Finals Week

I'm down to the finishing touches of my first round of Germany paperwork and my final (other than housing, etc) round of Spain paperwork. I've been working my skin off for Reslife the last few days. I didn't have any finals on Thursday, so I did extra RICCs Wednesday night and Thursday morning/afternoon. Apparently most of the building left yesterday. The good news about all of this is that I think we're going to be DONE by 11 o'clock tonight. The bad news is that I haven't had time to breathe, much less start packing yet. So I'm thinking tomorrow will be packing day, leaving me Sunday and Monday to do the essays. The essays are everything except written - massive 8 page fleshed out outlines complete with quotes, that I just have to run through, flesh out, and polish. Anyway, I've been doing a lot of RICCs so I'm not going to feel too bad about trying to sneak out later. I'm going to pick mom up from the airport and I think I'll leave an hour early, take my last passport photos and buy two folders at Walgreens, buy a money order at the post office, pick up my recommendation from Monica's office, turn the Germany application (sans essays, which I can write this summer) in at the International Office, and turn the Visa forms in at the J-School.

I said goodbye to Zahra the other day, we ate breakfast together at 7 and she caught the Mo-Ex in the rain. It's hard to believe I won't be seeing her next year, unless she visits me in Florida over Winter Break (she better). I said goodbye to Amanda in the hallway, a quick hug and then she left, carrying a soccer ball casually under one arm. She's doing Vet school at Mizzou, so I'll see her again. Last night I made the not so smart but really emotionally necessary decision to have a girls' night sleepover with Ju and Fangbai. We watched Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, which was enjoyable albeit one of the most ridiculous movies I've ever seen. Prite actually stayed and watched that with us, then we were all tired so we slept. I had to get up at 7, though, and Fangbai at 8, so we didn't have quite the wild abandon of a normal sleepover. When my alarm went off I changed in the cold air (the window was open, so it felt snug and nice under the covers but sad to get out of them) and tried not to wake them, but Ju's house betrayed me with every step on the creaking floorboards. I think I'll see Ju this summer or even this weekend, but I can't say for sure when I'll see Fangbai again. I'll miss her a lot.

Mostly, though, I'm too tired for emotions. I'm not even normal head-achey eyes-closing tired, it's manifesting itself more in a sort of nausea and frustration. X( As interesting as it is, I stare at these essays and just want to curl up and sleep instead of typing... typing...

Bullshit

Final exams are all finished. I only had three - Catalan, Anthropology, and Spanish. Monica told us Catalan would be easy, but as Shelby said, "she said that about all the others too!" But this final one was easy. Too easy. It was all "introduce yourself!" and "describe your family!" and only worth 12 points, which is scary because it's 20% of the grade or something unreasonable like that. I'm going to accidentally misspell mother or something and drop down to a B. :P Anthropology on the other hand was the toughest test yet, talking to Tina and Troy we all guessed and conjectured about the same though, and Troy has 100% in the class so far and Tina and I aren't far behind, so I'm not super concerned. Still, when I was writing about hedonism for example I tried to just give Palmer what he wanted and I found myself too conflicted... so I gave my own arguments more on this test than on any of the previous ones, which won't help my grade but hopefully won't hurt it too bad. The extra credit questions were insane - I'd never even heard of the people's names. And I kept almost falling asleep while taking the exam. Meh.

I went straight from that into another essay test in Spanish. He gave us surprisingly little space to write our answers, and yet everyone was like, "do we have to use all the space?!?" I used all of it, writing two small lines inside each lined space on the page. The first two questions weren't terrible - I had to talk about how people build their social image and how poems and plays differ (on a deeper level than 'poems are shorter'), but the third one was yikes. Like being back in Smith's class, but worse because there simply weren't any words. No, I'll be fair. There was one. One word. This is a literature class, and they were asking me to write a three page paper about a single word. This is what was on the top of the paper:


Instructions? - Analyze this.

I saw this while looking through and panicked a little bit. Was this a joke? I only had one crappy sentence to write in analysis of this poem: "Esta imagen representa que los poemas pueden ayudarte entender el mundo y la vida, porque las poemas abren la puerta al sabio, como llaves." Great essay, right? Well, great poem too, buster! I calmed down, and repeated to myself, "Do you think this is easier for anyone else in the room? Really? Just relax, you can bullshit your way through this." And it's true. I just have to relax and say one thing, and then here comes another and another. And I had no enthusiasm about it and no real ideas, of course, so each point seemed awfully contrived, just one step from being mockery of the assignment, but I just had to pretend to believe in my points, and for the duration of the exam, I almost forgot I was bullshitting shamelessly. Almost.

Bullshitting, right? So the teacher isn't even giving you a question to work with. So, first make up questions. Then make up answers. What can I say about this?

First. The obvious. Keys are tools. A poem can be a tool that the reader uses to understand something, and a tool that the poet uses to show the reader something.

Time to get more specific. Why poema (poem)? Why not poesia (poetry)? I realized with a start that I was a bit curious about this. Of the points I brainstormed, this was the one I could answer least well - some nonsense about poema being more accessible, less fluffy sounding than poesia, and how it's an individual poem that functions as a tool more than poetry in general... but mostly because i would look stupid at the end of the key. And yes, I did write that last part. Because style is important too.

What else? The poem is short. Only one word. If it was longer it would look ridiculous, too many keys! Why a key for each separate letter, instead of one key that has the whole word poem? BS - Well, when you write a poem, because poems are short, and have to express a message at the same time that they often have to maintain a rhyme, rhythm, alliteration, etc, each word has a high weight and needs to be just the right word. Even the single letters within the poem are chosen specially. That's why each letter has it's own key, because they were chosen that way by the poet.

Okay, come on, I just need one more crappy thing to say... I think I've exhausted the word poema now. What else is in the poem? Uh... the handles of the keys. Good enough. Keys have handles. Handles are what you hold to use keys. So seeing the handles around the letters of poema is interesting. I can see two possible interpretations: One, that to the poet the poem always looks sort of like this, the poet considers the the letters/words of his poem keys to open doors of understanding for the readers. Two, that the handles are hanging there looking all appetizing, begging the reader to pick them up and use the poem and understand.

And yes, somehow I managed to make all of this sound a little bit smarter, except for the last one because I don't know the Spanish word for handle, so that was a fun bit of circumlocution...

I got to turn in the Bernarda Alba essay as well, and knock out some of my study abroad stuff. All that remains now is...

- Staff stuff!!!
- A few more goodbyes...
- Getting mom from the airport on Friday
- More Germany stuff
- A little more Spain VISA stuff
- Packing!!!
- Nihonjinron!!!
- Andorra !!!!

Wa yeah.

My Advisers

I have 10 advisers at Mizzou. No, seriously. Count 'em.

- Journalism Degree Adviser (Jill)
- Arts and Science Degree Adviser (Jessica?)
- Spanish Major Adviser (Molavi)
- International Studies Major Adviser (Cassandra)
- German Minor Adviser (Monika)
- Anthropology Minor Adviser (Deborah?)
- Honors College Adviser (Miranda?)
- Journalism Study Abroad Adviser #1 (John)
- Journalism Study Abroad Adviser #2 (Kip)
- Germany Study Abroad Adviser (Wafa)
- Norway Study Abroad Adviser (Pauliina)

Not to mention that I have to see the financial aid and international admissions offices once in a while too. :D It's jolly fun, let me tell you. Some of them I haven't seen since Freshman year, which I know is naughty, but how much time am I supposed to be spending trying to get to the right place for the right office hours, wait, and chat?

Ensayo Formal - La Casa de Bernarda Alba

Martirio – Bernarda la Segunda


En el drama “La casa de Bernarda Alba” por García Lorca, toda la acción pasa dentro de una casa en Andalucía que es muy tradicional y dominada completamente por la mujer Bernarda Alba. Parece una tiranta increíble mientras no permite que sus hijas muestren ni sus lágrimas ni su amargura, y da fuerza a sus mandatos con su bastón. Algunos críticos han comentado que Bernarda es tan rigida y cruel que no parece una persona verdadera. Como explica C.B. Morris, “Her credibility has been challenged by those who regard her as… ‘one-dimensional’ (54, p.111)… yet others contend that she possesses a ‘personalidad… compleja’ (93, p.140), that she is ‘ni una caricature ni un monstruo’ (64, p. 65), that ‘no es unidimensional ni completamente negativa’ (57, p.95).” (66) Porque en la vida real, y tambien en los dramas, solo podemos ver lo que hacen y comunican las personajes, hay mucho en el interior que no podemos entender por seguro. Por eso he tratado de entender Bernarda, no como caricature sino como persona. Exploro el personaje de Bernarda Alba y su hija, Martirio, para desarollar una explanación de las acciones de las dos.

Cuando empezamos hablando de la forma de los dramas, yo recordé de repente que en mi clase de antropología, hablamos de la diferencia entre lo que se comunica, y lo que hay debajo, lo que no expresan ni dicen las personas. Tradicionalmente, el drama es diferente que la prosa y la poesía porque solo se trata de comunicación, lo expresado. Imita el mundo real más que la poesía o la prosa, porque cuando se mira un drama normal solo se puede ver en la escena lo que en realidad es posible ver y oír lo que en realidad es posible oír. Nunca es posible saber por cierto lo que pasaba en los pensamientos de los otros, y a veces las personas mismas no son exactamente seguras de lo que están pensando o sintiendo. Tradicionalmente, los dramas dejan estas posibilidades. Tradicionalmente, no hay interpretación, declaraciones sobre los pensamientos, creencias, ni sentimientos íntimos de los personajes representados por un narrador omnisciente. El drama muestra palabras y acciones elegidas por el dramaturgo, y les deja a los actores primero y después los que miran el drama la responsabilidad de hacer conexiones y entender lo que está pasando. Normalmente las personas interpretan los eventos básicos en una manera más o menos similar, porque como en la vida verdadera hay un nivel de incertidumbre inevitable, pero eso no significa que no hay soluciones malas o estúpidas, solo que no hay ningunas que sean seguramente correctas.

