Cup Collection

I’m not sure what my deal-i-o is, but I constantly accumulate cups on my dresser. It’s uncannily like that little girl on Signs (Did anyone else think she was going to be the alien presence in the movie, or at least the conduit, at first?) who kept leaving glasses of water everywhere for no apparent reason. Mind you there are three–Count them, 3!– different glasses here, not to mention the DP can, and that is very average.

I know. It’s not as if the rest of the dresser is spic-and-span, but this particular mess bothers me because I know it is a problem, yet I keep doing it unintentionally. To the point where sometimes I’m staring into the kitchen cupboard, annoyed at the lack of cup selection. Mugs? You can’t quench thirst with a mug.

Maybe just like in the movie, it is fated. And there is some higher purpose to my unexplained behavior. My uncharming habit will actually be the key to learning how to fight off the aliens and reclaim the planet, saving the human species from methodical extinction. Honestly, I’ve always felt particularly vulnerable to alien attack, like they have it in for me for some reason. Or maybe that’s what comes from a childhood filled with Star Trek, The Twilight Zone, and those spooky Time-Life Books commercials about the real aliens (tell me this photo link isn’t the scariest thing you’ve ever seen!) with the huge eyes and oblong heads that they showed a lot during 80s daytime TV programming, just when you were home sick from school. I was always grappling with the remote that wouldn’t change the channel fast enough!

For now, I’ll do my best to return my glasses promptly to the kitchen. If I’m annoyed, what must my 3 roommates feel like? Alas, if it’s in the cards, there will be no stopping it. Thanks, M. Night Sh—–, for possibly explaining away my bad behavior. “Swing away!”

The Mark of the Dragon

My wonderful boyfriend, Eter, has this birthmark on his right arm which he one day jokingly pointed out to me as a way to identify his body if I ever need to. But before I could chide him on his macabre thought, the perfect shape of a dragon shone forth like the writing on Frodo’s ring.  (I just watched The Lord of the Ring again, so get ready for a few references). It’s complete with wings, and all! Ah, the CHOSEN one…

So, lately I’ve been feeling a little like Lois Lane. Remember that cheezy, inside-her-head monologue in Superman the movie? It has long been a Giles family joke, so I can quote it… “You can fly. You belong in the sky. You can see right through me.” And a lot of other maudlin muck you could only get away with in the late 70s disco-crazed era, as Lois experiences her first joy-flight with her superhero boyfriend.

Well I have to brag about my boyfriend, who in addition to the telltale dragon mark also seems uncannily gifted.

You see, this morning, Eter informed me that his latest design side-project got accepted by graphicriver.net and is currently for sale:

http://graphicriver.net/item/carbon-fiber-hexagonal-grids-backgrounds/53846

Wait a second, you thought he was a doctor in Mexico!… And you would be right. So, this design stuff is just an evening hobby. Did he study design, too? Nope. But he didn’t study English much either, yet I’m pretty sure he speaks it better than I speak Spanish. (Humbling, but awesome).

A recent response from a friend of mine sums it up: “What in the… Can he catch bullets in his teeth? What kind of new breed of genetic prodigy is this??”

I’m not sure, but I’m hanging on to it despite my friend’s further warning that if he decides to be with a mere mortal woman,he may be forced to relinquish his powers forever. A la Samantha of Bewitched…

or Liv Tyler (Arwen Evenstar–I had to look it up) the Elvish princess.

Well, those are both girls and so not the best examples, but you catch my drift.

Did I mention he also speaks a pretty good German, can inch closer to another car without hitting it than anyone I’ve ever seen, regularly gives full-on talks at a moment’s notice, is my current hairdresser, irons far better than I do, has in abnormally high pain tolerance, and has never once failed to open a door for me.

I’m thinking about taking up fencing or spellcasting so I can successfully fight off the orcs and other insidious monsters that will surely be seeking his demise. So, maybe think of me as Arwen instead of him, and he’ll probably appreciate that. The forces of evil shall not prevail over the Mark of the Dragon!

The Facts of the Matter

For those of you who don’t know, and will never have this blessed experience, a cross-border relationship is trickier than you may think. While certain romantic comedies might highlight language differences or funny cultural misunderstandings that complicate the already tricky business of love, the truth is that the real hurdle is the USCIS. I know, you never heard of it. Neither had I. The United States Citizenship and Immigration Service is a division of the Department of Homeland Security. Now, don’t go crazy. No one’s saying the E-word or the M-word here. There’s nothing official happening as of yet, but unlike most couples, our picture-taking is not only “making memories” but factual documentation. In the best case scenario, we’ll have to prove to the US government that we have a real, verifiable relationship.

