genius loci
A few pictures from pretty much this time exactly a week ago, during which I was obviously far more entertained either biking or taking in Matheson Hammock, and listening to the ocean and other pretty noises, rather than my co-worker's radio and the incessant ringing of the office phones...
Oy, dear LiveJournal - how I have neglected thee!
(Indeed, in the words and fantastically British accents of Andy Gubb and Mandy Clement, "I've been naughty.")
Rest assured, however, that this has not at all been malevolent, and much less-so due to any sort of forgetfulness; on the contrary, I haven't published these past many weeks due to active decision rather than carelessness. I've been writing, kids, quite a bit, but I haven't been fully satisfied with the number of things I've written to post them outright, and they've needed reworking or rewording or reediting because they've been rather quite-good and massive dissertations on things I think about quite a bit, and I've been loath to release them out until I was sure that they fully captured that which I wished to say, and on account of my feeling that they didn't, at least not to the degree that I wished - well, I've had to hold them back. And the problem has been that I've been writing and writing and never having the time to actually sit back and edit that which I've writ, and that keeps building up and before you know it - WHAM! A month and a half has gone by in my life with this venerated forum none the wiser.
Indeed, a month and a half has gone by since the joyous commemoration of the first anniversary of the Republic of Happiness, and meanwhile most epic events have occurred, and matters that should have been celebrated or at least remarked upon gone unnoted. In that time there were a number of dinners, amongst my friends and She's-friends and with Justin-type people, parents of multiple sorts, and also Golf Course expeditions, and the annual reunion of the Highlighters; there's been a lot of driving (tho as yet not in a formal vehicle, on account of Xabi's ever-practically-timed car accident in the middle of last month, which effectively left me without motorized transportation just as I would have been in line to receive it), and movie-watching, and diversions, and Jessica's move and the subsequent decline of Churchill's trips but a rather nice party that managed to serve as a somewhat-consolation for this end; there was an expedition to the federal capital, and news of the reception of a continental visit, and the planning of a return to New York and a jaunt in the Quaker-lands; there was the acquisition of a rather fantastic notebook, and the transcription therein of countless lyrics (Italian) and poetry (English), as well as sketches, thoughts, mind-joggers and general notations; there was Gramsci, and Pullman, and the beginning of grandiose projects and the completion of a couple of paintings, and also of fish and museums, and also near-missed flights and Metros and terminals; there were moments of faux-bravado, and countryside excursions, and puns and rebus [rebi? rebuses?], and a sleepover and charm and politeness. And there was deep joy and happiness, and the sensation that things were as they should be, and that this might possibly be the best summer yet.
And so there were many stories to tell, but not near enough time to tell them, at least in terms of their transcription and editing, and so they continued gathering and faced with such a monumental effort the mind simply could not really sit down and face it until things quieted down, which they have, and a fairly calm afternoon at work presented itself for the restoration of active journalism and recommencement of correspondent efforts and detailed dispatches from the front.
In terms of the more immediate context of this particular missive, however, it's been a goodly past few days, if initially tumultuous due to the return of youngest brother and the concerns that this naturally rekindles, as well as the addressing of the one continuous conflict of the summer, which unfortunately after a series of skirmishes continued unresolved, tho abated until a later point of discussion. On Saturday I was gathered up by Murray, who hadn't been seen in ages upon ages, and we all merrily headed off to the beach for a hurrah in honour of his cousin Theophile, late of Paris, who was at the moment experiencing the final throes of his visit to these parts. The excursion was itself fascinating before it even began, on account of Murray's father apparently attacking him when he came to fetch young Theo, and Murray therefore driving off as this attack took place, only his father insisted on continuing the attack despite the forward mobility of the motor vehicle conduced by Murray, and at the end of a series of rather dramatic and complicated moments, Murray had suffered to direct blows to the face, whilst his father had apparently been dragged by the car for a block before finally letting the young Clement go. Explanation which I accepted as admissible enough, in regards to why he was shaken, got lost, and subsequently arrived several hours late to finally fetch me so as to head off to the beach, which we did after a stop at a 7-11 (where, unbeknownst to me, several items the sprightly youth did purloin) and at the Langford Estate, where a very lovely a barely clothed Mandy (mother of Morgan and Murray) gave us her view on the matter and then went off on a series of pretty brilliant monologues discussing entirely unrelated matters, delivery of which did not cease until Murray had forcibly dragged all of us out of the house and locked the [still-talking] Mandy in-doors. The beach itself was nice enough, and tho there was a brief moment of ridiculousness after the entirely unnecessary trespass into the Sonesta's pool turned sour and security guards began chasing our small party, ultimately all was well and the evening's diversions nice enough.
