#there’s a piece of advice to try not to speak spanish with a cigarette in your mouth?

[fingertipsmp3]

I have found the most adorably weird Spanish textbook

[darkstoryspinner]

Waiting: Instructions for the days of your heartbreak

Photo: Day 331 Pale is Pretty by Kathryn, flickr

Take a shower. Fix your hair. Put on make-up, no short cuts. Put on a skirt and wear a silk blouse. Wear pearls or a charm bracelet. Wear earrings, always, like your mother taught you, and lipstick. If you are not listening, you are not a woman and this advice does not concern you, or you have certain beliefs which restrain you from these practices, or you are not ready for this exercise. Wear low-heeled shoes or flats. It doesn't matter as long as your gait is relaxed and your feet look attractive. Blanket yourself in perfume. 

 Bring the dog. The dog should have experienced sufficient discipline not to pull on its leash. If the dog has not been trained to follow the master's lead, a silver pronged choke collar will do. It is not cruel. It saves the dog too. It maintains the health of their windpipe.

Say hello to the man and his business partner. They greet you in the breezeway of the apartment building as you pass. The man is Argentinian. He has lived in the building as long as you have. It would likely not work between you long-term. He would be too traditional. But it is still evident he appreciates the pearls and Pave diamonds, the chiffon blouse with the ruffles, and the silk camisole. It is clear you have pleased him. Greet him. Greet his partner. Feel their eyes on you as you walk away. For now, you are only taking the dog to the grass downstairs, but this entire sequence, from the beginning, is not unimportant. Do not  waver from any part of this instruction.

You have a final purchase to make at the furniture store by the tracks. Watch the salesman you have come to know there as he writes your order. Enjoy the beads of sweat on his brow and on his lip. Watch his hands tremble slightly. He is not the man for you. What he has told you about himself without any encouragement  informs your opinion. When he spoke on and on the first time you were there, you were silent and only listened. Enjoy it when he says he has told his mother about you. He tells you your furniture will arrive even quicker than it arrived the first time around. Instead of having to wait a week, you will get it the next day. He tells you to be sure of it. He also tells you, as you leave, to please come visit him again, just come talk to him while he works. You will do no such thing. You are not a creature who allows salesmen to substitute furniture store visits for dates. Besides, you're out of cash. What business do you have in a furniture store with a randy, cheap sales clerk?

This period, they call it the in-between, can be difficult. It is a holding pattern requiring strength. You may want to go back to an old way. You may be in a bookstore and hear a blues album and remember your old bluesman love and what you intended to sing with his band. You may find yourself wanting to cry. Don't. Stand and listen. Buy the album. Buy some coffee. Drink it black. Vow to learn the music yourself and sing it with another band. No, likely this won't happen, but you don't know that. Vow it, now.

Meet someone new, a woman browsing French tutorials. Pick one book. Agree to meet and practice. She knows Spanish too, so do you. Actually, you may never see her again. It doesn't matter. Hug her. Feel her warmth against you. She is not unkind. She knows about the divorce.

All of this happens so that the album of Hawaiian songs does not overwhelm you with its blue sadness and the memory of the bluesman touching you in the theater. It happens so you do not follow through with your desire to purchase the album and put it in his mailbox. Pieces of that bridge are on fire and floating down the river.

Think of your good girlfriend. Call her. Ask her to meet you out for drinks. Listen to what I say, it is what your mother said, girlfriends are important.

Leave the bookstore now. Besides, it's four o'clock in the afternoon. It's more important you walk your dog than scheme up half-crazed ways of making yourself vulnerable to unavailable men.

Remember this above all else: Never, ever appear like you once were, not to anyone.

You have entered a new phase, but you must forgive yourself to enter. And you have to remember new lessons of restraint, for they will always apply.

You are now always your own private garden.

You are now always the only one responsible for nourishing the soil and replenishing the seed.

You alone tend you, you alone water. This is what I say for the tending of the sweet, resplendent places.

