This is a Sikh

This is not a Muslim. Sikh men wear this sort of turban because they don't cut their hair for religious reasons. There are many other types of turban, SOME of which are worn by Muslims. Why then are visiting British Sikhs being hauled off tourist buses in New York City?

However you may feel about profiling, if you're going to do it, at least have the information to get the profile right. For crying out loud, Sikhism is not Islam, as if that even mattered, as only a few Muslims are terrorists, just as only a few right-wing Christians blow up abortion clinics.

I have had my rant.

15 seconds of fame

This sitemeter business is a bit addictive. 'Sometimes I even check it when I haven't written anything for a day or so. For while it appeared that I was viewed all over the great North American continent, a fair amount in Spain and apparently by my friend Mike in Korea. Today it's lots on the west coast, some in Central European time (gonna guess that's here in Spain), and a teensy bit in Greenwich mean time. (Hi, Sarah! Now get back to work!) I think Mike must be away from his computer, along with all my fans (aka friends and family) in the rest of the U.S. It's also been interesting to note that somebody's computer speaks Slovakian, 'cause that shows up on a regular basis as one of the languages.

Anyhoo, what I really came here to say (in the absence of anything truly interesting, although have bought a Guardian today, so beware) was that I got linked to from some site called Technorati. OK, so they search 14 million blogs, but I feel all famous and shit.

Quotes of the day

Yesterday's Guardian was a treasure trove of thought-inspiring quotes.

"Whatever it was that kept Londoners so stoic -- almost nonchalant -- on the tube the day after last fortnight's bombs is still there, but more brittle; there's the beginning of a scowl on the stiff upper lip."
-- Ed Vulliamy

Now, is it just me, or does this whole stoic/scared stiff dichotomy just smack of being a mere media invention? It's just a matter of who you talk to. For all the stoicness of Madrilenos, there is still one of the secretaries at my school who refuses to take the train or subway, over a year later, and I've heard of some folks on that commuter train route who have not gotten back on those trains. In the same issue of the Guardian, a woman said that just the morning of the second attack, she had decided to start walking the hour to work instead of taking the tube. Yet one of my friends from London, who was visiting Madrid, said today something along the lines of, "You've still got to get to work, haven't you? You can't just not go."

"[George W. Bush is] the kind of candidate and officeholder political hacks like me wait a lifetime to be associated with."
--Karl Rove

What kind is that? Malleable? Stupid? oh, wait ...

"I can literally remember what he was wearing, an Air National Guard flight jacket, cowboy boots, blue jean. He was exuding more charisma than any one individual should be allowed to have."

Oh, I get it! The stuff of fantasy! Do you want to have him, or just be him?

On Tariq Ramadan, "renowned across the Muslim world as a reformist thinker and despised by traditionalists for his progressive interpretation of Islamic sources," and incidentally, banned from teaching in the U.S.: "Ramadan follows in the footsteps of revolutionary thinkers such as Frantz Fanon and Malcolm X in attacking notions of the west's superiority and its seemingly immutable values. He turns the paradigm on its head and establishes the universal values of Islam within the framework of western societies." (Ramadan is Swiss-born.)
--Naima Bouteldja

This is who we need to be banning? This is who Western Muslims need as part of their dialogue. Incidentally, read Edward Said for a slightly different perspective.

"The once-concealed symbols and attitudes of hard-corn porn are now flooding mainstream culture [...] When I was 12, my nascent cultural life didn't revolve around porn; George Michael in hot pants was as close as it got."
--Flic Everett

She doesn't seem to present much of a solution, however, unless you count possibly banning stuff!

"The statute of the ICC confines it to considering cases only where the sovereign state has failed to provide a national legal remedy [...] For [serving soldiers it is] the final straw to find that some of their number have the full majesty of the law visited on them, while the politicians escape accountability for the basis on which they launched the war."
--Robin Cook

First, why the hell does the U.S. think it's so special that international courts don't apply to us? Second, when do we get to haul the polticians up on charges?

OK, I promise, I won't make a regular habit of buying the Guardian.

