Mientras Tanto

19 11 2010

The brilliant gleam of the new in Madrid has worn thin: the seductive beckon of unremarkable routine can offer too attractive a monotony to brush off like it ain’t no thang. Yet the medley of thangs continues, relentlessly, to occur, whether or not it falls subject to meticulous blogging.

The conversation of how to intermingle working with minors in a government-funded position with the Rights of the Blogger has come up several times, always concluding on a similar note: best to avoid it. I attribute part of my pause in daily wordiness to that phenomenon; this enormous part of my experience here has got to be treated as a bit of a delicate taboo. It isn’t that there’s anything specific I’m omitting – very few students ever get thrown in the Chokey, at least at José Luis Sampedro – but the weight of what I necessarily represent given my unique position can loom, heavy and ominous, when I consider regaling my clamoring international readers with sordid tales of what those sweet little beasties did this time, goddammit.

The other day, I noticed with alarm the extreme frequency with which I was talking about my job while not actually working, and made a pact with myself to immediately staunch that particular river. It grows more obvious with each day: teaching English is a means for me. That’s not what my Fulbright Personal Statement would have you believe, but let’s be straight up here (Straight BlogTalk with Torkington: Like It Ain’t No Thang). With each day, I’m allowing those myriad ingrained traditional understandings of What I Ought To Be Accomplishing With My Life to wither, and doing my damnedest to concentrate all my love and energy on unfurling leafy tendrils into self-development. I am a writer, I am a photographer, I am a chef, I am a linguist – but, more importantly, I am happy, day-to-day and long-term, in a way that makes sense for me specifically.

How ’bout THAT for stinky cheese, dear readers?

It’s okay to be a bit jealous. Let’s go out for cañas and we’ll talk about it.

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Halloweird

4 11 2010

The darkest day of the American calendar must be shared with the hundreds of sugar-starved kiddos of José Luis Sampedro. No, not the day after Election Day – I’m talking about Halloween (c’mon, people, catch up).

The auxiliares – that is, Laura, James, Heather, and I – have spent several commutes ruminating on costumes. A theme eventually emerges: American Superheroes. Heather snags Catwoman, which Laura combines with Poison Ivy to make villainous feminine duo. James calls Batman, and as such I am assigned the lowly sidekick role of Robin.

Oh please. Robin is just about the least amount of super you can get. I sneakily plan an alternative get-up.

A couple chinos later, and Captain America is ready for battle.

Laura and I construct cardboard onomatopoeia, then emerge from our dark tower to the center of the recreational area during the afternoon break. We are immediately swarmed – we have informed the students that we will offer candy to anyone else who remembers to dress up. No one has, but hundreds of little ears are buzzing with the promise of sweet, sweet sugar, and we draw an unbelievably enormous crowd within seconds.

Whamm-o! Bam! Pow! Zing! The good guy triumphs in the end (of course) and the bad guy (as punishment?) holds aloft a bag ripe with Sugus. She is MOBBED, a thousand nasty smelly little fingers clutching at her wig and brambles, scrambling for a chance at the prize.

Batman and Catwoman make a late entrance, and we snap a few shots (which Heather still needs to put online, dammit) and offer one more lucha before the bell.

My own Halloween fiesta was low-key-esque. Two highlights include:

Alex as beaker-toting mad scientist, and –

Sam‘s impeccable attention to detail, from her winged cheeks to her ghostly pumpkin-spiced cake.