 It is pleasant to walk your dog beside a lake in winter in a tropical place because all of the black ducks waddle up the ryegrass bank and pluck the seed with their small gray beaks. There is nothing required of you but to watch them and wonder what kind of ducks these are. In fact, to do more, to wonder more, to think more, would be of something in the not-waiting, and the waiting is what I am trying to teach, the in-between, the still small tending that takes place when one sits silent and closes the eyes and lets the breeze ruffle one's hair and the edges of one's skirt and takes in the warmth of the sun on one's face as it sinks into a blue lake and trees grown dark in their shade.

It is not necessary to fret over the things you don't have or what you try to imagine you should be making happen when there are black ducks in the ryegrass and a tree full of birds in the dying oak under which you sit. Men walk by and affect various postures, women frown at your Pave diamonds or your occasional cigarette. It doesn't matter. Let them.

A man, trying to impress his wife, both of them baby-talking to their children as they pass, complains of your cigarette smoke. What kind of man are you, you want to say. You had seen the way he looked at you when he was in the park earlier and his wife was further away. And now he was saying something which implied something, something that said to her "I will always, always, always be on your side in everything and will always, always, always speak in this ridiculous manner to our children because it is what is necessary for now, to make you happy."  You have known that kind of man. He is nice, so very nice, so very ultra nice.

One man strolls by and claps at the birds in the tree. thinking to stun them into silence for a moment. You forgive him when you see what big strides he must make, to assert himself against all of that.

wordpress blog post: https://wp.me/p1RnG2-2B

[acsversace-news]

Welcome to Career Watch, a vocational checkup of top actors and directors, and those who hope to get there. In this edition we take on global star Penélope Cruz, who’s delivering lauded performances on multiple platforms, in English and her native Spanish.

Bottom Line: Cruz is a Goya and Oscar-winner (“Vicky Cristina Barcelona”) who chases challenging material around the globe. This year she and husband Javier Bardem not only opened Cannes with Asghar Farhadi’s Spanish mystery drama “Everybody Knows” (Focus Features) — which went on to rack up over $6.5 million in France — but Cruz transformed herself into blonde Italian fashion icon Donatella Versace for her first-ever foray into television. Ryan Murphy’s “The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story” (FX) scored 18 Emmy nominations last week including Supporting Actress in a Limited series for Cruz. Next, she’ll play her sixth role with mentor Pedro Almodovar, playing his mother in autobiographical drama “Dolor y gloria” along with Antonio Banderas.

Career Peaks: The brunette actress has been an international star since her first movie with Almodovar, 1997’s “Live Flesh.” That was followed by “All About My Mother,” and Almodovar’s small-town semi-autobiographical “Volver,” for which she shared the Cannes Best Actress award with the female ensemble, and became the first Spanish actress to earn a Best Actress Oscar nomination. She won the BAFTA and Best Actress Oscar for her warm and witty role opposite Bardem in Woody Allen’s “Vicky Cristina Barcelona.” She also scored an Oscar nod for her supporting performance in musical “Nine” (2010).

At Cannes 2018, “Everybody Knows” debuted on opening night, instantly sold to Focus Features, and became a big hit in France. Spain’s power couple Bardem and Cruz (who have been working together since “Jamón Jamón” in 1992), helped Iranian Oscar-winner Asghar Farhadi (“A Separation” and “The Salesman”) develop the mystery family drama over five years as he sent them treatments for their feedback. “Every day is an adventure,” said Cruz, who accepted equal pay with Bardem for the movie. “Asghar got in my dreams; he didn’t let me rest even when I was sleeping. He’s a poet. He could work anywhere. He is very humble. He asked a lot of questions. Like all his movies, the universal theme is about exploring the complexity of human relationships and behavior. We always have more to learn.”

Assets: The ballet-trained actress can do anything in three languages: her native Spanish, English, and Italian: comedies (“To Rome with Love,” “Vicky Christina Barcelona,” “Waking Up in Reno”), thrillers (“Gothika,” “Elegy”), westerns (“All the Pretty Horses”), melodramas (“Everybody Knows,” “Twice Born”), tragedies (“Ma Ma”), musicals (“Nine”), big-budget studio pieces (“Spectre, “The Counsellor,” “Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides” and “Murder on the Orient Express”), and costume dramas (“The Queen of Spain”).

