Pepe and the "cuello isabelino"

Poor Pepe! The little kitty had to go to the vet this past week to have a cyst (or something...I still don't know what Carmen called it, and I never noticed anything wrong with him) removed from just above his eye.

When he came back from the vet just after the surgery, he was still pretty drugged out. And it looked like maybe he wouldn't have to wear the collar.

But then, Carmen took him back for his check-up, and he'd definitely scratched or rubbed his stitches, so on went the cone of shame!!

Poor kitty!! Just look at how sad and pathetic he looks! We swear it's not a punishment Pepe!! (Unfortunately, he doesn't get that, and we haven't seen him all day.)

The funny thing, in Spanish, it's called a cuello isabelino (Elizabethan collar), probably in reference to amazing fashion trends like this:

Queen Elizabeth I, sporting a cone of shame.

La transhumancia (Part II)

Nothing much today...I just really wanted to share this time-lapse video that my friend L made of the sheep parade from last weekend. She put some music to it and everything. I think it's a pretty great summary of what we witnessed.

Spain is different

I'm spending the weekend (through Tuesday) at a casa rural (basically cabin) with some Fulbright friends, and there is no internet. However, the gods gifted me with something truly amazing via Facebook the other day, and I wanted to share it while I'm gone.

Apparently Ballet Zoom was a Spanish disco dancing troupe back in the 1970s. Clearly, they were also Andrew Lloyd Weber's inspiration for the hit musical Cats. 

On strange city performances

Recently, as I left the metro on my way home, I heard the tune of Jingle Bells blasting from the nearby plaza. So naturally, I had to go check it out. I'm still not sure what it was for (my hunch is advertising for a language school?), but I got a video of all the absurdity.

Thank goodness the US has Thanksgiving as a buffer against beginning all the Christmas nonsense so soon. I know it continues to creep up even there (and stores probably already have some stuff out, even though it isn't even Halloween). But at the very least, the Christmas music and the dancing Santas don't come out until November.

My favorite M-squared story

When M² left on Wednesday, I started thinking back on some of my favorite moments from this past year with him, and I also got back to working on some of my academic writing (along with contemplating a new theoretical article). I got to thinking about one of my favorite stories from this past year. 

One evening at dinner, M² and I were talking about life and his job (engineer at a tech factory) and about how corporations, profits, salaries, and so on. And he said, 

"You know, I've realized that there's something fundamentally screwed up with the way that large companies work. They're so completely focused on production and profit...they want to make more and more money, so they raise the price of the goods they produce. And maybe they raise their workers salaries (to keep up with inflation), or maybe they don't, or maybe (in pursuit of even more profits), they cut salaries or even lay off workers.

Take the example of Apple*. Every year the company comes out with a new phone that isn't really *THAT* different from the previous version. And yet, it's always WAY more expensive. 

And the company produces phones so that people will buy them. It NEEDS people to buy them so that it can make the profit$$$. But people themselves don't really need smartphones. They're nice to have, but not a necessity. 

So people work and work to produce goods that they don't really need, and to top it off, they aren't even paid enough to be able to purchase them."

And I turned to him, clapped a little, and said, "Congratulations!! You just passed Marx 101."

In effect, M² figured out on his own Marx's critique of capitalism (which is completely different from his theories on communism). 

*name of company changed to protect privacy

La Transhumancia (The transhumance)

Transhumance is a funny word that I only just learned this past week. According to the internet, it is:

"the action or practice of moving livestock from one grazing ground to another in a seasonal cycle, typically to lowlands in winter and highlands in summer." (source: Google)

I actually watched a documentary about transhumance about 3-4 years ago during South by Southwest. It's called The Last Shepherd, and it tells the story of a shepherd who brings his sheep into the center of Milan so as to introduce all the city-folk to what they're missing out on in rural life. I highly recommend, mostly because the sheep are so darned cute. 

Seriously, sheep are super cute. Like this little lamb in one of my favorite paintings in the Prado:

Look at how cute he is!!

So apparently in Madrid, the local sheep-herders guild (I'm honestly not sure what to call it), makes a ceremonial crossing through the city one Sunday in the fall--as both a way to show the poor, deprived city-folk their rural heritage and also a defense of more traditional ways of life. 

Women and men in more traditional dress walked down the street, playing music and dancing--like a little parade!

Several carts pulled by oxen accompanied the sheep, along with loads of shepherds, goats and sheepdogs. 

Just look at that little guy!! Isn't he so cute?!?!?!?!?!

On Self-Care: Massages

There is a sports massage and physical therapy location called MASSALUD just around the corner from my house, and I finally decided to stop by a few Fridays ago.

