January 21, 2010

Apparently I'm stupid and uneducated

"Speaking at a meeting in La Granja, Spain with other European Affairs ministers Ronchi said simply that there is no racism in Italy and that only uneducated people would make such claims. He even offered to provide a complimentary sight-seeing tour of the country for those who claim there is a racial question. Anyone who still believed that racism existed in Italy was just stupid according to Ronchi." from Italy claims to be the friendliest country in Europe.

"They suffered immigration and now they live in reservations"

I wasn't particularly surprised to see about the escalating of racism in Italy ever since seeing that Northern League poster in Mantova last summer (see above) and, most of all, because one of the RSS feeds I read is the Corriere de La Sera. One day doesn't go by when I don't read about those evil foreigners raping and robbing the God fearing italians. And this is a well regarded newspaper. I went back on my RSS feeds for 5 minutes and found these recent headlines pretty quickly.

"A 42 year old woman was brought down to the ground and raped in a industrial warehouse near the station. A bulgarian has been arrested."

"Three romanians end up handcuffed. They had raped a young barista on New Year's eve."

13 year old sexually abused, "arrested a 25 year old Colombian, a 45 year old and a 65 year old italian friend of the family"

"Homicide of a pizzamaker in Fenis, two Dominicans arrested" (and those are not friars)

"Frontal car crash in the Centre, a 26 year old girl is killed"
"The driver of the BMW, a Tunisian, was probably drunk and didn't respect the red light..."

"Girl beat up in Via Cenisio, one man arrested: perhaps a serial rapist"
"The man, an illegal Senegalese, was recognized by the victim and another passer-by who was robbed"

Yes. I do believe language matters and that naming supposed perpetrator's ethnicities and nationalities in headlines helps propagate prejudices in the minds of the readers.

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January 20, 2010

More new words

I can't believe I've lived my whole life without knowing about emic. I don't care if it's a technical term, I'm appropriating it for current usage. So, whenever we're in Portugal and R. jokingly points out some portuguese cultural idiosyncrasy I'll be able to say: "Meh, you don't get it, it's emic." Or, inversely, whenever I'm in a good mood and he successfully grasps the contradictions of the portuguese psyche and makes an insightful remark I will be able to say "Baby, you're getting more and more emic."
There. It works an a noun and as an adjective. "Emically" would be useful too.

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January 19, 2010

Readings

I wish I'd remember what made me pick up Max Frisch's novels. I have a vague recollection of someone talking about the effects of technology on our lives and mentioning "Homo Faber" in passing which prompted me to look for it in the library. It might have been Zizek. In any case, after being done with "Homo Faber", I'm now enjoying reading "I'm not Stiller". The novels are old fashioned at times as you'd expect from a product of the 50's to be but I still don't understand why did their popularity subside. Spiritual and identity crisis are always fashionable. What do I know, maybe Frisch is still selling well in Switzerland.

*****

I'm keeping a journal of my readings, a hand written one. I needed it. My penmanship was getting worse and worse. I long for a calligraphy course; my luddite area of the brain is commanding it.

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I've been good as I've already read one of the portuguese classics on my New Year's resolution reading list (not much to report other than it was a gripping, well crafted novel where all the characters are petty and provincial and that it could have been written in the 19th century rather than in the 40's). Five more are waiting already, brought in by my parents who seemed to have had a good time tracking down old copies in second hand book sellers in Lisbon. R. briefly browsed them and declared them either boring or depressing. Except for "O que diz Molero". He may be right.

*****

Picking up reserved books at the library (most of them from the Reserve Stock aka the unreadables/unfashionable bin), a librarian I hadn't seen before holds my card and says: "Oh, so you are Claudia!". I'm sure the guy that has to drive the van to the reserve stock warehouse at least once a week would like to meet me too.

