I haven't seen The Social Network yet, nor had I any desire to do so.  Maybe I just hadn't heard or read enough about it (i.e. nothing).

Last night we were eating at a little restaurant (I had lomo saltado) where there was a little TV.  A couple dogs came in to visit, too.  And there was a toy-grabbing claw machine thing that played the same 6-note jingle over and over (literally, six notes; I counted).  The movie Ice Age finished up and then the Oscars came on.  It was hard to understand because we'd be trying to focus on the English, but then the Spanish interpreters would come on blaring.  The mind was confused.

So today in one of my various what's-happening-in-the-world-alerts a headline about the Oscars.  Since it was so near and dear to me for a few minutes last night, I looked in on the article.

Like I said, I had no desire to see The Social Network.  I didn't know what it was about, really.  Still don't. But this made me think I'll probably see it eventually:

I do like The West Wing.  

heart blood

It's my birthday tomorrow,

No one here could know.

I was born this [Friday]

2[4] years ago.

At 3-something tomorrow morning it'll be 24 years.  I'm not dead yet.  There's still time to sing my song, and wonder how it ends.  I remember the tune well enough, certain parts at least.  And the words, well, they come and go, but I know they're written down somewhere.  And I can always listen.  I've got it right here, close at hand.  And I do listen.  Just not enough...  

(...but I whisper it in my heart.)

Let me know that you hear me.

Let me know your touch.

Let me know that you love me.

And let that be enough.

GPOY

Look.

Well, I got super freaking pissed about something today.  I do react to things.  I react.  React.If I hadn't grown up in the environment I did, what would I think about having my own opinions?  What would my opinion be on that?The only way I am okay with being wrong is if I am screaming obscenities at the world the whole while.  In my head, of course.  And knowing that I'm wrong in a lot of things—I don't necessarily know what, I just know I am bound to be—makes me try to ignore everything.  And in that, I'm sure I'm wrong.

The flag of Peru waves proudly behind me.  I rejoice, with sparkling eyes and benevolent grin.  

And this is the point where people tell me the answers.  And where I *feel* they are probably correct.  And then where I wonder if I *feel* that way only because I grew up in the environment I did.I got really super freaking pissed today.  It wears off slowly.  And it gets my blood roiling.  My head blood.  The blood that makes me think.  But I don't want to think.  I just want to run.

I wear a tie every day.

life is a maerd

During my nap, my thoughts drifted.  At one point I told myself I could sleep until I flew home.  As soon as I thought it, I thought how pitiful that was and that I should think of reasons I shouldn't want that.  (These thoughts took but the briefest of moments.)  I had six faithful students.  I was teaching them.  I should want to wake up for them.

But they weren't learning to teach themselves.

That was my next thought.  And it had never occurred to me before.  I realized I have been trying to get them to be self-sufficient as far as learning English was concerned.  I was trying to provide them with websites and ideas that they could use to further their own learning.  It was the whole point of encouraging vocabulary notebooks, of pushing Eng-Span dictionaries, of making them worksheets that they can practice on and then keep, of not writing up my notes and printing them or putting them on PowerPoint.  I want them to listen to English songs, watch English movies, read English news and books, discover blogs, practice, repeat, practice their grammar, note new words they hear and look them up later, go back and review the words and definitions they write down, study their notes later.  Not rely on me to feed them.  I won't be here forever.*

I wondered, then, how many teachers gave up on me because I never learned to teach myself.  Or how many teachers never even were aware that I didn't know how?  That I still don't.  People ask, Do you ever want to learn a new language?  What am I supposed to say—no??  Of course I do!  But do I?  No.  Do I want to learn how to maintain a car?  Yes.  But no.  Do I want to learn accounting things?  How to take care of a budget?  How to do my taxes and insurance and all that crap?  Yes.  But... no, again.

I don't teach myself, either.