En la clase de antropología, mi profesor siguió hablando de este tema, diciendo que no solo las personas no saben lo que piensan, se sienten, y creen las otras personas, y no les importa. Lo que si les importa es la comunicación. Yo pensaba que ésta era muy interesante con relación al drama “La Casa de Bernarda Alba”. Cuando estaba leyendo el drama, el personaje que me interesaba más era la Bernarda Alba epónima, porque en realidad sus niños, aunque tenían muchos años, habían estado atrapados y ´protegidos´ durante sus vidas enteras y se comportan como niños, pero Bernarda es otra cosa. Pensaba que si ella hubiera sido el personaje central de una novela, habría mostrado más complejidad como personaje. ¿Es posible que cualquier persona sea tan cruel, tan insensible, y tan tiránica que Bernarda Alba parece? Muestra muy pocas señales exteriores que tiene un corazón – por supuesto como ella lo quiere.

Cuando hay conflicto, ella se preocupa primero con lo que van a oír o decir los vecinos. Las referencias muy pequeñas y sutiles que sí tiene o entiende las emociones vienen en los avisos estrictos que les da a sus hijas para guardar las apariencias – que no deben llorar por su padre, no deben llorar por Adela, no deben mostrar el amor que sea indecoroso… pero ella permite, admite que no puede controlar las emociones ni los pensamientos. Para mi, ésta es extraño y sorprendemente intuitivo. No solo admite que no puede controlar estas cosas, pero también no parecen importarla. Si, las personas van a tener emociones, pero no deben mostrarlas ni reconocerlas, y es probablemente mejor olvidar estas cosas inútiles, pero esta última no le importa mucho a ella. Lo importante no es lo que piensan o se sienten sus hijas, sino cómo se comportan. Hablando del control que tiene Bernarda sobre sus hijas, Morris dice, ““Other writers have protested, directly and subjectively, at this control of children’s minds and emotions.” (75), pero creo que en realidad Bernarda no puede y no quiere controlar los pensamientos ni los sentimientos de sus hijas, solo sus acciones.

Por ejemplo, cuando Angustias habla sobre el retrato que le había robado Martirio, ella dice que todos saben que Martirio ama a Pepe, y es a causa de esto que le robó el retrato. Bernarda dice que Martirio había dicho que fue una broma, y esto es el fin – dijo que fue una broma, entonces, lo demás no les importa. Enfoca solo en la comunicación. Dice, “Cada uno sabe lo que piensa por adentro. Yo no me meto en los corazones, pero quiero buena fachada y armonía familiar. ¿Lo entiendes?” (Acto 3, 1047) Otro ejemplo de este reconocimiento de la separación entre los corazones y la comunicación viene al final del drama, en que Adela se mata a ella misma. Bernarda da un grito – eso me parece interesante - tiene sorpresa y también parece estar infeliz sobre la muerte de su hija. Por supuesto, pero hablamos de Bernarda Alba, la tiranta. ¿No es posible que necesite gritar para guardar la apariencia? Creo que no, porque inmediatamente después de gritar, manda que las otras se callen. Por eso me parece que sí tiene un corazón, pero está escondido tan bien que solo se muestra cuando su hija menor se suicidó. Inmediatamente después, regresa a la Bernarda insensible, tiránica. Dice “No quiero llantos.” (Acto 3, 1347) Pero también me había dado cuento que dice, “Las lagrimas cuando estés sola!” (Acto 3, 1348)

Hay pocas pistas que Bernarda nos da sobre ella misma, y de lo que está pensando y creyendo adentro. No sé si ella sabe que es tan cruel, aunque hay poca evidencia a contraria. Ramsden describe algunas de estas pistas que vienen como contradicciones en lo que dice Bernarda. Por ejemplo, que ella no es tan segura de ella misma y arrogante como quiere mostrar, porque tiene malos sueños y es, en una manera, también victima (Ramsden, xl), a veces está descrito como desolada, y ella misma refiere a su propia desolación, pensando en su obligación de controlar a sus hijas (Ramsden, xli), y que ella tiene un aspecto sádico y una necesidad casi patética de saber todo sobre el pueblo y los vecinos (Ramsden, xli). “Is her rigorous mortality then, that of the outsider anxious to be, as Spaniards say, 'más papista que el papa', with the consequent suppression and deformation of her own being?" (Ramsden, xli) Pero si sus pensamientos interiores son tan diferentes de todo lo que expresa, tiene que tener dominio muy fuerte sobre su misma para mantener su foco y no revela nada sobre el interior. Estas son las cosas que demanda de sus hijas también. Dice “Silencio, silencio.” dos veces en el drama – es la primera cosa que dice y la última. ¿Porque es así? Solo le parece importa lo que dicen los vecinos – está tan obsesiva que quiere que la Poncia espie a los vecinos y decirle todo. Solo piensa en la propiedad, en como lo hicieron su padre y el padre de su padre. Es probable que en su infancia había algo de esta misma represión que ahora le inflija a sus hijas, pero en realidad no sabemos casi nada sobre su vida antes del drama.

Morris explica que el drama no nos da mucho información sobre la historia personal de Bernarda Alba. Esto puede ser un problema con el caractarizacion por Lorca, o podría reflejar la constricción de la educación y las experiencias de Bernarda. “If the sayings and axioms she utters tell us that she quotes from a script, we see that she has no training to handle unpredictable situations and impromptu performances that depart from that text. The little we know about her is enough to tell us that the way of life she enforces is the one that was enforced on her, that the values she defends and instills are the ones that were inculcated in her.” (Morris, 66)

Pero, mientras es claro que está repitiendo unas tradiciones de sus padres, no estoy segura que Bernarda era tratada exactamente como ella trata a sus hijas. Maria Josefa, por ejemplo, parece alguien bastante diferente que Bernarda, aunque ella es loca ahora y es difícil imaginarla sana y como madre. Pero ella viene de la costa, “la orilla del mar” (Acto 1, 460) donde quiere regresar, y parece tener opiniones y sentimientos más abiertos que las personas en el pueblo. Y es difícil saber si Bernarda tiene esta influencia de la mar también, porque, como explica Ramsden, “it is she who curses this maldito pueblo sin rio, pueblo de pozos." (xli) Como he dicho antes, Bernarda parece saber que todas las personas tienen sus pensamientos interiores en sus corazones, pero no le importan mucho a ella. Las apariencias y lo que es comunicado es mucho más importante, al punto que parece internalizar esta filosofía y prescindir de pensamientos completamente. Muchas veces dice que es mejor no pensar, y que ella prefiere no pensar, etc. Una vez dice, “No pienso. Hay cosas que no se pueden ni se deben pensar. Yo ordeno." – como si hubieran dos alternativas, y dos tipos de personas – puede pensar o puede ordenar, no es necesario y tal vez no es posible hacer los dos a la vez. “As she appears in Lorca’s play,” explica Baker en su análisis psicológico del personaje, “it is clear that Bernarda Alba is a woman who is preoccupied by the established values of her community and that her thinking function is repressed, while her feelings are predominant.” (1)

Ramsden usa las expresiones distintas de Bernarda para probar que ella ha heredado su sistema completa de moralidad y superioridad.

“Bernarda Alba inherited from her father much more than the house… she inherited words spoken and customs perpetuated in it, habits of mind and dress and attitudes to people and possessions. Bernarda has a supply of sayings, particularly ones applicable to women, which she can utter at any juncture, and always from the angle of her own convenience or self-righteousness… There is no surprise in such saying; it would be surprising if a woman so entrenched in the past did not resort to them, for they are after all a substitute for experience and original thought and repeat what she herself was told. To hear them on her lips is to detect in her mind a great echo-chamber, where we can hear her versions of admonitions and rules of good conduct…” (Morris, 60-1)

Tal vez podemos ver y entender un aspecto de la crianza y educación de Bernarda por la de sus hijas, en particular Martirio. Baker dice que Martirio, de las cinco hermanas, ha sido más afectado por Bernarda. "This type of negative animus opinion is especially evident in Martirio who has been more strongly affected than her sisters by her mother’s rejection of men. (5) Muestra la capacidad por ser como Bernarda con su hipocresía y contradicciones, por ejemplo cuando dice que no puede sentir el calor, y después queja sobre ello mismo, o cuando dice que tiene solo miedo de los hombres, pero admite que quiere a Pepe… su crueldad vindicativa, y su sentido de rectitud, por ejemplo cuando engaña intencionalmente a Adela y dice que “se acabo Pepe el Romano”… por eso Adela se mata, pero Martirio no piensa después que tenga la culpa por decir eso. Sobre Martirio dice Morris,

“Although typical of the exaggerations recurring throughout the play, the indictments of her as ‘maldita’ by La Poncia and as ‘Endemoniada!’ by Magdalena (Act 3, 1065) suggest a complex temperament, a disturbed psychology, which has led one critic to describe her as ‘the most complex’ and ‘the most passionate’ character (27, pp.89, 90) and another as ‘the only psychologically complex character of the tragedy’ (82, p.88). Other critics have commented on her envy and hypocrisy (71, pp.xxxix, xl), her inferiority complex (87, p.8), her ‘fiebre sexual’ (20, p.90), and her similarity to her mother (62, p.260)... The dark thoughts revolving so obsessively in her head that she has the honesty to confess to Adela: ‘tengo el corazón lleno de una fuerza tan mala, que, sin quererlo o, a mi misma me ahoga’ (Act 3, 1062).” (Morris, 54)