*****

I found Iris Murdoch. A bit late, I know, but I'm working on improving the gender balance in my reading habits by increasing the number of female authors. Previously, I had great pleasure in making the acquaintance of Muriel Spark. The only problem is that, after reading The Green Knight, I went to wikipedia to get more info on the author and there was this: "Her novels often include upper middle class intellectual males caught in moral dilemmas, gay characters, Anglo-Catholics with crises of faith, empathetic pets, curiously "knowing" children and sometimes a powerful and almost demonic male "enchanter" who imposes his will on the other characters." Now, that pretty much describes The Green Knight. I wonder if I can look forward to the same gripping style and erudition but hopefully have some variety in the plots. We'll see, it is true that the good authors always write the same story, but I'm hoping it will be more subtle than this wikipedia description.

*****

The next few months will be occupied by anthropology (the real thing, not the convenient name I give to my silly explorations) and food. Should be interesting. At the very least, I'll have new topics for dinner conversation openers.

*****

The current mood is ochre yellow. It's a quieter yellow. Contemplative. Cozy.

(Goya, from the wonderful Dark Paintings in the Prado)

Degas and his candid photo-like paintings of yelllow walls. Who cares for the dancers.

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January 07, 2010

New useful words

Claudia has expanded her knowledge of mexican vocabulary and slang.

When in Spain you say "Joder, tío", in mexico you say "Qué onda, güey" ". The spanish are very fond of their "Joder" but I haven't found a suitable mexican corresponding word. But everybody's a "güey".

"Gusguerías" and the verb "Gusguear". Maybe the spaniards use this one too. So useful and it's one of those words that you can guess what it means just by the way it sounds. It's a bit like "Tapear" or to snack on yummy little nothings.

"A huevo". As in "I'll do what you're asking me to do in a bit because I have heavy testicles and therefore move slowly and lazily". Or that's how I interpret it in any case. Huevos meaning eggs but also slang for testicles.

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Guadalajaaaaara

With a few hours to kill in Guadalajara, I found there a few of my favorite things, as Julie Andrews would put it:

A magnificent bandstand (I love bandstands and gazebos) made by the Fonderies d'Art do Val d'Osne, the famous parisian foundry! It was installed there in 1910 at the time of the commemorations of the centenary of Mexico's independence (100 years ago precisely) and caused many people to complain that it was indencent (because of the naked ladies). It is an awkward sight in the middle of modern and colonial architecture.

******

A homage to Palomo in a gallery I randomly walked into - one of the cartoonists I most cherish ever since childhood days and who I had almost forgotten about since putting my copy of his book "The fourth Reich" in storage. A chilean, he draws some mean political critique, courtesy of Pinochet and of his host country Mexico where he fled to.

- the writing on the wall says "Down with the Dictatorship" and he says "I think...."
- next he spots the political police thugs coming his way and he says "Although...er...actually...er"
- he walks away thinking "I play the fool...."
- last square, "therefore I am/exist".
Sensible advice for anybody living in a dictatorship, I suppose.

*******

In the cathedral, an effigy of Saint John Nepomuk who I met for the first time in Prague and who is one of my favorite saints and not that easy to spot. Patron saint of silence and bridges, another two of my favorite things.

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January 06, 2010

Mexicania

My Christmas anthropological expedition to the depths of Mexico was a success since I spent time...
- surrounded by people shooting guns in the air as a way of commemorating the birth of Jesus Christ;
- digging old papers belonging to R.'s family and finding out his grandfather was, among many other things, a secret agent in charge of finding the murderer of a famous politician;
- hearing about ghost stories, corpses of zapatistas thrown down wells and hidden treasures;
- visiting pre-columbian and purepecha indian sites;
- trying fruits, vegetables and cooked foods I had never laid eyes on before; I didn't refuse anything I was given to eat so R.'s family was enthusiastic about food shopping and cooking for me. T. would bring me some concoction in a plastic cup and say "Hey, try this" and I would gulp it down without even asking what it was and invariably ending up saying "Delicious!". When uncle J. offered to cook us lunch and asked my mother in law what didn't I eat, she answered "Claudia will eat anything!". I guess she could have phrased it more elegantly;
(Anyway, the love of food always brings people together)
- freezing in the mornings and evenings and getting sunburnt during the day;
- hearing T.'s stories about the drug cartels that plague Michoácan and how the army, tipped by a jogger(!), found a stash of guns in an old abandoned house outside town;
- checking out A.'s fighting cocks. Alas, I didn't get to watch a cock fight. They say they put blades on their spurs to make it more exciting. And it's legal, believe it or not.
- listening to mariachi music until ears start to bleed.