Latest Awards Play: With “The Assassination of Gianni Versace,” showrunner Ryan Murphy wanted to show Donatella Versace “in a serious light,” he told TV Guide last January. “What we did with Penelope was show her with heart. In many ways it’s a tribute to Donatella.” Over twenty years of working with the Versace fashion house, Cruz had met Donatella several times at parties, she told me on the phone. “She has always been kind to me; they have dressed me over the years for the Oscars. I felt a lot of responsibility to play her, I like and respect her and am a huge fan of her work with her brother.”

After Murphy called, she said she felt she needed to call Donatella and ask her, “or I couldn’t move forward. She was not involved the development in any way. She said, ‘if somebody is going to play me I’m happy it’s you.’ I felt in that call, that she knew I respect her and like her.”  Cruz told Murphy: “I’m going to do it, as long as we treat her with respect.”

Murphy based the series on Maureen Orth’s 1999 non-fiction book “Vulgar Favors: The Assassination of Gianni Versace,” which Cruz did not read. “I didn’t want to read the book,” she said. “I went by the script, and doing my own research in terms of Donatella and the relationship with her brother.”

The accent was a challenge for a Spanish actress playing playing an Italian character speaking in English. It took three to four months of prep. Already knowing Italian made it easier. “For me the key was trying to find the way she speaks,” Cruz said, “so different, a pitch lower, with an Italian accent. She does a rock and roll thing in the way she speaks. I tried to have something of her in there, hopefully some essence of that person.”

Cruz’s Donatella is strong and determined to save her brother’s empire after his death, the only woman surrounded by men, sticking to her guns. “She’s emotionally in such a sad difficult place,” said Cruz, “and has to start making difficult decisions. She’s going to do this in the name of her brother, keep her brother alive through Versace. She got a lot of strength from that love, to keep the empire going in such a difficult time.”

If Cruz got hung up on some dialogue or wanted to add some research she had found, she felt free to discuss it with Murphy. Shooting television was “so different from film,” she said. “They’d make some new dialogue changes the day or two before. You have to be ready for it, you have to have the character in you to be able to improvise. It’s a great exercise for actors, there’s no other way to follow the rhythm of TV.”

She worked with her costume and hair and makeup teams from “Volver” and “Broken Embraces” and went for Donatella’s cigarettes. “We didn’t want to do caricature,” she said. “It’s the wig and very little makeup, my eyebrows were like no eyebrows because they’re so blonde, which changes the expression. We made my lips a tiny bit fuller on top with makeup. The costume was a corset for her tiny waist; she has an amazing body, she exercises a lot, even today her body is incredible.”

Cruz doubts that Donatella has seen the film, but she did send Cruz flowers the day of the premiere, “with a beautiful note to wish me luck,” she said.

Latest Misfires: Despite good reviews for her performance, Cruz couldn’t save 2016 cancer drama “Ma Ma,” which topped out at $1 million worldwide, nor poorly reviewed period epic “The Queen of Spain,” or little-seen “The Brothers Grimsby” and “Zoolander 2.”

Current Gossip: While she put in three years in the starlet spotlight (2001-2004) as the girlfriend of Tom Cruise after his breakup with Nicole Kidman (Cruise and Cruz co-starred in ill-fated “Vanilla Sky”), she left him, hooked up briefly with her “Sahara” costar Matthew McConaughey, and then in 2010, Bardem; they have raised two children together. Bardem and Cruz have learned not to take their roles home with them. “We both started very young in our twenties,” said Cruz. “Then, I felt that to torture myself and stay in character for months, the better the result would be. I have discovered that’s not true. To jump from reality to fiction many times in one day, I love that beautiful dance back and forth between both dimensions. This is work that we do, it would not make your life better if you use things from your private life. The fact that we know and trust each other so much really helps.”