All throughout my childhood, my mother complained of a large knot at the nape of her neck. She started getting monthly massages, but the knot never really went away until about 5 years after she retired. There's something about navigating all the stresses of work deadlines and the emotional toll of daily life that just gets some people all tied up in knots.

Over these past few weeks in Spain--sitting at my computer writing, bending over books doing research, reading election books on my phone--I've discovered a massive knot in my own neck. It's certainly something that has been building all throughout grad school, but for some reason, Spain has made it worse.

The thing about BFRBs is that your nervous system uses them to silence physical discomfort, like, say neck pain. If you can figure out what your body actually needs (a drink of water, a change in posture, exercise, a nice stretch, a good dance party, physical therapy, acupuncture, reiki, tai chi, massage and I could go on and on and on...) and give it THAT, the BFRB lessens.

So I splurged and got myself a 5-massage pass at MASSALUD.

I went for my first one a few Fridays ago, and it was the least relaxing massage I've ever experienced. AND YET, my neck and back were WAY more relaxed afterwards. I could even roll my shoulders without hearing my muscles and bones creak and crackle.

Self-care isn't always fun. That massage legitimately hurt. But it does need to be regular, and so I'm going to be going back every two weeks until my pass ends, and then I'll probably get another one. 

Spanish comidas & sobremesas

There's a reason a blog post didn't go up on Saturday. It's not a particularly good one. Basically, I didn't write in the morning (instead cleaned the kitchen and had a nice long chat with my roommate about the horrors of domestic abuse and gender violence--you know, your typical Saturday morning breakfast conversation), and then I had a lunch that started at 2 and ended at 11pm. So there went my Saturday.

A bunch of women from my year and the year after just happen to be in Madrid this year, so the former director of my masters' program decided to invite us all over to his house for a mini-reunion. Even when we're in the US, most of us are scattered around, so this is the first time I've seen many of these women in a long time.

We all got there around 2 and started off with some vermouth and appetizers (sausage and crackers, olives, cheese, lox and cream cheese crackers with caviar, etc...), and then moved on to the wine, the two different tortillas españolas, the arroz al horno, and the champagne and dessert pastries.

And then came the cocktails.

We laughed and chatted about all of the shenanigans that happened during our masters, caught up with what people were doing and with what others in the program were now up to. We chatted about the election, about life in Spain, about why some of us had stayed in academia and others had left.

Actually, I think a 9-hour long Spanish comida is the perfect excuse for not writing. 

On Self-Care: Texture Quilts

That blanket that I talked about on Friday is specially made just for me.

About 2 years ago, my aunt and I were talking about textures. I had made a bag of "feels": satin ribbons, a make-up brush, some hematite Greek worry beads, some cuticle serum, and a few other things. Keeping these and other fidgets on hand is my go-to strategy for soothing my nervous system. The satin ribbons are my faves--I use them as bookmarks and keep several rolled up in the pockets of different jackets.

My aunt told me about some projects that her quilting group was doing--making texture quilts for Alzheimer patients. Texture quilts (or fidget, fiddle, or touch quilts) contain fabrics of various textures (Satin, velvet, corduroy, etc...), pockets, zippers, buttons. For Alzheimers patients and others with dementia, tactile stimulation helps to improve short-term and long-term memory, general mood and psychological well-being.

So Auntie K put two and two together and decided to make me a texture quilt with some of my favorite textures and colors.























It has satin, lace, embroidery, a soft and fuzzy backing, and a velour pocket with some hematite worry beads.

She even hand-quilted the spirals that run along two sides!

There's so much wonderful texture that makes me so happy!! Plus the quilt is made with love!!

On Self-Care: Stasis

It's been COLD here these past few days. Gray and rainy and just frigid.

Autumns in Madrid can get like this, but I had totally forgotten, since I've always come back in summer. The problem is, most buildings are still on old radiator systems, and they don't turn the heat on until they absolutely have to.

I don't like the cold. My body doesn't like the cold (though maybe that's just because I've been living in Texas for the past five years). And when my body is cold, the BFRB comes back with a vengeance.

So I'm constantly searching for ways to keep warm, but not too warm.

Exercise helps with blood flow, as does eating warm soups (I made my signature roasted carrot soup this evening). When I was living in Austin, I discovered that acupuncture really truly helped me feel like a human (rather than a cold-blooded lizard in need of a sunbeam and a warm rock).

But the thing that helps the most here is blankets. Loads and loads of blankets. I even put the down comforter on my bed last night so that I would warm up. Carmen tells me I'm going to melt, but I didn't last night and I practically went to bed in sweats.

