Mongo's Delight

Dear Jeanloup Sieff,

2007-10-17T05:13:00.001-07:00

I absolutely adore you.

Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame

2006-11-30T13:39:00.000-08:00

The title of this post is taken (yet again, shamelessly) from a collection of Charles Bukowski's selected poetry from 1955-1973. After days of working on applications and statements and grading and the like, I returned to one of my favorite poets. And, not at all to my surprise, discovered once again just how much he amazes me. Oftentimes, heads spin around, noses turn up, meaningful glances are exchanged between mutually understanding parties at the mere mention of his name, and even more so at the rather absurd suggestion that I think his stuff is worth reading again and again. So, underneath all the violent, alcoholic, womanizing, ranting, raving, tumbling, drunken, depressing, aggresive, sexist (indeed, misogynist), inappropriate, scatalogical, tiresome, deprecating, egotisical, rambling, nonsensical bullshit, sometimes one finds beauty of the most rare and mysterious persuasion.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, that's fine. Chances are that Bukowski wouldn't have either. Here's a poem. I hope you'll consider it as much as I have...

sway with me

sway with me, everything sad --
madmen in stone houses
without doors,
lepers streaming love and song
frogs trying to figure
the sky;
sway with me, sad things --
fingers split on a forge
old age like breakfast shells
used books, used people
used flowers, used love
I need you
I need you
I need you:
it has run away
like a horse or a dog,
dead or lost
or unforgiving.

Double Hitter

2006-08-31T15:53:00.000-07:00

But no homerun, yet.

Adjusting, Re-adjusting, Maladjusting, Digesting, Undertaking, Overwhelming, Exhausting, Projecting, Cleansing, Looking, Seeing, Trusting, Mistrusting, Not trusting, Understanding, Thinking, Knowing, Not knowing, Wondering just when I'll shake it off, and start to feel at home again.

Back in Michigan. More news to come soon.

Things That Can Be Seen

2006-07-10T04:02:00.000-07:00

Are Not Always Known.

__________________________________________________

I took some photos a few weeks back of this old key I found in my apartment and a magnifying glass. Mostly playing with macro settings, various exposure adjustments to work with shadows and natural light, and post-processing graininess, I came out with the image above which I didn't dislike, so here I am posting it. Title = "Meditation." The more I look, the more I see that what interests me photographically approaches (or sometimes is the mirror image of) what interests me with literature, or with writing, with theorizing, with thoughts on cinema, on history, on culture. I suppose until I can figure it out, or approximate some sort of "figuring it out", I'll keep taking photographs, watching films (my latest obsession), writing.

___________________________________________________

And, because it has also been an obsession as of late, Mongo will read poetry again. This one from the lovely and captivating Gerard Malanga.

New Art

for Andy Warhol

_________________________

Of the sidewalk covered with blood

A light puts up signs--a road

A disc the music begins.

The night it began.

So is this car

Out into the roads of the city

Eastern shore

What we the speed

Energy that tribute was dazzling

That follow my eyes

I cannot move away from these paintings

Itself a decision that instinct makes

Choosing more that the machines

Can do. The day over the table

Disturbed in his lunch

He reaches for repetition

With which he'll be passive and safe.

Walls reflecting

Observe the crushing of fenders

Into concrete eyesight can't keep.

***

Though I had always come here

This factory

We make it several times of the year

The floors lined with sheen

The traffic still goes

We don't kill

And I am possessed

Of these terms in our lives we don't want.

The electric chair in a room made silent by signs

Over the door,

The flames coming toward us--

Accidents of some future date.

We sit on couches, but the sleep

And ideas persist

Knowing we gain from it,

To fall apart again.

Some simplicities first

Then nothing--night

The secret, visible late next day. Or next week.

On the telephone. The film.

_____________________________

(Originally published 1971. Taken here from No Respect: New & Selected Poems 1964-2000)

Images are thoughts already spoken. Seen and unseen.

Looking For

2006-06-30T07:41:00.000-07:00

the key.

"if only i could find the right door"

original photo by mongo (yours truly)

Writing these days is slow. Madrid is beastly hot. I've been sitting here for hours, pondering the uses and abuses and layers and density of procrastination. yesterday was shifting. today is leaning. tomorrow may be better yet. Here's a poem, another one by the beautiful Gerard Malanga. Another one that I've fallen in love with, again and again.

