Nonsense, Drivel, and Balderdash

Hey guys. Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I promise I'll be back in a couple of weeks. The past month has been a bedlam of job applications and freelance translation work. All my free time has been gobbled up. Once both of those projects are done (hopefully done within the next few weeks) then I can start using my free time a little more creatively.

Spring has sprung here, reminding everyone of why we love New England. Growing up, I never appreciated this season of the year. For one thing, Madrid didn't really have a defined Spring season. You had Winter and Summer; Spring and Fall were merely a blur between the two, not heralded by dramatic changes or colors. If anything, most people dreaded springtime because it meant that allergy season, which is terribly strong on the Iberian peninsula, was upon us. Fall was also a let down, for it meant the end of Summer and didn't bring any benefits of its own. But seasons in New England each bring their own joys. Yes, even winter is charming during the first few months; but then it drags on too long and gets exhausting. Which is why Spring is such a relief. It is like finally letting out a long breath that you have been holding in for too long. The nice thing about living in a place in which snowfall is even common in April is that spring lies in waiting until it can all come at o...

As someone who is natively bicultural, it is sometimes easy to ignore that certain parts of your personality were forged by your one or the other side of your cultural influences. It has taken me several years to realize that certain things that I am accustomed to from living amongst Spaniards do not go over well in the US of A. Some cultural differences are pretty obvious and are quickly put to rest, like when I first went to college and had to stop my impulse to lean in and give two kisses to my female acquaintances. But others take years to decipher. The one that has taken me the longest to become aware of (so far), and still longer to try to change, has been American conversation dynamics. You wouldn't think so, but conversation dynamics change radically from culture to culture. Spanish speaking culture, and probably much of mediterranean culture in general, is much more free-flowing than that of the Northern-European or Asian cultures that I most often in...

Teaching at a university isn't as glamorous as it sounds. As much as I would like you to imagine me as a tweed-wearing, white-haired, venerable professor, that would be a bit misleading. Those kinds of people have PhDs and tenure; I am a lowly adjunct (someone recently commented, "is there any other kind?"). My contract changes semester to semester, and it never comes with benefits. Clearly it isn't a long-term career path. Nevertheless, I have been enjoying it. I teach for a program that is meant to serve as a stepping-stone for international students who will be attending Northeastern the following year. Most of the classes are supposed to incorporate ESL with more practical college skills. For example, I have taught College Writing and Research Writing, which are actually courses that I could have used as a freshman. Of course, these classes contain much more grammar and critical thinking skills than similarly titled American classes would. Last week, in a paper on...

Since graduating last August, I have gone through quite a few books: from poetry to prose, from history to theology, and from heady literature to paperback fantasy novels. I thought I would take some time to recommend my favorites: Favorite Novel (and/or "serious" piece of literature):   The Power and the Glory , by Grahame Green  This book tells the story of a "whiskey priest" living under the stress of communist persecution in early 20th century revolutionary Mexico. It plays with themes of hopelessness and faith, duty and absurdity. Greene is a master of description. I don't know how he does it. He isn't verbose or flowery, but in the first page of the book he completely transports you to tangible, dusty Mexican village. You can feel and smell the grime and heat. The author has the same skill at crafting characters who maintain the human balance of inscrutability and closeness. I haven't been this impressed with a novel in a long time. ...

 But at this time last year, my poetry professor asked us: "Do you know what month April is?" I replied, "the cruelest month?" "Well, yes, but no," he chuckled,"it is National Poetry Month." "Oh. Right" - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Yesterday, as I prepared to make myself a sandwich, I found that a mouse had nibbled through the bread bag and enjoyed a meal in our pantry. I pulled out our backup loaf of bread, but he had gotten into that one too. It was time to pull out the mouse traps. I always feel a bit sad when I put down the traps. I don't like senseless violence and I do like mice. I feel bad for the little guys; after all, it is a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. They are just minding their own business and looking for a warm place and an easy meal. Finding their way into my walls and then into my pantry is like hitting the jackpot. I can even imagine them ...

It is hard to find the right balance between activity and rest, but this past weekend was nice. Sometimes you spend too much time resting and end up more tired than if you had just gone out and done something. Sometimes your mind is what is tired, and activity ends up being more restful, even if your body takes some coaxing. Friday night, Jessica and I went to see Over the Rhine play a concert downtown. It was a good show. They had a good band and have good stage presence. The audience was older than I expected. I expected mostly mid/late-twentysomethings with a smattering of older fans in their thirties (the band has been around since the mid 90s after all), you know, an older hipster crowd. Instead, we were on the younger side of their fans. Most of them were in their 30s, 40s, and 50s. Actually, I swear that my old Biblical studies professor, Elaine Phillips, was there. I stared at her for a long time and couldn't disprove it. I think the nicest thing was that they played in a...