Por supuesto, Martirio no es ya exactamente Bernarda – no ha aprendido esconder sus sentimientos ni olvidar sus pasiones - pero es capaz de llegar a ser como ella, y Bernarda está tratando de reproducir su personalidad y morales en sus hijas. “With a few predictable words like respetar and decencia, Bernarda transfers to her daughters her own indoctrination, which was a form of malnutrition; of her we could say, in the words of Adrienne Rich, ‘Like the traditional foot-bound Chinese woman, she passes on her own affliction.’ She bequeaths simple standards that depend on suppressing information… on purveying misinformation… or on composing a brittle surface out of words that are misused. A major casualty of her demand for ‘buena fachada y armonía familiar’ (Act 3, 1046) is truth; another casualty is spiritual integrity…” (Morris, 67)

Martirio ya ha desarrollado algunas características que me hace pensar en Bernarda. Por ejemplo, le gusta espiar en su hermana Adela. Según Morris, la protesta de Adela - “Adela’s “Durmiendo o velando, no tienes por qué meterte en lo mío!” (Acto 2, 1012) – muestra que Martirio es como una sombra que siempre está mirando a su hermana. En Acto 3, ella mira “hacia la puerta del corral” (1051) y sigue Adela mientras Adela “desaparece por la puerta del corral” (1057); “her confession in Act 2 – ‘He visto como te abrazaba!’ (1038). This role, in itself sinister, is made all the more insidious by the way she uses her knowledge, by her style of malevolent obliqueness, which fuels tensions and increases suspicions.” (Morris 53)

En el comentario por Morris veo también la semejanza entre la propensión de madre e hija responder a muchas situaciones con las mismas ideas y proverbios no originales.

“From the beginning her voice is heard as the bleakest, lamenting first her status as an automaton – ‘Yo hago las cosas sin fe, pero como un reloj’ – and contending, on the evidence of her eyes: ‘Y veo que todo es una terrible repetición’ (Act 1, 992, 993). Such complains are not original, nor does Lorca mean them to be: they echo what so many other women have said, expressing a common resentment…” (Morris, 53)

Últimamente, estoy de acuerdo con C.B. Morris cuando dijo que Bernarda no era “ni una caricatura ni un monstruo.” Creo que las acciones de Bernarda Alba son la resulta trágica de un tipo de crianza y unas circunstancias en un tipo de personalidad especifica, y tal vez esta combinación repetirá en su hija, Martirio.







Obras Citadas:


Baker, Armand. "Lorca's La casa de Bernarda Alba and the Lack of Psychic Integration" 2006. May 11th, 2010. http://www.armandfbaker.com/lorca_alba.pdf

Departamento de Lengua C. y Literatura. “La casa de Bernarda Alba.” IES La Aldea de San Nicolás May 11th, 2010. http://www.ieslaaldea.com/documentos/doculengua/bernardaalbatex.pdf

Morris, C. B. Critical Guides to Spanish Texts: La casa de Bernarda Alba. London: Grant & Cutler, 1990.

Ramsden, H. La casa de Bernarda Alba, Volume 1983, Part 2. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1983.

Seybolt, Richard. “Characterization in CBA: the case of Martirio .” Garcia Lorca Review. 8 (1980): 82-90

Lorca, Garcia . "La Casa de Bernarda Alba." Aproximaciones. 'Ed'. Mike Ryan. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2008. Print.

Come Again Another Day

As I sit inside, all pale and vampiric like, and type a line of words that grows and grows to be 10,000 words, then 20,000... outside I see the sun shining through leaves and grass and the blue sky above...

And as I rush around to get paperwork signed and apply for my VISA and pack my bags, I've been asked out five times in the last month. Even counting high school stalkers, that's my new record for a year, much less a month.

The moral is that good things come when you want them least. :P

Miranda: The Reporter

This was my first real Journalism project. Sadie, Amanda and I had to do a few interviews, do some research, and ultimately put together a website with three articles and other bits of multimedia about a topic with local significance. We chose texting while driving. Screenshots:

Finals Week

Yikes yikes. I need to not freak out - I can get it all done if I don't waste time. I did the Catalan presentation and the rough draft of the Spanish paper, and I'm not worried about those exams. So I put in an hour to spruce up the paper and I'm covered in those classes. In German I have a paper due tomorrow but it's nothing exceptional, so I'll knock it out tonight with no trouble. Even the profile isn't too bad, just gotta get down to business. It's due Friday at 3. I just finished all my News stuff, and that's a big weight off my shoulders - profile and convergence projects vanquished as of fifteen minutes ago! I'm not much worried about the Anthro final either, and there's no German final or News final.

So, basically, I have a week to do my VISA paperwork and write two research papers. The papers aren't supposed to be all that long and they wouldn't even have to be perfect, except that my teacher's expectations are crushing me. I'm still not 100% sure what I'm going to do for the Catalan paper and I'm worried that a certain percentage of it is going to be bullshit, that I'm not going to be 100% proud of the result. But maybe I'll surprise myself if I just dig in up to my elbows and focus. The Nihonjinron paper I'm more confident about, but I still hope I can give it what it deserves. Both of the teachers are excited to see it and are even talking about trying to get it published, and I haven't even written the papers yet!! O.O It's a lot to live up to, I wish they'd keep their mouths shut and afterward either say, "okay, it's adequate" or "sorry, I can't give you credit", or, if it at that point warrants the praise, "this is brilliant Miranda, let's publish".

To do: (not in order, except for #1)

1.) Figure out what I need from mom and dad for the VISA, send them the information for that. (est. 1 hour)
2.) Write the Nihonjinron paper (est. 6 hours)
3.) Organize Catalan ideas (est. 6 hours)
4.) Write the Catalan paper (est. 6 hours)
5.) Do work stuff like being on call, etc (est. 45 hours)
6.) Put in a bit of time studying for Anthropology (est. 2 hours)
7.) Put in a bit of time studying for Spanish (est. 2 hours)
8.) Revise Spanish paper (est. 1 hour)
9.) Do my paperwork for the VISA (est. 2 hours)
10.) Random commitments like EI, banquets, mom, saying goodbye to friends, packing??? (est. ???)

I say I have a week. I actually have almost two. The goal is to get everything done by next Thursday, but I have the next weekend if I absolutely need it. I've also talked to Palmer, at least, about how I'll probably turn in a rough draft and make edits over the summer. Maybe Monica will accept that too?

Catalan Final Presentation

This is it - the absolute best I can do in Catalan. We were instructed to write a ten minute skit using 'everything we'd learned in class' - and this is what my group came up with. We co-wrote the airport and taxi scenes (Scene 1 and 2 - check out my awesome jokes... lol), and then we split up the different section and I wrote the restaurant scene (Scene 4).


Here's a section in translation so you can understand the suburb linguistic level and tone of the piece:

Ryan- And your husband?

(Mother and Anna look at each other)

Ryan- Um... I have a brother. His name is Spike. And I have a dog too. He is a judge, and a supermodel...

(Awkward silence)

Mare- ... Your brother? Spike? Your dog? A judge?

Ryan- Um... Where are the kids?

Anna- They are with Jesus.

(Awkward silence)

Ryan- ... I'm... sorry...

Mare- Why? Oh look! We're home!

(P.S. - Jesus is her boyfriend)



Els Personatges
Pilot- Miranda
Ryan- Shelby
Anna- Emily
Mare- Miranda
Jesús- Miranda


Escenari 1

Pilot- Benvingut a Mallorca. Jo som el pilot, Joan. A Mallorca són les
tres de la tarda. La temperatura és agradable avui.

Ryan- Mallorca per fi! On és Anna, la meva amica mallorquina?

Anna- Uep!

Mare- Aquesta és la teva amica, no?

Anna- Sí, ella és una estudiant dels Estats Units

Ryan- Hola, bona tarda! Molt de gust de conèixer-te. Sóc la Ryan. Sóc
dels Estats Units

Mare- Jo som na Maria, la mare de l’Anna. Cuants anys tens?

Ryan- Tinc vint anys.

Anna- Què jova? Tinc vint i set anys.

Ryan- Què farem avui?

Anna- Ara, anam a la nostra casa.

Mare- Taxi!



Escenari 2

Mare- Ryan, com és la teva familia?

Ryan- Jo tinc una germana. Ella té vint i dos anys. La meva mare té
cuaranta i cinc anys. Ella és una fútbolista. El meu pare és un metje
i té cincuanta anys. I usted Maria, què fa?

Mare- Jo som una ballarina exòtica

(silenci incòmode)

Anna- Jo som una peixatera. El meu pare és director d’orquestra. Jo
tinc dos fills. Són bessons i tenen dos anys.

Ryan- I el teu marit?

(Mare i Anna es miren)

Ryan- Um... Jo tinc un germà. Es diu Spike. Tinc un gos també. El és
un jutge i un super model.

(silenci icòmode)

Mare- El teu germà? Spike? El teu gos? Un jutge?

Ryan- Um... On estàn els seus fills?

Anna- Estàn amb Jesús.

(silenci icòmode)

Ryan- ... Ho sento...

Mare- Per què? ... Oh! La nostra casa!




