headless horseman in the museum... creepy

Ironic. A headless horseman at the American Museum of Natural History (yes, an adult in full threads) creeped me and Anne out. Yes, the two of us who are so accustomed to knockin' them human bones around up in the collections of the museum. Ironic.


Halloween in New York City. If only I could enjoy this week with friends considering:
a) The spaniards invaded the museum, and among them is a dear colleague from Atapuerca and Pinilla, Bea.
b) Museum fun!
c) Children and adults masquerading and trick or treating ALL OVER THE MUSEUM
d) New York City's official debauchery launch of the holiday season (turkey day, chrismannukwanzakah, and New Year's are just a hop, skip and jump away).

But no. Instead I spent the whole day running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Drugging myself with burnt-tasting excellent espresso (I can't believe I already destroyed my 2-week old Moka espresso maker), dragging myself to the museum to have a really quick (and incredibly nerve-wracking) chat with Dr. Dan Lieberman (who nearly dashed my dreams of graduate school thanks to my lack of actual math and biology in college... FUCK ME for being such an overachiever in high school... thusly achieving far too much, and apparently NOT FUCKING ENOUGH in actual COLLEGE). At least he was nice enough to me about encouraging application, and really trying to sell the Harvard program.

So why do I seem unhappy?

Because I get star-struck, like the DORK that I am, with very talented and intellectual people. So like that time I nearly impaled myself with an office desk and knocked my teeth out with the door exiting Prof. DiFiore's office after chatting with him, I basically BOLTED out the room after having a very pleasant chat with Dr. Lieberman.

Dear lord, why am I such a DORK?!?!

At any rate, today was a photocopying-mad dash through libraries and collections day. I MUST finish these grants by this weekend. Therefore I am putting myself under HOUSE ARREST for the rest of this week (minus election day because seriously, I'll be too preoccupied to be typing off).


Anyone want to help me edit? I would love you forever... and bake you a cookie. Or two.






Happy halloween!











Upcoming events:
Nov. 1-6: House arrest. Full lockdown. No contact with outside world...except for finding new Moka espresso pot.
Nov. 8-12: San Francisco, CA!!! With Uncle Toni and Auntie Bombai... and NOHEMI!!! Yosemite National Park! YAAAAAY!!! TREEEES!!! :-)
Mid-November: Grad program visits, GREs, etc
Late-November: pre-thanksgiving gatherings!!!
December: Graduate program applications. Another round of LOCKING MYSELF UP FOR THE MONTH.

Then birthdays, Christmas, (maybe kwistah?), SASKIA!!!, CHRISTINA!!!, New Year's... and who knows!

another pancake day

Do you have the slightest idea (No, I don't)
Why the world is bright with you here? (Oh, is that so?)
Stay a while and wait and see (wait, and see)
If things go right we're meant to be...

on the playlist: Sondre Lerche - Modern Nature


I hate movies that make you cry. So why do I love to watch them with a box of Kleenex ready at hand? Here are some suggestions:

ATONEMENT: stay away from it!!! Unless you're prepared to sob and have a near heart attack because John MacAvoy should ALWAYS get his girl, and not letting him have a happy ending is just cruel and wrong. Or maybe read the book first so at least you're prepared to confront stunning imagery and cinematography of your heart being torn to shreds.

DAN IN REAL LIFE: you'd think, well here's another wonderful Steve Carell flick that's bound to get your cheeks and stomach hurting from laughter (cue Little Miss Sunshine). BUT NO. Much like Will Ferrell's Stranger than Fiction, it is masked in a lovely, warm and fuzzy family goodness... and then just tugs at your heart strings enough to make you well up in warm and fuzzy tears.


No, I don't know why I put these DVDs in my television in the first place. But I am now lacking a full box of comforting Vicks-infused Kleenex. One good thing did come out of this cathartic episode. Sondre Lerche and the soundtrack to Dan in Real Life. It's on the same note as the Juno soundtrack. Quirky, warm and fuzzy acoustics.


