about the girl

I teach Spanish at a private school. Today, as I was making future lesson plans, I glanced at the material from which I was creating extension activities. Several nouns--stemming from the teaching of various professions--stopped me in my tracks. My intention was to teach the use of articles using professions as an example (el pintor v. la pintora). However, I was at a loss over what to do about the words músico, bombero, and cartero. Cartero, most especially, threw me.

If I'm to teach the children the el and la (as well as un and una) form of each noun, how can I teach these three words? A question posed not only to one of my co-teachers, the co-teacher's husband, and the Spanish program coordinator (all of whom are native Spanish speakers versus my school-learned Spanish) resulted in the answers, "Hm, I'm not sure." The Spanish coordinator later found me in the teacher's lounge making copies and she showed me what the last word in Spanish language usage had to say about the feminine forms of musician, firefighter, and mail carrier.

According to the Real Academia Española, the end-all, be-all of Castillian Spanish, it is okay to feminize músico as música; bombero as bombera, and cartero as cartera. This last word, above all else, is what has me stuck. Cartera, as I've learned it and as I've heard every Spanish-speaking person I know use it, means purse, the object that a woman generally carries. And música, for me (and for other Spanish speakers I know), is what one listens to on the radio or on an iPod, not a female musician.

In speaking with the school director and owner, who is a native Spanish-speaker, she told me that I should go ahead and teach the words as the Real Academia has them with the caveat that they aren't usually used in spoken Spanish, at least not often. I'm still worried (in large part because two of my students are bi-lingual, and I really would hate to have their parents come to me saying, "Cartera? Really? Cartera?"

Ya viene la cartera, indeed.

I've written before about my obsession with all things Parisian. In fact, one of the categories in this here blog is Obsession: Paris. I also wrote about my excitement for the September issue of Vogue. Between the pages of the thick glossy, is an editorial spread titled "Paris, Je T'aime." The photographs are beautiful and lush and reminiscent of a time since past.

There have been times when I have imagines myself living my life out in Paris during the years between the wars, sharing thoughts with writers and poets, attending parties where jazz fills the background, meeting friends at cafes or nightclubs, taking in the sight that was Joesphine Baker.

That must have been a time.

images taken from fashionising

I've begun a new writing project. While I finished my first novel (after a year and half of working on it, on and off), I'm still tweaking things about it every now and then. However, I am anxious to start something new. I began this new novel the beginning of this month. Thus far, I'm thirty pages in. And I'm stuck, yet again. What I've been contemplating as it relates to two of the four main characters is something that, rationally speaking, would cause, I assume, a reader to not like them. I am deliberate about this, however. Before I started writing, I thought about the particular story I wanted to tell, and knew, long before putting pen to paper, that half of the characters would be less than perfect. This is not say that I go out of my way to create perfect characters in the sense that they are without flaws.

Characters that I create are fallible. I try to model them, to a certain extent, with various quirks in mind, things that I know about people in general. Yet, the pervious characters haven't made egregious decisions that are easy to classify as flagrant. But, but, this time around, my thought is to try something out of the norm for me as a writer. And in trying this, I want to make sure that my characters, while no means perfect and actively pursuing something that could get them labeled as selfish, have the reader wanting to invest some time in getting to know them, in understanding (although, the reader may not agree with or like it) them, and their reasons for their selfishness.

Essentially, what I am going for is the avoidance of the stereotypical. The villain who is so flatly drawn as to be a cliché. To use a cinematic example, I'd much rather know more about Jason Bourne than James Bond. James Bond is the quintessential good guy, but there isn't very much that's interesting about him that allows me to invest some time in caring about him, whereas Jason Bourne is a trained assassin who I care about. I want to know if he's going to find out about his past. This example could very well only work when talking about the films (because I've read neither novel series about the two characters) though. But this is how I'm approaching this new work. Perhaps it's not so much that I want sympathy for these characters, but more that I'm trying to figure out how to write a "S/he's reckless, but I can empathize with the very poor decision s/he made due to the circumstances" type of character. For that reason, I'm at a loss.