Next Step: Cruz is currently filming her supporting role in Almodovar’s “Dolor y Gloria.” Banderas plays Almodovar. “Life is funny,” she said. “I’m Antonio’s mother in the part when he’s a little kid. It’s very beautiful. A lot of things are obviously about Pedro, others are more fiction. I think he’d agree this is an homage to his mother.” Coming up is the Simon Kinberg spy thriller “355,” which she helped producer and costar Jessica Chastain to sell to Universal at Cannes, along with Lupita Nyong’o, Marion Cotillard and Bingbing Fan. Also in the works is the Todd Solondz fable “Love Child,” co-starring her “Versace” costar Edgar Ramirez.

Career Advice: Hollywood often sees Cruz as a luscious attachment to a male star, but as Woody Allen and Pedro Almodovar have proved, she is capable of so much more. More often than not, Hollywood fare offers less than meets the eye, with limited range. She’s probably best off chasing world-class auteurs, whether or not the films are in English. As she ages, more character roles will come her way. And she should keep grabbing rich roles on television. “I want to do more,” she said. “I can get security with experience and some validation, but at the same time, I feel as insecure as the first day of a new film. I don’t want to lose that. Every character is new, you have a new challenge, that is what is so addictive about acting. I imagine when I’m 80 I will feel the same way. Insecurity has to be there to keep an actor growing and enjoying and hungry for knowing.”

[the-nostalgic-sentimentalist]

Seventy-two hours of favourite moments

The trip was planned in October when March felt lifetimes away. But March came and with it the holiday I was so desperately in need of.

I have never been to Spain and my Spanish is so non-existent that I was confused when the first person greeted me with “Hola”.

Upon my arrival at Barcelona-Prat I marvel at how little thought I had given to getting from the airport into the city and where the train station was from which my train would leave three hours later. Apparently I can be spontaneous and carefree once in a while, who would have thought.

I step into Spanish air and instantly like how it feels warm on my skin. I get on a bus that serves as some type of Transport into the city, I have no idea about the stops it makes on the way and which one is the most convenient for me. I have hours to kill before I need to be someplace, so why not be a bit adventurous? I befriend a mother and son who are there to explore the city. When we part ways we wish each other well.

My first encounter is with Elia who appears to be homeless living in a tent on plaza de Catalunya. He asks me for a cigarette, so I kneel down in front of his tent and roll him one. He gives me some advice on how not to get mugged. Marvellous what can be possible through non verbal communication. I ask him if I can take a picture and by that I mean I raise my camera and point at it with a quizzical look on my face. He agrees.

I can sense getting stressed. Plaza de Catalunya is packed with people and the little space that isn’t, is covered by pigeons. 

I consult a map and flee into a little winding side alley and instantly feel better. I know the rough direction of the train station and get going. It’s hotter than any day I have had so far this year.

Barcelona feels ordered in its immensity and loudness. The city is laid out in a grid - except of course it’s historic core. It makes it easier to avoid getting lost. I still do. Not badly but enough that a 3km Walk takes nearly two hours (in my defence, I was carrying a back pack with almost 2kg of chocolate). Seeing the, admittedly unsightly, station of Barcelona Sants, is like seeing a well in the desert. By that point the novelty and intrigue of the city has been replaced by sheer exhaustion and discomfort. A kingdom for a cold coke.

And then the waiting begins. After procuring sustenance and getting an idea of the station I grant myself the first cigarette in Spanish soil. It’s underwhelming but much appreciated.

All the while I am eagerly soaking up the visuals surrounding me. Slowly, my brain discovers the remote chamber where my 9th grade Spanish lessons are stored and I can cobble together “no hablo espaniol” and “muchas gracias”, with unsurpringly atrocious pronunciation. Oh well.

And then I find myself on a train across the north of Spain to reach Pamplona and when the Mediterranean comes into view through dirt dry hills my breath hikes a little. Trains have always been my favourite mode of transport and I feel instantly at home (the available plug socket helps).

It’s a long journey though and I get bored easily of reading. Eventually we reach Pamplona and my friends await. It’s seamless. There is not a shred of awkwardness, instead there is an instant burst of joy that doesn’t go away until Monday night when I bid her farewell and the unpleasant part of the trip begins. 

