Caga Tio!


Introducing el Tio Nadal other wise known as el Caga Tio (or the Shitting Uncle!)
We are staying just a two block from what seems to be THE Christmas market in Barcelona. So When we called our friend Olga to let her know we were finally in Barcelona she suggested we meet there as she wanted to do a bit of shopping with her little daughter. We met at the steps of the cathedral and began chatting--her daughter was busily occupied with her toy car to pay much attention to us but son got bored and began exclaiming that she wanted to see the “Tio”
Her mother said, “Oh yes its an enormous Tio!” Hugo and I are to be excused in imagining they were talking about an obese relative or some very large guy at this point. You see we had yet to be introduced to el Tio Nadal. But thanks to Olga and her little daughter we have learned what must be one of the weirder Catalan customs… perhaps the oddest Christmas ritual ever.

In Colombia Niño Dios (or baby Jesús) comes to give gifts on the 24th of December. In the US and much of Europe there is Santa Claus/ St. Nicholas. Other places have the Magi give gifts on January 6th. But in Barcelona there is the Tio—this is a log with a smiley face that is beaten with a stick on the 24th so that it will poop gifts.
The details:

The tio has a smiley face-- and in a strange case cross-cultural pollination a santa claus type hat—It has two sticks as feb, and most of it is covered with a blanket.

The Tio is fed by the children. According to Olga her daughter is very certain to give the log very good food so that it will poop good gifts—she is hoping for a scooter!
(The parents then hide the food when the child is not looking at the child believes it has eaten the food.)

Some parents replace the Tio every once in a while with a larger one so it seems as if the food is making it grow.

On the 24th the tio is beaten with a stick as festive songs telling the log to poop are sung to it. The log the “poops” the gifts under the blanket, the blanket is removed and voila the gifts.


We got to see a small enactment because of the enormous Tio that is gracing the Christmas market. There were children lined up around it ready to beat the tio. The line was long—this seems to be like Santa at Macy’s. But Olga’s daughter was determined, the line moved quickly because unlike Santa at Macy’s 7 children or so got to beat the log with a stick and no one asked him for specific things. Instead a worker reached under the blanket to give each child a lollipop the log had pooped once they finished singing their song and their little arms were tired of whacking the Tio. I don’t have a phone line yet so I wasn’t carrying my telephone (and therefore camera) so you will just have to take this picture culled from the internet as proof that I am not making this up.

NIAGARA FALLS


Now that we are leaving. Yes we are leaving NY and going to Barcelona… H and I have taken advantage of the JetBlue all you can jet promotion. We can visit our relatives before we leave—even the ones in Colombia! All for just $500. It couldn’t have come at a better time.

Our first stop? Niagara Falls. We always wanted to see it—but never enough to pay for the trip and take the time off. This seemed like the perfect opportunity. Our plan was to take the subway to the airport the flight to Buffalo a public bus to the falls. Walk around see what there is to see, have lunch and take the bus back to the airport and take the last flight back.

On the flight there we are in a row of seats between two Spanish couples that clearly know each other. They think nothing of talking to each other as if our row wasn’t there. And all of a sudden I remember. Spanish people are loud, and to Latin American ears their habits seem a bit abrasive and rude. I worry when it occurs to me that I have never had a Spanish friend—maybe I don’t like them… Then again maybe they will seem less loud when they are amongst themselves.

Is this move a mistake? We run into in them A couple of times in Niagara—or that is to sy we can hear that they are close. They have noticed we spoke Spanish and have asked for a our help knowing where to get off the bus etc; not wanting to spend the day with them we avoid them as much as possible.