____________________________________________________

Lost Time

There is a passage by Walter Benjamin I cannot locate.

There is a street in Paris that this passage describes

lost in time.

There is a shop window reflecting back

what I see for the last time.

The affiches have long since disappeared from the tunnels.

Among the photographs in my head are some I have never taken.

--Gerard Malanga--

_____________________________________________________

(originally published in a collection of poetry called Memory's Snapshots 1990-2000. quoted here from No Respect: New & Selected Poems 1964-2000.)

Mísia

2006-05-31T02:15:00.000-07:00

Last night I took Mike and JD to see the stunning Mísia at Madrid's Teatro Albéniz.

We listened to two sets: traditional fado songs and her "Drama Box" music which included more contemporary fados, popular Spanish songs a la Almodóvar, boleros, and tangos.

In a word: tremendous.

At intermission, I asked JD what he thought and with a slight hesitation he took a drag off his cigarette and asked "how did you hear about her?" It took me a few minutes to recall where or how or when the name Mísia first made its way into my plane of view, making its way past my otherwise touch and go, oblivious and mostly stunted relation to the world. I couldn't remember, and still can't. Not exactly. But I do know that whatever song I first listened to, I knew I had to have more.

In a recent NPR interview, when asked about her love for fado music Mísia replied: "For me it is the only way to be alive, and to put outside what I have inside. The only way of... cleaning my ghosts and shadows."

It's amazing to me how we like things before we even understand why or how. I only remember that this music was powerful, overwhelmingly so, the first time I listened to it and that it resonated with me somehow back then...and still does now.

Melancholic. Dramatic. Intense. Glorious beyond belief.

Meat is Murder, Jamón is Flesh

2006-05-06T10:19:00.000-07:00

Walking down Madrid's one and only Calle Fuencarral the other day, JD and I stumbled upon the following poster advertising the Centro Dramático Nacional's latest theatre production, what appears to be a very interesting version of Tennessee William's Suddenly, Last Summer:

For those wondering, the image above is, yes, pieces of ham carefully placed on a naked man's body, head hooded, weehoo practically in plain sight.

And, for a closer look, I present the "zoom shot." Don't be alarmed. Once again, it's only ham gently carressing a naked dude's flesh, so as to appear as flesh, that is, in the end, ham (?) I wonder just how many Spaniards salivate as they walk past all of this perfectly good jamón york just lying there wasting away!? The horror...oh, the horror.

Based solely on my tenth-grade love for The Glass Menagerie and this poster, I will be going to see this play.

Strange, Stranger, Strangest

2006-05-03T13:36:00.000-07:00

But, not necessarily in that particular order...

Over the past 10 days or so several "strange" things have happened (or I have happened upon several strange things?...one never knows). As I was walking back from JD's place today, I started thinking of some of these bizarre happenings--my own mental musings were sparked by a simple flashback to wandering down the very same street where only days earlier I had stopped to take note of the movies playing at the local theatre, suddenly turned around to leave, and nearly stepped on a dead chicken, head and neck lurching out of a bag, eyes glossed and somewhat "perky." Recalling the feel of nausea and disgust naturally led me directly to the other "strange" things rummaging around in the backyard of my brain. How these things seem to escape simple everyday conversation, I quite honestly don't know. But anyway, here goes.

Top three strange things that I have stumbled upon (you can rank them if you like, since I can't seem to find a good "order" of strangeness, strangosity, strangementedliness, strangeryeous, ersumthing....):

1. An email from the U of M Orthopaedic Surgery Department titled "Mouse surgeries"

Text as follows:

Hi Pernillie,

This is Jason over in Kurt Hankenson's lab. I wanted to let you know that we were doing some more ovarectomy surgeries on Monday around 9:30 if you were interested in observing any more of them. This time there will be some genuine surgeries instead of them all being just shams. If you're interested, let me know.

Thanks, Jason

2. A photo on flickr titled "French Chicken"

3. A movie that Jean-Claude Van Damme and Raul Julia made--together! Unbelievable. Absolutely fucking unbelievable.

So, just to clear up for everyone in case anyone should leave this blog entry feeling a bit confused-- 1. In addition to all the "fake" mouse surgeries taking place at UM laboratories, there are, in fact, "real" ones which should interest us and which Pernillie may or may not watch. 2. Chickens can act or be stage props in Frenchy theatrical performances in Tokyo or Paris, although the best combo seems to be men in underwear with chickens. and 3. Raul Julia must have done a shitload of drugs before agreeing to play an evil dictator in Streetfighter opposite Jean-Claude Van Damme. Wow. I guess all I can say in the end is strange, very strange indeed.

