el paraguas
It's raining. A lot. Since I spent almost two hours planting my window boxes and wee vegetable garden last night, I'm glad. I'm also reminded of once of the downsides of being a student, which is that, technically, you have to go to class no matter the weather. So off I will trudge, balancing umbrella and coffee, and anticipating four hours of squeaky shoes, squishy socks, and clammy jeans.
Como te llamas?
For the next three weeks, I am spending four hours a day in intensive beginning Spanish. It's really fun but I think that today, in some of my classmates' heads, the hampsters fell right off their wheels. Admittedly the class could use some more organization - and, oh, I don't know, a textbook, perhaps? - but come on. Just roll with it. Think for a second. Stop whining. Etc. Geeze. Four years of grad school have made me a much better student - I suppose if I were only 22 and had never done anything "intensive" before I might be crazed as well.
Today we learned how to spell our names. I am so going to pass kindergarten!
Today we learned how to spell our names. I am so going to pass kindergarten!
literary siren song
I am a total sucker for books described, often in pink or jaunty font on the front cover, as "a wacky look at the life of a single gal - as if Bridget Jones found herself Minnesota" or "Bridget with an Australian accent!". With few exceptions, they are bad, and with no exceptions, they are not, I repeat not, like Bridget in any substantive, meaningful way. And so it is that I find myself reading For Matrimonial Purposes, a really awful book about a thirtysomething Indian woman, raised in Bombay but living in New York and working in the fashion world, under pressure from her family, and herself, to find a husband. The basic plot points are really interesting to me - the juxtaposition of traditions and family-centered thinking with an independent life halfway around the world. But it is just not handled well. The main character has no depth, which to the author's credit she admits about herself, and everyone else is just as bland. I feel sorry for the main character, not because of the pressure she's under, but because she's such a dimwit who even at 30 lacks understanding of who she is or what is truly important to her. And all of that would be palatable if it were well written. It's not. It's name-droppy, full of sentences like, "I'd trade this season's Fendi bag for a chance to meet a nice boy!" Barf.
Usually I live by the motto that life is too short to read books you don't want to read if you don't have to, but I am so wound up about how bad this is that I must finish it. I have a hunch the character will gain insight and learn about herself, her values, etc., and I look forward to it.
Usually I live by the motto that life is too short to read books you don't want to read if you don't have to, but I am so wound up about how bad this is that I must finish it. I have a hunch the character will gain insight and learn about herself, her values, etc., and I look forward to it.