I canna do it, Captain!

As a lifelong Trekkie (yes, I admit it, gladly), wanted to acknowledge the passing of James Doohan, aka Scotty. No matter how great some of the later Star Trek shows may be, the original is always the original.

He was always one of my favorite characters, and maybe that's why I still love a (real) Scottish accent. A Vancouver boy, too!

D-I-Y

The new ad for Aquarius, which is apparently extremely popular in Spain, was just on the television. It features Justo Gallego Martínez, a man who has been building his own cathedral for over 30 years! Ever since I first heard about him I've wanted to visit and have a look, as it's only right here in the province of Madrid. Haven't made it yet, so now I'll just have to follow the hoards. Maybe now the Catholic church will recognize his efforts and give him some funding. I'm sure he'll be getting lots of private donations as well.

If of two minds about the ad. On one hand Coca Cola will get lots of publicity and come across like the good guy, on the other hand, they've set up a Web site about him and are accepting donations for the project, so he'll got some much needed help. Corporate ethics are such a tricky business. Can the messenger kill the message?

Returning to the important point, now that's faith, gotta admire it regardless of my own beliefs. We really do need more positive manifestations of religiosity.

Made it!

Well, the assignment's been turned in, and I've just had a nice long nap. One the whole, the world's looking much better now that it did last night. This kind of stuff never seems so hard in retrospect as it did at the time, does it? Can't imagine why it took me so long. Well, yes I can, actually.

Anyway, did find some rather zippy sites helpful, most especially the Perseus Project, which I'd looked at for other things, but never used as a language resource. Got me out of some tough spots when the old brain had locked up on the Herodotus translation!

Cybernetic scream

As it's rather late at night, and I'm still wrestling with this blessed Greek assignment, and it's driving me CRAZY (this time most annoyingly because of an error in the question paper), I feel the need to do a bit of an Edvard and vent my frustration in some relatively quiet manner (neighbors, you know). So here our little man is, doing my screaming for me.

Dang! That felt good! These Internets are good fer all sorts of stuff.

I do heart Thai food

Monica lives on in a new incarnation! Tonight we welcomed new member Cathy to feast upon delish Thai food. We tried a new restaurant nobody had been to, ever-so-originally named Bangkok. The curries were good and hot. ("The green sneaks up on you," reported Neil and Cathy.) The basil pork was succulent and interesting. The only place I felt things really fell down was with the pad thai, which just didn't have enough personality for my taste. Otherwise, highly successful.

Now for the part that'll make those of you who can get Thai food any old time and do, but who do not live in, shall we say, non-sun challenged, climes, drool, etc. (see Walter's comment). Dinner was followed by some excellent terraza action. For those of you who have not been to Spain, you have missed out on what I consider the only good thing about having to withstand absolutely brutal summer temperatures. Terraza action consists of enjoying the (hopefully) coolish evening air while sitting outside in a (hopefully) tree-filled plaza accompanied by the drink of your choice. This is a good thing, and the best part is that you can do it until quite late. In fact, I have just gotten home, and yes the posting time is correct. We did it to the tune of one round of cava (Spanish sparkling wine), Brugal (smooth and tasty dark rum from the Dominican Republic) and Coke, and a tonic. Thinks hotted up a bit with the second round (after the obligatory change of location): pacharan (anisette flavored with sloe berries, a Basque and Navarre drink which really should be tried by all), an Irish coffee (don't quite know what possessed me, really, maybe it was the cream) and a decaf.

Now if that don't make you want to pop over for a visit, I jes don't know what will.

Devon cream tea in Somerset

You will all be pleased to hear that tragedy has been averted. I very nearly forgot what was perhaps the second-most important event of the whole trip (I give the newlyweds first place): a proper cream tea in Devon ... well, in Somerset. Ya see, time she was a pressing, so we had to press on to make sure that lovely tea and lovely scones and lovely clotted cream and lovely jam did not make me miss my plane.