Japanese Cult Cinema

2006-04-30T14:04:00.000-07:00

Recently, I've discovered a gem in this city. And that gem being utterly Spanish, means that it's, by definition, truly bizarre. It's called La enana marrón (The Brown Midget) and it's a local theatre right in my neighborhood, resembling a strange cross-section between someone's living room (sofabeds included) and a dark back alley peepshow (projector and curtains included, beer for a small fee). Each month the owner gets independent films, shorts, experimental videoart, and cult films, which he later organizes into viewings based around themes. So, this month's "theme" has been Japan. The kick-off started with Sadao Yamanaka's 1935 "Tange-Sazen: A pot worth a million ryo", a film that is truly worthy of more attention, if for no other reason than the fact that it's a black and white samuri comedy (?), featuring the unforgettable protagonist Tange Sazen, a one armed, somewhat cross-eyed all powerful samuri, who hates music, but in the end has a soft spot for children. Weird, but good.

After getting sucked into the Brown Midget's enternally strange yet compelling "hole" (Collin, don't be jealous now), I returned the next few nights for the promise of some killer action-packed Japanese mobster films. I was anything but disappointed, and must say that for a short while now, Seijun Suzuki (photo above) has become my hero. The first Suzuki feature was "Oretachi No Chi Ga Yurusanai" (1964), and was translated into English as "Call of the Blood", which I later discovered to be a somewhat poor translation according to scholars, who opt for either "Our Blood Will Not Forgive" or simply "Blood Will Not Forgive" (Nicholas, feel free to correct this, if it's way off). Needless-to-say, there was a lot of blood and no forgiveness, mixed with some brotherly rivalry, a very tattooed samuri dude, some strange occidental vs. oriental tensions, and possibly the longest shoot-out/running/death scene I think I've ever seen. But, of course, it's amazing!

The stakes were set fairly high, given Suzuki's masterful camera techniques, often including quick, disorienting shifts between extreme long shots and "fetish-style" close-ups, not to mention his over-the-top special effects (such as the rain storm that two brothers have to drive through, which uses footage from the ocean and potentially a tsunami, literally, as the backdrop to the scene). After leaving the theatre, I honestly didn't think Suzuki could out-do himself. But, being a genius, apparently he did, the year before. Following night's viewing was his 1963 "Tantei Jimusho 23: Kutabare a Kuto-domo", which was translated in English as "Detective Bureau 23: Go To Hell Bastards! (Again, I have no idea how accurate that is, but the title alone was, in the infamous words of rswells "worth the price of admission.")

It's sort of a Japanese James Bond meets On The Waterfront mafia antics meets Nancy Drew nerdliness meets Austin Powers with british-mod fashion and guns. Highlights include a song and dance routine that the protagonist, undercover agent Kamagai, performs to "fool" the already foolish Hatano gang, and Kamagai's impressively big cheekbones. The bastards do, in fact, go to hell, and the guy gets the girl and a sweet ride in the end.

If I ever make a film someday, which is highly unlikely but definitely right up there at the top of my dream list next to "become an oceanographer" and "own a motorcycle", I will model it after Seijun Suzuki's ever-so crafty and hilarious 1960s mobster flicks. Outlandish, stylish, all-around fantastic.

Galicia

2006-04-23T11:56:00.000-07:00

Northern Spain

has one of the poorest communities on the Iberian pennisula.

* * *

But one of the richest, in so many ways.

* * *

Land of endless beauty, green pastures, goldenrod, black swans,

legends of witches, spirits, and ghosts.

* * *

You can even go to the end of the world there,

and see where the sky kisses the sea.

* * *

Tired

2006-04-19T06:26:00.000-07:00

still. got back from galicia yesterday morning. i was exhausted but otherwise doing quite well.
good to be back in the city. i hope to post some more photos on flickr and another entry about my northern travels very soon. hope everyone's doing well--i miss you guys!

Tears, Stupid Tears

2006-03-26T03:18:00.000-08:00

For Mike, who doesn't want quiet evenings as much, now that I'm gone.