But also, blankets like this one that my aunt made for me before I left. I'll tell you more about it tomorrow.

M-squared in Madrid

 This post is going to be mildly sappy, in that all of the photos are quite couple-y selfies.

M²  likes to travel a lot, and he's very skilled at navigating jet lag. His trick is to get caffeine, get out in the sunshine, and force his biological clock to catch up. And so when M² arrived in Madrid, we hit up all the tourist hot spots in the center of the city. That's us above standing on Kilometro 0, the stone marking the center of Spain's highway system.

And this is us in Plaza Mayor, Madrid's town square and tourist center. 

We toured the palace and had some difficulty finding a way to take a selfie without getting absolutely blinded by the late afternoon sun. 

 And we had a short dinner in the Plaza de Oriente, overlooking the Palace and its gardens.

And we walked up to the Temple de Debod to watch the sunset before heading home and putting him to bed around 9 (which is insanely early by Spain standards, but just about perfect for navigating jet lag). 

Pardon the Hiatus

I hadn't intended on taking such a prolonged break from blogging. I've been alternately blogging daily and writing a lot of posts at once (when I find myself particularly inspired) and scheduling them to appear at later dates.

This past week and a half though, I've stepped away from the computer. Didn't open it for 10 days. Any posts that have appeared were scheduled previously, and those that didn't just hadn't been written.

You see, 10 days ago, M² arrived for a glorious and fun-filled vacation. We hit up all the tourist hot spots in Madrid (including San Gines for some churros), and then took a road trip through Andalusia. I wasn't going to lose a precious second with him in order to write, so I took a complete break and focused on enjoying my vacation and my love.

I had all sorts of grand plans about scheduling 10 days worth of posts before M² arrived in Madrid, and they just didn't happen. I had a few ideas about some self-care posts (I got a deep tissue massage a few Fridays ago and it was brutal and heavenly at the same time--I'll write about it later), and some more about life in Madrid and writing and this crazy election and academia and balancing reading/writing/editing/researching/thinking.

So the blog took a break while I took a break, and now I'm back in full force and I will share a picture of churros.

(We ate a LOT of churros on this vacation. I will tell you about them in a later post).

The Peacock Princess

The queen reached for a beautiful turquoise and indigo feature to adorn her crown, whispering softly all the while to the plump little bird she was taking it from.

"Hush, my pet. You'll barely feel a thing." And with a swift yank, she freed the plume. The poor peacock gave a soft squawk and then stared at her with doleful eyes. The queen finished her toilette with a flourish and a spritz of perfume, before greeting her vizier and finalizing the details of the speech she would give that evening.

In the entrance hall, hundreds of guests were beginning to arrive to the Jubilee Ball. The queen looked luminous: her skin shone softly in the candlelight, the curls in her hair were silky smooth. Her green eyes gave a wickedly mischievous gleam, their color heightened by the beautiful peacock feather adorning her head. The female gusts murmured soft jealous whispers about her unnaturally perfect beauty.

Later that night as the queen slept, snippets of of barely overheard conversations came back to haunt her: "Porcelain...ageless...as if she were a sorceress." She tossed and turned as she through back to the day the peacock entered her life, for it was true that she had not aged at all since that fateful day.

----------TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK----------

Dear Amy Poehler:

I'm really enjoying your autobiography. I downloaded it in preparation for a road-trip, and then I read half of it immediately.

I also really liked this hysterical pro-HRC video reunion of Will and Grace. 

Which brings me to the point of this post.

There is a meme out there. It is a beautiful meme. It is a meme that captures my feelings towards this election cycle perfectly.

And so I ask, nay beg. Can we PLEASE get a Parks and Rec Reunion video out of this election?!?!?!?

Please please pretty please Belgian waffle with whipped cream and a cherry on top?

I just really need to know what Leslie and Ben and Donna and Tom and Ron and April and Andy and Jerry/Larry/Terry/Gary would do with all this craziness. 

kthxbai. 

M-squared

He's coming to Madrid!! He gets in today!! I'm so excited that I'm going to write this entire post with exclamation points!!

Not really.

This is just to let you all know that the blogging will be pretty light this week. Primarily photos (though tomorrow's post is quite awesome, in my book). And then I'll get back to posting more regularly on the 20th.

Maybe by then I'll have stopped watching the news. 

The Rose Princess (Part II)

And so, the rose princess went about making a cozy home in her new book palace. She had enough pollen biscuits to last her a week, but she very quickly ran out of rose-hip tea, and she didn't have enough dew to make more. Every morning, just as the sun was peeking over her new paper home, she would rise and climb over to the large mesa. She made a rope out of a bit of cobweb that she had found lying in the corner of her new home, and she used it as a way to navigate all the steep cliffs surrounding her.

