ST. JOHN'S, NEWFOUNDLAND
November 29th, 2004
Hey kids. Sorry I haven't been writing regularly.....I know you all enjoy having your email accounts clogged up with my gigantic messages just as much as you love all that spam telling you your penis isn't big enough. So HERE IS WHAT I'VE BEEN DOING! YAY! Christ I'm tired; maybe the occasional YAY! will keep me on my toes.
Finally did some touristy-type stuff - a friend from Halifax is in town on business and he borrowed the company cube van so that we could go for a drive to Cape Spear and just around in general. So we did the local tour of whatever roads you can fit a frickin' cube van down. "As you can see, that's the heart of Quidi Vidi Village down there, but.....ah, fuck it." Cape Spear is real purty-like. It is , of course, the easternmost point in North America, and there are lighthouses and ocean and rocks and stuff, and, best of all, a creepy old semi-underground battery you can wander around. Halifax David took an official tourist pic of me sitting by the Cape Spear sign so I could prove I'd been there.......but the bummer part is that you can see that if you hopped a fence and clambered out on the slippery rocks you could get even further east. And kill yourself! All right! Now that would be a photo!
Other adventures: okay, now, nobody freak out, but, yeah, I went hiking along Signal Hill trail in the middle of the night. It was three a.m. and I couldn't sleep (normal), threw on a coat of Nicole's and went out and threw some stuff in the mailbox (still not so weird), and ended up out until eight in the morning (what?!). It was a beautiful warm breezy night, with an almost summer smell in the air, and I just started wandering on an impromptu walk. Went down to the harbour (briefly considered stowing away on a ship - you never know, maybe I could get back to Mexico - for free!), and then ended up gravitating towards Signal Hill again. In the back of my head was the fact that I'd been told that night that sunrise on Signal Hill is an experience not to be missed (I had, of course, scoffed, "Me? Sunrise?! Pah!".....and here I was.)
Really an amazingly warm and lovely night. I trekked up the roads on the side of the hill and then into the parks boundary and along the side of the hill, sticking to the trail and staying close to the side so I wouldn't, you know, plummet to a painful death on the rocks below. I had to open my jacket and my sweater after a time because I was hot - honestly, St. John's rocks! It is WAY warmer here than it was in Halifax. There was no way I was going to find my way to the stairs that go up the side to the top of the hill in the moonlight - it was far too dark - so I just curled up on a nice soft bed of moss on the rocky promontory that juts out into the ocean underneath the hill. (I hate trying to describe this....go and look at tourist pics on the web if I don't make sense.) And THAT's when it got really bloody windy. I didn't even have a hat - I'd been going to the mailbox, remember - and no scarf, no watch, no water, no phone, no anything (hee hee). So needless to say, I didn't manage to fall asleep out there, but I didn't freeze either; I had my awesome warm waterproof boots on (the ones I hated, but now love!) and Nicole's coat kicks my coat's ass. I managed to pull my sweater up over my ears enough to ensure that I would still have ears in the morning. And I made a rudimentary lathe out of some grass and a rubber band - just like I learned on McGyver! Why did I need a lathe? You tell me.
Morning approaches and the sky is beginning to lighten, so I run like hell along the path and up the eighteen million steps to the top of the hill so I can look out from up on high. And I get to the top....and the sky is getting lighter...and lighter...and lighter......and the sun is completely covered by clouds. Nuthin. It came all the way up, and I didn't see it for EVEN ONE SECOND. But the sky was a stunning study in shades of.....grey. God dammit. And I'm thinking that a drink of water would be a good idea right now, and cursing my lack of preparation. I run around Cabot Tower looking for a water fountain - no dice, so I give up and decide to hop one of the low stone walls around the tower and sit in the grass for a bit before heading home - and in doing so, I nearly sprain my ankle on a BOTTLE OF WATER lying in the grass. SEALED. True North brand, from Newfoundland. I guess it had just dropped out of someone's bag or something. Either that or it's a service provided by Newfoundland parks: bottles of water and first aid kits randomly strewn around for idiot tourists.