I need pancakes today. Fluffy light pancakes. Preferably swimming in syrup. Yep, warm and fuzzy pancakes.

my favorite kodak moments

Take a gander. My travelogue photo portfolio, courtesy of a website created by some friends. It's pretty brilliant. give it a look!

Since I royally suck at keeping up with blogs when I'm on the go, here's a quick catch up of what I did over the summer through some of my favorite photographs. Hope you guys relate as well.

http://shuttercal.com/calendar/kmarian/

Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep.

on the playlist:
Chairlift - Bruises


Insomnia still sucks. I think I'm making myself ill. I've begun to detest all these consecutive October babies celebrating birthdays every weekend. Celebrating birthdays and going out on the weekends have become chores...

What is wrong with me? All work and no play... or maybe I just need to get laid? Hah!

Ambrose Bierce said that "dawn [is] when men of reason go to bed". Saskia's historical boyfriend Benjamin Franklin once said, "Sleep later. There will be enough sleep in the grave." Bon Jovi, The Cure... "I'll sleep when I'm dead".

It's three in the morning and Marisa Tomei and Robert Downy, Jr. are on the tellie making me absolutely nostalgic for Italy. (On a side note, Robert Downy has gotten better with age. Take note: Iron Man vs. Only You.) I have bags under my eyes the size of that welcome entrance to the Louis Vuitton shoppe on Champs Elysees (yeah, my under-eye baggage would make Lady Liberty proud), and yet I am still searching the depths of the world wide web for scientific articles on bones whilst wishing I was a speed-reading machine.

Why hasn't anyone created a topic-specific scholastic search engine? Oh, wait... Google Scholar, love of my life, just one-up your system and make it Anthro-specific, please?


Thank goodness for my late-night companions: espresso and the Turner Classic Movies channel.


Here's the poem they referenced in Only You (1994).

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me-- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods-
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house--, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled,
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, seperate, in the evening...

-Rainer Maria Rilke

pay attention to that man behind the curtain

on the playlist:
Coldplay - Viva La Vida
Snow Patrol - Take Back the City
The Ting Tings - Shut up and Let Me Go



Self-portraits have always intrigued me. You can tell a lot about how a person thinks or feels about his or herself by looking at a self-portrait. It is the unconscious aspect of relating ones' self image that intrigues the onlooker. The body language, composition, posture, negative and positive spaces, and even missing ears.

Take a self-portrait of yourself. Be it a drawing, painting, sculpture, doodle, photograph. What do you see? And what do other people see?




***
Not being able to sleep, I decided to clean my DVD collection a little bit. Upon opening an old tin can, I found a DVD of photographs I had made two years ago of my life in Italy. A little jog down memory lane reminded me of a plaque on the pier of Capri that caught my attention. I remember asking Nicola, my favorite italian professor, if he knew what poem it was. Rather than answering me, he sang a song:

Tu, luna luna tu, luna caprese,
ca faje sunná ll'ammore a 'e 'nnammurate...
adduorme a nénna mia ca sta scetata
e falla 'nnammurá cu na buscía.
Tu, luna luna tu, luna busciarda,
famme passá sti ppene 'e gelusia
e fa' ca nénna fosse tutt''a mia...
Tu, luna luna tu...Luna caprese!...

Luna Caprese - Cesareo, Ricciardi (1953)

Good times. My happy place.

the insomniac cookie is back

on the playlist:
Adele - Chasing Pavements


When I am under pressure and stressed (i.e. 2-3 weeks until deadline with a recently revived Dell laptop, having to rewrite an entire grant proposal), I get bouts of insomnia with mild where-is-my-life-going breakdowns.

Unlike normal people, I can't seem to think when I'm awake and sleep when I'm sleeping. Unfortunately for me, I end up lying awake with thoughts running a thousand miles a second and have to rush over and jot them down. I have so much going through my mind that not even my go-to sleeping drug works.