Escenari 3

Jesús- Hola! Jo som Jesús!

Ryan- OH! Vostè és Jesús!

Jesús- Sí... Jo som el nuvi de Anna. Els nens estàn al parc amb la seva
avia, Maria.

Anna- Aquesta és la nostra casa! Aquí és la cuina. Hi ha una taula,
una nevera i una aigüera.

Ryan- I aquest és el menjador?

Jesús- Sí, tenim la taula de menjador i les cadires.

Anna- Aquest és el teu dormitori!

Ryan - Molt bé. Un llit, una taula de nit i moletes llibres també!

Jesús - La nostra sala d’estar està a la dreta. Té un televisor, una
sofá i una catifa blava.

Anna- El bany està aquí. Aquestes són les tevas tovalloles. Aquí, pots
rentar els dents i dutxarte.

Ryan- M’agrada cantar i dutxarme del matí.

Jesús- Tens gana?

Ryan- Sí, no vaig menjar avui.

Anna- Anam al restaurant.




Escenari 4

Mare- En aquest restaurant hi ha menjar mallorquí tradicional. Vol menjar aquí?

Ryan- Sí. Què és un exemple de menjar mallorquí?

Anna- Hi ha frit mallorquí, sopes mallorquines, sobressada, llom amb
col, etcétera…

Ryan- Hi ha ensaïmada? Algú em deia que ensaïmada és deliciós.

Mare- Ensaïmada és deliciós, però el mengem per esmorzar, no per sopar.

Ryan - Què hi ha en frit mallorquí?

Anna - Hi ha molta verdura, com cebes, patates, i pebrots. Hi ha també menuts.

Ryan - Menuts? Que vol dir menuts?

Mare - Fetge, intestins, ronyons... coses així.

Anna - Fastigós! No m'agraden els menuts.

Mare- M´agraden molt. Cambrer! M'agradaria una copa de vi.

Anna- M’agradaria un refresc, per favor. Què vols, Ryan?

Ryan- Hi ha suc de taronja?

Anna- Sí.

Ryan- Suc de taronja, per favor.

Anna- Com t’agrada el suc de taronja? Molt dolç?

Ryan- Sí.

Mare- I per sopar, m’agradaria frit, per favor. Amb molts menuts.

Anna - M'agradaria llom amb col, per favor.

Ryan- No m’agrada gaire la carn, i no m’agrada gens els menuts.
M’agradaria el llenguado al forn.

Anna- Molt bé. Preguntaré pel menjar.

(Després)

Ryan - Tot era deliciós. Gràcies!

Mare- De res. Voleu postres?

Anna- Per què no. Ryan, vols maduixes amb nata, o gelat?

Ryan- M’agraden molt les maduixes.

Mare- Jo també.



Escenari 5

Anna- Ara, som a la Seu!

Ryan- La Seu?

Mare- Sí, la Seu

Ryan- Què es la Seu? (looks around)

Anna- La gran catedral que és devant de nosaltres…

Ryan- Ah! Yo entinc.

Mare- Sí, ens diem «la Seu» però es diu la Catedral de Santa Maria de
Palma de Mallorca.

Ryan- Què bonica!

Anna- És veritat.

Mare- Va construir durant l’edat miga. Té molt arquitectura bonica.

Ryan- Mira a tantas finestras bellas!

Anna- Sí, m’agrada molt que és devant l’oceà!

Ryan- Es millor que el Notre Dame.

Mare- Sí, estic d’acord. Molta bonica.

Ryan- Yo també. (Mira amunt) Són ocells?

Mare- Sí, sí, hi ha molts ocells aquí. Som prop el mar.

Anna- Bé, anam a passejar-nos a traves de la ciutat.

Mare- Jo vull anar al club! Per toda la nit! Fins a la sortida del sol!

Ryan- On es el club?

Anna- Hi ha molts clubs al Paseo Maritimo. Un bon temps realment.

Ryan.- Bé. Anam a passejar al club.

Mare- Mira a tants edificis!

Anna- Sí. Aquest edifici és el peixateria, on jo traballo.

Mare- Al costat de la peixateria es l’ajuntament i els jutjats.

Anna- Allí és un bon resaurant de menjar italià, devant la piscina, a la dreta.

Mare- Sí, jo tinc gana.

Ryan- Jo també.

Anna- Quina hora és?

Ryan- Són les set i mitja del vespre.

Mare- el club no estarà ple a vessar fins a la mitjanit.

Anna- Podem continuar i buscar una tenda oberta.

Ryan- M’agrada molt el pastís…Podem trobar un forn.

Mare- Bé. Ara, yo m’agraden unes postres més que el sopar. Estàs d’acord?

Ryan- Sí. Bona idea. Per tant, primer, nosaltres menjarem. Segon,
anirem al club.

Mare- Com?

Ryan- Amb autobús? Amb taxi?

Anna- Amb nostres peus. Podem passejar.

Ryan- Entesos!

Mare- Bé...

Anna- Molt bé!



Escenari Final

Ryan- Estic triste perquè sortiré avui. Gràcies per tot, Anna!

Anna- De res, amica! Pots visitar Mallorca qualsevol moment.

Ryan- No vull anar a casa. Vull quedar-me aquí!

Anna- Està bé. Yo pot visitar els Estats Units aquest hivern.

Ryan- Bé. Adeu Anna.

Anna- Adeu!

Spring Festivities

It's a lovely time to be alive and on campus and not such a lovely time to be bogged down in papers. Today I neglected to bring my camera with me and I was kicking myself all day.

First I passed "Captain America" with his American Flag pants and bandana, his t-shirt with an American flag logo, and the American flag poking out of his army-camouflage backpack. I saw his bike not far away - it's one of those short 'trick bikes' or whatever, all American-flag style too, with flags attached to the basket and the seat. Closest we have to a national costume, folks, look close - I hope it takes it's rightful place next to the Bunad, Kimono, Ledehosen, Sari, and Kilt soon! :)

There was also a little carnival going on at Lowry Mall, the same one I passed through when I toured Mizzou, either through luck or lack thereof (not sure how fair it is to have something like that going on for your first impression of a school!). I had my pockets full of cash from my camping-deposit refund, so I bought a number of honey sticks, (planning to send some of them to Liisa and Rinna... maybe Uni too if he likes), and two deep fried Oreos. At 2 for a dollar I thought it was worth the experience. They were kind of what you'd expect - a little moist cookie wrapped in carnival dough and abused. Strangely, although it was supposed to be sort of a Farmer's Market, there was no produce to be had - only some beef, pork, lots of honey, jam, baked goods from the Amish, (one of the girls had a mustache... I know I shouldn't laugh but it was hilarious), and potted herbs. No basil though.

On the quad there was a little bitty book sale from the Art History department. Very random selection of books. I picked up On a Pale Horse because someone recommended it to me a while ago (I'm thinking Jorge?) and it was a whole dollar.

I finished my profile for Journalism just in time, I think it was fine too even though it was way over the word limit. "Katfish Katy" proved to have a far more interesting life than I had imagined, and I'm not terrible at people writing so I was prepared and ready to work with much less. Our group project is also going well, I feel that for once I haven't helped out that much, haven't taken much of a leadership role, but then I often do in group projects and I am awfully swamped right now. Still, I keep offering my help and my two partners don't seem very bothered. The teacher says we're actually ahead of the other groups which I think reflects more poorly on them than it does well on us, but still. So, with Journalism taken care of, most of my stress right now is on Spanish. I have to whip up about 5 pages of analysis on La Casa de Bernarda Alba tonight. It's for a rough draft, but still.

I wish I could go outside and enjoy the cool breeze. :D And apparently there was an event today where you could climb the Alpine Tower for free. Ju called and invited me but regretfully I had class. ;_; Too bad, I've been meaning to get up there. One of these days/years...

Cebes Bones

On the most recent test we had to fill blanks in a dialogue. I honestly couldn't tell what she wanted me to put there, because the Catalan as well as I could read it said,

Hello, I would like 2 kilos of cebes, please.
__________
Yes, thanks.
_______________
Now I would like a half kilo of cheese, please.
__________
No, nothing else, please. How much is it?
___________
Yes, with card.
Have a nice day!
_____________

The main problem was cebes, and what he could ask me about cebes that I would reply 'yes, thanks' to after already saying what and how much I wanted. You see, I didn't know what cebes were. I thought quickly. It must be a kind of food, but what kind? And what can he ask me about them? I thought about going for something vague like 'ripe', even though it seemed silly for someone to ask if I wanted ripe fruit (shouldn't that go without saying?), but ultimately I was worried that cebes might mean eggs or meat or something (even though I already knew those words)... and ripe beef? Ewww.... So I settled on 'bones' and knew I was giving up the points.

Do you want good cebes? Yes please.

XD

But I got the test back today and she took it. I also looked up cebes - it means onions. Funny, I had learned calçots... but I guess there are several kinds of onions... and it's only reasonable for us to learn all of them before we learn silly things like the words for pants or rain. After all, food is very important to the culture, or something like that. :P Our primary textbook is almost as ridiculous as Liisa's old German book, wherein chapter two was entitled Polypen in der Nase. When we were all in the classroom last minute for this same exam, I suddenly said, in desperation, but with my tone carefully controlled to sound as if it was the most natural thing imagineable, "I hope everyone remembers the word for screwdriver!"

A long silence. Then laughter.

------------------

Emily and Shelby and I were putting our script together and one of us asked the others, "Would you do it again? Take this class, knowing what you know now?"