Time comes to move on, and I jump back over the wall - and hear ziiiiiip! I've broken the zipper on the borrowed red jacket. So picture me on top of a huge hill, in the searing, screaming wind, fighting with a zipper and cursing the complete lack of a sunrise. Damn you, nature! Damn you, technology! I shake my fist at both of you! I didn't manage to fix it (until yesterday, when Nicole was on her way home from Ottawa), but it wasn't all that cold.....and it didn't start to rain until I was almost home. I AM LISA, FROM THE LAND OF SERENDIP. BOW TO ME. And I know it's silly to go hiking by yourself in the dark, but to any of you who have protective feelings toward me: I already did it. Ha ha ha. And I am fine. (And I promise never ever to do it again.)
I still hadn't caught up on that lost sleep when the time came for a proper urban adventure. Dancing! Dancing! Lots of dancing! Another night on the town with Nicole's crazy friend Pat, and this time some of his gang, who have names like Tiffany! and Krista Sue! And who freaked out when they found out that I am TWENTY NINE, which makes me, apparently, the oldest living human being they have ever seen. Anyway, that was a blast - we danced at a place that has no name but that everyone calls "the bar above Peddlers", because.....well....it's above Peddlers. And ended up at a silly after hours dance club called "Liquid Ice". Ooooooh, how cool. I am so old. What I did love, and I think this is because this town is so small, is that there is no self-imposed social segregation in the way there can be in Toronto. The gay bar is the straight bar is the everybody bar. Everyone dances together! (Except the cripples. They can get their own damn bar.)
I have seen four black people in St. John's. And I can't prove that two weren't just the same dude on two separate occasions.
Went home, couldn't sleep, then up for brunch with Crazy Charlie, and then to the Santa Claus parade! So, yeah, if you're wondering where Santa is, we've got him in Newfoundland. He's down to the pub, gettin' loaded and kissin' cod. The parade was fun. Thank God I don't get hangovers, cause boy, those cadet bands were givin' it all they got. And then some.
Oh yeah, it's been decided (by Halifax David, and cute Newfoundland Nick, and me): Halifax boys. St. John's girls. For general hotness, I mean. There are obviously exceptions. But in Halifax, everybody dresses the same - and on the guys, the lumpy sweaters and the baggy jeans and messy hair are just adorable. They manage to be scruffy and stubbly, but still look clean. But it takes a particular kind of girl to really elevate the lumpy sweater look. (And the stubble? Yi.) In St. John's, the girls are kinda funky and cool (witness Underhay), wheras the guys, a lot of them, are just so much grease. The boys said theyd been out with some female friends, and the local "skeets" kept approaching, and using the ever irresistible opening line "dance or wha'?" I dunno.....maybe it works for them sometimes.
Anyway, I'm about to get kicked out of this bookstore....so this is the last you'll hear from me. (I'm about to hop a cargo boat to......somewhere.) Nicole is home as of last night, so I'm out of here! One more day - I'm recording some voice-over stuff tomorrow, before I go (how to get a gig in Newfoundland: answer the phone) and then back to T.O. Wednesday a.m. See some of you there.
Love Love Love,
Leese Leese Leese
can't stop the rock
THE ROCK (no, i don't mean the wrestler)
ST. JOHN'S, NEWFOUNDLAND
November 13th, 2004
HELLOOOOOooo TORONTO! (And Halifax, and Montreal, and Ottawa, and Niagara-on-the-Lake, and Calgary and Vancouver, and what have you.) I hope you are all well and feelin' fine and fancy. This finds me slightly chilled (in both the temperature and groovy temperament senses of the word) In St. John's. Which rocks. Newfoundland, so far: I dig it, man. It is coooo.
First of all, I guess I should confirm and/or spread the news: no, i'm not going back to the Shaw Festival next year. Yes, I will be in T.O. No, it is not the end of the world. Yes, I'm doing that show at Passe Muraille. No, I don't have an apartment yet. So, YES, if you hear of one (for Feb-ish) let me know. Now everyone can stop sending me hinty messages about what my offer is for next year (is that what all that hinting and winking in your email was about, Madden? - I couldn't figure it out for the life of me). And sorry, Mr. Schurmann, but you'll have to get some other sucker to write SNAG skits for you.....okay, I'll give it some thought, but I expect cash for that type of thing from now on.
Anyway, nobody who knows me well should be too surprised; as you all know, I am not very talented AND I'm notoriously difficult to work with. I'm just surprised that I flew under the radar for so long! My only real contribution to the company was shakin' my booty rather well at dance parties. And I'm told I'm still welcome to do that. (Collective sigh of relief.) Anyway, don't cry for me, Argentina. Or St. Catharines.