Saskia, I think I've given myself an immunity to Valerian tea :-(



And when I can't focus, I end up doing crazy things like remodeling my bedroom, going for a run at dawn, creating an acrylic copy of a favorite Boticelli, redrawing the Vetruvian Man (this I blame on Renaissance Apprenticeship), or in worst-case-scenarios, chopping up my own hair.

Case and point:

I was pretty happy with the outcome, though I did nearly cut off my own eyelashes and eyebrows in the process. I think my eyeballs only have 7 lives left.

At any rate, I think I come out looking a little older. Or even a bit more Asian? Who knows. I haven't had full blown bangs since I was... well...never. I will say that I think I look a bit like Xena: Warrior Princess now, minus the crazy Lucy Lawless persona.

Ah well, maybe instead of doing Tom Cruise in Risky Business this year, I might opt for a scantily-clad WB-mythological heroine.

Hmm, opinions? Run around during NYC Halloween in nothing (and I mean nothing) but an over-sized men's dress shirt and tube socks (with matching Ray-bans, of course)... OR leather corset goodness (chafing is a definite down-side)? Suggestions?




Though I will muster up enough courage to one day pull off the Princess Leia metal bikini slave costume!

why i SHOULD NEVER have Patrick Dempsey's babies

Thanks to my lovely friend, Anne Kwiatt, I have found that I cannot have children with Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie (What? Like you didn't want to have her baby either?), OR Patrick Dempsey. Yes, major womp womp is needed at this point. I will most likely only procure genetically engineered babies because the following images should NEVER come out of anyone's vagina. EVER.



Why, you might ask. Because according to Makemebabies.com, I am an African American and all my babies, yes even with Angelina Jolie, look like black Chuckies (i.e. things that should NEVER come out of anyone's womb).

I did find that I can potentially have plenty of babies with Wentworth Miller and (thank God) Johnny Depp, except with W. Miller it will probably turn out to be a Dreadlock-wearing Rastafarian Albino baby. It is a little bit scary how it looks NOTHING like me, but it does look like somebody's gerber child.

And I get that Makemebabies-dot-com tries to get all accurate by including Ethnicity as a marker, but there are more to the human population than just Caucasian, African, and the vague category of "Mixed".


I need to end this procrastination and get back to work, but I just had to share my FEARS. And because I'm a little curious, and a glutton for punishment, I will include a "worst-case-scenario" baby...


Baby totally looks like the Reptilian Bride of Chuckie. Maybe that's why MJ covers his children's faces with loin cloths...






PS - I figured if I had a baby with Angelina Jolie, it should be named Gobi, like the desert. And it is curious how both babies with Brangelina come out looking like I adopted them from Namibia. Curious, but Makemebabies just might be more accurate than I thought.


PPS - My asian baby doesn't look asian! Yeah, I'm a little outraged but kind of glad that if I have a baby with Lucy Liu, it'll look good for Halloween, and not because it's Rosemary's Baby!





On the playlist: Les Chansons D'Amour Soundtrack

Il Postino, still tugging at the melancholy heart strings

While writing, I usually like to put on an old film and let it go through with the volume on low or on silent. And today I chose "Il Postino". I always forget how beautiful this film is, and how Pablo Neruda is amazing.

It's a lazy Monday. Today is Columbus Day in New York so all the Italian-Americans are out with their banners and pasta coasting down 5th Ave. Minor diversion. It's a holiday afterall.


"Si Tu Me Olvidas"
By Pablo Neruda

Quiero que sepas
una cosa.

Tú sabes cómo es esto:
si miro
la luna de cristal, la rama roja
del lento otoño en mi ventana,
si toco
junto al fuego
la impalpable ceniza
o el arrugado cuerpo de la leña,
todo me lleva a ti,
como si todo lo que existe:
aromas, luz, metales,
fueran pequeños barcos que navegan
hacia las islas tuyas que me aguardan.