Fittingly, Spain plays Germany in a football friendly that night and we watch with an air of friendly competition. It ends in a draw and the trip is off to an amicable start.

There is not a minute of small talk or trivialities. We launch into nuanced discussions of our feelings about the political situation rocking Spain at the moment. I get to ask all the questions I never knew I had because I find myself in an environment that continually inspires new enquiries.

I am flabbergasted to learn about the sheer extent of the nonsensical way Spain torments it’s young people, roughly 25% of which are unemployed. The only real chance is to be the offspring of a rich family or to get one of the cushy jobs that allow for a decent life. But the process to get them is so corrupted and insane that an entire generation wastes years of their lives studying for exams they will never pass.

I struggle to comprehend this because it is so blatantly inefficient that I insist someone must see how that is not a way to run a country. I receive exasperated shrugs if agreement in response. And so day in and day out their lives are dominated by preparing themselves for tests that prove nothing and determine everything and I feel an unease Settling into my stomach that doesn’t go away - cautiously I ask about their plan B, not because I don’t think they are perfectly capable but because this system feels cruel, a psychological hunger games where to the victor go all the spoils and the rest are left wanting.

Pamplona fulfils essentially all my expectations. Narrow streets in its historic center, gorgeous buildings, a slow pace and people who look content in their corner of the universe.

We visit a local cafe and my friend explains the connections with Bask resistance/terrorism. And we have decent coffee and I ask about my friends’ girlfriends. As we continue our walk my friend asks if i am aware that Pamplona is the location of the tradition of bulls chasing men through the streets. No, I was not aware. That still happens? Yes, yes it does. Of course we visit the street famous for this spectacle and I am astonished.

The conversation never stops. There is a pleasant rhythm to it and I feel at home in the company. My request to try something distinctly Spanish is fulfilled when we have something whose name I have no hope of pronouncing. One of them is a black crispy bun that has been coloured with squid ink. It’s strange in a refreshing way. Due to its colours, one expects it to taste charred and inedible. But it is undeniably pleasant.

Later that night we run late to meet another friend who turns out has lived in Bristol at the same time as I have. I am glad the topic doesn’t come up much since Bristol still has the ability to make me burst into tears. Instead I find myself quickly engulfed in a conversation about independence with two extreme views argued passionately but politely across the table. I walk outside for a cigarette break and to allow them to discuss this in Spanish and speed up the process.

There is a frankness that surprises me. When the discussion after dinner shifts to medical problems and allergies I am taken aback by the openness. Alcohol adds a new dimension and we find ourselves later playing “Never have I ever” in a gay bar and reveal that apparently lesbians don’t mind anal sex.

It is there that I spot my future wife - a brunette Spanish girl dancing exuberantly with her hopefully gay male friend. I am mesmerised. The confidence and joy are so palpable I want to talk to her. But I don’t get the chance and go home crestfallen. 

We conduct comfortable slumber party talk when we get home and sleep in the next day. I make us lunch and feel instantly better because I was useful for the first time in days. Receiving so much care and kindness is almost unsettling and I am 100% neither used to it nor mad about it.

I stare out the window during the Majority of the train ride back to Barcelona and take some of my favourite photographs while Andrea Gibson’s voice is blessing me with spoken word poetry that makes my heart heavy.

Finally, I meet my friend’s lady, her person, and I don’t have any doubt that one day, I’ll get on a plane to attend their wedding. We eat at a Japanese restaurant and I get the chance to try Wagyu beef. It’s delicious but not crazy over the top. My fried noodles with vegetables and seafood can easily compete. We get lost in a discussion on what constitutes a good person and the opinions diverge wildly. It’s invigorating. I don’t remember the last time I was that present, that engaged, that stimulated by a conversation. It may have helped that my phone was dead at that point. Not that I would have been seriously tempted to use it. The minutes are too precious. Plus, I told everyone I was going to drop off the scene for a bit. And for most that is indeed what I did. Except the woman whose bed I will find myself in tonight and whose souvenirs received the most thought.