And that's the kind of life that lets you tell yourself you could sleep for three months and not miss a thing.  But sleeping... it's so... dreamy.  Do I want to wake up?  Do I have to wake up for dreams to come true?  Is it true irony when one's dream is to keep sleeping?  I guess I should get back to work—I have to go teach.

a month ago

*Is this what parents live like, too?  It sounds familiar.

side note

Ran into this today.  Thought I'd put it down for my record.

swimmingly

I looked up synonyms of "to come to terms with."  I know, pretty dumb.  But I think I might finally have grasped, ingested into memory, what reconciliation can mean.

I'm trying to reconcile some things in my experience.  Typical human stuff.  The kinds of things we all have answers for when someone else is asking.  Even if we say we don't.  Those kinds of things we all fuss about at a certain level at least when we imbibe another culture.  Even if the swallows are just sips.  That's still enough to drown on.

it's today when no one asks
today when no one knows
today when all time seems to stop
.
momentum in its throes

over the rainbow

I sit down slowly onto the little stool in the garage area.  Oatmeal in hand.  The air has a different glow about it today.  The colors are brighter—things aren't as grey as they normally are on a Lima morning.  I look up to verify.  Sure enough, the sky is light and free.  There is life out there somewhere.

his story

Mubarak resigns.

What, like 30 minutes ago?  Well, no, but there are already several articles on nytimes.com and everywhere else, I'm sure.  How exciting.  Real time revolution.

I feel super ignorant.

Lord of Bedlington

Frankly, it's been a while since I've read any good journalism.  I mean... any journalism.  I read the news occasionally as a print journalism student, but even then not as much as I should have, really.  Today I pulled out my New York Times app while my students were taking their tests.  And it's the simple, short articles like the one about the Lord of Bedlington, a billionaire non-dairy food company owner from Buffalo, that makes me appreciate a well-written feature article once again.  Thank you, Jeré Longman.

Sometimes the news is rough.  Protests in Egypt, floods in South Africa, the politics in Lima.  But the world is full of stories that are worth telling.  And hearing.  We just hardly have enough time to live out the stories and hear them.  Let alone research them and write them and share them.  This is the paradox of our news system today.  Or one of them?  As I see it, anyway.  We have national and global news outlets that share stories we hardly have a connection to, if any.  And we have local outlets sharing stories that are much more relevant, but often hardly as interesting.  The big outlets must share about crazy things or popular people to appeal to enough consumers that they make their profit.  And the local outlets share about crazy-at-a-much-more-local-level things and unknown people to... often not really make a profit (let's be honest).

Maybe that's not a paradox.  I probably don't really know what a paradox really means.  But I think it's interesting that we try to "keep up" with global news, and in this way maintain a sort of global connection - a small relationship with those around us who "also have heard" about this or that.  And we also keep track with local stories - those from friends and family or from our place of work or school, perhaps the town we live in.  And this keeps us connected with those others who live the same things we do.  What if we went exclusively one way or the other?  Global or local.  I think we sometimes try, but I think we often fail.

Unfortunately, I have no good wrap up or point or moral.  Such are my thoughts.  I think what I mostly wanted to do was simply express my appreciation for the feeling I got of reading good feature journalism again.  It had just been a while.

can't help it

Sister Girl hooked me up with massive doses of unknown music over Christmas break.  I've listened to a fraction of it so far.  Probably three weeks ago I started listening to a song by Andrew Bird but I think I quickly switched it.  Wasn't for me.  Two days ago I gave it another try because I was in the mood for torture or something.  Hot dammed reservoir of secret music!  My word.  Totally dig.  Entire album and extra random songs have been on repeat since then.  Armchair Apocrypha is the one I have, bee tee dub.

Also ran into a band called Valley Maker via The Blue Indian blog.  They cool.  They sing about the Old Testament, but shhh, I didn't tell you that.  I didn't realize it until listening to a couple songs.  I don't know how I missed it since some of the titles are Jacob or This is a Song from the Old Testament.  Just kidding about that last one.  Did I say they were cool?  I meant really cool.  And the main singer man might be Austin Crane, or he comes from a band called Austin Crane.  I haven't tested those waters, but I imagine he'd have to be decent to have done the Valley Maker.  Which they say was a senior thesis project.  Pretty cool one, I think.