The spinster aunts came over yesterday, and recounted stories from the family’s history, which is, indeed, always fascinating simply because history is so entertaining, especially when it comes in anecdotal doses and teaches you incredible fascinating things. Did you know, for instance, that monkeys-as-pets were quiete commen, apparently, in pre-Revolutionary Cuba? Apparently so, indeed; this came up when someone mentioned great grandmother Maria and one of the aunts lamented, “Pobre Maria.”
“Por qué?”
Great-grandmother owned a charming lady-monkey, but she unfortunately forgot that monkey’s are notorious not only for falling in love with humans, but also for being viciously jealous creatures. This lady-monkey, in particular, fell in love with dear great-grandfather, and one day, during a moment of distraction, the monkey-ess escaped her cage and leapt upon great-grandmother, attacking her quiet brutally and biting her upon the leg. The leg never recovered.
“Never recovered? What happened? Did it grow infected and require amputation?”
No, apparently the wound just never recovered - Maria spent the next twenty-odd years of her life with a leg wound that never healed, despite the attentions of the finest doctors in the province, and she was obliged to spend the rest of her life ever-reclining on a fainting couch that was brought out to all parts of the house, whereby she could continue to run the household despite having to always keep off her wounded appendage.
This led into a story about other pet monkey’s that plagued the area, including a rather large male one that escaped and terrified the neighbourhood for some days, requiring all the ladies and girls to remain locked indoors for nearly a week for fear of indecencies the beast might commit against the weaker sex, and also the tale of a famous commodore whose favourite monkey escaped whilst his ship docked in my father’s town, and how the fellow was so attached to his pet monkey that he set out the entire crew of his warship and called out the local army regiment to occupy the area and search house by house until his beloved pet was recovered.
(It was, shortly thereafter, found at a lady’s dressing table, applying makeup upon its apish visage.)
Early, tho, I had spent several hours that day talking to Madeleine, and also a pleasant interval talking to a road-weary Young Goodman Justin on the matter of higher-learning and how I am quite clueless in regards to how American colleges / universities function, and how so many of their staples would essentially be impossible to replicate back in Madrid. Which is fascinating, of course, and relevant, I suppose, in that while it seems that the stateside equivalent's have such an active series of guidance mechanisms, three years into my time at the Universidad Complutense de Madrid I continue to be absolutely clueless as to how the class-enrollment procedure will work, seeing as it changes with ever passing semester, and the only indication of how it might work is writ out in what appears to be a deliberately ambiguous entry in the several-hundred-pages-long and much-dreaded BOOK OF ENROLLMENT, which not only ambiguously lists what this year's enrollment procedure might be like, but quite generously does so by way of embedding it in utterly useless (but by no means less confusing) entries on past enrollment procedures, without fully differentiating one from another.
This year's particular confusion arises, course, in reference to how one might go about the procedure of enrolling online. My freshman year this was strictly verboten, an honour exclusively reserved for 2nd-year-and-up students, and so I was obliged to enroll via a special envelope that could only be purchased in two banks in Madrid. Being in Miami at the time, it was only by Rocio's kindness that I was able to enroll, after she really awesomely went all the way up from Seville to Madrid to buy the envelope, fill it out and turn it in on my behalf. Last year, meanwhile, I finally had the privilege of signing up online - which would have been perfect, had they not still required you to fill out that same envelope from the year before, meaning that the online process was ultimately completely pointless and idiotic, as in order for it to be valid I had to sign up online, print out the papers, and stuff them into the exact same aforementioned envelope that could only be purchased in two banks in Madrid. That time, it was only be the everlasting goodness and grace of Claire, heroine of the Republic, by which I was able to sign up for classes. Turn to this year: expecting the same shit would happen again, and specifically told by a bureaucracy-weary Claire that she would not be dealing with it this year, I went to those banks well ahead of my departure in order to get the damned envelope. Well, prepare for this curb-ball: the envelopes are not sold until July 20th. Indeed, I was foiled. I began making plans to have a friend of mine who was planning on passing through Madrid at some point during the summer somehow get the envelope for me but, out of nowhere, the ever ominous BOOK OF ENROLLMENT was published with this latest addition:
from the section titled "Matrícula a través de Internet":
"Los estudiantes matriculados en Centros adscritos deberán consultar en su Centro si pueden optar a este sistema de matrícula.