We move to a different location to grab another drink and take a table in a medium sized square in one of Barcelona’s key independence neighbourhoods. It is late but the helicopters are still circling above us. After the arrest of Charles Puigdemont in Germany (not far from where I live) protests have shaken the city. On the way to our sleeping quarters for the night my friend and I steal one of the yellow pieces of plastic that are tied around trees everywhere to signal support for the independence movement.

Were this North Korea, I’d be arrested and sentenced to labour camp like Otto Warmbier. I am struck by my own privilege because nothing like that will happen. And I am right. It is safely stored in my backpack and I have yet to decide what to do with it. 

Monday begins semi early with breakfast at one of my friend’s favourite places. The waitress Ari speaks wonderful English and when my friend goes to the loo I get revenge for her having paid essentially for every meal. I tell the waitress that I need to win this round and she delights in the chance to help me. I tip her enough, I think. Throughout breakfast I am giddy at the thought of my friends face when she realises that I have bested her on this occasion. And I am not disappointed. When we approach the till she says “are we going to fight about it” and I just grin as Ari informs my friend that “eres tardes”. Victory is mine.

We take the bus up to a beautiful park and I sit next to an American ginger girl who rejects me hard. Despite her mum’s insistence that her daughter is usually talkative with strangers my attempts at making conversation are shut down resolutely. Despite wearing an Alex Morgan jersey the six year old pretends she isn’t sure who her favourite player is. Right. Okay. We learn that they are from Los Angeles and will be staying in Spain for ten days. Well, fair enough, enjoy, I think, still sulking a bit about my apparent lack of game with elementary schoolers. Oh well. The weather and company make it hard to dwell on that long. She wasn’t exactly my type - two decades too young and wrong hair colour.

The view is completely breathtaking but the abundance of other tourists annoys me. We talk about politics and climate change and education. 

I vibrate with joy that I have a friend like that. That this is my life. We get lost on our way to the cathedral and find a t shirt store. At the beginning of the trip I had expressed a desire to purchase something I could still use in my every day life, like a t shirt. But it wasn’t allowed to be overtly tourist-y. If I had been asked to dream up the perfect tut shirt place to accomplish this task, I would have fallen short of the one we stumbled upon.

A bus ride later we grab lunch, change into our new garments and I discover with fury that entrance to the cathedral requires a 7€ fee. I think not.

To the beach, I say, fuming.

And there my feet finally touch the Mediterranean sea and it might as well have been heaven. If it weren’t for the the people constantly walking around trying to sell cocktails, beer, water, blankets, or even massages. No gracias becomes a mantra on loop and after a while I have soured on the place because it’s getting too much.

We take the metro to reach El-Prat where my friend’s friend lives who will put me up for the night because she lives incredibly close to the airport. And has a spare room.

There is a little trophy on the shelf in the dimly lit living room honouring her as the most regular player on the team. It dates back to 2003/2004. The edges of my heart vibrate as if preparing to shatter.

They cook rice with chicken while I repack. We pour tomato sauce over it for flavour and I am perfectly content. I am a nervous traveller and if I were Spanish inclined I would describe the gastro-intestinal problems that ensue when the nervousness takes over, but I am not so I won’t.

The room I am being put up in is cozy but feels out of place in a house of a 32 year old without her own children. There’s stuffed animals and tons of video games. The bed covers are tucked in neatly and tightly and I sleep decently, snuggled in place.

Barcelona at 6:30 am from the air looks like someone spilled the box with Christmas lights on the floor and they all lit up at the same time. Peaceful.

I reminisce on the realisation that I am adult. That I have arrived in this chapter of my life where I can talk about sex, life, philosophy, politics and feelings without sounding pretentious (I think). But the greatest gift is the realisation that I have chosen wisely. That one of the people I believed would be worth the investment of my effort has proven to be so. Privilege and gratitude flood my blood stream like drugs that leave me elated and high on life.

It’s been a good weekend and this will be a good life.