Niagara is a very odd place. I have been to some tourist towns before certain sections of Ciudad Juarez, Nassau, Montego Bay and always been horrified at what tourism will do to what could be a lovely place. But I always thought that the biggest problem was the developing economy butting against first world economic power. Now I see that even in developed countries tourism does dreadful things. Niagara is covered with “family” tourist attractions which seems to mean several knock-off Madame Tussuad. (If you thought walking past Madame Tussuad as you hurried to get out Times Square was depressing? Try “Monsieur Tussuad”, or several other museums dedicated to wax creations of the worst criminals in history, or the most infamous people in the world etc.) but all is not wax museums loud electronic carnival barkers will try to usher you in to Ripley’s Believe it or Not, Hard Rock Café, several varieties of Haunted Houses or Fun-house type places all in super saturated colors and with neon lights on even though its 2 in the afternoon.
The food is also hideous. We found a falafel/shawarma place—I thought this was a safe bet because you can’t go wrong with falafel, right? I mean it can be greasier than youd like more or less tasty but its always all right? Sadly its not the case. I now know that you can really, really mess up falafel. Who knew?


But the falls themselves… they are beautiful. Standing over them on the Canadian side the water looks like glass right before it cascades down. The view is beautiful. WE went on the boat too. H was so sweet to humor me—but its almost the only way to see them from the bottom.
The line is ridiculously long even on this cold September day but it moves quickly. On our way down the hill to get to the boat we are pushed into a room so that they can take a picture of us against a blue screen this way they can superimpose us onto the falls later. We tell them we aren’t interested.
“It’s free. You don’t have to buy the picture”
“Yeah, no thanks,” H says again.
“It’s a great way to remember your visit to the falls.”
I don’t point out that it wont be an actual picture of us at the falls because even then we wouldn't want to do it, but it leaves me thinking how right Baudrillard is.

But specifically, I wonder how many people will take home a picture of them “at the falls” as a souvenir and how that picture will mesh, or not, with their memories. What will they think about when they see it? Of the line that passes through the room where they take the picture, of the boat ride, of the entire holiday, or of a moment that doesn’t exist the moment when they stood against the falls and someone snapped a picture of them?

Anyway, the trip was totally worth getting up early for, luckily, that is all it had to live up for. It was an anthropological marvel more than anything but the waterfalls are beautiful—they are worth a small detour, or an early rise, so thanks JetBlue for your sale.


Note that its not my picture either... more simulacra. On the other hand will I ever start taking photographs-- it seems unlikely.

We have gotten rid of almost everything now. Every day I take about ten books down and place them in front fo the building and hope someone will take them. So far almost every book has “sold” I am thrilled not to have to throw them away but have been surprised at many of the books that have found new homes. Most of the novels seemed like good candidate, but who knew that books about Russian peasants in the 18th century, Kant’s Critique of Judgment, or really dry literary theory would be picked up as well.

Today I sat in my much emptied apartment and cried as if my first love had left me. I have lived in New York for some 15 years. I leave NY in the fall, the same season in which I arrived to go to Sarah Lawrence. I do want to go, so why does this feel so sad?

Yes, of course, because I fell in love with NY again--or more particularly my little corner of Brooklyn--we are moving.
Where?
Barcelona.
H is going to study… I am going to eat lots of Manchego.
Wine will be drunk.
It feels bittersweet.

I wonder if I will live as close to these pink arches as I do to Grand Army?

(Grand Army Plaza pic by WallyG.)

This may be the hottest day ever. Those of you with me in NY will of course not be surprised that I am complaining. But I have never been quite this hot in my life. We walked less than ten blocks from the subway to a coffee shop where I am trying to write this. It is about 5 in the afternoon and it is 104 degrees outside—how is that even possible. The heat has given me a headache and from experience I know it will take an hour of sitting in the anemic air conditioning this café is offering before I feel better. But I am not just writing this to complain. (However I must say that it is sad to have the one week off from interpreting that I get this summer during the middle of a heatwave. I wish the courts were open so that I could be sitting in air conditioning. Never has our decision to live without air conditioning felt so foolish as today.)

I write this whiny preface to exclaim that I have seen two yes that is 2 people running. My computer informs me that it really is 104 outside. I mean perhaps I am just jealous because usually any slight discomfort will serve as an excuse to stop exercising . But really what can they be thinking. Just don't run today. It has to be the hottest day in at least a decade. Where could they be from that they think this is normal? Perhaps somewhere in Arizona, or southern Sudan?

