catalina tu vecina

Of Mice and Men and Little Boys and Spigots. And Dogs.

2010-09-07T09:29:00.004-05:00

I was idly watching CNN the other day. Rick Sánchez was being interviewed about his new book, Conventional Idiocy. Apparently it is an autobiography which recounts, among other things, his very own Horatio Alger story of how he came up through the ranks, how the son of a poor Cuban immigrant became successful in The Land of Opportunity to become a Prince of the Mass Media Reporting Circus.

In the interview, he tells a story which became a Life Lesson for him. About how he used to help his father deliver furniture to people in Boca Ratón (= rich folks living in Mouse Mouth, Florida), and how he would often ask for a glass of water at the end of his grueling job. One Woman, with the Manners of a Blue-Nosed Mule, told him that he could just "drink from the spigot in the back yard where the dogs drink their water." He was, justifiably, very angry about that. Now for the incredible part: the reason why this was a Life Lesson. In the words of his father: "Son, that lady just did you a huge favor. She made you understand how important it is to work hard in this country, and then anything is achievable."

what? .... What? .... WHAT?? WTF?! Excuse me, Rick, but you were right to be angry. And you would still be right to be angry. I find it incredible that you could get through the School of Hard Knocks and not have a little more common sense. Was your flawed logic just for the sake of ingratiating yourself with your non-Cuban / non-latino peers? Because you forgot a couple of things on the road to becoming rich enough and famous enough to send a gold-plated spigot to the Non-Lady in Boca Ratón:

(1) You were not just angry. You felt humiliated.

(2) Everyone has the right to be the recipient of basic manners and human civility; you already worked very hard that day, and you did not have to work harder to just to prove yourself worthy of not quenching your thirst "where the dogs drink their water."

The dog in that scenario was the abominable homeowner.

And the Life Lesson was actually this: She made you understand how important it is to respect everyone, because that is when anything is truly achievable.

The Findometer

2010-07-07T08:58:00.012-05:00

The contraption pictured here was the first patented version of a Findometer. Its inventor, Julius Gronsonby, labored over it for nearly a decade. Cumbersome and not always reliable, it functioned rather like a Geiger counter and was limited to extracting small objects embedded in floor carpeting. Flagging sales, high production costs, and limited capabilities eventually led to its demise.

Flash forward to 2010. The 21st century heralds a wave of technological gadgets the like of which humanity has never seen. Somewhere out there... somebody is working on the modern prototype of the Findometer. Here are the anticipated technical specs and proposed functionality:

1. New name: iFind

2. Size: more or less that of an iPhone

3. Wireless

4. Indoor-Outdoor Capabilities

5. Waterproof, Fireproof, Shock Resistant

6. Detection Range: 100 yards

7. Primary Detection Capabilities:
Animal, Vegetable, Mineral (old dried carrot in fridge, earring back, lost hamster, etc.)

8. Secondary Detection Capabilities: Temperature, Age, Date of Disappearance

9. Add-Ons: Users can purchase special apps such as the Doc App, capable of carrying out refined searches according to content and appearance of misplaced documents (shopping list + written in pencil + coffee stain on top right corner, etc. ) The Pic App even allows the user to make a rough sketch of lost object in order to narrow the search field.

10. Voice Response: iFind not only responds to verbal clues, it will begin by suggesting likely hiding places for the lost object, e.g.:

USER: Where the heck are my **%/·# reading glasses?
i-FIND: Touch the top of your head lightly.
USER: Oh.

Whoever is working on this... get cracking! (And while you're at it, do come out with a model that can be used by the post office, airline baggage handlers, and students who frequently misplace their homework.)

cyber spanglish

2010-06-27T08:39:00.007-05:00

Where did I leave off? Oh, yes, with a scintillating rant on OTD, Obsessive Tinkering Disorder. I still have that, and it's just as well, because I have to set up an online web course for the fall.

Who the heck would sign up for beginning Spanish online? Apparently everyone in the two filled-to-overflowing sections I will soon have to deal with. The online textbook with all the bells and whistles is in place.