Ahora bien,
si poco a poco dejas de quererme
dejaré de quererte poco a poco.

Si de pronto
me olvidas
no me busques,
que ya te habré olvidado.

Si consideras largo y loco
el viento de banderas
que pasa por mi vida
y te decides
a dejarme a la orilla
del corazón en que tengo raíces,
piensa
que en esa día,
a esa hora
levantaré los brazos
y saldrán mis raíces
a buscar otra tierra.

Pero
si cada día,
cada hora,
sientes que a mí estás destinada
con dulzura implacable,
si cada día sube
una flor a tus labios a buscarme,
ay amor mío, ay mía,
en mí todo ese fuego se repite,
en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida,
mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada,
y mientras vivas estará en tus brazos
sin salir de los míos.

What's in a name? Paracetamol by any other name (like Tylenol) would taste just as sweet.

So catching up with folks has been a lot of fun. Cafe Soleil, Yakitori Taisho, the Dessert Truck, Lombardi's, overpriced Cafe Ferrara, and Opilac's birthday party has been a lot of fun. Recounting my adventures, on the other hand, has been a little tough. I think I've nearly forgotten bits and pieces since it feels like I'd been away for an entire year.

I will say that a funny incident on the way to looking for a Cafe in Little Italy has led me to think up a serious alias for my nights out on the town. It has also made me think of how I just can't seem to find any other name for me aside from Kyle. I am a Kyle. Albeit a female Kyle, but a Kyle nonetheless. I am not a Sapphire, for example, since I was not in this life ever a transgender stripper. I most definitely am not a Jen since everytime I pulled out that name, no one seems to believe me (including the Romanian waiter on the corner of Cafe Ferrara who was intent on making friends).

I am far too polite to not offer a name when asked, and this, friends, is a huge problem whenever I am outside my house. There have been a couple of times where random strangers on the train have come up to start a conversation (and my I'm-not-interested face doesn't seem to deter them). Once I had some weirdo pull out his blackberry and ask if he could take my picture to keep. The sentiment was, I guess, kind of sweet... but it was still really bizarre.

Being unreasonably impolite is just plain rude, but there are days when you just don't want to be bothered. In New York, you never know if the person bothering you is a genuinely nice person or a psychopath therefore courteousness is always the rule of thumb.

But back to the topic. Names. Why is it that some people just look like Bobs, Jakes, Alices, Daniels, and Marys, but I can't seem to fit the mold? Does your name eventually define you? I mean I do want to name one of my future children Aidan for the pure and simple fact that names like Aidan, Dylan, Blaire, Zoe, Quinn, and Penelope give a very promising future of hotness and intelligence. Yes, names like these destine one to greatness, or at least an adolescence free of being bullied... particularly Aidan. And names like Ernest, Burt, and Miss Piggy will probably destine one to a future of being a muppet.

But names. Nature or nurture? What Thursday-night-alias will fit me enough to have strange and creepy men believe it? I'll just have to keep a list of freaky and out-there names. Names like Persephone, Clitophon, or 2.0. Names that are too far-fetched to be made up that people would actually believe it. Like Guava. Guava Viterbo.






PS - Why do spaniards think that Paracetamol is the answer to everything?
Hangover? Paracetamol.
Fever? Paracetamol.
Bleeding? Paracetamol.
Dead baby? Paracetamol.

Coffee, books, and couches - Back to NY

And I'm back to New York, as if I hadn't left the city and the city hadn't left me.

In full busy-mode, I've spent the past week reading my eyes out, uploading pictures, deleting pictures, and keeping tabs on all the folks I've managed to brainwash into joining facebook. Still playing catch-up with my lovely friends (and there are still a bunch I've yet to see) and family has been a lot of fun, though it is quite curious how everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) has been greeting me with the following:
"Oh my god Kyle! You're back! When did you get back?"
And without missing a beat:
"So when are you leaving?"