On with the show (this is it)....
Had a great final week in Halifax. Stayed a little longer (and a little longer and a little longer...) and didn't go until I'd caught some bands at the Halifax Pop Explosion. "How cute", you say? How cute, indeed. Some good stuff. Quite dug controller.controller (Oakey did not). Arcade Fire, who were THE HOT BIG THING are not really my style - I wish the eighties would go back where they came from, and curl up and die already - but they do put on a HELL of a live show. My favourite though, was an adorable little outfit from P.E.I called Two Hours Traffic. Pop personified: they were young, and cute, and had screaming girl fans (from Ottawa!) and everything. I even got to flirt with one of the boys in the band, who was cute as a puppy, and just as young. Spent the rest of the night hanging with boring old Oakey and boring old Daryl Cloran and boring old Matt McFadzean and old boring C. David Johnson (who are doing Three In the Back, Two Up My Bum at Neptune). Oh, I helped with the strike of the show in the space before them, so I was officially involved in two Halifax shows during my vacation. Gosh, I'm useful.
St. John's is little and pretty and smells good. One of the finer smelling places in Canada, as far as I'm concerned. It seems there's always a nice fire going somewhere, and the air is crisp and clean and oceanic. And, yeah, people are nice. Damned nice. They follow me everywhere, dashing garlands in my path and singing songs of love and peace and harmony. I woke this morning to the strains of a Catholic boys choir serenading me with "What's so funny 'bout peace love and understanding?" underneath my bedroom window. Annoying, really. I threw a shoe at them and told them to fuck off. I mean, it's nice to feel welcome and everything.....but you gotta draw the line somewhere. I'm from Scarborough, for god's sake.
I'm currently over at Charlie Tomlinson's house using his computer to send this off. He's Jessica Lowry's friend and worked with her on her production of Jewel (sorry Jess, I missed you by about two days!), and some of you know him from his teaching days at U of A and from other places, and he is officially my third Newfoundland friend! I can't count Nicole, cause she's not actually here, though I am getting warm friendly vibes sleeping in her bed. Sometimes a little too friendly, in fact. ("Hey, lay off me, vibes! This ain't that type o' party!")
Charlie and I met up last night and had a rip roarin' ridiculously decadent time. We celebrated your birthday in grand style, you'll be happy to know, Mom, moving from drinks at the good aul' Ship Inn to dinner at one a them real fancy-ass places (Ruby's, i think? Jeanie's? Somebody's, anyway....) for a way too expensive dinner, all the way from champagne to creme brulee. Ahhhhh, creme brulee. Happy birthday, Mama. I done ya proud.
My other St. John's friends (so far), I met up on scenic Signal Hill, where they actually live. (It's like its own little village up there, and quite wonderful. I was wandering around up on the hill (Beautiful! Spectacular! Astounding! I am not, for once, being ironic!) and met Denys and Ulricha out walking their dog, Lupin. They invited me for tea, and made sure to reiterate the invitation several times, so that I would know they weren't just being polite. So I wandered off for another couple of hours (Amazing! Breathtaking! One of the most gorgeous places I've ever been!) and then had to climb back up to their house from where I'd landed myself. I huffed and I puffed....
Of course, I wasn't entirely sure I'd find the house as they'd kind of gestured vaguely and told me to "look for the house with the curvy drainpipe" - maybe they were trying to ditch me after all - but I did. And we had a lovely chat, and I felt very proud of myself for resisting my snooty Toronto instincts and actually showing up. Ulricha (who is a cool lady who works in a dive shop) has gone to Germany now to visit family. So now I'm down to two friends. But Denys has invited me up to their cottage in Brigus (on the other side of Placentia Bay) if the weather is good and he decides to do a day trip there. Dogs and cottages - yay!
It's a funny thing (and I've encountered it before), but the nicest, most friendly people in the world will never hesitate to tell me how much they hate Toronto. Or how much they hated it in the four hours they spent there one afternoon on their way through... I know that Toronto is the place all Canadians love to hate, and I don't expect everyone to dig it by any means, but....well, that's just a little rude, isn't it, considering I've just told them it's my hometown? I just can't imagine people doing that to people from anywhere else ("Moosejaw? Hated it."). It's like they feel a personal obligation to knock me down a peg, let me know that my city ain't so hot. But, hey, I never said it was the centre of the universe. I'm the centre of the universe, everyone knows that. And I'm in St. John's!