Casual Outing Fashionista 

Relax at Home Fashionista

Going out Salsa Dancing Fashionista

(the animation is a samba. There was no salsa animation available.) 

Wind Down with Yoga Fashionista 

At a Pool Party Fashionista 

I took a quiz today. A What Kind of Reader Are You? quiz. Here are the results.

I don't know how to feel about that. I would like to be more well-read, but often times it comes down to time for me. After working long hours during the week, I want to come home and veg out. This means that I watch reality television. However, I am most certainly that woman who not only carries around her writing journal in her purse, but who carries around a book for those just-in-case moments. On more than one occassion I've been (lovingly) teased about having a couple books and a couple magazines in the backseat of my car. I was once asked why I did that. It was disclosed that in undergrad, I once got stuck in traffic on my way to school.

I was a commuter, and while driving to campus on route 70, the traffic that had been zipping along at a great speed began to slow down considerably until it came to a halt. It was discovered that a horrible accident had occured a few miles ahead that needed the attention of medevac. There were folks who decided to drive along the shoulder until they reached the emergency turn area so they could head back in the opposite direction. I did not have that option because I had passed that emergency area maybe ten yards back. Thus, I was stuck. At the time, I did not have any kind of fun, literary text at the ready. What I had at my disposal was a dry (and not-so-fun) literay text available to me. I picked it out of my tote bag and thumbed through it, silently kicking myself for not having something engaging to read.

With that said, it is revealed that I'm not a book snob. I assume that's good. There are times that I wish I was more of a snob about reading so that I can properly engage in book talk. However, I realize that it could never be me. There are certain books that are a part of the literary canon that I would prefer never to read simply because of things that I have heard. However, I am aware of them, and I am aware of their thematic elements, which means that if someone were to mention it, I'd have a general idea of the plot, the characters, and the theme. And see this is why I'm a literate good citizen. Maybe that isn't so bad after all? I'm informed, yet I haven't forced myself to read a novel simply because the Grand Committee of They have said that I need to.

I did want Danny to win. Ever since I saw that jive that he did with Anya, I was on board. I had other favorites that night, but my appreciation for Danny stayed constant. He's blown me away with his beautiful solos. He's just got it. The technique, the musicality, and let's not kid ourselves here, the looks. Mia Michaels commented halfway through the season that Danny has the potential to go down in the books. And I wholeheartedly agree. He's that damn good. However, he didn't win tonight. And I'm not sad about it.

As I said, I wanted the Final Two to be between Sabra and Danny. I wanted that for a reason. Sabra is an amazing dancer. She's also been dancing for four years, and in that short amount of time she's proven that she's got the talent. I'm happy for her. She's just received so much recognition; recognition that she probably wouldn't have received otherwise (even though I do believe she's a wonderful dancer). Danny came to this show having been relatively well-known in the dance world as a former corp de ballet dancer for ABT. And he will leave this show with some newfound fans, fans such as I. I know now that I will forever be on the look out for works productions that he's in.

Here are my favorite Danny solos on So You Think You Can Dance.

Go 'head! Do your thing. You're still a winner.

After a night of dancing, some of us decided to head to an IHOP in Wheaton. E and I drove together in my car while Med Student and her friends drove in her car. He and I arrived at the IHOP first, and ended up spending close to half an hour outisde the establishment, chatting, because we were waiting for the other group. After a bit, we decided to enter and get seats. The host led us to a booth by the window. In the next booth to my right was a man who didn't seem as though he was all there. However, E and I ignored his slurred mumbling, and not long after we were seated, the others arrived.

Just as Med Student scooted in next to me, the guy in the adjacent booth reached over, fork in hand, and began poking my menu. The menu which had a picture of some breakfast meal on it. I looked at E then at Med Student and her friend, and asked her if she could scoot back the other way. Med Student, never one to sit idly by, called the waitress over and asked if we could be moved. We found new seats at a table for six. Med Student's friend from Atlanta--I'll call him The ATL Salsero--showed up after we had moved the tables (because he had gone to the men's room), wanting know what had happened. All eyes went over to the booth where this guy sat, eating his food with his hands, and not really reaching his mouth one-hundred percent of the time. It was odd, to say the least. There was mumbling and food shoveling and laying his head against the window. I commented that there had to be more to his story. He couldn't have just been drunk; along with alcohol, there had to have been a mix of some kind of illegal substance. Med Student and her friend, who is also a med student, agreed. 