So... we stopped right on the edge of Exmoor, a lot of which is in Devon, in Dunster, which is in Somerset. They too have a fine cream tea, which I can attest to. Sadly, I did not bring my camera with me, so there will be no personal photos, but this one does go a long way towards giving you the idea. We popped into this super snazzy hotel filled with "Olde Worlde Charm" (a sign we actually saw on another pub, which had looked like quite a nice place until we spotted it) to have tea in their garden. With yumminess on the plate and a view of the castle, not to mention a seat in the shade, all was well.

On a happier note ... Wales and England

Well, the trip was to England, but I certainly got some Welshness in as well. (Plus I much prefer the flag.) Photos will have to wait, as my camara still lives in the non-digital age.

Flew into Liverpool on the day of the terrorist attacks, so when my friend Sara without an H came to pick me up, we just drove back to her (very lovely) house in Birkenhead on the Wirral, had a bit of dinner and obsessively watched the news coverage.

On Friday, we took a day trip to Conwy in North Wales. First, lunch was in order, a bit of a ladies' affair in a tea room. We visited a 14th-century merchant's house and then discovered Plas Mawr, a Tudor town house. Spent about forever touring it and gawking at the amazing plasterwork, then moved on to the truly excellent castle, with a mad tour guide who sez Rick Steves has made him famous, or some such thing. About halfway through the tour, he got a bit confused and started talking to Sara as if she were the American, and me as the Englishwoman (who clearly would know nothing at all about Wales!). Being on the seaside, some fish and chips were required for dinner. They claimed to be award-winning, but what I really enjoyed were the mushy peas, although I was a bit disappointed that they weren't the bright flourescent green I'm used to. (That did mean they were homemade, however, and they certainly tasted it -- delicious!)

Home for the news and newspapers, and then Big Brother when the news got too much. Got the full rundown from Sara, so now am fully up-to-date on the doings in the house. Am beyond bored with the Spanish version, which seems to consist mainly of Big Brother torturing the inmates, so was able to get sucked right into it.

Saturday was wedding day in Prestwich, Manchester. More on that when I can include pictures of drunk Geordies and the like. It was a lovely day: lovely church, lovely bride, lovely groom, lovely bridesmaid, lovely dinner, lovely dancing, and lovely drinks!

Got back home early on Sunday, and then were invited over to Sara's brother's for lunch. Met the whole Natton clan, and a lot of fun they were, too. After initial caution on his part about the presence of a new person, Sara's nephew must have said my name about a thousand times in the two hours I was there. It does make one feel most important! Then we were dispatched to the train station by a nervous father and brother, arriving in PLENTY OF TIME!

The British rail system did not disappoint, and so after avoiding getting stranded in Crewe only by sheer determination on my part in the face of a witless Virgin Trains employee, managed to make it to Bristol just about an hour late. The advantage was that the trains did go through some very nice Welsh countryside. Sarah with an H picked me up, took me home and fed me nice food, as promised.

Spent Monday wandering around Bristol in my new sandles, unwisely as it turned out. Excellent cathedral action, which I happily spent ages looking around and taking about a roll of film in, while waiting for Sarah to finish being tortured by doctors. If you ever go, a nice long sit in the back garden off the cloister is well worth it. We ended the day in a pub in Clifton Village, which looked out on the Clifton Suspension Bridge, having some very welcome g&t's. Ever since that wackily named Isambard Kingdom Brunel came in second in the greatest Briton of all time contest, I've wanted to see something he built. It did not disappoint.

Tuesday and Wednesday were spent in Exmoor National Park. We stayed near Lynmouth and did some fine hiking and eating, which I do find a nice combination. More pictures of sweaty us to come. (It was HOT! I got a bit of a sunburn! In England!) Imagine walking up the big hill you can imagine beside the photographer to the right. Then along the side of the cliff (!!) out to the point in the distance. You got a hazy view of South Wales from up there, so we could have a bit of a wave at Sarah's parents' house. The beverage gods were with us, as there was a pub open on the route back, so a pint of lime and soda saved the day for our parched selves. (OK, I admit we did plan our route around this possibility, but have I mentioned that it was HOT?!) Then it was over the ridge through the sheep fields and woods, and down to the river. The rest of the walk was more or less along the river, so cool and refreshing, if a bit more strenuous than anticipated.