Anyway, my babies, I'm off for more windy rocky goodness! (I brought the good weather here, by the way - it had apparently been nothing but rain 'til I arrived, and it was really mild my first few days.)
Oh, and for those of you (Michael) who want to know, I have thus far avoided all kissing of fish. And i think there might be a statute of limitations on getting screeched in. By the time Nicole gets here, it'll be too late for her to make me do it; i'll have successfully flown under the Newfie radar long enough that they'll have to let me slide. That's my theory, anyway. But what do I know, I'm from Scarborough.
Lots of love from me and The Rock (and yes, I mean the wrestler),
Lisa
haliPHAT
HALIFAX, NOVA SCOTIA
Oct 30th, 2004
Hola amigos y amigas!
Writing you from tropical Nova Scotia, where I am working on my tan and practicing my Spanish with the lovely locals (take that, Jamie Burnett.... you big Chilean looozer!).
Yes, my loves, I have arrived safely, soundly, and have in fact been here for a week but been too lazy to touch base with almost all of you..... sign of good leisure time - couldn't possibly type a word. Things are laid back and cool here, as usual.... I'm doing my best to fit in, but I own only one toque and not a single pair of hand-knit Acadian socks (Oakey has around fifty, I think.) Also, nobody here but me (and the occasional sad little goth girl) seems to have black hair. I feel conspicuously like a South American exchange student amidst all this wool and freckle and sandy hair....I went to see The Motorcyle Diaries the other day (worth seeing...and my boyfriend Gael is quite good in it) and felt like hugging the group of Spanish-speaking Latin-Americans in the crowd. ("Hermanos! Hermanas! You look....like me!") But I digress. What else is new?
Those of you who don't know what the hell I'm on about, I'm here visiting Christine Oakey, who is a Shawfest friend, until Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday or so (decisions, decisions) and then on to St. John's, Newfoundland for a month or so to laze around in the empty home of Nicole Underhay (another Camp Shaw buddy). Ahhhhh......unemployment. I mean vacation, vacation, dammit! I actually meant to do this! Newfoundland in November.....what was I thinking, you ask? I'll get back to you on that.
The train ride here was lovely.... I do recommend a big ol' long distance rail trip to those who have the time. Scenic and peaceful and all that. And I did the single bedroom thing (a tiny little berth about the size of my foot) which is great for someone like me who doesn't always feel like small talk....and who wants to stay up till 3am and sleep until I feel like it. Turning out the lights and watching the moonlit countryside slide by was absolutely serenely beautiful..... and there really is something about watching all of that track lay itself out before you that's conducive to taking stock, to considering where you've been and where you're heading (in the grand sense, I mean) and THINKING ABOUT LIFE in general. Also, I took some good pictures of my feet. Oh, and no intrigues on the train, Alison, unless you count THE MYSTERY OF THE INCREDIBLY DRUNKEN MAN. How did he get so impressively loaded? An hour into the train ride? How did the poor staff put up with him? And why, Inspector, wouldn't he SHUT THE FUCK UP? Again, lovin' the private berth.
Halifax has been ideal thus far. Oakey went into tech on her show (The Fighting Days, by Wendy Lill, celebrated playwright and Member of Parliament) just after I got here, so we haven't been able to hang out a ton (although we did spend Sunday in P.E.I. - hooray!). That means I've had a lot of time on my own to wander around, which is always fine by me. Since I was here last year, I don't feel a lot of pressure to do toooristy things, having already hit some of those; so I can just walk and explore and window shop and read and catch up on movies. And see some plays. And eat and drink. Oh, and work out - one week 'trial' membership at the Y: zero dollars. Ass of steel: priceless.
Shawfolk, circa 2001: had drinks with Joe Wynne the other day, who is great and about to release an album with his band, Aide de Camp. He told me the name of it, but it was something eminently forgettable. Obviously. I suggested something much catchier, of course.....which I have since also forgotten. And Sharry (Sherry? Shari? Shit.) Smith is in Oakey's show, and is wonderful, both in the play and otherwise. Good show. Went to the opening, and even did some unwitting schmooze. Oh yeah - I helped out when they were rerecording a sound cue the other day, so for the next three weeks in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, you can hear me yelling at a World War One conscription rally. (Look at me! I'm a big actor!)
