this one has scooters! Wheeee!

Which is better, the motorcycle or the Vespa? Random response receives a postcard!

3/4 liter of oil? That can't be right...

My wonderful, lovely mother sent me to Spain with a package for cornbread...so I could demonstrate the delights of good ol' American cooking to my housemom. I thought it was a great idea, because I love cornbread, and box mixes are fantastic. So easy, so tasty, so... easy!

Of course, we forgot to remember that ingredients/measurements/everything is different in Europe...which makes it all a little bit harder.

3/8 Cup? I'm not sure I can measure that with the cups I've got back home.
Also...what do you do when they only have olive oil? You make olive-oily cornbread.
At least the eggs and milk are the same.

Cooking with conversions can be really difficult. Especially when the conversion widget on your apple dashboard tells you that 3/8 cup is almost 3/4 liter. (It's not.) Thank goodness Maribel knows that 3/4 of a liter sounds like way, way too much oil. She may use oil like it's going out of style in other recipes, but at least she knows.

With an online (and more correct) conversion chart, we were able to guesstimate the amount of oil and milk needed.

I would love to be able to show you a picture of what it looked like fresh out of the oven, but we were so excited to try it that we just cut right in.

yumm....cornbread. fresh out of the oven. 

It was delicious, although it tasted kind of like olive oil. Maribel liked it, although she said that it is definitely better with honey.

Thank goodness it's pretty hard to mess up cornbread. Especially when you smother it with butter and honey.

This building

Is in my neighborhood.

I think it is really awesome. Just look at the intricacy of some of the brickwork:

Doesn't it look so cool?? Did you know that you could do that with brick??? I sure didn't.

It really makes me want to know who built it, when and why.

Tell me how to say brick in Spanish, and I'll send you a postcard! Winner picked at random.

I love my mom!

She is quite awesome. I got a package today. It included my favorite toothpaste, replacement toothbrush heads and candy (amongst other things). I will now pause so you can appreciate the irony....

OK, I'm back. And this is not the only way in which Mama Norton shows her awesomeness.

For instance, knowing that she wouldn't be able to celebrate my birthday with me (which is, I think, the first time I have spent one completely separated from my entire family), she hid some little presents in my suitcases, so that when I was unpacking them, I would discover them. I'm still working my way through the lemon drops she gave me. (Why, yes, we do demonstrate our familial love through candy! Got a problem with that?)

What does this all mean, you say? Well, clearly, my mother loves me a lot. Maybe more than yours does. Just sayin'.

And I love her, too.

The end.

Japanese food in Madrid

Not gonna lie. It tastes kind of funny. Sort of like American food tasted funny in Vietnam.

Last Sunday it was kind of a narsty day out (the first real day of fall: gray and cloudy and cold), so I went to Starbucks to study with a friend, and chilling in Starbucks on a cold day just makes the world so much better, even if the Starbucks lacks the tasty deliciousness of the Caramel Apple Spice Cider. (Dear Starbucks...)

Yes. They lack apple cider in Madrid. I do not understand how they can survive autumn without apple cider.

Anyhow. We got kind of hungry for something warm, so we left Starbucks and happened upon a Japanese udon place.

When you're cold and hungry, udon is the perfect thing. Beef noodle soup with thick, chunky noodles. What's not to love?

I would say that the only problem with this udon is that they added sugar, or something. It was surprisingly sweet, which was not unpleasant, but still a little odd. I'm not sure whether that's the way udon is supposed to taste, whether it's this particular restaurant, or whether it's because I'm in Spain, but I'm placing my money on the latter.

Día de la Hispanidad

Today is the National Festival of Spain. It is also Columbus Day.

Isn't it such a strange coincidence that a country obsessed by its imperial past would celebrate the exact day of the creation of that empire?

What? No, not really such a coincidence? huh. OK.

There have been loads of festivities. Today there was a parade at 10:30 down the Paseo del Prado (one of the big N-S arteries in Madrid). I might have still been sleeping. BUT according to the news reports (El País), people started booing Zapatero and calling for him to resign. Some people are not happy with the economy in this country.