But how to handle, uh .... speaking proficiency? I am thinking musical Skype, with sixty people all tuned in at the same time and let 'em duke it out for conversation practice, which will be limited to:

— Student 1: ¿Cómo tú estás? Yo soy Nacho.

— Student 2: Ha, ha! Tú ... no.... es... eres... you're not Nacho, dude!

— Ortizzle: I would just like to point out that, in fact, "Nacho" is a nickname for Ignacio.

— Student 2: No way! So some dude called Nacho is really bein' called a chip with some cheese on it?

And so on. (paying silent tribute to K.V., may he rest in peace and be frolicking with the gods.)

I can't believe I did not know that...

2009-08-15T09:10:00.027-05:00

This is going to be one of those "remember when?" stories. (If you are younger than 30, you probably will not remember when.) So... remember when the old black screen/white chunky Courier font text computers became... WINDOWS? And all of a sudden, Disney's Wonderful World of Color exploded onto the screen? That was back in my Madrid days, and I was lucky enough to be working in a publishing company that not only got these creatures when they were hot on the market, but provided us with classes to learn how to use them.

One Friday evening, when all of the rats had left the sinking ship, I decided it was Playtime. First stop: Paintbrush. Totally worthy of a modern art exhibition, right?

Then it was time to change the desktop color (a nasty hospital green) and maybe fonts and background colors. Because.... how cool would it be to have, say, a navy blue background with white text?

So I entered the Domain of the Control Panel God and started messing around. I was immensely proud of myself for figuring this out since it was not something they taught us in the course. Also because in the early days of Windows, I was still a bit dyslexic using the mouse, El Ratón.

Monday morning came and I was ready to open up a file and start typing in crisp white letters on a navy background. Except... the background was still white. And... nothing appeared when I started typing! I tried everything I could, but this was still early days for word processing software, and I also still had a lot to learn. Panic was beginning to set in. I would have to call for help.

"Help" meant getting one of the two on site computer geeks to fix it. It was a crap shoot which one would come around, and the difference between the two was like cheese and chalk. The Nice Computer Geek was nicknamed "El Valium" because no matter how convoluted the problem was, he remained smiling, unflappable, and almost seemed to congratulate you for not screwing up worse. The Evil Computer Geek was your worst nightmare. We did not have a nickname for him, but the words "Juan Is Coming To Fix Your Computer" struck terror in the hearts of even the male staff.

So you just know which one showed up at the scene of the crime. After a few intense minutes of tapping keys and zipping in and out of windows I did not even know existed, he announced, "It is fixed." Silent pause. "Um, what was wrong with it?" I bravely ventured.

Juan the Evil One explained that the navy background I thought I had set for text documents only applied to the desktop design colors. It was not possible (in those days) to set the background inside a text document to navy, all I could do was change the text color. And since I had chosen white, typing white text on a white background made it appear as if I was typing without any text appearing. Ahem. Juan the Evil One then announced that he was punishing me for a whole month by restoring the default colors on the desktop and "locking it" so that I would not be able to get into the configuration. I was mortified. And also very depressed at the thought of a whole month of looking at that nasty hospital green color.

A month later, El Valium stopped by the department, and I rushed him over to my desk to remove the virtual lock from my configuration. When I told him what Juan the Evil One had done, he smiled his usual smile and said some of the truest words ever spoken in the field of modern technology: "Computers only do what you tell them to do." Those words have echoed in my mind countless times over the last few decades. And while it is true that computers can have a lot of their own glitches, 90% of the time, the wrong result is the result of the wrong command given, or, in computer jargon, a PEBKAC (Problem Exists Between Keyboard And Chair).

The point of all of this was actually meant to be a brief illustration of the fact that I have a very severe case of OTD, Obsessive Tinkering Disorder. I am capable of spending hours fiddling with format options. If there is a way to get a square peg ino a round hole, I will find it or gnash my teeth trying. Which is why, in my camino accidentado, accident-prone journey of testing stuff out, I often have these wonderful moments of computer epiphany: "So that's how you get the footer text to appear on alternate pages!" And so on.