As we ate our own meals, we found ourselves concerned by what was going on. There was a comment about whether the guy could be asked to leave or what the establishment could do. By this time, the guy had slipped off his shoes and was sprawled on the booth seat, sleeping. A larger man, security cap perched atop his head, approached the sleeping guy and woke him up. They had a whispered conversation and then we saw the guy picking up a sock (I hadn't noticed that he'd removed his sock), and putting on his shoes. One of the waiters came over to the duo, cellphone in hand, and we assumed that he was calling a cab for the guy. That had actually been a question that I'd had: Was IHOP obligated to see that the guy did not get behind the wheel of a car? I know that bars have that kind of responsibility, but a 24-hour IHOP? There was a moment after the security guard had spoken with him and the waiter had called a cab, where the guy took the coffee urn that was on the table and drank from it. Just. Wow.

When it was time for us to pay for our meals, we went up to the counter. Outside on the street, there was a blue cab. The guy breeezed past the five of us, and went directly to the cab. Looks were shared by all of us.

That's how I would like to look at myself with regards to all things culinary. The truth is, I'm still in the watching phase. I'm hopelessly addicted to Top Chef (apropos of which, my wish is for Tre to win this thing. Not only does he make what looks like some good food, but he looks good while doing it), I will on occasion watch a Nigella Lawson show (in fact, I own Nigella Bites and have fixed a couple things from there), and I was a subscriber to Food & Wine. Yet, I've not been compelled to actually step outside the box marked "Comfort Zone" to do much with this newfound love of gastronomy. I read blogs like Orangette and Chocolate & Zucchini, and I wonder what will be the catalyst that will make me become one with the kitchen.

I still try to piece together the reasons why I haven't made that giant leap yet. It's not that I haven't tried. A chocolate fudge cake recipe courtesy of Nigella Bites has gone over well with those who have had it, for instance. However, the preparation involved is almost surgical in its level. Where's the measuring cup? I need my bowls. Where's the whisk? And the hand-mixer? Damn, I don't have a double boiler. Well, I'll use the small stainless steel bowl over the small pot. Voila! Double boiler, McGeyver-style. And I don't even want to get started with the clean up. That just may be the reason why I haven't fully committed to the art of cooking. It's the darn prep and clean up that make me rethink everything.

There was a recipe last year for Coq au Vin in an issue of Wine Spectator magazine. Because I'm a magazine junkie, I could easily go search for the recipe, but I don't want to right now. The meal looked absolutely gorgeous. Then I started looking at the list of ingredients, and all of the preparation that went into making this French meal, and I decided then and there that all bets were off. There have been other occasions where I talked myself into preparing something from a cookbook.

Most recently this came in the form of a "Classic Birthday Cake" courtesy of The Williams-Sonoma Collection: Dessert book that I purchased with a Borders gift card last year. For a year I had this book, looking at the beautiful and lush photography that made my mouth water every single time I looked in this book. Then in June of this year, I decided that I was going to try two recipes in the book--the cake and a fruit salad. I know anyone can make a fruit salad, but this particular recipe had, as an added element, a lemon-honey-ginger compote. I swear, it was the compote that made the fruit salad not so good. And the cake? Well, I'll just say that I'm sticking with Nigella's version from here on out. There was something so off about this particular cake recipe. From the icing to the batter, it wasn't half as good as the chocolate fudge cake that I had received many compliments on.

I was quite disappointed with both of these recipes, both of which I did during a weekend. I was more disappointed with the fact that the pretty pictures simply had not translated into a pretty dessert or a pretty salad.

But, slowly I'm making my way to trying more recipes, even if they are few and far between. One day I'll be there.