People! Please allow me to breathe in a little bit of this New York City air before shoving me out the door again. I get that I always seem to be on the move and out of the zipcode, but for goodness' sakes, I just got here! Even my parents are asking me if I'm back for good, and all I could say was "eh?". I'm hatching a plan to live abroad (maybe in Spain) for a few months, but with the economy the way it is and the research I have to do at the museum, it seems just a little out of reach for now (even if I really want to be there now). I mean seriously, ICELAND IS BANKRUPT for goodness' sakes. It seems like a bad sign for the times to come. Damn globalization!!!


And to all the complaints about me not keeping everyone up to date as I'd promised with this blog (especially regarding the two pairs of Ex Officio underpants that swore for 17 Countries within 6 Weeks, One Pair of Underwear was all that I would need), I deeply apologize. Being in the middle of the field, waking up at 7am and working until 8pm...and all that fiesta in between left me little time for my minimally-scientific experiment. Sorry. But I do have every entry in draft version at the moment so it's here to be uploaded, I just need to find time to do it.

At the moment, I am busy trying to get my life and schedule back on track. Between the GREs, grant-writing, gradschool applications, trying to scheme my way into spending the Spring in another country, and catching up with my favorite people in New York, I have my plate pretty full. Fat-man-in-a-chinese-buffet full. The 3-month catch up will just have to be spent with me retelling my adventures over food, coffee, and an elaborate facebook-enabled powerpoint.

These first few weeks, at least until November has passed, I will most likely be found hiding in:

a) the pits of the bone collection at the American Museum of Natural History
b) the pits of NYU's Bobst Library (thanks to my mother working at nyu)
c) chugging good Caffeine (or finding a way to inject it directly into my veins) in one of my favorite coffee and tea shoppes in Astoria or Greenwich Village
-OR-
d) stuffing my face with the people I love in my favorite NYC haunts.



So this is my "I'm back in New York so call me and let's hang out" entry. If you're in the city, there is no excuse. And if you're away (i.e. Christina and Saskia), then keep me updated on when you'll be back here so I can make an appointment and we can make important face time together.



And now this procrastinating-diversion must end. Gotta get back to reading. Like I said... FACE TIME. You know where to find me: facebook, gchat, my cell phone. Book face time because I miss you. All of you. And I've got boat loads of stories to tell.

Spanish Slang 101

The things I learned living in Spain, and the things to remember to seem more like a REAL Spaniard:

ÓSTIA
i.e. ostía puta, malaostía, Soy la Óstia

JODER
VALE
¡Qué va!
La mala lecha
Dar la paliza
Echar una bronca

Me cago en la (pronounced: me ca-hwen)
ff. i.e.
-puta
-leche
-mar
-diez colorao
-todo (´to)

Acojonado/Acojonante: something scary
Acojonante/Cojonudo: something good

Con dos cojones y medio cerebro: to animate oneself

¡No me jodas!: Don´t joke with me (in the sense of shut up! you´re kidding!)

De puta madre: that something is amazingly fantastic

La/Tú puta madre: something really bad, actually cursing someone´s mother

¡No me digas!: shut up, don´t tell me!
¿Pero que dices?: but what are you saying??

Variations of Dude/Man:
Majo(a)
Tío(a)
Hombre
MUJER
Chavall/Chavalla

Me mola: I like it
Que mola: how cool
Comó me mola: i really like it

Pulling one´s leg
No me tocas los cojones
Tomando el pelo

In return to pulling your leg
Si que quieres Arroz Catalina

To signify a huge amount of something
Un montón
Un mogullon

Cagando leches: being rushed
Por si las moscas: in case...

Por si fueramos pocos, parió la abuela (la burra): when there´s damn too many people

¡Fatal!

Super+adj.: indicating something is TOTALLY something

...+ que te cagas: something is SUPER amazing





I should totally just be a cultural anthropologist... haha!