My students, who think Boomers are computer clueless (instead of recognizing the fact that for every computer clueless Boomer, there is another one who invented the software they are using), were always in awe of little things I would point out to them. Such as the fact that if you want to type Spanish punctuation (¿Qué?), you can add a virtual Spanish keyboard to your computer instead of having to use ALT + 130 or whatever the cumbersome code is. They were actually wide-eyed with admiration one day when I pointed out that if you click "cached" on a Google search result, it would produce the text with all of the search words highlighted in color. Oh Frabjous Day!

So imagine my complete disbelief yesterday when I was using the little pop-up computer calculator and discovered, after years of "clicking" on each number painstakingly, that I could KEY IN THE NUMBERS ON THE CALCULATOR DIRECTLY FROM THE KEYBOARD. (Admittedly, I rarely used the little pop-up calculator for that very reason unless nothing else was available.)

Still. Can you believe I did not know that??!!

Ever had a tech epiphany after years of doing something the hard way?

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P.S. Not having posted in over a month, I can see that this blog is not going to return to the days of once-a-week posting. That said, it does feel good to put something up. Kind of like taking a shower and getting dressed after you've been schlepping around in your jammies all morning.

but will not just come to you

2009-07-07T10:12:00.008-05:00

This is part of a postcard that was in my mailbox when we got back from a short vacation.

Normally when I get bilingual mail, the English is acceptable and the Spanish is deplorable. In this case it was pretty much the reverse.

So... money has been "located in my name." And it's $573.62. "But will not just come to me."

I know this is a scam, but I am interested in exactly how the scam works. So I call the number at the bottom of the card and I am told that the money can come from "various sources" (bills, deposits, inheritances, etc.) but that they cannot divulge the specifics over the phone. When I "come in for my appointment" and "sign the necessary paperwork" they will tell me. Huh! It is what I figured, and the cretin on the phone admits that they take their cut. How much? I don't know because the $573.62 is what I get with their "cut" already taken. 20%? 50%? Probably even more.

I say "thank you, but no thank you" and hang up.

Then I decide to do some online investigation. I find lots of websites that will offer free searches for unclaimed money. I put my name in a search engine on one site and it finds $3,041.84. If I want to find out more about claiming this, I can give them my credit card number and search records for one month for the modest sum of eleven dollars. Then I start reading the feedback from irate customers who say they are getting the runaround about canceling their subscription to search options: three years later they are still being charged $11 a month and, not surprisingly, haven't come up with much money or any.

Eventually I find a comment that makes some sense: don't ever pay to find your own money. The commenter has left a link to a legitimate page where it does not cost anything to search or claim your money. I click on the link for my state, key in my name and city, and come up with nothing. Totally believable. And then... just for the heck of it, I key in my name again, changing the surname to my maiden name. Bingo! Without paying a search fee, I discover that AT&T owes me $75 from several years ago. An address is listed which is indeed a place where I lived at one time, and I am able to download a form and given instructions for claiming the money. No registration fee, all government-controlled and totally legit.

Seventy-five dollars is not going to change my life-style, but it was kind of cool to see that underneath the scam... there really were a few extra bucks. And P.S.: Mr. O. also had a $75 apartment deposit owed him from years ago.

Are you a little richer than you think? Here's the place to find out: http://www.unclaimed.org/

N.B. Don't go to "unclaimed.com"... that's the rip-off site. If you want to read about it, MSNBC has an article: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/12028200/

The Dictionary Game... revisited

2009-06-13T15:40:00.010-05:00

One of my favorite memories of my days (years) in Spain was dinners with friends, and one of my favorite memories of those dinners was playing The Dictionary Game, always played at the home of a dear Argentinian friend. When the gossip and the wine
dried up, but the coffee and the dry wit were still going strong, the dinner table became a lively battlefield of outwitting each other. The guests were generally an eclectic mix of other Argentinians, Spaniards and... "non-native" speakers. We in the non-native group had to scramble to keep up with the rest. My goal was not so much writing a convincing definition for a fake word that everyone would vote for, so much as writing something that would not be laughed at for its language errors.