Shelby said that it had been an accident from the very beginning - she thought she was signing up for a culture class until she came to class on the first day and Monica was speaking Catalan. She hadn't really planned on learning a new language for 3 humanities credits. Emily's going to study in Valencia, so she guesses it doesn't really hurt to know the little bit that she's learned.

What have we learned? I have to admit that I haven't given Catalan enough of my time or vital energy either in class or outside of class, so I feel that I keep dancing on the breaking point without actually treating Catalan like it's own language, rather than some sort of elaborate cipher for Spanish. Doesn't help that every Catalan speaker I know speaks Spanish as well as or better than Catalan, and that goes for most of the genuine Catalan speaking population as well. Another semester, perhaps, of total immersion 3 hours a week (I am fully aware of the oxymoron)... Yes, I can often follow Catalan now - as I could before. I can sort of mock it by forcing my Spanish through an awkward Catalan filter. So would I do it again?

Yes.

We've made history, in our own small way - the first Catalan Symposium at Mizzou will be held this evening, and probably the audience will consist mainly of Romance professors and our own small class, but it's something. Our class was one of the first in a general, non-linguistics focused University, and if Monica has her way, our moderate success will only help her to develop the program more fully.

And as for myself, I got my humanities credits and I could have gotten them learning even more about poetry in the Golden Age instead, and whatever you say about the usefulness of Catalan, I think you'll agree that it might be more useful than learning a bit more Lope de Vega, especially considering my future career plans.

And practicalities aside - there's something you gain from learning, always, I think... I've made friends in the class, I've laughed a dozen times at Monica's habits and antics, I've learned about the festivals, feelings, and history of a proud and wonderful people... I was surrounded by Catalan until my mind started to soften around the edges and admit it's sounds and rhythms, even if it's only a first step - even French seems less foreign to me now, by association, and if you know me you know that's no small thing. I like music in Catalan. I like the high up desperate sound of Raimon (Al Vent) and the quirky Antonia Font (Wa Yeah).

I learned something. And I don't think learning can ever be a waste, not really.

And next time I go to Catalunya, I can ask for good onions or a screwdriver. Totally worth it. Wa yeah!

The Camping Trip from Hell. :D

Got back from camping yesterday and when I woke up this morning it was hard to believe everything we'd been through. I mean, except of course for the lingering feeling of being wet and cold, the barely conscious urge to seek high ground at all times, the slight smell of forest and slighter smell of mildew throughout my room, and, of course, the giant tent filling the entirety of my bathroom. I squeezed around that this morning to brush my teeth and wash my face. I have a pimple in the middle of my forehead for the first time in years. I also have a toothache and a headache. Nice. I spent most of the day yesterday getting each of the four tents to safe and dry place so that they wouldn't mold, and I'll likely put in another 1-2 hours this week getting them folded up, sorted, and returned, but such is life. It was the weekend from hell, as predicted, but it was also awesome. Not only because the company started out good and got better (you can't help but bond through such experiences), but because it was beautiful.

We survived and that felt good, but it made me feel more vulnerable rather than more capable. I was forced to understand nature and my own limits. What if the tornado had hit our campground? What if we didn't have cars? What if we hadn't found the coin laundry? What if we weren't going home after only two days of the pain and cold? And how pathetic - we weren't even in the middle of nowhere in anything hellish - just a fierce two day thunderstorm, in a nice state park that even offered hot showers (which we never used because frankly we were wet enough).

I understood something of homelessness when I slept in the laundry room in a shelf above the dryers, feeling exposed and alone and even though it was hard and cold and uncomfortable still feeling bad for being there at all, that I didn't deserve even that... and in the morning after sleeping on and off I woke up to voices and my first thought was "shit, must be park rangers and here come the questions and, since I /am/ more legitimate than a real homeless person, an apologetic removal rather than one by force..." and I squirmed in my sleeping bag and waited but it turns out that time it was just some hick emptying his trailer toilet into the sewer. Relief. Zahra and I slept another fitful hour and then packed up before the real authorities might take offense.

Everything flooded the first night. We were all cozy and happy at first, eating chicken in the big tent by candlelight and then listening to the thunderstorm and feeling very safe and warm and dry inside. Then Lingxiao came in and said she was a bit wet, and Palak seconded. So Palak squeezed in a bit tighter and Lingxiao came over by me. After a little while Palak said her side was becoming unbearable and so was mine. So we sent Palak and Lingxiao into the cars to sleep, and brought in towels and whatever else we could find to try to keep the middle of the tent reasonable for Megan, Zahra, and I. We kicked out Zahra early on because the water kept coming, but she took the last available spot in a car, so Megan and I tried to last the night. Our tiny dry spot got smaller and smaller and we moved closer and closer to one another, catching only the tiniest moments of sleep now and then. Everything was damp, even wet, but we kept shrinking away from the puddles of genuine standing water until even that reached us. When three inches of water reached my face, I told Megan that we would have to figure something out. She elected to sleep in the front seat of one of the cars, and I gathered up my sleeping bag and went for a hike. It was barely even raining by now although the ground was soaking wet. I went up to the bathhouse and found a coin laundry, used all the coins on me to dry the sleeping bag, running laps around the campground while I waited, and then took the sleeping bag up to a little shelf, about a foot wide, perched above the dryer, and there I slept at last for an hour until the birds started singing at dawn.

We went climbing at Elephant Rocks and Johnson Shut In's, weather be damned or close enough. We hiked through the rain and when it stopped we climbed on the rocks, timidly at first and then a bit more ambitiously. We had to be careful, careful because things were slippery when wet and we held onto each others hands firmly and helped each other go higher and higher. At Johnson Shut Ins it was mostly me who went out, the others hadn't been there before and didn't trust it as much as I did. I had almost reached the other side when the rain picked up, turned into one of those torrential moments that can't last. I was in the middle of the river with the waterfalls and rapids on all sides and suddenly it turned as dark as after sunset and the water became dark grey and troubled. Everyone called me to come back. I did so, but calmly, thinking to myself how many times I've done the same thing in summer when the rocks were just as wet from splashing children and I didn't even have shoes on. God was it beautiful in the middle in the rain.


A dry moment at Elephant Rocks...

... and a wet one at Johnson's Shut Ins.


As soon as I reached the side my friends were on, the rain stopped and in seconds there was a dramatic reversal. The sun came out and the sky was blue - it was the best weather we'd had the entire weekend. I took off my jacket - I was still soaked underneath, but lighter weight, and Ju, Prite and I went out again. Prite was wearing flip flops and started walking through the shallower parts of the water rather than leaping from rock to rock and Ju and I did. Soon he was soaked and gave up on staying dry at all. He started jumping out of crevices and splashing us, so finally I put down my bag and jumped in after him.

We attempted to go up to Taum Sauk and Mina Sauk. We did stop for a while at the highest point in Missouri and took pictures at the overlook with the last of the short sunshine. As we reached the Mina Sauk fall trail, we realized that it was longer than anticipated and also very muddy and nasty, so we decided to head back to camp. It was a good thing, because no sooner had we gotten into the cars then it started raining again - harder than ever. It was such rain that it still impaired visibility when our wipers were at full speed, and here we were trying to make our way down the mountain. The roads weren't exactly in bad repair, or exceptionally steep, but they were definitely going downhill and were very curvy and windy and gravelly and muddy. I kept reminding myself of how it had been driving through the Smoky Mountains in a rainstorm at 60 mph and I knew I could manage. Just as I was thinking about where I would pull over if it got even the tiniest bit worse, the rain stopped again and the sun came back out. We had beautiful sun all the way back home and the drive was amazing.

That night wasn't nearly as bad as the first had been. After a miniature campfire in the pavilion so that Zahra could at last have the halal s'mores she'd been dreaming of and a game of Bullshit under the yellow lights of the bathroom building, we slept relatively well. We set up a new tent that seemed a bit more solid than the first, plus put it on higher ground, plus the rain wasn't as intense. Still, we were a bit scared after the first night, so Megan and Palak elected to sleep in the cars from the beginning, Prite and Matt took one of the 'safe' tents, Ju and Lingxiao took the other, and Zahra and I decided to sleep up in the laundry area again. It's amazing what can seem like luxury after a disaster.


Only picture of the whole group: Zahra, Megan, Lingxiao, Prite, Matt, Ju, Palak, and me.

Would I do it again? Abso-freaking-lutely. But not tonight please. :)

Fifty Hours of Springtime

It's spring. The trees around Jesse and Memorial are breaking into tiny red flowers, and the Magnolia buds are swollen and fuzzy-soft. Some days it rains and the wind blows sideways and it's cold. Other days it's sunny and warmish and delightfully breezy.

Nash and I hike up the cliffs by the quarry at dusk, drinking mango juice from Taj Emporium. We walk here and there through the night, hit Noodles and then Starbucks, each right at closing. Then it's two a.m...

The next morning I can sleep in, so I finally slink over to Anthro-Religion right at 12:30, soaking wet and not looking forward to standing outside in it for an hour, but when I do, after class, it's not so bad - the giant apple costume is surprisingly well insulated, especially over my coat, and we sing and dance to get more money and stay warm. The peapod makes up a song and it isn't very good.

I go home for a minute, write up something quick about our field trips to the Missourian newsroom and the KOMU broadcast studio. Then I run over to News class and turn that in and we have to do some spot deadline writing for a fake news conference and then have a few minutes to plan our convergence project. My group is going to do sexting.