Wednesday afternoon was a bit of a sweaty and mad drive to the airport, and then home to Madrid, where it is EVEN HOTTER!

Terrorist bastards

Not to worry (about me, at least). Not going anwhere near London. The only semi-intelligent thing I can say right now is: fucking terrorist bastards. Will surely have more helpful commentary when I get back from England.

It's all Greek to me at this point, literally

OK, easy joke, but whattya want after ages killing myself to get out this Greek assignment before heading out for a week's vacation? (Not entirely successful, alas!) Such is the life of a lowly translator, often troubled by niggling demands from Paradores and others to actually do some work and earn some money to pay for said trip (not to mention crazy degree course that involves learning ancient Greek!). Maybe I can now stretch to this stamp set, which I so want to do my assignments with. Making 'em as legible as possible must get you brownie points, I say.

And with that, reviewing the last jobby on dividend payouts, and a lot more work on the ol' language of Homer, a trip to buy silly Spanish-type gifts for all and sundry, followed by one of my super-special express packing adventures (lowest total time, 35 minutes or so), I'm outta here until next Wednesday the 13th.

Off to In-ger-lund I go: a couple days in Liverpool, a wedding in Manchester, a train down to Bristol with a look round there, then a bit of hiking or whatnot in Exmoor National Park. Lots of visiting with old-time friends, frightening English wedding cake, fish 'n' chips, a curry, cheese and onion crisps, some nice cider down the pub, the sea (!), a stroll round Boots (only the best drugstore ever), a visit to Marks and Spencer to stock up on ladies' things, some crap celebrity gossip magazines, and home with as much cheddar cheese and scones as will fit in my suitcase. It's all good here!

Song playing on the radio that's really good and you should listen to a sample of it: "Flaca" by Andres Calamaro.

And then there were three...

In my fit of procrastination, I completely forgotten to commemorate the end of an era for Monica. Lo these many months past (January), a group of us started a sort of dining club to try new restaurants. She is called Monica because one of the founding members, Glenda, of Vancouver fame, for fairly obvious reasons always used that name when making reservations in Spain. (I often use my middle name. Trust me, after a while you get tired of being called "Negra", which not only means black, but is also not a name here and really confuses the locals.) So far we have had: French crepes and fondue, Columbian, Indian, Spanish tapas, Andalusian Spanish (just down the street from my house, with much post-prandial whisky provided by yours truly), vegetarian, Japanese, Arab, Arab again, just plain food food (a menu del día), and Arab again! (No real explanation for all the Arab food, other than that we just kept coming across places we wanted to try, and they just happened to have couscous on the menu. I missed the middle one, but I do believe that by all accounts Arabia, the last, was hands down the best: fantastic decor, delicious food, good-sized portions, attentive service and reasonable price. What more could you ask for?)

Slowly but surely, we have been losing members: adjunct member Marta, of Sevilla fame; the aforementioned Glenda; Miriam, of New York, and now Amsterdam, fame; Dave, of LNAIB (Last Known Address in Britain) London fame; and now Ruth, of Wales fame. (She is not to be confused with Ruth R of-the-many-going-away-shindigs, who is known to me as curly Ruth. This is straight Ruth -- it's all about the hair folks!).

And so now there are three: me, of Seattle fame; Gretchen, of one of those two states I can't keep track of, despite having actually been to one of them (Vermont and New Hampshire) fame; and Neil, of Somerset fame. We've got Thai food (yum!) next on the agenda for later this month, and then in the fall (BrE autumn, for all you international types) we'll begin active recruitment.

Guest appearances are welcome for all you brave souls who would like to visit Madrid. We'll do Spanish in your honor.

All of us (except me), with special guest appearance by Ruth's father. At Segun Emma.