Lately I have been intrigued by the word verfication words in the comment section of blogs. They used to be hopeless mixes of mostly consonants that were annoying to key in, such as gxlzzyrkj, but recently blogspot has started using verification words that... kind of look as if they could be real words. So here is your challenge: One of the words below and its definition is real. The rest are "word verfication" words with my fake definitions. Which one is the real word?

doremitt: silicone oven mitt named after French chef Jean Doré

calrattan: original and/or alternate name of rattan furniture made from the tough stems of climbing palms from the genus calamus

conaling: rapid conoid movement employed in glass blowing to produce perfect cone-shaped vessels for wine and champagne glasses

sfumato: the subtle gradation of color used to blur the contours of a form in painting

sunshe: Chinese beach parasol consisting of a double-mounted umbrella with expandable widths, its name being taken from the English "sun shade."

Spoiler Alert: The answer is now in the comment section.

Which pennies to pinch?

2009-05-21T23:34:00.007-05:00

The news is full of ways to save money these days. Together with eco-friendly tips (a few decades late) on how to protect the environment: recycle, re-use, etc. The trick is how to do this, in some cases, without giving up certain luxuries that one cannot do without. When you get right down to it, most of what we consume we could do without or do with less. Except for maybe certain things...

My weakness is going to the hairdresser. Which isn't even a luxury in a certain sense, since I cannot cut and style my hair myself. I know this for a fact since I tried this years ago during a phase of abject poverty. And of course I ended up having to crawl back to the beauty salon and suffer a thrashing from the stylist who asked me if I thought she was the Miracle Worker when I asked if she could, uh, "even it out a bit."

No, we don't cut our own hair anymore. But dying it... yes, that I have done for years. Much cheaper, even buying the top shelf hair dye. Except it is also a pain in the butt. And no matter how careful you try to be, the ends always look a bit darker. And you get hair dye stains everywhere. So a few months ago... I decided to ask my hairdresser how much she charged to perform this odious task. And it was actually less than what Fantastic Sam's charges, and she does a better job. Sold! This is now on my list of Sacred Expenditures Which Shall Not Be Eliminated From the Budget. (And not that I need to justify it, but I don't spend a cent on manicures or pedicures, so I figure it evens out, because I know women who spend a king's ransom on that.)

What about you? What's the one luxury you won't give up until the wolf is at the door?

P.S. Below is a fuzzy freeze frame from the university video of my graduation. A very bad hair day, since that hideous cap does not suit any short hair style. Being hooded, however, totally makes up for it.

(M)other's Day

2009-05-10T10:12:00.006-05:00

In the spirit of Bill Maher, I am officially instating O.N.R. = Ortizzle's New Rules. Today's topic is Mother's Day, or as the title implies, "Other's Day."

1. The entire world will agree on the same day for Mother's Day. In the U.S., of course, it is (fairly arbitrarily) the second Sunday in May. In the U.K., "Mothering Sunday" is the fourth Sunday in Lent. In Spain it is the first Sunday in May. In Mexico it is the tenth of May (regardless of the day of the week or the liturgical calendar), which this year just happens to coincide with the U.S. In several other countries, it is the eighth of March in order to coincide with International Women's Day. Enough! Let's pick one day and stick with it.

2. The name will be changed to Female Caretaker's Day. That way we can include step-mothers, aunts, grandmothers, etc. We deserve a trip to the spa, too.

3. No gifts of a "domestic" nature are allowed. Yes, sometimes we really would like a fancy food-processor. But that just reminds us that we're never out of the kitchen. The other day I heard an ad on the radio suggesting that the family install new, efficient "green" (environment friendly) plumbing in the house. FOR MOTHER'S DAY. And wouldn't that just make Mom do some cartwheels of joy. Because she's the only person who uses the plumbing in the house, right? Well, you can take that gift and flush it.

4. Do not even think of asking Mom, or your Female Caretaker, to make a special meal on Mother's Day. And clean up afterwards. Are you kidding? Do you have rocks for brains? (This is not spoken to you, dear reader, who are in all likelihood, a Female Caretaker.)

So.... What are your new rules?

Recycling my old blog

2009-05-08T16:30:00.006-05:00

I have decided to recycle my old blog.

Because my dot com went into a black hole.

And because I kind of like it now with a different template. The previous template was a little too gothic.

Later. I have one more final exam for grad school, and then I expect to start having a life again.