I run over to Mark Twain. News class went full time, unusually, so I'm a bit late to eat dinner with Zahra, (British) Laura, Yuki, and Palak. I have to leave, early, too, because I'm covering an easter egg hunt for News. I run back to South to drop off my schoolbooks and grab my keys, and end up helping Tina and Pelumi troubleshoot for their art event. I stay for and photograph the first few minutes of it, then I run out to the parking lot and head for Stephen's Lake.

I drive into the park and reach a parking lot at a dead end. I see the group assembled for the hunt - a quarter mile up the hill and across a bit of a drainage marsh. I'm just barely on time, so I cut my losses and park, working my way across the puddles and then up the hill. I realize after a moment that I'm walking through the hunting fields - brightly coloured eggs are scattered here and there. I suddenly worry that someone's going to accuse me of stealing the candy or something. They don't. Then I think a little bit longer about how random it is that I'm walking into the event from across the park, and it's all little kids and I'm showing no identification as a Journalism student or anything else and I feel grateful that I'm a woman so no one's likely to accuse me of pedophilia (coincidentally this immunity reminds me of a conversation I had with Liisa one time. :P) Its a flashlight egg hunt so by God everyone's brought a flash light and when the first wave is set out at 7:30 it's not dark enough that the lights can really be seen much less useful, but still all the mommy's and daddy's show their toddlers how the flashlights work and ask them not to shine them in the other kids' eyes...

Back at South, Tina's event is still going on so I sit and draw with Tina and Amanda and Tina's professor friend. There's hummus leftover and Tina wants to eat it with me and I say we really need some sort of bread so we discuss the possibility of making a pita run and then Tina gets this funny look in her eyes and says, "Let's go to a park and eat hummus and pita." And then she says, "Do you want to invite Sam Kennedy?" And Sam's a friend of Tina's friend and we've eaten lunch with him a few times and I say, "Yeah, yeah I do." So we call Sam up on the phone and tell him to dress warmly and high-tail it over to South and when he gets to Tina's room we blindfold him and lead him out to the car and throw him in the backseat with all the sleds and stuff. We drive to Hyvee and buy Pita and some chocolate and then further to Rock Bridge, specifically a trail that's supposed to be closed after dark but rather notably isn't, the gate is wide open so we drive in and sit at a picnic table at eat hummus and pita, like we planned. We can see a lot of stars from there and also the moon and we take a little walk because Tina apparently for all of her nature worship has never been to Rockbridge. And Sam and I argue about which direction to go and I tell Sam he's an idiot because the path goes around in a circle and we play by a waterfall under the moonlight and and there are bats everywhere down by the cave and when we start walking back to the car Sam says something silly about Sign-Bears and I say something silly about Totemism and Tina is ashamed of both of us.

We go home to South and Tina has to study so Sam and I play Super Smash Brothers for a couple hours. And then I sleep...

Spanish class, then more Local Food and Local People and in the morning it's cold wet and windy and I shiver in the Apple again and then two other volunteers start a little band, they're reasonably talented and as the sun starts coming out they don the peapod and the apple and a guitar and sing...

"Hello, my name is Peabody and I was grown here locally..."

The song is surprisingly good but I've already forgotten most of it, all I can say is that Tina has some creative and talented friends...

I have to leave for Catalan, but afterward I find myself drawn back to take pictures of the little red flowers in front of the Memorial tower, and before I know it I'm sitting in the sun with Tina and she is the Spinach fairy and I am a farmer and we are talking to Satoshi and one of his friends about Mt. Misen, the aquarium on Miyajima, and what Tina is on to be so passionate about Local Food and Local People.

Then I walk with Palak, a rather long way, send a package to distant Liisa which she'll recieve when she returns from Nepal. And Palak and I talk about life and love and the way emotions flicker, bend, and yet endure across cyberspace; she has her sad stories and I can be there for her in a way that's unusual, so I am, and Palak climbs into Flatbranch cave against her better judgement, thanks to my evil influence.

I meet Nash for dinner at Dobbs, he's heading back to St. Louis and I have to do Health and Safety Checks at South. Kevin and I and then Pelumi, too, we take the third floor and get done in relatively decent time but of course there are a few problem rooms and somehow I end up helping Miguel get those sorted out, including climbing up a bunkbed to remove a pair of flannel pants that someone had artfully pinned up around their smoke detector, not suspicious at all... ;)

By then I'm a bit late, I'd agreed to meet Satoshi and his friend Yasu and our friends Sara and Jenny. I'm tired and don't feel like going out, but they moved the whole event from a bar to Shakespeare's for me, because I'm underage, so I felt an obligation and anyway tomorrow is break so I can sleep then or when I'm dead, whichever.

By the time I drive over to Shakespeare's I'm feeling a lot better, it's weird huh? Almost like I'm turning into an extrovert or something. Sara and Jenny couldn't come but I feel surprisingly chill about being there with Satoshi and a bunch of essentially strangers. Our main group is Satoshi, Yasu, and an American named Matt. Some other Americans come in for a while and then leave. All the Americans seem to be from Chesterfield, close to my hometown, which is amusing. A Thai guy also comes, this guy I know - his name is Dong and he calls me Mirandong and I'm not 100% why. After a moment everyone (Satoshi, Yasu, Matt, and Dong) decide to go out and play pool, and I figure what the hell, my flights not until noon... so I come along too.

I haven't played pool for maybe 8 years and I'm not very good to say the least, but only Yasu's really decent so it's all relative I guess. Matt and I are on a team and at some point between games Satoshi sort of corners me and asks if I have a boyfriend. He says it too casually for it to be about himself, plus he's quite a bit older than me, so I'm wondering what's going on and waiting patiently for that to unfold itself. And afterwards Satoshi and Matt are having a bit of a conversation and the tone makes me even more suspicious, but again I decide to wait and see...

When the Billiards hall closes, the Asians head off to a bar and Matt and I decide to go home. My cars still over by Shakespeare's, and it's late, so Matt walks me over there and we talk. And right as we get to the car his voice changes and he asks me if I'd like to get together sometime and get to know each other. I say, sure, add me on Facebook, we'll talk after break... and I get in the car and drive home and pack my bags and go to sleep.

High Grammar as a Second Language

I'm studying now for my grammar exam - the exam no Journalism student at the University of Missouri is allowed to go into sequence without passing. I'm not too worried - I've taken the practice exam twice and scored about 90% each time, and I've brushed up on the things that do confuse me a bit.

I have a good ear for grammar in general, and it's almost amusing to me that I don't score 100%. After all, English is my native language, I'm a better than average writer, and I study languages. But some of the examples on the test are just silly - horribly written with or without the corrections, just constructions that no native speaker would try to push through. (For example, "The thief was he."

Actually, I'm curious as to how learning foreign languages, and general linguistics, impacts my English grammar. I think it does more good than harm, ultimately, but I also think that, contrary to what any Latin teacher will tell you, it goes both ways. Learning languages teaches me the fancy words and distinctions that many of my classmates are struggling with, for example. My scores on case-identification and voice-identification sections are flawless. On the other hand, learning different languages strips away the sense of objectivity that grammarians try to cloak their subject in.

Take, for example, these two examples: The Dread Double Negative and The Dread Passive Voice. For many grammatical no-no's, Grammarians admit that "it's just the way English works", but for these two they provide more logic than usual. The say that Double Negatives simply make no sense - If you haven't got no cheese, you must have SOME cheese, right? And passive voice makes sentences wordy, weak, and dull. Sounds pretty convincing to me, except that these logical conclusions aren't cross-linguistically applicable.

In many languages, such as Spanish, double negatives are totally acceptable, sometimes even recommended.
Ex. - "No tengo ni idea - I don't have no idea."

In Latin, using passive voice was considered more refined and sophisticated than using active.
Ex. - "Liber Caesari a regina donor - The book was given to Caesar by the Queen."

While some might shift uncomfortably at the first example and scramble to think of a non-racist and non-ethnocentric way to suggest that hispanohablantes might just be a bit ignorant, most people hold Latin up as THE most perfect, most logical literary language, so it's preference for the passive voice doesn't do much to support their claim for the intrinsic superiority of the active.

But what does all this mean for students of languages and linguistics, such as myself? It could go either way, I suppose. We might get so confused by all the possibilities, struggle to remember which rules belong to which language, even be driven into apathy by the subjectivity of it all. But generally, I find, increasing our useful knowledge only gives us an edge.

As for myself, I find the who-whom debate to be silly. People never, or at least very rarely, use whom when speaking. It's dying, if not dead, and there's little use in weeping over it. It'll hardly be the first or the last tragedy of an ever evolving language. I use who 99.9% of the time when speaking, and my knowledge of linguistics and foreign languages has only strengthened my resolve to do so, since I realize that using whom would be useless and a bit confusing at best, and arrogant at worst.

But today I have to take a grammar test, and they're going to test me on who-whom, and they're handing out the grades, those nassstttyyy grammarians, so I'll play their game tonight. And I'll play it well, too, because I know the answers, having taught myself Grammatical English as one of my many secondary languages.

Update: I got 99% on the test. I'm pretty sure the one I got wrong was about politics - whether the word politics is singular or plural. :P

Catalan... now in Canada

I've been reading Catalunya - One Nation, Two States, and I'm finally getting some ideas about a paper. Like I said before, I'm interested in how spread out Catalunya is, how it's in Spain and France too, and in Andorra, and even a bit in Italy and in Canada. Yep, apparently there's a small but substantial Catalan community in Quebec. One Nation, Two States is mostly a comparison between two communities in Catalunya - one Spanish (Portbou) and the other French (Cerbère). They are right across the border from one another and are indeed so closely linked that women from Cerbère often get their hair done in Portbou. Both cities have had challenges in maintaining their Catalan language and culture, but Portbou seems to be managing it better than Cerbère, which the author of this book blames the French government for to a large extent. So, that's interesting. The idea of a Catalan state as spread out from Spain to France to Andorra to Sicily to the Balearic Islands to Quebec, how the culture and language have managed in each place, and why. Something like this might work, but of course I need to focus it. It would be very easy to do Spain vs. France, but I'm also intrigued by the others. Especially Andorra - no one talks about Andorra.