Also, according to the news. The flags at the parade (these aren't the flags used during the parade, but rather the flags that spectators brought) look kind of sad and pathetic because a lot of people are using the flags that they purchased to celebrate the World Cup. Flags during the World Cup get written on, used as capes, covered in body paint, dropped on the ground...all manner of things that we learned got you put in jail if they happened to Old Glory.

This parade is the second time in 2 days that they have shut down the Paseo del Prado for a parade. (What? I hear you say. Shutting down a major thoroughfare twice in one week sounds like a huge hassle and a waste of time and money? WELCOME TO ESPAÑA!).

I was actually at the parade on Sunday. It was part of the festivities of the Día de Hispanidad, since it was a parade/concert hosted by the Casa de América to celebrate all of Latin America. The parade included representatives from pretty much every country in Latin America, all dressed up in"traditional" costumes. (I put that in quotes because some of the costumes weren't particularly traditional, but rather looked like your normal sequin-y parade costumes, and others looked traditional, but also looked like they might have been a foreigner's take on traditional, which also doesn't count as traditional. Just sayin').

Here is one of my favorite pictures from that parade:

Doesn't he look scary?

The Rain in Spain...

I think we all know how that one ends.

I'm not particularly well-versed on Spanish geography, although I do know that the Northwest is pretty cold, wet and gray (much like Oregon), and the South is very hot and dry (like Arizona). And there are several different miniature mountain ranges. And I think Madrid is situated on a high central plateau.

But this is what it looked like yesterday when I went into the center to wander around!

It was kind of pouring and I might have gotten a little soaked. Thank goodness for my paraguas! (First person to give its English translation in the comments gets a postcard from Madrid!)

María, Maríaaaaaa

My first week in Spain, someone (maybe a fellow student??) informed me that there was once a law in Spain that mandated that all female children had to be named María (as in, after the Virgen Mary).

Now, Franco might have gotten his crazy on for 35 years in this country, but that seemed a little far-fetched even for him. So clearly, I had to check it out, and by check it out, I mean ask my señora.

What I discovered is slightly more believable and only a little less ridiculous. See, when Franco ran the country, the Catholic Church also ran the country. They were kind of attached at the hip for a while in the early years, and part of that attachment meant that the Church could sort of you know, come up with the rules.

And one of the rules was that parents could only name their children after saints/religious figures/people in the Bible. And there are a whole lot fewer women than men in the Christian pantheon. And it was really really popular to name their girls María after the Virgen Mary. Not mandated, but close.

My señora's name is Maribel. That would be a conjunction of María Isabel. Her daughter's yorkie is called Pitu, but sometimes when she's frustrated with the dog, she calls her MariPitu. Because of the prevalence of María as a name in Spain.

Neuroses

A few weeks ago, a friend pointed me to this site, and while I sometimes think that I am maybe a little neurotic (I think it is impossible to go through life without finding some crazy neurosis within oneself), spending a few minutes on Iamneurotic.com made me realize that I could be a whole lot worse.

Although, now that I think about it, watching all of those episodes of Monk should have done the same.

I have, though, noticed a few neuroses that have cropped up in Madrid that are, I think, quite peculiar to my living situation here. Funnily enough, most of them have to do with transportation. I'm not sure why I find that funny. I just do.

• Whenever I have to be anywhere by a certain time, I leave my house ridiculously early. For instance, Friday I arrived over 45 minutes early to the special research library where we had a class. I know that it is customary to be perpetually late here, but apparently that won't ever be a problem with me. 
• Correction: that is often the problem with me, but for some reason, being in Spain makes me super-paranoid about not being late...maybe because I'm not Spanish, so I don't have an excuse?
• When I exit the subway station directly behind another person and the little glass doors stay open, I either have to wait until the little glass doors close and then exit myself, or I have to rush through them, praying that I make it out in time. I'm terrified that they will shut on me and slice me in half if I walk through them at a normal speed while I am following someone, since they will have had to stay open for 2 people. 
• I always have to have my keys in my hand when I shut the door to my apartment. Otherwise I panic, thinking that I will lock myself out.
• This is actually quite useful.