Glenda and Gretchen at La Bolee Encantada

Miriam and Dave at La Bolee Encantada

Neil, Nedra and Ruth at La Bolee Encantada

Happy Fourth!

Well, 'tis the fourth. After having read Walter's bbq saga, I am once again missing the fireworks and food festivities. In addition, as I'm not working this month (ostensibly, that is, as am continuing with one of my classes, plus translations, plus working in my university's office to cover for the coordinator's various holidays and summer schools), I'm not able to do my good old 4th of July lesson. I do love impressing on their impressionable Spanish minds that the 4th is not about patriotism, it's about beer! The lesson is fun: bbq and assorted vocabulary, and Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the U.S.A." as a lyrics grab (try to grab as many lines as possible when you hear them), in which I delight in their realization that it's not a traditional patriotic song at all. Add a bit of phrasal verbs work (send off, cover up, fight off, etc.), everybody's favorite (not!), and you're done.

Procrastination

OK, so there I am doing just what the title tells me to, looking up what time the Tour de France (yay, it's finally started!) is going to be on the television so I can plan my lunch break (from the studying I haven't even started yet!) to coincide. So I decide to commemorate my uselessness for you all, and as I always gotta have a picture, I punched "procrastinate" into good old Google images. But wait, there is this interesting looking skeleton image, I've just got to investigate. (You can't say I ain't good at this procrastination lark.)

Lo and behold, I had come across Transtopia: Transhumanism Evolved, a site on cryonics, which is illustrated with lots of pictures of skeletons. Some strange mixed messages going on here or are they just trying to scare you into Birdseyeing yourself? Check it out, and remember, "even if you don't want to sign up for suspension in the near future, it is wise to arrange a suitable life insurance policy anyway." (P.S.: you can freeze Rover, too!)

Dinner with students

Scintillating title, isn't it _:;M¨ÑñL*^PP =)?¿ Weird, this keyboard has spontaneously done something I hadn't been able to figure out, changed itself into a Spanish language keyboard, making it much easier to put in accents and Ññ. Fortunately, I use a Spanish keyboard enough to more or less be able to remember where the keys are that are different. However, as you will hav guessed, I had a little trouble locating the question mark. All sorted now, you'll be relieved to hear.

As said boring title suggests, I've just got back from something I don't usually do: have dinner with my students at the end of term. Don't know why not, it's just a habit I never got into. Mostly because I don't usually teach evening classes, I suppose. Anyway, this was my morning group at the school, and a very nice group they were, too. There's always a rotating cast of characters in morning classes, as most folks are doing English in between other things, so they get jobs or move to Miami and that's the end of them. This group, however, kept a core of three young end-of-university age people and two older women who have been like best friends forever.

So off we went to one of my favorite taberna-type places in Madrid, confusingly named Toscana (Tuscany). We had a selection of raciones (often what people are referring to when they talk about going for tapas), fairly large servings of different things to share. We had a couple of nice salads; scrambled eggs with ham, young green garlic and wild mushrooms; egg and (British) chips; and their specialty morcillo, beef shank, and chips. Yum! Top it off with some cakes and then coffee sitting outside in front of Viva Madrid, and Bob certainly is your uncle!

Miguel Bosé

Had a great time last night at the Miguel Bosé concert. Betty-no-mates had to go alone, as no one else had enough taste to wanna spring for the show. He's a bit love him or hate him, although I honestly can't understand why anybody would hate him. Think Spain's answer to some sort of David Bowie (i.e. God) and Bryan Ferry, he's even done Peter and the Wolf. How could you not love him? Of course, his being georgeous and a seemingly v groovy person doesn't hurt, either. And don't go bothering to tell me he's all gay and shit. What the hell do I care about his sexual proclivities, I ain't never gonna meet him! (Have a listen to a bit of Morenamia, my current favorite.)

After that, headed up to the north end of the city (dangerously close to my place of employment) to bid Ruth R a fond farewell, as she just had to stop by Mural, the sleeziest bar on earth, to bid it a fond farewell. Sooooo, very little sleep for this chicken last night.