Catalan Paper

Now that the Nihonjinron idea has come into being, been developed just a bit, and been planted, I can start thinking about Catalan. It's troubling me a bit, not because I'm not interested, but because I've already written a similar paper - the interrelationship between the Basque language and separatist movement in Spain, as compared to that of Catalan. I could write the same paper in reverse, but of course that would be too much double dipping, and even if I were tempted to try it, I'm actually turning this paper in to the same professor.

There are other topics I could write on, yes, but they are less personal. For some reason there are tons of books about Women Writers in Catalunya, for example But what kind of essay can I write about them? I could read one or two books in English, or a few short stories, but reading even one short story in Catalan would be hard, and anyway I feel that I lose the whole point if I'm analyzing literature from a linguistic perspective and it's translated. And anyway I'm not interested in the topic, not in the same way that I'm interested in language and mannerisms and little things. cultura has always been more interesting to me than Cultura - daily life endlessly more fascinating than the arts of high society.

Anyway I went and picked up some books. One of them begins with a foreword that's just quote after quote about the connection between language and identity, and I love each one. Language brings out such emotion in people - more than any other aspect of culture, perhaps. Not that language and culture are the same thing, but that language is perhaps the heart of a culture - anything else is decoration.

I'm just going to start doing research and see where it takes me. That usually works.

The books I picked up:

Catalunya, One Nation, Two States by Alexander Alland
This is the one that starts with all the language quotes.

Catalonia, a Self Portrait, by Sorber
This is a collection of excerpts and short stories from translated Catalan literature that is supposed to build a portrait of the culture.

Escribir la Catalanidad, by Stewart B. King
Basically, why it's impossible to describe the Catalan culture in Spanish. Or something like that. And the book is written in Spanish, about Catalan, by a guy with a rather un-Spanish and un-Catalan name. ??

Hmmm... noticing these titles juxtaposed makes me think of something else. There's so much about Catalan and Catalunya, but Catalan isn't spoken only in Catalunya - also in Andorra, the Balearic Islands, the South of France, even a little slice of Sicily. And this intrigues me too... And I found out that at one point, a few hundred years ago, there was a veritable Catalan empire stretched horizontally across the Mediterranean, and the Catalans at one point held Athens.

Academic Pedicure

This morning I got a pedicure. For Journalism. I swear.

The assignment was to go somewhere that made me feel uncomfortable. I couldn't really think of such a place. Where don't I go?

So I went and got a pedicure, and tried to talk to the stylists. And still, I thought about cultures....

Southeast Asians in Columbia. Men who get Pedicures.

"I didn’t know what I was doing, didn’t know anything about the environment. I was tempted to fall back into my comfort zone - into the realm of culture and language. Their English was native and natural, and I found myself wondering if they were second or third generation, and what it was like to be a Southeast Asian in Columbia. They seemed at once both more and less assimilated than the second generation Asians I was friends with in high school. The stories they told and the slang they used reminded me much more of my school’s cheerleaders than its Asian students, who were mostly superachievers too wrapped up in college applications and national honors society to think about boys, except, maybe, at prom time. (I know because it was my group too.) At the same time, most of them left their cultural identities at home. Other than the occasional joke, or something especially pertinent to a conversation, we scarcely commented on our respective cultures – they didn’t matter much in our class group. On the other hand, this conversation was punctuated by classifications I'd never even heard of before. All of the names involved were foreign, and frequently they’d say, “He’s _____, isn’t he?” – “No, he’s a mix.” The style of assimilation seemed totally different than what I had witnessed in St. Louis."

"She also said that the male magazines made the few guys who came feel more comfortable being in the store. I thought she meant that there were some guys who actually came in to get their nails done, but then she continued to say that some men come in with their wives and are positively terrified of the whole atmosphere, just feel really uncomfortable being around, and the magazines help them to feel less out of place, which made sense. I was curious, though, so to clarify I asked whether any guys actually got their nails done in the salon. “A few,” answered my stylist. “Not many, but we have a few regulars, and we have a few others who come occasionally.” She didn’t offer more details and I didn’t press, although I was intrigued. What sort of guys came to a nail salon for themselves? If Mississippi Nails had even two regulars and two occasional clients, and they were hardly the only provider in Columbia, then how many men were walking around Mid-Missouri with manicures and pedicures?"

It's not great writing, but the point was to go out in the community and think about possible stories.

Study Abroad Update

It's getting closer. 6 months to Spain. 12 months to Germany.

Recommendations. A Resume. A bunch of blahhh forms. A language test. A course proposal. - And that's just the start, and just to apply from my home University - haven't even gotten started on the requirements for my VISA, (Jorge warns that it involves an AIDS test and an intensive background check) nor on the fact that, since I am going through no less than three EXCHANGE programs, I have to directly apply to no less than three Universities. I have to cancel my phone contract, store my stuff and my car, get an International Drivers license, etc...

But it's all going to be so, so worth it.

Plans have changed a bit. Now I'm going to Pamplona, Spain this fall, Germany next Spring, and Norway the Spring after that. Germany's a bit blurry still, because I'm trying to decide which city to study in. My choices are Bonn, Saarbrücken, Stuttgart, and Tübingen, and, if I am patient, which I don't really have the time or inclination to be, possible Leipzig. My finalists are basically Bonn and Tübingen. I'm leaning a bit towards Tübingen right now, based mostly on a google image search and a recommendation from my German professor. I'm about equally in love with the curriculum of Bonn and Tübingen - lots of lovely delicious social sciences, languages, etc - plenty to get my German minor and some other International Studies credits. (I can only get Journalism credit from Spain, so there's no point in even messing with that.)

I've been warned/advised that Tübingen is smaller, sort of Columbia-esque, a traditional college town. Yeah, but, I LOVE Columbia. :P And... it's near mountains, caves, and awesome ruins, has lovely architecture (some classes are taught in a castle), the University is an American-mind-scrambling 500 years old, and so on. So I'm basically waiting for an advising appointment and advice from German friends to help guide me, because Tübingen looks magnificent... but I would also be happy in Bonn. :)

Here's a photo from each place as a sort of summary of awesomeness:


Destination 1 - Pamplona, Spain


Sure. Tons of Americans study in Spain. Madrid, Barcelona, Alicante... but how many study in Pamplona? A lovely city at the foot of the Pyrenees Mountains, in the heart of the Basque Country... Okay, still a lot. But not nearly as many! ;) It looks awesome either way. The only downfall I can see is having to say, "No, I didn't see the running of the bulls. It's in the summer." about 1000 times throughout my life, tempting me to try and catch it after my stay in Germany. Why am I excited about Spain and Pamplona?

- Spanish
- Hiking
- The Pyrenees (complete with monasteries and hot springs)
- Pretty much all Spanish food
- Seeing Basque sports like Pelota
- Southern European Location

Destination 2 - Tübingen, Germany


I show Tübingen mostly because it photographs a bit better than Bonn. I would love to study in either and it's still open ended at this point. Why am I excited about Germany?

- German
- Hiking
- Castles
- Chocolate
- Brötchen
- Yummy Soups
- Esther and Damaris
- Awesome Course Offerings
- Central European Location


Destination 3 - Bergen, Norway


Norway. I don't even know what to say here, except that I love it for some reason, even the language and the food which aren't, for some reason, universally popular. I'm actually chosing Bergen because I have no choice, it's my University's only Norway program. But that's fine, really! :) Bergen is an awesome city in so many ways - home to a world heritage site wharf, surrounded by mountains, and known as the "Gateway to the Fjords". It's also known for horrible weather - not cold so much as rain, rain, and more rain. Luckily it seems to be livable, if still rather wet, in the Spring, which is when I plan to go. (Thanks to Lene for that tip. ;)) Why am I excited about Norway, and Bergen?

- Norwegian
- Hiking
- Bergen's Wharf and Seven Mountains
- Shrimp
- Smoked Salmon
- Waffles
- Syttende Mai
- Fjords and Mountains
- Oh, and Norwegian
- I would say Northern European Location to balance things out... but while I'm going to try to sneak out to see Liisa in Finland at some point during my stay, I think I'll lack the funds or motivation to leave Norway much if at all during this semester.


Of course, I'm also excited about more general stuff, like 'expanding my intellectual/academic/personal/cultural/international horizons. ;)

Because it Snowed

I was just planning to get a bit of ramen and print a to-do list for study abroad. Yep, that was all. I walked down the hallway to Tina's end of South, down the stairs and across the ten meters that seperates South from Center, where our computer lab and Mizzou market are. Such a short distance that I was wearing sandals and a thin shirt.

And I saw the snow - the fabulous, beautiful snow, wafting down like flakes almost too perfect to be real, almost more like the soapy snowflakes used in all those New York true love chickflicks. It flew fast when I wasn't focused on it's dance through the air - slowed as I turned my gaze to the thousands of tiny flakes, lit up by the lamps they passed mid-flight until they almost resembled sparks, a golden sea of sparks. The wind was blowing them here and there, and the flakes were so light, such dry snow, that they allowed it and formed and unformed drifts with every passing moment.