I just realized that a few of you may not have meet Eter yet, since this is my first “us” post. This is him. This is us.

So, you be the judge. Do we look legit?

I give you, Exhibit A:

Exhibit A: We love the border...or at least we spend a lot of time there. See the Mexico sign in the back? (Sorry for the repeat from the Giles family blog)

Exhibit B1: Sometimes he likes to kiss my face.

Exhibit B2: Sometimes I like to kiss his face.

Exhibit C1: We've met the fams. Me in a Rodriguez sandwich.

Exhibit C2: Eter in a Giles sandwich.

Exhibit D: Even the paparazzi show up to catch Salter unawares on the beach.

Phidippus Californicus

So here I am today, laying on my bed reading some Agamben (trendy leftist political theorist) for class tomorrow, minding my own ho-hum. Glancing up, probably in a pose of deep ponderance, who do I see but THIS GUY!

Now, I would never call myself a bug-lover, but neither am I the run-screaming-from-the-room girl. While living in the Dominican Republic, I got to where I could eat around the ants in the sugar bowl or cereal box. Squashing big bugs became a habit in Argentina, where often my companions or roommates were those squealy-girly types. Phido, here, had me just transfixed for a while. Do I kill it? (It’s pretty substantial and I don’t want to feel the squishyness.) I can’t just leave it there. (It’ll find it’s way to me in my sleep.) Are there more somewhere? We all think these thoughts.

Probably remembering Katie’s “toolkit” for catching crickets, I picked up a handy-dandy Mason jar that was auspiciously sitting idly on the kitchen counter and trapped it in there. With that heavy-duty glass barrier between us, I couldn’t help but study it a little more closely and feel some of that childhood wonderment.

After some cursory internet research, I found out my little friend’s name. I wiki-learned all about his likes and dislikes, and that he just eats bugs, not people. And, well, after than I just couldn’t do it. My roommate came in and said, “Aren’t you going to kill it?” Me: “Uh…yeah?”

Nope. I put Phido out in the planter, a respectable 20 feet from the house. Maybe chalk it up to the previous liberal philosophizing, or sheer internet diversion, but it’s funny how learning more about something changes how you feel and act toward it.

See ya around, Yellow Jumping Spider, at least here “in the sagebrush community of the Great Basin desert” and “from early April to July” (Thanks, wikipedia! Shhh! Don’t tell my students I use it, too.)

Loop-de-loop

Call me crazy but in the past month I’ve taken up crotcheting. So far I can only make square items because that’s all I learned at Enrichment night. But I’ve been thinking about WHY it is I like it so much…

Theory #1–Probably the most simple. It gives me one more way to put off doing all the things I should be doing, and does so in a way that makes me feel productive because there is something physical I’m actually producing.

Theory #2–Once a long time ago I heard that for mental health purposes one should spend at least some portion of every day doing something non-verbal. That means no reading, writing, hearing, or speaking words of any kind. I wonder how many of us actually do this. It seems that even the things we do to relax do not take us away from language. In fact, our leisure activities (or at least mine) almost always involve music, TV, the phone, reading, the internet, or just talking to other people. It’s a little difficult to come up with something that gets away from words. I think I used to use playing the piano for this. I think cooking and jogging also serve this purpose for me now, but I rarely do those without music (with lyrics) on as well. Generally, I’ve been crotcheting mostly in front of the TV, so I guess it doesn’t count. Still, I wonder if that is what my brain is seeking.

Theory #3–I’ve never really wanted to be “crafty” per say, but I have always felt a little incapable in manual skills. My designated and mostly self-assumed “thing” has been school/books/intellectual life/ideas. But I also always feel like there is a wee bit of artistry somewhere inside me, or maybe I  “just desire to believe” that is so. Not that this is art, and these scarves are not even skilled craft, but still they are feeding my delusions of grandeur for being able to create beautiful things. There’s just something so satisfying in that.