On one of her outings, she came across a deep metal chasm and spout-with what looked like the world's smallest, slowest waterfall dripping out. She quickly learned to bring along her small canteen and fill it up whenever she passed by. The water did not taste nearly as lovely as rose-hip tea, but it was better than nothing.

On long evenings, she would observe the passel of children running around the house at top volume. When she could no longer handle their screams, she would burrow into her new book home and ponder the strange hieroglyphics that covered its walls. And as the days turned into weeks the nostalgia for her rose-home faded and she found herself loving her new home with her new routine. She missed her bee friends, but the spider who made the cobwebs was very nice.

In all, though her house no longer smelled of roses, it had that peppery-cinnamon smell that characterized old books and was equally as comforting. 

On Tea

I love tea. Didn't used to, but it's the one concession I have made to graduate school (and to the need to order a more mature-sounding beverage than hot chocolate when I am convening with colleagues). 

Spain isn't necessarily a tea-drinking country (café con leche is the most widely consumed caffeinated beverage), but I've still been able to find some quaint places to drink. 

Tuesday, I hit up two (count 'em, 2!) different cafes for tea and pastries. Above, you can see the tea timer at La Mallorca, where I got a napolitana and a delightful ginger green tea.

And below, the composition that I took at Mama Framboise, where I got 2 macarons and another green tea.

My roommate keeps telling me that I'm going to lose weight in Spain (because of all the walking and the veggies and whatnot). She has no idea how many pastries I can down, however. 

On Celebrity and Affect

This is basically what I study: celebrities and how the way we write about them captures an emotional climate. Yes, my work focuses on Franco Spain and deals with how foreign stars were written about under a censored Spanish press, but at its core, I analyze celebrities and the emotional attachments that they invoke.

Which is why the Donald's candidacy scared me from the very beginning. No matter the deeply offensive things he said in his announcement speech (and everything that has ever come out of his mouth both before and after). The man scared me because of the attention-seeking vortex that he is. He is not simply a celebrity, but one who has built his fame on a particular brand of cruel and callous behavior towards men and women who cannot fight back. 

As much as I would like to think that US elections are based on policies and ideas, more often than not, they're based on whose name is the most recognized when the voters get to the ballot. And a celebrity is always going to be the most recognized name. That's their very nature. 

The thing about celebrities is that they are able to hold the tension of the ordinary and the extraordinary; this is precisely WHY we like to talk about them so much. Ava Gardner was ungodly beautiful, with a hyper-feminine figure, who never wore make-up and preferred more masculine clothes; she was the sweet backwoods North Carolina girl-next-door who exuded sexuality. The Donald is the self-made man who inherited his wealth. It doesn't get any more of an enigma than that. 

In her book, The Cultural Politics of Emotions, Sara Ahmed analyzes a paragraph taken from the Aryan Nations Website, and concludes that "it is the emotional reading of hate that works to stick or to bind the imagined subjects and the white nation together...Because we love, we hate, and this hate is what brings us together" (43).

Two men in Boston beat up a homeless man, claiming he was an illegal immigrant (he wasn't), and all the Donald had to say about it was: "The people who are following me are very passionate. They love this country and they want it to be great again. They are very passionate." Behind that passion, that love that the Donald thinks is so strong is actually a really thick current of hatred towards anyone who is not white or not male. Which is why his supporters inflict so much violence on the homeless, on immigrants, on Muslims, on African-Americans. And which is why he says cruel things about women and their bodies. 

Specifically, the love and passion that the Donald cites is a love of power and dominance over others. In an insightful article, David Roberts of Vox breaks down the Donald's incoherent word vomit: he only uses words as tools with which to position himself in the social hierarchy. Speech, for him, has no meaning beyond whether it gains him attention. People attracted to his candidacy don't just project their own desires onto him. They also acquire (out of their adulation of him) the appearance of dominance that they desire. And when I use the word "dominance, I'm not talking physical mastery, but rather the societal matrix of power that most sociologists would label white male privilege. 

The media has continually been flabbergasted that all his gaffes and missteps and just overwhelmingly terrible narcissism and criminality (I don't care if he's never been to prison--you don't get sued that many times over the course of your life and still get to claim innocence). And yet, the media (and pretty much everyone who is still flabbergasted and in shock at the state of our current electoral campaign) is missing the main part of his appeal: the grotesque and sadomasochistic celebrity that he represents and the way that it attracts the disenfranchised to his particular brand of cruel dominance.