Los alumnos podrán realizar su matrícula a través de Internet con dos días de antelación al que le correspondiera según la cita previa del Centro y durante todo el periodo de matrícula. No obstante, los alumnos de nuevo ingreso en Primer curso la realizarán el día correspondiente a la cita fijada por el Centro y durante todo el periodo de matrícula sin antelación alguna.
Una vez realizada su solicitud de matrícula y para que esta pueda se formalizada, el alumno deberá entregar en la Secretaría de Alumnos de su Centro en un plazo de cinco días, el resguardo de matrícula debidamente firmado junto con la documentación que se le indica al realizarla.
No es necesario adquirir el sobre de matrícula, ya que el Centro pondrá a su disposición el material necesario para la entrega de la documentación, así como las fichas de clase."
So what's the deal? Is it a yes? Is it a no? Essentially, it tells me that I can, theoretically, sign up online, print out the forms, sign them and send them in without needed to acquire the dreaded envelope. But it precedes all of this by saying that each School within the University essentially has the right to opt-in or out of this procedure - meaning what, precisely? Will they opt out and revert to last year's, in which I need the form in order to sign up online, or will they opt-out of online enrollment altogether, meaning that I have to show up in person, or send a proxy? Ready for the awesome part in this never-ending suspense drama? I got up at 3 a.m. to call the School of Journalism this morning (indeed, you must all no later than 3:30 a.m., as even tho the offices say that they're open from 8:30 a.m. until 12:30 p.m., historically they have never answered the phone calls save from 9 to 9:30 a.m. - it's almost as if the whole situation is set up to be inconvenient, but also especially dick to whomever might be so bold as to apply to this school from overseas) and asked the question that has so been on my mind. The answer: THEY DON'T KNOW. Indeed, the office in charge of enrollment has no idea what the deal is.
"Is the School of Journalism opting in or out of online sign-up?"
"...In?"
"Oh, so I can sign up and print out, sign and send, right? I don't need the envelope?"
"Uh...no, out, out!"
"Oh...so I have to go in person?"
"No...uh...do what you did last year?"
"So...turn in the envelope?"
"Uh...maybe? Uh...hold on...let me ask Pepa. Pepa?"
Pepa didn't know. The head of enrollment was out.
"Will she be in tomorrow?"
"No."
Not for the rest of the week. Maybe next week.
(Maybe.)
If I do manage to sign-up, however, next year does seem to be promisingly fascinating, in part because I definitely had not noticed something pretty amazing: no matter what, there are no classes scheduled officially for Thursday and Friday. Meaning that, lest I find some sort of brilliant internship to do, I may well continue to go with my expansive (if exhausting) plan of taking on extra classes and finishing the 5 years in 4, and so I may cram in a bunch of 4th and 5th year classes next year, given that, due to last year's efforts, I've only 8 hours of class that, should one officially follow procedure, I am obliged to undertake. Another option is stocking up on electives, which I need anyway, so maybe a number of History and Beaux Arts courses would be cool. Or, alternately, I could do the entire (or maybe less, on account of that implying 15 hours of classes) fourth year set in the morning and do the remaining third year classes (8 hours) in the afternoon. Or variations of that?
Gah, I need to figure it out soon. And buy the tickets for the northeastern expedition. And get more aggressive about finding a flat.
Manageable all, but Gahhhhhh.
Must get busy, soon.
But it's at least good to be back on here.
(Hoorah, Hurrah!)
'Tis all, kids: happy days.
Edit:
Also, before I forget: two awesome things that made me laugh.
1) A friend of mine broke up with her boyfriend yesterday, like so:
Boyfriend: "Hey honey, do you want to go out for some ice-cream?"
Girlfriend: "No, I think I'd rather break up instead."
2) 1816 was the year in which a massive volcano eruption in Dutch East India caused a surge of volcanic dust to coat the atmosphere and cause unusually frigid temperatures (and ensuing crop failure and famine) across Europe and North America. Historians refer to this event as the Year Without A Summer or, far more amusingly, Eighteen Hundred and Froze to Death.
::Claps hands with delight - Goodnight::