I ran back to my dorm, across the courtyard even, letting the snow come up over my sandals. Then up to my room and I pulled on proper socks, snowboots, a sweatjacket a scarf, and my coat. Nothing too warm - no hat or gloves - I wasn't planning on an expedition, just a bit of a walk. I set off and called Zahra on the phone. We chatted about random things as I passed Dobbs, Stankowski. Then Ju called and I told her I was walking in the snow. She said she wanted to walk with me, but she was too far away. Too bad.

You're not that far, I said, now you just live off of Hitt Street. I'll meet you at the Physics Building. Come on! :D She agreed. I ran across campus in ten minutes, crunching delightful fresh snow and cautiously fording a road glazed with dark ice over black asphalt, slick and perilous. I passed a crowded bus stop full of miserable people waiting, and two or three other people. It was almost ten thirty, so campus was totally shutting down, and we few stragglers shot each other exasperated, empathetic smiles as we dashed here and there.

I met Ju at Physics Building and we decided to head for the woods near the veterinary school. We got a bit cold and doubted ourselves a bit on the way, but Baja was open so we stopped there and ate a few fish tacos and banana-chocolate quesadillas, felt stronger, and continued. Baja is the last point of true civilization, so from there we were by and large alone. We raced down slippery sidewalks without taking our feet off the ground, spelled our names by dragging feet, took silly pictures, made snow angles, giggled.

At length we reached the woods, decided the normal descent was a bit perilous in the weather, and chose the slippery but shorter and safer route into the little wooded valley. We took a few more pictures there, I enjoyed the familiar sight of the snow covered forest. It's never totally dark there, with the low hanging clouds and the lights of campus reflecting onto it. We could see everything clearly, even take bad pictures without flash if our hands were steady.

As we got quite cold and thought about heading back, Ju got a phone call and spoke in Thai. Ju asked me where we were, and, not knowing who she was talking to, and also forgetting the name of the path, I answered, "In the woods!" Ju laughed and finished her conversation before telling me, "That was Prite. He wanted to join us but he didn't know where we were."

I was embarrassed! We decided to call Prite again, both because we wanted him to join us, and because we wanted rides back home. I called Prite, but his phone ran out of batteries partway through hello. I asked Ju if anyone else was at home, and we called Ju's roommate Kim. Kim didn't answer, so we thought we'd reached a dead-end. Then Kim called us back, and Prite came on the phone, and I explained where we were. Prite said he knew the place, knew the mule barn at least, and would go there but was afraid about meeting up since he wouldn't have a phone.

"We're in the parking lot," I said. "You can't miss us."

Then, thinking he would come quickly in the car and that we were a decent ways down the path into the woods, I told Ju to take her time, and I was going to sprint ahead to intercept Prite. I ran up and out of the woods, across the mule barn lot and to the hill. I decided to go up to the top of the hill, in case Prite was confused about which lot was the lower one. If he drove down to the lower lot, I would see him and be able to run down easily.

I waited a long time. At length Ju emerged from the forest - I could just make out a vague pink shape moving across the lot and gaining substance through the snowfall. I waited at the top of the hill and she at the bottom. The minutes ticked on and I started to feel cold. I tried to take shelter from the wind and snow behind a tree, but the wind seemed to rush at me regardless of my angle. It was beautiful beside the tree, though, with the whole ground seeming to twinkle and change as the wind blew the snow about, and the branches of the tree shook. To stay warm, Ju and I started dancing crazily.

I turned and saw someone running towards me. As the person came closer I realized it was Prite. I laughed at him as soon as he recognized me, and ran down the hill as fast as I could. If the hill had been even a bit steeper I would have tripped and fallen, especially with all the snow, but I knew more or less what I could handle and enjoyed the crazy feeling of running down it with my feet rarely touching the ground, almost flying. Prite ran down too, straight behind me. I threw myself into a turn as I reached the bottom of the hill and Ju, landing fairly gracefully given my history, and Prite yelled, "I can't stop!!" and ran straight into Ju.

Then we greeted each other properly - it had been a while since Prite and I had seen each other. Then Prite said, "I'm so tired! I ran all the way here from Ju's house!"

"What do you mean? You didn't bring your car?"

"No!"

"But that's why we invited you!"

"WHAT?!?!"

Oh well. We walked into the forest again, took a few more pictures and I made fun of Prite for running like a fairy prince and we argued about the appropriateness of the simile. We went mostly downhill and it became apparent that Ju's boots were not up to the task. After she slipped for the fourth time, and we'd gone far enough anyway, we decided to go back. But uphill was much worse, and eventually I took up the lead and occasionally gave Ju a bit of a push, while Prite occasionally took her hand and led her up hill. We took the rockier road back up to the parking lot because it gave more of a foothold. It was midnight by now but we could still see as clear as dawn or dusk.

We walked back to Ju's house on deserted neighborhood roads that were shining white. The only tracks in them were Prite's from running to meet us. We felt we owned the city. We ran ahead and stopped and slid across the slippery streets, took pictures of shadows, made funny faces at the two cars which passed by.

Still it felt good to reach a warm house. We took off our shoes and entered, ate seaweed, and Thai food so spicy that my body protested at the violent changes in temperature I had subjected it to that day, but it was delicious too, and afterwards a strange tea-like beverage that tasted like nothing other than hot, liquified fig - and that was a good thing. We laughed and talked and joked for another half hour.

Prite and I went out to his car but the doors were frozen shut, so we took a kettle of hot water and went back out. I told Prite I felt like we were about to act out a scene from Ranma, carrying that kettle around, and he pretended to pour it exactly right. He asked whether it would turn me into a boy. I said maybe not - maybe a panda or a raccoon or something instead.

I warned Prite that pouring hot water wasn't always the best fix for a frozen shut car, but he poured the kettle over the doors anyway, and sure enough we had just enough time to open the doors before the hot water froze back onto the windows. Prite scraped the front and back windshields just well enough and we drove slowly on the empty roads back to South hall.

I love college.

Deutsche Reisetrends Presentation

I got an A+ on the German presentation. (The one about Deutsche Reistrends with an emphasis in Jugendreise.) He graded it amazingly fast - I had the summary in my email two hours after giving the presentation. He basically said that my grammar needed a tune up, (hmm, couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact that I still haven't learned any genders in German, could it?) but that otherwise I was brilliant, had a good presentational manner, facilitated the discussion well, covered solid and thought-provoking material, and was comfortable with using my German.

I find the whole thing interesting, because most of my grade seemed to be about confidence rather than ability in the language. But then, language is all about communicating, so I guess in the end, confidence, fluency in the raw sense of the word, material, responsiveness to your audience, and a keep-the-ball rolling attitude are more important than adjective endings or articles.

I'm good at giving presentations, I know. I used to get nervous when giving them in foreign languages, at least, but now I think I'm even past that. After all, German is hardly my best language, and I didn't even practice before going in - just had a powerpoint with lots of slides I could resort to reading if I flipped out, and ended up not flipping out and free-speaking a lot, apparently adequately.

Even though the fate of my Germany study-abroad plans are in jeopardy, I am not longer quite as nervous about it. No, my German isn't great, but it's adequate - I understand, I communicate, we keep the ball rolling. I think I could maneuver the country and even pass classes - not that there wouldn't be embarrassing and stressful times, but I think I could do it.

I also had the thought the night before my presentation that I should dress up for it. Nothing crazy - but at least some eyeliner, some foundation, and a cute shirt. Since I'd been too busy for laundry recently I didn't really have any cute long sleeve shirts left, so believe it or not I improvised - mom would be proud - by taking a very plain black shirt and wearing a red and black patterned scarf over it. I'm not saying any of this had an impact for sure, and I'm sure it didn't consciously, but I think it made me look and maybe even feel more confident.

Meeting Professors

This definitely hasn't been one of my easier college weeks. I had a German project, a Spanish paper, a bunch of reslife stuff, and a bunch of other stressful things that popped up to make my life somewhat miserable. Needless to say I wasn't getting my nightly eight hours, and it wasn't by choice.

But things have been getting steadily better since Monday. I'm all set for one of my two honors-by-contracts, and the other is in the works and should go through fine, meaning that I get to stay in the Honors College. I actually met with my Spanish and German teachers to brainstorm and feel better about those projects, and it's amazing how much that helped.

As it's ended up I've now gotten to know four of my six professors reasonably well (aka better than most students). Admittedly one of them was Monica, who I had first semester Freshman year and immediately got along well with. But my Anthropology Professor, Dr. Palmer, is awesome too, very funny, and I'm looking forward to working with him on the honors contract. My German teacher, Franzel, is quite nice as well - not Megan, but who is?

I was also really happy to meet my Spanish teacher during his office hours. He hadn't impressed me overly much in class and I have to admit the possibility that I was holding a grudge against him for being a gringo. It's the truth - I hate fake Spanish accents, and not just the language Spanish, but particularly Spain Spanish, and particularly when spoken by American males. But honestly, what would I prefer? That he spoke with no attempt to disguise a heavy American accent?

What I found out is that he's a pretty cool guy by my standards. He is learning Chinese and apparently at least conversational in it (doing it for his wife, too ^^), has huge German and Italian dictionaries on his shelf (and by huge I mean, no one has a dictionary that big if they're not really doing something with the language), and is obviously familiar with the basics of untranslated Latin poetry. Oh, and he likes Lord of the Rings.

Getting to know professors is really a great idea - It makes me at least feel more responsible for preparing for class and working hard, participating, etc. It might be as simple as not wanting to disappoint someone I've established a personal contact with.