My last post was, perhaps, written in haste and in post-adolescent angst (post-haste? No, wait... ha). I think it misrepresented my current life-stage quandary. It wasn't supposed to be so much a commentary on my restless dissatisfaction as it was supposed to be about my annoyance at my lack of professional stability or even clear direction. I wasn't trying to say that I am perpetually dissatisfied at my lack of "vocation," though I'll admit that our generation does feel this somewhat, especially if you come from a Christian background. It isn't like I have a good job and I am sorry that it doesn't satisfy me or that I am holding out for a job that will. No, my post was supposed to emphasize two things:  A) How naive it was for me to think that life would progress in a linear way and that age would bring clarity. And how I can't help but feel a bit ripped off by life not working the way that it was sold to me at 15.  B) How I am a stage that could us...

I exercised yesterday. Do I expect a medal? Why yes. Yes, I do. I spent some time stretching, did some ab work, and took off for a run. At this early point in my new exercise regimen, I don't have to run for long until I start to feel like a loser (though I look like one from the start), but I lasted a couple of miles before I called it quits. Then I came home stretched for a minute and hopped in the shower. Showers always feel extra good after some exercise and it is tempting to stay in them forever, but you must fight that temptation or no one will ever see you again. Unless they look in your shower, which is creepy. But anyway, I was feeling fairly refreshed as I sat on our brown living room couch and feeling self-satisfied because I had been proactive about running. But it wasn't long until I started to notice a little knot right where the neck meets the shoulder. It was also around that time that I realized that I needed to get up and go make some dinner. So I leapt up f...

The sun is out again today. The snow has all but melted except for in the abandoned lots where they piled it up several stories high; but even those piles are melting, leaving behind all of the grime that was plowed up with the snow and rivulets of water running towards the nearest gutter. The fact that the water reaches the drain is quite a feat. Just weeks ago it would have frozen halfway across the sidewalk... and lain in waiting for an unsuspecting jogger. But, as I said before, the sun is out now, the temperatures are up, and the ice is nowhere to be seen. I am running out of excuses to avoid jogging, if you will permit the pun. I am in some of the worse shape of my life and I don't particularly feel good about it. Those of you who have known me for most of my life know that being "in shape" was never really been a priority of mine until recently. In high school I looked for ways to do the least amount of work possible in P.E class. When we played sports, I chose t...

I never grew up with Lent. Without counting Christmas and Easter, I never grew up with any knowledge of the liturgical calendar. All the other Christian holidays or events I knew about were associated with the ocean of popular Roman Catholic culture that I grew up in. While my Protestant minister parents didn't demonize Catholics as many of the other people in the missionary community did, there was definitely a sense of otherness between "us" and "them." It is little wonder, for even our most basic expressions of faith were very different. Even today, the Protestant church in Spain rarely embraces any traditional liturgical forms, for most of the Spaniards who convert to the Protestant branch of Christianity are often looking for an encounter with Christ separate from the Roman Catholic culture that has oppressed their country for centuries. Though I feel somewhat apologetic to any Roman Catholic readers, I use the word "oppress" in a very conscious w...

I have to admit that though Facebook doesn't really create true connectivity or foster real relationship, it does have some undeniable, practical, social purposes. If you don't believe me, just think about how Facebook has made it less awkward to meet up with an old acquaintance that you haven't seen in years. It makes it is easier to interact with old friends and acquaintances because it creates the illusion that you have been "in touch" with them. I think this is accomplished by allowing us to watch our friends grow older and warning us about their changes, much as if you saw them on a regular basis. You know how they have been, their new musical tastes, if they are in a relationship, their travels and hobbies, and have maybe even commented on their status updates from time to time. Facebook photo albums even allow you to watch your friends age physically. That is a huge factor in creating the illusion of connectivity. 15 years ago, when you bumped into someone ...

I have finally decided to leave Facebook behind me for a while. Way too much of my time is eaten up by the news feed of people I don't care about... which, oddly, I can't help but read. If it were up to me, I would have no more than 150 friends. Facebook should have an "acquaintance" setting. But instead I am forced to be "friends" with anyone that asks due to some odd, online, etiquette code. Anyway, now that I am quitting Facebook indefinitely, I am forced to evaluate the dubiously positive and negative things it has done for me. This has generally served to confirm that leaving Facebook seems like a wise choice: - I have rejected countless invitations to join games, applications, and other pointless things. Like Facebook wasn't enough of a time-waster... sheesh.  - I have seen people accidentally reveal private issues on their friends' walls ("I'm praying for you incontinence Johnny!" or "Hey, don't worry, the puke didn...

I cannot believe that I only have a month left of this semester. Before you know it, the summer will be nearly over and I will have my Masters and I'll be working again. It seems like yesterday that the leaves were red and the snow flakes were falling on Boston's autumn landscape. Now the temperatures are warm and I can barely keep myself from putting on shorts. Of course, New England is fickle and we could easily be back in scarfs and hats in a week. I don't think I had fully experienced the American culture shock until this year. Sure, I experienced aspects of it when I was in college, but not really in regards to lifestyles and social interactions. I know that part of my feelings are stemming from the fact that I had such a strong gang of buddies in Madrid, while here I have scattered friends without the comfortable group reliability that I had in Spain. Part of it also comes from not living in a house full of roommates. Whatever it is, I miss having casual hang outs and...