(If you dropped in and were expecting something read-worthy, I apologize. I hope you at least enjoy the homemade postcard. Ingredients: me at age six + my first abode in Madrid. The words "cuando vayas (llegues) a Madrid, chulona mía" are from the song Madrid, Madrid, Madrid.)

P.S., posdata: I deleted all previous entries except my first one way back in the fall of 2006 explaining how I came to start the blog, and the next one which explains some stuff about my background which is perhaps of personal interest but too long to put in a profile. (and because I happen to think it is one of the very few things I have written that was half-way decent.)

An Intensely English Summer

2006-09-17T12:15:00.000-05:00

Below is a little diversion I wrote on return to the U.S., remembering the trials and tribulations of a freelance EFL (English as a Foreign Language) teacher trying to survive the summer months in Spain:

La jornada

Aaaahhh... La Jornada Intensiva or “the summer work schedule” in Spain. When it is actually possible to take a nap during the long, tediously hot afternoons, as most companies work 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. during those months. But not everyone opts for the national pastime, the Sacred Siesta. There are those who would sign up for an intensive English course. Many companies like to offer these courses during the summer. They figure their employees will have more time to study. The atmosphere around the office is considerably lighter, as well, since at any given time during July and August, at least half of the staff is roasting on a beach somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but Madrid, where, as the popular Spanish song used to go, “Vaya, vaya… aquí no hay playa,” which, loosely translated, might be something like “Dear, oh, dear... ain’t no beach here…”

The practice of offering intensive courses in English is highly compatible with the empty pockets and forlorn faces of freelance “teachers of English” who are confronted with the unpleasant challenge of looking for ways to pay the rent during the summer. And, if possible, eat. Or occasionally go to the swimming pool. Or, God forbid, buy exotic drinks for ten dollars each at one of the trendy, open-air, dusk-to-dawn chiringuitos (on the coast, they are beachfront eateries, but in Madrid they would be sprawling, open-air cafés) which, during the summer months, begin to sprout like mushrooms along Madrid's main thoroughfare, Paseo de la Castellana. Where everybody is livin’ la vida loca, while they secretly wonder where everybody else gets the money for it. Hungry teachers of English are especially filled with wonder. And awe. And envy. And the fervent desire to find lucrative work.

Summer work choices for “teachers of English” are limited:

(1) You can tutor someone’s ill-mannered brat. If the parents of the ill-mannered brat are well-to-do Yuppie types with live-in help, it’s almost worth it. The downside is: YOU and only YOU are responsible for little Borja passing his English make-up exam in the fall. Certainly little Borja is not responsible. He has not made the effort to study English at any time during his entire scholastic career because his parents always get him a tutor during the summer. The minute you ask him to show you his school work in English, he will ask you if you know the words to “My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean,” his absolute favorite song in English. You eagerly start copying the words into his notebook, forgiving his deplorable taste for at least an interest in the language. When you finish copying the lyrics, you look up to find that little Borja has been playing Nintendo in the room next door for the last ten minutes. When you attempt to lure him back into the rapturous world of his clase de inglés, he starts calling you names in Spanish that would fry the ear drums of the crustiest jailbird. This is only the first day of two more months. Do you really need those ten-dollar drinks?

(2) Another possibility is: Teach English at a summer camp. This experience is like multiplying little Borja by another 150 kids. You teach English by means of everything listed in the Camp Director’s fancy brochure: Arts and Crafts (with no supplies), Sports (if you’re lucky, there is a swimming pool), and Nature Walks (hiking over to the neighboring village to get ice cream). In addition to being a teacher, you are also a monitor, so you work 32 hours a day. You are free for 2.5 minutes a day. This is your bathroom break. If the bathroom is free and the toilets are not all clogged up with paper. Your best bet is to take a mini-shower. You will never get to do this at night because you will be too busy patrolling the grounds for kids sneaking off to the discoteca down the road.

Since the summer camp provides you “food and lodging free of charge,” the salary they offer barely covers buying the kids ice-cream in the neighboring village. It comes nowhere near covering your rent back in Madrid. So unless you live in a pensión, which you could move out of during these months, it is not a tempting or even feasible alternative. I don’t care if the summer camp is in Marbella. You will not even get a whiff of Khashoggi’s yacht; you will be nowhere near any of the international jet set hang-outs.