I miss you.

Last night I decided to read poetry from Gerard Melanga's No Respect collection. I came across a poem called "The Gift" which is quite lovely but too long to reproduce here. Instead, I'll copy the epigraph that he used, and which you know very well:

You may forget but

Let me tell you

this: someone in

some future time

will think of us

--Sappho, #60

__________________________________________________

Mike, I do listen to you, even if only sometimes...

Mongo reads poetry, again.

There's Horror In Every Corner...

2006-03-22T02:20:00.000-08:00

And, just to let everyone rest assured that my search for it, which is almost always guaranteed to be followed by my extreme and somewhat frightening fascination with it, has not ceased, this little story from last night's outting, which will be told through images that should, if one can manage it, be "synthesized" in the mind so as to conjure up a mental picture of what these four figures would look like if they were, in some sort of bizarre and parallel hell, to merge. (Wow what an insanely ridiculous and unnecessarily long sentence!!! Nicholas, I hope you're not hyperventilating.)

Hyped up on loads of carbs and cheese, Jd and I decided to go out for our usual "gin tonic digestivo." After several minutes at the bar and observing all the usual suspects in their usual places, I set my eyes on a creature that left me somewhere between stupified, horrified, and amazed! It looked exactly like the monstrous yet (perhaps) gentle lovechild of the four following figures, all from popular American culture (in no particular order):

The emperor

Jaws (Roger Moore's worst enemy)

Jerry Blank

Honey

EEEggggggdddd. (Shivers, cold, cold shivers.) I think it was female. But then again, I was so fixated on the teeth, that all of the other deliciously horrific details and mysteries about the creature were lost.

Oh That Buñuel, So Deliciously Perverse

2006-02-24T06:54:00.000-08:00

As I sit here in twitterpating anticipation of Mike's arrival into Madrid tomorrow, and as my usual dose of neurosis and lack of witty and/or snarky remarks leaves me without any terribly interesting news or well-crafted stories to tell, today I write about film.

My Carlos Saura obsession has, oddly enough, led to something much more provocative and bizarre: Buñuel. Needless-to-say, my eyes nearly glued to the screen everytime I watch a film, I decided to take up the task of viewing his entire filmography (or, at least, what the Filmoteca has in their collection). Today's viewing: Ensayo de un crimen (1955). A masterpiece which has continued to sustain my latest craze. The obsession, at first, began with the eye:

(Yes, I did almost just throw up right now after posting this photo...eeeeggggghhhhh! And, no, my annoying "eye phobia" has not gone away...barf!) So, after revisiting Un chien andalou (1929) after a long period without seeing any devouring ants, armpit beards, or dead donkeys rotting in pianos at the movies, well, the obsession grew...and grew...and continues to grow.... I didn't think that much could top yesterday's viewing, Viridiana (1961), a film about virtue, violence, and the mathematical impossibilites of being both blonde bombshell and saintly nun. But, today's film was equally, if not more, compelling.

Ensayo de un crimen is a film filled with strange interceptions, murderous dreams, artistocratic drama, lots of trickling blood, and burning mannequins!!!!! That's right. Mannequins that burn in the flames of Archibaldo's uncontrolled desire!! Mmmuuuuaaaahhhhaahhaha!

I'll leave it here, since I don't want to bore you all. Just a sugesstion: the next time you go to rent a movie and can't think of that one title you've meaning to rent forever, but never write down and for some reason never seem to see at the video store anyway...well, try this one on for size, it just might knock your socks off...or your wooden leg (wink wink, JD)!!!

Mongo Reads Poetry (Finally)...

2006-02-15T00:11:00.000-08:00

Today I am 29 years old. My birthday has always been strange for me--mixed feelings of complete and utter allegiance to my parents, who are amazing and beautiful people, a bizarre and secretive bond with my brother about our adoption, and a plaguing curiosity about who I look like. It's difficult to know that you look like someone (or that you should, in theory, look like someone) in the world who you've never met...and will probably never meet in your whole life. Twenty-nine years ago a woman of only nineteen years old gave birth to me. I don't care to know her name or where she lives, but I would like to see her face, to see what she looks like. And I don't know if she thinks about me, or remembers anything from that day, but I hope that wherever she is, she's doing quite fine...and knows deep down that I thank her.