"Yes, well... kinda" I have to explain more often than I would like, "The undergrad is women-only; but the grad programs are coed." And yet, I find myself outnumbered by ladies at any given moment. I am usually the only guy in my classes. I have heard that there is another guy in the English MA program, but he is an elusive creature. Like a lynx, or an echidna. In fact, I'm not even sure that I believe he exists. More like the Jackelope of the department. I know that a few other departments are worse off, ironically Gender Studies lacks any men, but for all practical purposes I am alone. Usually it doesn't bother me though. I grew up surrounded by strong-willed, independent women, and I am neither bothered nor intimidated by the gender ratio around here. Besides, my classes are pretty good. In fact, Simmons is rated highly for its MA programs. It is to be expected that many guys don't know that the school would accept them into their graduate programs. ...

Side Note: We've entered the season of Lent. I've given up TV and online entertainment. Part of that is facebook. Blogs are different, I think. They are more like public letters. Facebook is a huge time waster, and it gives you the illusion of being in touch with people. I am thinking of closing my account for good and going back to blogging regularly. It is more productive and creative, I think. At the same time, Facebook is nice for overseas acquaintances. We'll see how the next 40 days go, and then I'll make my decision.   A new season of my life is here. It has been one of those big, and yet natural, changes. We only get a couple of those in life: when you start elementary school, sometimes when your family moves, when you go away to college... and now, marriage. In some ways, I think my shift into marriage has been more easy going than for some people. For one thing, I wasn't one of those people who got married right out of school, or (in the spanish scenari...

The sun is streaming through the window, and my wife is stretching in the living room. The sun and her meet in a patch of warm light on the floor that overlaps with her yoga mat. I hear her breathe slowly as the tight muscles protest her exercise. This only serves to remind her that it has been far too long since she last danced. Wedding planning is not easy on someone who depends on hours of training to keep her body fit. I watch the play of light and shadows as her arms and legs move this way and that, amazed that I am married to such a beautiful creature. Not even a month into marriage. I am still getting used to it. There is something epic and heroic about getting married. The romance of it all seems as antiquated as society would have us believe, but that only makes me love my lifelong vows even more. Screw society, what the hell does it know about love anyway? Most of the time it seems like Hollywood must be run by a couple of old horny men who have never known love. It is all so...

It isn't every day that you walk into a train station full of zombies, unfortunately. But last Saturday I did. Absentmindedly, lost in my own thoughts, hidden between the musical comfort of my earphones, I pushed open the door to the North Station. As usual, I was assailed by the station's usual public-restroom acrid smell as I walked down the hallway. The station had its usual crowd: businessmen, bums, scruffy students, and those shady people who hang out in public places for no apparent reason. I walked past a businessman in a suit, an old lady in a purple fleece sweatshirt, a homeless looking man in blood soaked rags... wait, what? Double take. He had scars across his face, purple bruises under his eyes, white pasty skin, and a trail of bloody gore from his mouth and down the front of his shirt. Had my long awaited zombie apocalypse finally begun? Did this mean that I didn't need to finish my masters? No, wait a second, what was that? A vampire? Zeus? a convict? And some...

The trees have finally done it. The cold snap we've had in Boston over the past week has finally kicked autumn into high gear. My walk to the bus, which was once dreary, is now painted in the kinds of shades that we come to expect from a fire, not a tree. My best friend in high school came to visit me last week to catch a glimpse of the trees. It's a shame he didn't come a week later, because the hillsides are ablaze with fall now. It is odd to meet up with old friends. Charles is now married, has a child and one on the way, and has a good paying job in the field he was trained in. On the other hand, I am still in school, working part time at a job that doesn't particularly excite me or pay me that well. Looking at all the other friends I have around the world, I can see that age matters very little in determining where you are in life. I have friends who's situation resembles that of Charles, and others who are still in phases that I feel like I left behind a long ...

Street strolling home, another long day was coming to a close and the sun had long gone home before me. The early autumn cold stung my cheeks in the dark. The wind tossed the branches back and forth in front of the streetlights, shifting the light and shadows on the brick buildings nearby. My shoulders sagged under the weight that only a city can place on someone who is going home to an empty house after a long day of work in a crowded town. Long days give way to even longer trips back to bed. I dragged my feet across the cracked city sidewalks; gravel and smashed acorns ground together as I walked the long stretch towards the bus that would take me home. "You good?" It took a few seconds to realize that someone was talking to me, and by the time I turned he was leaving, perhaps he was thinking that I had ignored him, but in all likelihood not meaning to stop anyway. I took off an earphone and watched him for a second. It was hard to make out the shaggy haired man as he wal...