(3) This brings us to the option to which most teachers resort: The Intensive English Course. ¡Qué chollo! = What a deal! Small groups. Adults. Air-conditioning. Nice pay. Conference rooms with big leather swivel chairs where you can sit and swing your legs while your students are taking their daily quiz. Little Borja is a distant memory. Summer camp is light-years away.

And so here you are on the first day of class. Only FOUR students. Principiantes, beginners. Such luxury and such luck! You can spend the entire first week on colors, numbers, and “What’s my job?” games. But first you must determine their real level of English. These classes are often filled with false beginners. Time for roll call: [N.B. ni flores = translation in dialogue is literal, but it is like saying "clueless." The Spanish surnames are real, but the combination (hispanics all have 2 surnames) were deliberately chosen for the humorous effect of their juxtaposition and the literal meaning is evident in the responses from Beatriz, who constantly translates everything.]

TEACHER: Beatriz Manteca Boadilla.

BEATRIZ: Presente. I say, HERE! (giggles nervously)

TEACHER: Good. Gonzalo Hueso Delgado.

GONZALO: You can call me Zalo. Y de inglés, ni flores.

BEATRIZ: He have no flowers of English!!! (giggles helplessly)

TEACHER: Thank you, Beatriz. Um… Pilar Roble Partido.

BEATRIZ: She are the oak tree BROKEN!!! Ha, ha, ha!

TEACHER: Thank you, Beatriz. Um, Pilar… do you speak any English?

PILAR: Yoooooo... (chewing gum)… Sí. I HAHM Pilar.

TEACHER: Fine. And... Julio Redondo Negro?

BEATRIZ: FAT, BLACK…

TEACHER: Yes, I know, Beatriz. Julio?

JULIO: (yawning, half comatose) ¿Cómo? Ah, sí... “Chulius.”

BEATRIZ: He pass all the night in the chiringuitos, Teacher. For the morning, sleep in the pi-pi (= pee-pee) room! (giggles, pointing at Julio.)

Somehow, you know this is not exactly what you had in mind. But you live with it, because, after all, the jornada intensiva is only once a year. It pays the rent. And it pays for the ten-dollar drinks in the chiringuitos. Where you might run into Julio. Who is not at all bad-looking.
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Ever had an off-beat summer job? Tell me about it!

Taking the plunge

2006-09-17T11:01:00.000-05:00

So now I am out here. (There?) And it feels scary. And I have no idea what I shall write about, or how often I will even be able to write. And I probably would not have taken the plunge at all except that Wordgirl, whose writing I so admire, urged me to do this. So here I go (she said, pinching nose shut and jumping in feet first.)

So what does one write in one's very first post? Perhaps I should tell you about the blog title. As stated in my terse profile, I was an ex-pat for many years, during which time I lived in Madrid. Catalina is just the translation of my first name. The vecina part (vecina = neighbor/neighbour) stems from a popular rhyme that goes:

Catalina mi vecina
Mujer de mucho aparato
Que se come la sardina
y la culpla le echa al gato

Roughly translated, it might go like this:

Catherine, my neighbor
Woman of great means
Blames the cat
For eating the sardines

When, of course, it was Catalina who ate them. That's in the original little ditty, but it was hard to work into the translation and still have it rhyme in English. :-)

During my years in Madrid, I worked in a publishing company, amongst other places, and in the early days of doing part-time proof-reading work, it was my boss who used to sing this out every time I waltzed in to pick up the latest proofs. Eventually I wrote textbook material, supervised recording work, and became a full-time editor. But that's another couple of chapters... The point being that the nickname stuck. And as it was a large part of my life and who I am (a re-patriated ex-pat with not a little culture shock, even after almost eight years back in the States), I decided to pay homage to my moniker and name my blog title for that. It will also explain the frequent references to things Spanish, something unavoidable in my life, for I will always have one foot in my beloved Madrid.

P.S. The *handle* Ortizzle is just an extension of my current surname which comes from my husband. Women's rights activists: I took on the surname for professional reasons only, but maintain my maiden name as my legal middle name. (This is also another chapter.)