Went for a long stroll through Point Pleasant Park yesterday, where I've never been (okay, Mom, maybe as a kid, but I don't remember that). It must be quite strange there for people who knew it pre-hurricane. It seemed quite strange to me. But still very beautiful of course, and an amazing way to spend a perfect sunny, blue-skied unemployed day. Staring out at the water seems to be a universal pasttime; you see people doing it all over the world. What are we all looking for out there? Anyway, I'm very good at it, and Point Pleasant is an ideal place for it. Another day of walking around and being quiet and reflective, which is actually what I am, believe it or not, when I'm not busy being so damn noisy. Any big revelations so far? Perhaps. Ask me about it some time. I did meet one person in the park, but that was creepy, heavy breathing guy (hobbies: pushups, stalking and staring), who thought I was "very eenterestink yunk lady". Which I am. I made it a point to be pleasant.
On the way there, I found myself on a side street, desperately needing to pee, so I invaded the campus of St. Mary's University (established 248 BC - God, I love the Maritimes....so old!) in search of a toilet. I was afraid that I wouldn't fit in with all the students (where were my sweatpants?!), but I had locked doors opened for me, directions given.... it reminded me of a time when Dean Carter and I, a year and two out of theatre school respectively, found ourselves wandering onto the U of T campus during frosh week. We were feeling at sea having no new exciting purpose to our lives in September after fifteen years of back-to-school, and were delighted that we not only blended in, but were given free stuff just for being there. I briefly considered sneaking back regularly for free lectures, but as it turned out, I wasn't really interested in free knowledge. Just free pizza.
Anyway, I'm off, dearies.... big day tomorrow running around screaming in the Museum of Natural History with Xine, and then off to see The Syringa Tree (starring Carmen Grant) at Neptune.... and then a tickle trunk hallowe'en party!
Do you love the fact that my stoopid mass email from stoopid Nova Scotia is longer than emails you get from people who are in Europe or Africa? Or do you hate it with all your heart and soul? 'Cuz that's okay, too. Either way, get used to it. It may be a long cold month in St. John's.
Happy Halifaxowe'en!
Love,
Leese
a vacation within a vacation
SAN BLAS, MEXICO
March 21st, 2004
That's right, relaxing in Mazatlán was just getting to be too much for me, so now I'm relaxing in San Blas instead.
San Blas is a sweet laidback little town a few hundred kilometres south of Mazatlán (northwest of Guadalajara), to which I came primarily to check out the jungle boat tours....but it's also probably good that I got out of Mazatlán before I murdered the dog across the street.
Took a bus (two, actually) yesterday. There's no direct route, so I had to take a bus past here to Tepíc, and then backtrack north again on another bus. Nine hours. To a town two hundred and ninety kilometres away. Yeah. You do the math.
Intercity buses here are quite the experience. (As are Mazatlán city buses - I'm three for three getting lost on those - but that's another story.) And the experience seems to be mostly about...eating. The bus stops anywhere people are selling anything edible - which is, well, everywhere - and vendors get on the bus and walk up and down the aisle selling grilled corn, tamales, cookies, cakes, raw veggies to snack on, whatever. We also stopped at a roadside rest stop for a meal. The driver said we were stopping for half an hour but it was almost an hour before we got going again. Thank God I took the comfy air conditioned bus - because then.....
Traffic was backed up, and we stopped for about half an hour and waited and wondered what was going on. Finally our young upstart bus driver (he actually looked like you incognito, brother-in-law Sam...similar features but with these crazy gigantic sideburns) decided he'd waited long enough, and passed the convoy of backed up vehicles. driving on the wrong side of a skinny hillside road, squeezing up close to the rocks to let oncoming traffic pass, other drivers pointing at us, shaking their fists, shouting....
I counted sixty pulled-over cars until we got to the cop at the front of the line....who gave our driver a good dressing down and, after another quarter hour or so, waved us through. Two tractor trailers had collided coming around a corner. The cab of the one going in our direction was pretty banged up on the driver's side....and the whole truck looked like it had come dangerously close to getting knocked clean off the hillside. Of course, our driver then sped like a maniac for the next little while to make up time, which was especially disconcerting considering the proliferation of roadside headstones for all the people who've been killed along that way.