Well if they can do it, I suppose I should just be impressed.

A CATHY SUMMER
Upon my return to NY, I was looking at the city and it seemed boring, too busy without being interesting and well I was just so over NY. And then Cathy arrived. Cathy is a friend of a friend. (s she is from Colombia of course because Americans just don’t stay with friends of friends right? They almost don’t even stay with friends…. See just how cross I am about the US right now?

Anyway Cathy is making me see NY through new eyes again. And well its beautiful. I feel like the luckiest person in the world to live in Prospect Heights. I love our coffee shops—both of them are great and if one doesn’t suit the mood Imin the other does. Breuklen and the Glass Shop are both amazing. Francesco can be stand offish at first but you really grow to love his way of relatingto people as he warms up. As for Frank, Jason and Liza.. they are lovely all in different ways. Francesco has the sardine sandwiches! Frank has the organic coffee and grass fed cow milk.

And then there is Prospect Park (it doesn’t hurt that its June.) blue marble ice cream and the park slope coop.

Chavela’s with the nicest owner ever and surely the best Mexican food in Brooklyn.

Our new find Pilar’s up in Bed-Stuy /Clinton Hill—also great people but their food may be even nicer than they are!

The Public Library both on 42nd street and the Brooklyn one a few blocks away next to the park, the sun, the brownstones, getting to ride my bike over Brooklyn bridge to go to work, the highline park, going to see Shakespeare in the Park, music at Lincoln center. the MOMA, biking to Breezy Point to go to the beach and stopping for Uighur food and Russian pastries on the way there.

eating Senegalese, Indian, Jamaican, Veggie Jamaican and cheap Chinese owned Japanese food all on one street right next to your house

Of course Cathy loves it… she keeps comparing NY to Koln where she has lived for the last several years and hearing her makes me realize just how amazing our neighborhood is. I think this is what having a child must be like—getting see everything as new again. I should have guests more often--of course my dissertation suffers—although we did spend a bit of time ar 42nd street library doing research….

H has been less than excited with his work for awhile now. I have always wanted him to go back to get his doctorate—ironic considering how much I love getting mine, right? But we have also been talking about moving for a while.

So H and I have been saying it would be good to put my EU citizenship to use. He is suggesting England I prefer Spain, Italy, France or Austria. Of those I suspect only Spain is viable because of our rather limited linguistic abilities.

Should we go? I love the life we have built here. But I must say this is definitely not what I imagined my life would be at 35 . I have spent my entire adult life not only in the US but in one city—arguably the best city in the world, but it is just one place.

I came to NY to go to college and I have just stayed. I think I need a change. It seems so wasteful though to just let all we have built here go.

A date!
Oh! After so many years… I have three professors and a date, for this semester. Finally I really be ABD. Thank goodness.

The good: It’s fairly soon: April 6th And finally I have at topic that doesn’t scare people.
The bad: the film theory is very, very boring. Do people really still believe in Freud? Apparently so. Is it me? Why don’t I buy Lacan, Kristeva et all. I mean its very beautiful what they do but you sort of have to buy into a lot at the beginning to go with their arguments. I haven’t been around other students in so long that its difficult to know how alone I am in my skepticism.