I have much less respect for the magical realism writers. With so many oddities available, they were just writing what they saw.

*******

Zapateria=Shoestore. Not sure it's a pun or it's just because it is on Zapata Street. Either way.

*******

Fighting cocks. Notice how the crest/comb of the rooster on the right has been cut off to avoid its opponents grabbing it.

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Pre-columbian ruins of Tingambato, very similar architecturally to Tenochlitan, complete with ball field (not in picture).

*******

C: Why on earth are there dogs on every roof?
R (non-chalantly as if it were the most natural thing in the world): They keep them there because they don't have backyards.
Extremely annoying. You can't go down a street without being startled by barking coming from the sky. I have a flickr set of Roof Dogs of Mexico.

*******

No Claudia Expedition is complete without a trip to the local cemetery. The local celebrity is, not surprisingly, the founder of a famous mariachi band.

*******

Pragmatic people.

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Tarascan/purepecha signs on public offices in the indian villages (this one's Inchán, I believe)

*******
Freshly made corn tortillas are the best thing in the world. Free if you order 4 or 5 of them, 10 pesos (50p) for one kilogram. You have to try very hard to go hungry in this place.

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Purepecha indian ladies and their colorful skirts.

*******
In Nuevos Morelos, people dress as old men or witches and take advantage of the speed bumps to beg for money. It's kinda scary.

*******

My new favorite food. Uchepos. Tamales (corn paste steamed inside corn husks) made of sweet corn, a bit of sugar and served with sour cream.

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December 08, 2009

'Tis the season

... for New Year's resolutions.

This coming year, I will commit myself to reading 12 books in Portuguese by Portuguese authors (some are well deserved rereads).

So, here's the list for my own reference:

- Húmus, Raul Brandão.
- O que diz Molero, Dinis Machado.
- O Dia Cinzento, Mário Dionísio.
- O Vale da Paixão, Lídia Jorge.
- No Reino da Dinamarca, Alexandre O'Neill.
- O Pequeno Mundo, Luísa Costa Gomes.
- Gente Singular, Manuel Teixeira Gomes.
- A Casa Grande de Romarigães, Aquilino Ribeiro.
- Mau tempo no canal, Vitorino Nemésio.
- Seta despedida, Maria Judite de Carvalho.
- Um homem de barbas, Manuel de Lima.
- Finisterra, Carlos de Oliveira.

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December 03, 2009

The week's collection

The actor-manager Henry Irving was a real-life inspiration for the character of Dracula (Stoker worked for him).

Everytime we walk by his statue behind the National Gallery I mention the Robertson Davies passage from World of Wonders that R. keeps saying he doesn't remember reading.

"I'm going to lay a few yellow roses - I hope I can get yellow ones - at the foot of the monument to Henry Irving behind the National Portrait Gallery. You know it. It's one of the best-known monuments in London. Irving, splendid and gracious, in his academical robes, looking up Charing Cross Road. (...) The Irving monument stands in quite a large piece of open pavement; near by a pavement artist was chalking busily on the flagstones. Beside the monument itself a street performer was unpacking some ropes and chains, and a woman was helping him to get ready for his performance. Magnus took off his hat, laid the flowers at the foot of the statue, arranged them to suit himself, stepped back, looked up at the statue, smiled and said something under his breath."

*****

Saw Clive Wearing's diaries on Thursday at the wonderful new Wellcome collection exhibition (always a high brow cabinet of curiosities exquisitely curated). He has "an acute and long lasting case of anterograde amnesia and thus only a moment-to-moment consciousness".

His diary entries are eery and, as usual and by some fetishistic innate attachment to objects, seeing the diaries in the flesh was much more impressive than reading a transcript online:

8:31 AM: Now I am really, completely awake.
9:06 AM: Now I am perfectly, overwhelmingly awake.
9:34 AM: Now I am superlatively, actually awake.