All in all a very eventful trip...with an interesting side effect; I got off that seven-hour bus ride understanding Spanish about a million times better. Just being surrounded by locals for that long, everything started to get clearer. At first I thought it was just that they were getting tired and therefore slowing down - and that's partly true, but it seems to be still working! Today I was an absolute champion at Spanish - until my lack of sleep last night caught up with me and I became a moron.
I'm staying in this adorable cheap little hotel a block away from everything, in the cutest, most bizarrely multicoloured room. Very comfortable....I think I was only awake all night because of the imaginary bugs. This town is famous for its supposed epidemic of jejenes, a type of vicious biting sand fly that is so small you can't even see it. Jejenes are one link down the local food chain from shrimp, but apparently the shrimp have been so horribly overfished (overshrimped?) here that nothing is eating the jejenes. I'd been warned, I'd read, I'd read some more....and I haven't been bitten. Even once. Either these flies have gotten way more publicity than they deserve....or I'm just not very tasty. (Also I've been using this repellent that I picked up in Mazatlán which smells absolutely heavenly.) Just the idea of these things, though, was enough to make me feel like I was getting bitten all the time, and I tossed and turned most of the night. Did learn that the word for "bugs" here is "bichos", which I just love because it sounds so much like "bitches", and that seems awfully fitting...as in, "Dem bitches is really bad today." "Dem bitches done bit me all over."
The boat ride upriver into the jungle was quite beautiful. And I did get to see some real live crocodiles, though when I went swimming at the end, not even one attacked me. More evidence that I'm not very tasty?
Back to Mazatlán tomorrow - hopefully not nine hours this time. Fly to Mexico City on Tuesday and then heading back to y'all bitches on Wednesday.
Oh - here's a thought:
On the bus, there was an inflight movie. That's not important. But before the main feature was this ad from the Mexican board of tourism that was like a cheesy music video showing things to see all over the country - with an accompanying cheesy song (with English subtitles) telling you where to go, so to speak. And the refrain was this:
This is how Mexico feels,
This is how Mexico feels,
Like lips on your skin. (oh my!)
This is how Mexico enfolds you,
This is how Mexico tastes,
This is how you wear Mexico on your skin.
(Why Mexico, I never knew you cared!) The "oh my" is mine. But the rest of the lyrics are for real. And I'm thinking that staid old Canada could take a cue here - what do you think?
This is how Canada feels,
Like somebody sucking you off
Behind the arena.
Like a cold beer and a hard cock;
This is how Canada tastes.
Okay, so maybe I've been alone with the crocodiles too long. But think about it.
Adios por ahora, my bunnies,
Lisa
are you there god? it's me in mexico.
MAZATLAN, MEXICO
March 11th, 2004
Hey my little Canadian monkeys. What's a happenin'? All continues well here in Mazatlán....
You'll be happy to know that I can now settle that age old debate. Once and for all:
School suks! Yes, everywhere! School, in fact, sucks even more in a place like this, when you know you could be at the beach instead, tanning yer ass instead of conjugating verbos.
I now hold a diploma from the Reallyreallyinsanelyridiculouslyfastschoolof spanish, which I attended all last week. It was quite tough, but I'm really glad I did it. Halfway through the week, I was losing my mind a bit: four hours of private instruction each day (with teachers who don't speak english, so you know it's gonna be intense) plus three or four hours of homework each night. And the homework would be stuff like: go home and review everything you learned today, plus teach yourself the past tenses of -ar, -ir and -er verbs, and memorize a hundred new words. Then the next day, we'd spend about a minute going over that, and MOVE ON! It was nuts. It was great at the beginning, but as my brain became a messy jumble of new, half-digested information, I just wanted to scream "I don´t need to know all the spelling exceptions for the third person forms of -ir verbs in the preterite tense! I don´t care!" I am quite happy to bumble around speaking in only the present tense all the time. I mean, me talk pretty one day, but for now...