A poem:

I wrote this one a while ago.  I was trying to (devilishly) tempt my parents to cheat on their diet (we were competing on how well we can stick to the plan, not on weight lost. It was a competitive diet, what can I say? I wanted to win!)

An Ode to Cocoa:  because I like poetry. 

            The dark and sugary fragrance wafted gently through the air

            As I sat in sweet surrender thinking deeply of a pair

            Of Lindt dark chocolate truffles, the best kind on which to munch

            You can bet on my day off, I’m sure to have a bunch.  

            “Don’t feed me Hershey’s chocolate! It’s far too sweet!” I say,

            As I head out to the store in preparation for the day

            Of tasty, delicious goodness—I won’t eat a Snicker’s Bar,

            Nor a York Peppermint Patty nor a chocolate cigar.

            No Milky Ways, no Musketeers, no nutty Almond Joys,

            No Butterfingers, Baby Ruths, nor anything with toys.

            I don’t want Reese’s nor its Pieces.  No M&Ms for me.

            I just want Lindt dark chocolate in my decadent fantasy.

If this makes you want to eat a Lindt dark chocolate truffle, then you should go buy some. And then say a little prayer for my Lindt-dark-chocolate-truffle-less self while you're at it. Please.


If it makes you interested in competitive dieting, check out The Game On! Diet. It's pretty intense, and you just might find yourself writing poetry to chocolate. 

Haiku

Dear Peanut Butter:
My señora has a jar.
Where are the saltines?

Dear television:
Why are you so wonderful
yet terrible?

Dear Don Quijote:
I can't read you fast enough.
Can your adventures wait?

(I was a little free with the verse count in these. sorry.)

A Letter

Dear Colgate Baking Soda and Peroxide Toothpaste:

You are so perfectly wonderful, and it is a shame that I am squeezing your dregs out of the tube. Your slightly salty, yet refreshing, flavor will be dearly missed here, but I know that you live on in the toothpaste aisles of grocery stores across the United States.

Oh, WHY did I not think to pack more than one tube of you in my suitcase? Oh, HOW could I have been so shortsighted? Your delightful texture, so pasty and peroxide-y, is the perfect freshening substance, a cooling respite after a day full of garlic-y foods. (Mmmm, garlic! but yurgh, garlic...)

But wait, my dentally-hygienic love! I have hearkened upon your dear cousin, Colgate Total. Just as freshening, with 24 hour whitening/protection. Though he is lacking in taste and texture, he has the distinct advantage of constant presence. While you shall always hold a dear place in my heart, please know that I never meant to hurt you. There is just too much distance between us.

Sincerely,
DNorton

Don Quijote (Prologue)

Miguel de Cervantes was kind of a genius. Of course, this means that he died a bitter and lonely old man, but that doesn't discount the fact that his best-known work is just brilliant and completely ahead of its time.

If there is one thing to know about Don Quijote, it is that he read so many books (specifically libros de caballería or knights' tales) that he went a little crazy. He sets off on a misadventure through La Mancha, and in the process, takes the reader on a nice little tour of QuijoteLand--that wonderful place in his mind where his adventures really happen.

The true genius of Don Quijote, though, is revealed at the very beginning of the book: in the prologue. Prologues in this time period had a very specific pattern: the author adopted a false modesty and begged the reader not to judge him too harshly, he claimed that he wrote the book in a pleasant place, he gave thanks to the person who had financed the book's printing and told the reader his intentions in writing the book (since fiction was still a little suspect).

But of course, Cervantes, being so avant-guarde, didn't follow this script at all in his prologue. He starts off: "Desocupado lector" (Unoccupied/Idle reader). That's kind of an insult...doesn't really make me want to hold his book in high regard. He tells us that he wrote the book in prison, which, knowing Cervantes, was probably quite likely. He spent quite a lot of time in prisons, apparently.

And of course, he added something to his prologue that was so revolutionary that I am still marveling at it. He formulated (and answered) his own version of the tree-in-the-forest riddle: If a story has no readers, is it still a story? For Cervantes, the answer was, "No."