A few of you have asked about my sister lately... Hermana is in kind of limbo at the moment—too old to continue in her small school and with parents not convinced of what her next step should be. She is to stay in her bucolic day school for a few more months and then—well, then is the question. To which there are some answers and plans but none that I feel sufficiently confident will actually happen.
The subject of my sister is of course a difficult one. Even though I have had several years to adjust to the idea. The reality that her life will be so different from what I might have hope for her is a bitter reality that I doubt any of us have truly faced. There are key times when I am confronted with it and this month may be one of the most difficult. Hermana should be heading off to college at this moment. While it is possible that she would have made the northern migration most of us chose to go to college next September its equally likely that but, she would be attending University at home. She’d be feeling nervous about starting college and relieved that the pressure of choosing her course of study—a rather difficult choice for someone in their last year of high school—was over. I wonder whether she would have succumbed to social pressure and been the first of us to study business or if she would have followed her love of music and followed my brother’s path. I suspect the latter but there is no way to tell really.
Part of me focuses on the fact that she certainly seems happier than the rest of the women in my family. I am not sure why, because when I speak to my parents as well as my aunts and uncles, I don’t get impression that they have lowered expectations or some other chauvinistic conception of the world; however it must be said that all the women in my family have difficulties that our male cousins don’t seem to have had. Hermana is blissfully free of that at least. Her adolescence was a million times happier than mine and I suspect easily happier than all but one of my cousins. My fear should be that she may not always be as happy as she is now. But all my regrets, lately, are of what might have been. Hermana laughing with her friends outside of the university, complaining about the classes she needs to take, despairing that there are no boys worth dating in her class…
The first time this melancholy swept across me was a couple of years ago, I was brushing her hair and I realized we would never have the kind of sisterly relation– a kind of pastiche of Hollywood recreations of sisterhood no doubt—that I had somehow unknowingly absorbed or imagined. So my regrets are largely selfish ones what I won’t see her do, what I won’t hear in telephone conversations, what we won’t share and that is my consolation: the fact that her regrets seem few, that, although I know she wishes she could all the things that other people do, she seems happy and is surrounded by the people she loves or perhaps more remarkably, has learned to love all those who surround her. Would that we all had that talent.

Gabriel Orozco: Samurai Tree Invariants and Karl Jenkin's Concert for Peace

Two ways to pass the time; one making me wish I was safely home working on my dissertation.

These really have nothing in common but I am combining them in one post. On January 18th I went to see Concert for Peace – Celebrating the Spirit of Martin Luther King, Jr. which was comprised of two works by Karl Jenkins. I listened to a couple of minutes of Requiem on YouTube; and since I enjoy chorale music and I am not that picky, it seemed worth attending.

The music itself, I suspect, isn't too bad. But my goodness the videos that accompany it were more awful than I could have ever imagined. I mean truly, truly, amazingly awful. Footage of what looked like carnival and people playing with poi and dressed up as devils for the Dies Irae should have clued me in, but I tend to be hopeful so I braved through film and close ups of Rose windows and stained glass when the choir was singing about Jesus, grateful indeed that I never studied Latin and could close my eyes and just listen to what they were singing without having to understand the doubtfully stupid things that were being said. Then it was time for The Armed Man which was the work I had found reviewed and what I was looking forward too. At first the video seemed a bit better; there was historical footage of soldiers going to war, military parades and people building bombs all sped up or slowed down with to the tempo of the songs-- a bit literal its true but acceptable. But then they added recreations I think the Napoleonic Wars, and maybe the War of Independence intercutting that with images of the S.S. just feels weird. It made me squirm in my seat and look away. I know I should have kept closing my eyes and looking away but the thing is that when there is video its almost impossbile for me to look away no matter how awful I am a bit like my cat Kala when she sees a fly, my eyes keep going back again and again even if I know what I see will torment me. Well, just when I thought it couldn't get worse there were images of the World Trade Center falling down while the choir lifted their arms shook their hands and made some sort AHHHH or Ohhhh sound. The work was composed before 2001, which means that they actually had to decide to add this later. That someone thought this was a good idea actually, gives me hope for my future; although not much for society. Clearly, remarkably stupid people succeed all the time, so why not me?


In direct contrast to this horrible even was last Sunday's visit to the Moma.