This is me pondering on my new, slightly nerdy hobby.  I certainly look the part. I welcome any and all other possible theories. In the meantime, my little green friend and I have some loops to loop. Anyone need a scarf or other rectangular-shaped item? I’ll be working on hats for the coming month, so sit tight…

Pumpkin Goodness

Living in San Diego, I am having a really hard time this year feeling like it is the Holiday Season. Blame the election madness, the unseasonably warm weather (even for us), my swamp of schoolwork, or maybe I’m slowly but surely becoming a Grinch on the top of my mountain. On a quick pop-in to the Walmart (equals poverty), I was bombarded by holiday sensory overload, and still it didn’t sink in. The ONLY real marker of holiday homey-ness and warmth has been the PUMPKIN BAKED GOODS.

Yesterday I made this tantalizing “Autumn Pumpkin Bread,” and took it to a friend’s bbq (yes, in November–a small clue as to the cause of my problem), and it was a real hit. I got the recipe off the internet, using my favorite trick of googling all of the ingredients I’m trying to use up followed by the word “recipe”, and Cha-ching!

So, for those of you also living in warm climates and having trouble getting into the spirit of the season, or for people who just like to win friends and influence people with culinary delights–I highly recommend a little baking action. Here’s the link to the recipe online:

http://kitchenparade.com/2002/11/autumn-pumpkin-bread.php

Heart you,
The Worst Blogger Ever

Hello, Havarti!

I ate this cheese today, and it was good. Who knew? A whole lot of Danish people, I guess. Oh, and obviously this guy. If only I could tell him I already have. You should, too.

If my blog had product promotion, this would be it. So if there is any kind of corporate conglomerate for Havarti, I’m here and waiting for my check. Or if you need someone to hold that sign for a while, I could use some extra income right about now.

How Do I Love Thee, Balboa Park? Let Me Count the Ways…

I truly love all of San Diego–the busy-ness of the Gaslamp Quarter downtown, posh La Jolla, postcard perfect Coronado, artsy Little Italy, the buena onda of Barrio Logan, the hipness of Hillcrest, the truly authentic Asian experience of Convoy, and the nostalgic if inaccurate feel of Old Town–but the real treasure here is Balboa Park. In a meal, it would be the dessert. In a home, maybe the fireplace. An outfit, some adorable shoes. It’s the little extra, the warmth, the sweetness, the sparkle. The first time I went, I felt a magical other-worldliness. Though I generally refrain from such cheesiness, I can’t help but gush over Balboa Park. I love it for its lavish architecture that gives a new city an Old World feel, a challenging feat which most American cities have shied away from, but works here.

For those who might not know the history behind Balboa Park, 1400 acres of land were set aside in 1868 to overlook “New Town” (today’s downtown). For about 20 years it was left as mostly scrub brush, and then over time improvements were made for various event and expositions. Around the turn of the century, people were getting wearied of boxed-in, industrialized city life, and the City Beautiful movement spread around the country as a kind of relief (perhaps containment strategy) for the working poor. In 1910, the title “Balboa Park” was chosen in a naming contest because Vasco Nunez de Balboa was the first European explorer to see the Pacific Ocean, which the park overlooks. Then, to commemorate the opening of the Panama Canal, many of the Spanish-style buildings here today cropped up, since San Diego was the first US Port city the ships would reach after passing through the new canal. The Depression Era furthered the development of the Park, in order to boost the economy and the spirits of San Diego.

I love to go there for the democratic milieu and merging of peoples from all walks of life: joggers, kids in the fountain, buskers, wedding parties, pretentious diners, families on an outing, couples, artists seeking inspiration, and the aimless grad student looking for an enlightening place to read (aka me).

Cultural events abound, from the many museums (some free on Tuesdays), to free summer concerts where older couples dance, mariachi bands play, and people actually sing along to old American favorites,  to  public movie-showings (Screen on the Green),  to  community club meetings, dance classes, gardening groups–it’s got everything.

Laugh at my mawkish romanticizing if you want, but stepping onto the grounds at Balboa Park makes me feel a little more human, makes me breathe a little more deeply, observe beauty more passionately, smile more easily, and treat people more generously.

Lotto Odds

The other day I was waiting in my car at a drive-thru (see left) when i noticed this truck in front of me (see below). Now, what are the chances that I would be sitting behind a truck with not only my last name written on it, but a Dominican flag sticker as well? I’m baffled by these strange alignments in this grand universe. This adds to other coincidental(?) experiences I’ve had of late. And I think, if only I were playing the lottery with these odds! If I had ever attended a school where the mascot was the Titans, I would have had a genuine Truman Show freakout. I guess I only hit the regular jackpot, not the Powerball.