Besides, I think talking only in the present tense would be good for me as an actor, you know? An exercise in living in the moment. Anyway, it was all good in the end: on the last day of class (which I had actually considered skipping, I was dreading it so), I realized, mid-rant, that I was able to express, in spanish, that I didn´t understand anything, that the homework was too complicated, that I got the exercises while I was doing them, but forgot everything afterward....
I couldn't complain like that a couple of weeks ago! I'll be ranting and raving all over Mexico in no time, you watch me.
So far, in spanish, these are a few of my favourite things:
If you are embarassed, don't say you are embarazado. That would make you not embarassed (well, maybe) but pregnant.
To be constipado is to have a cold.
Food can be caliente (hot), but if you're hot, say "tengo calor". "Estoy caliente" means "I´m horny".
In spanish, there is no separate way to say "I want" and "I love". They are both quiero. So you can't possibly tell someone you want them ("Te quiero") without saying you love them. Interesting. I'm sure this has caused more than one misunderstanding over the years. ( When are these crazy Mexicans gonna get it together?)
So...life since my big long school term....
Good....and lazy. Very lazy. It hasn't exactly been one long siesta, but uhipe q+´0o´kp ñan lkaakuhoiaiapdwqqñl´´ohjoihoipphjohoaewqrdzgfr xgdhgt8 9769uyoi'80u0pijpo324ñlkñ{
Sorry...fell asleep on the keyboard for a minute there.
Lots of reading, eating, snoozing, walking around. A couple of movies. You´ll love this, Xine - I have seen the Cold Mountain trailer twice since I've been here...and I'm sure I will again. I thought you were out of my life, Cold Mountain! Last time, I decided to make a game of it and see how much of it I had memorized. I didn't do too badly. But I think a group of locals sitting nearby thought I was nuts when they saw me mouthing "Mah last thread of cuhrage is to wait" and emoting along with Zellwegger's weather report. I'm sure the ads for the DVD will be on TV nonstop when I get home. Kill me now.
No, wait! Don't kill me yet! I've got reading to do! So far: The Navigator of New York, Invisible Monsters, Ooh Ah Oh Wilderness (thought I should read this little skit I'm going to be doing), Man and Superman (ditto), Lolita, and yes, Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret?. Let me explain. Yes, I have read Are You There God before (they won't let you buy your first bra until you write a test on it). But Kimwun and I recently had the brilliant idea of starting an adolescent book of the month club, in which we reread all those stupid books we loved as prepubescents ( Judy Bloom, Gordon Korman - God I had such a crush on Bruno. Or was it Boots?- etc.), starting with Margaret. The real beauty of it is that you can read these little books in an afternoon - wasting as little of your time as possible, allowing you to continue reading whatever else you're reading. who's in?
The really weird thing was that I read Margaret while between books one and two of Lolita (an old favourite that I'm paying a visit to). And they got a bit mixed up in my drowsy mind. Leaving me with something like Are you there, God? It's me, Lolita. By Judy Nabokov. A very weird book. Who's the villain, anyway? Humbert Humbert....or that catty little shrew Nancy Wheeler? Actually, it was really difficult taking Margaret's problems seriously while poor little Lo was getting banged across America. Who cares if you haven't gotten your stupid period yet and don't know what stupid religion you are?! Lolita's takin' it three times a day, for chrissake!! One day, when I finally decide to go to university, I'll write a brilliant paper comparing the two. Wait a minute, no I won't: yooniversity suks!
Speaking of little kids, I love this internet place, because it's the converted front room of a family home....and there is always this adorable little girl (about three) wandering in and visiting. The other day she was trying to hide the family puppy ( a cute little poodly thing) under my desk. Today she's slightly obsessed with my tattoo. Very cute.
Oh (Gregg, you needn't read this bit) - my friend Gregg sent me an email in really bad spanish, courtesy of one of those translation websites. Don't do it. But the great thing was that he then had it translate everything back into english, with mostly hilarious results, and the truly wonderful discovery that "Hello Ms. Lisa" ended up as "hello smooth señorita". So, with a slight adjustment, I have finally found my superhero name, and would appreciate if you'd all address me from now on as: Señorita Smooth.
And another favourite thing:
In Mexico, it is customary to sign off a letter, even one to the most casual acquaintance with un beso (a kiss) / besos or...
Un abrazo (a hug),
Lisa
(Except for the "Lisa" part. That's not so customary.)