*****

Paul Dirac and Cary Grant were classmates as children. What an unlikely duo.

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Reading surrealist artist Leonora Carrington's The Hearing Trumpet. Turns out the author is 92 this year, the same age as the protagonist of the story. The novel is comic and sad and probably the only one I've ever read where almost all the characters are senile old women.

"Everyone's had an interesting life," she says. "Unless they're interested in business or something." -- Leonora Carrington interviewed by the Independent.

*****

(on describing a couple whose only daughter got married and moved away)
"the Clementses felt dejected, apprehensive, and lonely in their nice, old drafty house that now seemed to hang about them like the flabby skin and flapping clothes of some fool who had gone and lost a third of his weight." --Pnin, Vladimir Nabokov

How on earth did he come up with such wonderful similes?

*****

Also as a result of the Wellcome Collection exhibition on Identity, need to research more about Claude Cahun's Héroïnes (part of which is online at the french national library).

"Feminism is already in the fairytales," Cahun remarked, the slightest shift in the angle of view will make the suppressed content plain. Cahun reformulated a dozen or so fables from the viewpoint of their "misunderstood" heroines and contributed several, including "Judith, la sadique," to the prestigious literary journal Mercure de France 6 for publication." -- in Acting Out

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December 02, 2009

Humbug

"I want to thank the people of Britain for the legacy of Charles Dickens and the chance to tell this story. This story couldn't be more important now - it's about the immorality of greed."...

...Jim Carrey said as he switched on the christmas lights of the two biggest shopping streets in London as part of the publicity stunts for the opening of a Disney movie grossing $196.2 million since being released. Was he being facetious?

Also, Dickens works are on the public domain so the chance to tell the story is thanks to the fact that Mickey Mouse was born a few decades later. Otherwise...

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November 24, 2009

Anglicans and Hairs

Sign posted at St. Barts in the City (lovely church, lovely music).

"The current proposals for a Covenant between Anglican provinces represent an effort to create not a centralised decision-making executive but a 'community of communities' that can manage to sustain a mutually nourishing and mutually critical life, with all consenting to certain protocols of decision-making together. As Harvesting notes, Anglicans have been challenged to flesh out their rhetoric about communion through the crises and controversies of recent years, and this is simply part of a variegated response that will, no doubt, continue for a good while yet to be refined and formulated.
The recent announcement of an Apostolic Constitution making provision for former Anglicans shows some marks of the recognition that diversity of ethos does not in itself compromise the unity of the Catholic Church, even within the bounds of the historic Western patriarchate. But it should be obvious that it does not seek to do what we have been sketching: it does not build in any formal recognition of existing ministries or units of oversight or methods of independent decision-making, but remains at the level of spiritual and liturgical culture, as we might say. As such, it is an imaginative pastoral response to the needs of some; but it does not break any fresh ecclesiological ground. It remains to be seen whether the flexibility suggested in the Constitution might ever lead to something less like a 'chaplaincy' and more like a church gathered around a bishop."

Enchanted by the Archbishop of Canterbury's address in Rome. Still stunned that there are Anglicans ready to defect to the Catholic Church. Ever since I've moved here I've been continually surprised by the openness, tolerance, inclusiveness and diversity of opinion in the Anglican church. Why would anyone want to give all that up that is beyond me.

*****

And now for something completely different.

*****

I donated hair for an art project. I visited a independent/small publishers fair held at Conway Hall some weeks ago and there was a norwegian artist there selling a book with photos of stuff that was inside his vacuum cleaner. Since I have a similar, yet only in the realm of ideas, pet project involving belly button lint, I was interested. I ended up giving him two hairs and I am still fantasizing he is a mad genetics engineer who will populate some inhospitable part of Norway (shouldn't be hard to find) with Claudia clones, roaming the wilderness like little animals waiting to be tamed. Phew. Just reread the paragraph and, boy, does this sound terribly weird. Oh well.

*****

Bought the book "Transmission" by Chisato Tamabayashi at the same book fair. It's so beautiful that tears come to my eyes everyt ime I open it and all this intricate sculptures of colorful paper pop out.

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