We didn't have much time and really only saw some of Orozco's work. I loved Samurai Tree Invariants, at first I just thought it was passingly pretty. A room filled with variations on a theme. But as I looked at it my mind began to try to figure out the rules that were being followed for each change o f the image. All of a sudden I understood how it could be that there are almost an infinite amount of variations in chess. This is something that Nane always refers to but I never could really believe--I mean I knew he wasn't lying but I could get it until I saw this. I walked around figuring out some of the rules used and trying to guess what the next image would look like. When I dold him it made me think of chess, he beamed and said he was thinking hte same thing. It turns out so was Orozco although in a more precise way when we read the description on our way out he said he was influenced by the knight's movement on a chess board. So there you go, nice to know I was on a the same wavelength as the artist but I won't be winning any prizes for originality. The thing is, since the mind loves to to see repetition and discern patterns I suspect that almost anyone would love this work. It would be really fun to take a child to experience it. When I ran a children's program at museum many years ago, this was the kind of piece that you could play lots of games with...

I may be the slowest knitter ever because not only am pretty slow with the actual process, I make lots of mistakes, decide that I am not going to fix them, then change my mind tear out hours of work and fix the mistake; i also get distracted and stop knitting for weeks only to take it up again. At the moment I have a cute vest for a baby boy that I was making for a friend but I forgot to finish it and now am only missing one shoulder (that 's right not even a sleeve, but a shoulder for a six month old--so about 1 hour of work.) of course the baby I was making it for is almost 1 now so it's on hold until I find another child to finish it for.
So, I say all of this because here is a finished object, not only is it finished I actually mailed it off on time for my aunt to take it with her when she goes to see her first grandchild. Andrea Sofia was born yesterday, which coincidentally is the day that I finished her sweater. So here you go littlest cousin! Happy Birthday Andrea Sofia; we are all so excited that you have come into the world and felicitaciones Juan Pablo and Laura se que seran padres maravillosos.

Donate to Send Disaster Kits to Haiti


Enough said. So many of us in NY know people in Haiti or at the very lest people from Haiti but even if you don't you have to acknowledge that this is one tragically unlucky country. Occupied by Spain, the US and France, overrun by dictators and death squads that are of course supported by the US , suffering disproportionately from AIDS and yet largely overlooked when it comes to any kind of significant international aid, Haiti has suffered beyond belief. It starts with the French-who may compete only with the Belgians for absolutely the last people you want colonizing your country (and let's face it that is a tough competition to win) and continues with an earthquake that has caused the death of maybe 200.000 people.

Haiti is consistantly ignored Latin American countries even though this tiny country was one of the first nations to send Simon Bolivar help in fighting the Spanish. In the US, Haitians have a terrible time immigrating and legalizing their status. Even though their situation and history is not too different from EL Salvador's for example they haven't qualified for Temporary Protective Status.

The Earthquake changes this a bit and it looks as if the US may start granting some kind of TPS based on the disaster. That should help. But a more immediate thing you can do is donate to help send disaster kits to Haiti. Each kit has a weather resistant 10 person tent, a cooking stove, crayons for children, and basic tools.

Because it sucks when you don't even have a tent to live in.

If this isn't your thing consider giving money to the Red Cross or Medecins sans frontieres

Is It Weird to Hope You Have Swine Flu?


I am sick. Really sick. My arms and legs hurt, I can't breathe through my nose. I have a light annoying fever that's not high enough to kill anything off. I have of course googled swine flu and flu vs. cold to figure out what I have. I have no idea it could be any of the three. Hoping it's the oink oink flu though because then I'd be inoculated; right?

Anyway it reminds me of when parents sent their children to get the measles and what not from their neighbors, but I am hoping this is the swine flu or at least some kind of flu so that my pain is serving some sort function. I mean I work with immigrants from all around the world everyday right, my building is like a little UN of germs so having one of the flus should be a good thing.

The really awful part? I have gone to work everyday. I know. I went on Monday because I had no choice; but I had enough time to call in sick today but the money I'd lose stopped me. I have done what I can-- using the alcohol hand wash compulsively and trying to breathe on people as little as possible. I don't want to infect my coworkers and I really don't want to infect all of the immigrants because most of them can afford to miss work even less than I can, and they rarely have insurance either. So I feel evil. I'm going to work tomorrow too-- now my excuse is that I 'm on the mend .

What do you do when your actions absolutely don't coincide with that little ethical voice inside you? Apperantly I ignore it compulsively.
Oh yeah and so far ZERO work on the big D this week.

Frustrated, I jump up and down. I move even faster but I can't get the the step right.

There is a short, sporty-looking Japanese woman yelling "Go, go, go. Faster. Go. Now! Lift your legs higher. In the back higher." Even, the soft lilt of her accent cannot make the orders that she fires out any less threatening.

Threatening, because, as anyone who knows me is painfully aware, I am not a dancer. There is no way I can keep up with these bizarre instructions. But this isn't dancing, so I persevere.

Jump, jump, jump, jump left, jump right leg in, jump left leg up, jump right leg out, jump right leg up, jump right.

Did I mention there are hand movements related to all of this?
I live in fear of landing on the springs; or could I somehow land on the trampoline to my right? On top of the woman next to me?

I have been taking this mini trampoline class once a week for a while. The idea was to have lower impact activities in between the days that I jog to give my knees a bit of a rest. I don't actually know that my knees need rest, but since they are sensitive it seemed like something I might try out.

The nice thing is that since it is a class there is no asking myself "Haven't I done enough? Can't I just go home now?" The class starts when it starts and, well, I won't compound my inability to follow even the most basic instructions by being the one who left early.

It certainly gets my heart rate up although whether its out of fear or exertion I cannot say.

So I return the next week. Hoping that I am somehow bouncing my way into better health--and few less inches in a few key places.

But there is something about 40 grown women jumping on tiny trampolines to fast paced horrible music that makes me cringe. It seems so synthetic.

That is of course because it is. Unlike running, something we did before we even human. Biking, a practical invention, is not natural but seems completely reasonable. Ice skating is a smart response to ice, you no longer fall and you're faster.
Trampolining is a bit more suspect. If graceful, like synchronized trampoline (yes its real and an Olympic sport) it's strange but somehow imbued with a kind meaning. but that comparison just makes this class even more depressing, as it's devoid of flips and pirouettes and all takes place on what looks like a kiddie version of a trampoline--and aren't trampolines already for kids. That said I am taking it again this week...

The holidays are over.

Now all that awaits us is two months of bitter cold. I haven't been jogging in ages; I keep telling myself I am going to do so but the cold makes me wimp out. So how have I been wasting my time? Well amazingly I have done some work on my dissertation. Mostly just enough to make me stress out at how much is left to be done.

The farmer's market is depressing. I picked up some mushrooms, potatos and sweet potatos, carrots a couple of greens-but I doubt there will be any next week- and some beef. Couldnt find milk, eggs or chickens.

I have still been making bentos: today's featured dried shitakes,lentils, carrot and kohlrabi salad, miso spinach, spicy pumpkin and a turnip gratin in a muffin cup. Yummy.

Kala Vs. Fred



We have two new electrodomesticos in our household: a vacuum cleaner and a humidifier. Appliances would perhaps be the English equivalent, but I am not sure a humidifier is an appliance. To say that they are electronics makes them sound more technical than they are.

Both are pretty. I have to some extent chosen form over function. But I have been pleasantly surprised that I am not feeling any of the ramifications of the choice. Could it be that form has followed function in this instance?

I can't recommend the vacuum enough. It is always charged, has no cords and no attachments to fiddle with Simple and nice. It's called the Kone-- my only complaint about it is the cutesy spelling of its name. It's the perfect supplement to our roomba as the kone will clean sofas and those places the roomba can't reach.


BUt more fun is Fred, our humidifier. It's easy to see why they gave it a human name it has a sort of anthropomorphic feel even though it looks more like a fifties flying saucer. Our Fred is red, and more importantly has cured me of my painfully dry eyes and itchy skin. One added plus is that Fred entertains our cat Kala.