And, with that sentiment in mind I, being Mongo, will now read poetry on my birthday.

This one is by Gerard Malanga, the famous photographer and poet who worked with Andy Warhol and who's stuff is now published by Black Sparrow Press (same press as Bukowski, for those who are fans, like me). His collection titled No Respect includes a variety of new and selected poems written between 1964 and 2000. I bought this collection on a whim, bored while at the bookstore one day back in Ann Arbor, late Fall. It has proved to be a true gem-- full of hidden treasures that I discover each time I pick it up. So, today I thank him as well.

A director is a man, therefore he has ideas; he is also an artist, therefore he has imagination. Whether they are good or bad, it seems to me that I have an abundance of stories to tell. And the things I see, the things that happen to me, continuously renew the supply. --Michelangelo Antonioni

Snow Emergency Street

All I know is this slow exhibition of greatness.
A description of what's been
Happening. The pain is not
Clearly defined. These are
The eyes of the young girl and that side of her
Character capable of being
Afraid. Across the street young man walks
Back with hands in pockets.
Children's voices at playground
In distance. The sound
Track of tire treads making sharp turns
In the distance.
Water sprinkler being turned off.
A roadway ribbed with white lines where no one is
Crossing. In its beginning was its end.
A woman, a city, an intellect.
The environment of that experience.
After the affirmations
Who will discover the rejections?

* * *

(Originally published in a collection titled Ten Years After, 1977)

Photography Exhibit: Chema Madoz

2006-02-12T14:34:00.000-08:00

This past Friday, JD and I came across the Chema Madoz exhibit at the Telefonica Building on Gran Via. I was pretty excited since I had wanted to see the show when I heard about it initially but then later thought that I had totally missed it by being away in Florida. To my surprise Madoz's work will be exhibited through the end of May and, even better, it's free and open to the public. It's always nice to stumble unexpectedly into a lovely display of anything, especially photography...which these past few weeks has become an increasing obsession of mine. The more I realize how many photos are waiting to be taken all around me, the more I understand how much the ones I do take are (or, at least, can be) worth. Light + Time = Meaning. Strange, how the laws of physics can be so compelling. For those who don't know Chema Madoz's stuff and are interested, you can check it out here. He's got some killer photos--playful, eccentric, stunningly simple, and all around quite lovely.

Egyptian Gift

2006-02-11T05:44:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I decided to walk to El parque del oeste ("West Park") to see what's happenin' on the west side. To my surprise, I stumbled upon this Egyptian temple (Templo de Debod), completely preserved, somewhat restored, and generously donated to Spain in 1968. This was quite a change from my recent airport experience, where I arrived at the new Barajas terminal only to discover that I had apparently stumbled into THE FUTURE! Stumbling into the past can be cool. I guess. As I relayed the episode to Mike he laughed and then made up this totally ridiculous encounter between the Egyptians and the Spaniards, which made me laugh too:

Egyptians: We have seen your land, and it is weird.

Spaniards: Gracias.

Egyptians: We have decided to give you one of our temples. We have too many. This will help make your country...less weird.

*************************************************

Two days later, JD and I stumbled into a Bobsy Twins Mystery Adventure Action Novel (wait, that is a category of literature, right?) and set off to find the strange Turkish-looking mosque that haphazardly "disappears" depending on where you are in the city. But, I'm sure you guys have already read all about that. More adventure stories to come soon...

Big Fish!!!

2006-01-29T15:50:00.000-08:00

A Sunday afternoon stroll with JD allowed us to stumble upon all sorts of bizarre and unknown gastronomical finds. This big fish? He can be found somewhere between Calle Hortaleza in the city's finest gay neighborhood, Chueca, and Calle Conde de Austrias in the old Hapsburg quarter.

Another random day of photography in this crazy city.

By the way, you can't tell from the photo but this creature's mouth could easily fit a small child in it and them some. The white object pertruding from its gaping frozen jaws is indeed its tongue despite the fact that it appears to be another fish (this was Mike's original comment upon seeing this image). The tongue itself? It has, naturally(?), hundreds of tiny little teeth on it. Shocking? Yes. Hideous? Absolutely. I looked at it, amazed, for several minutes.

La vida secreta de las palabras

2006-01-22T14:43:00.000-08:00

This past week's outtings have been pretty fabulous. JD and I caught a transexual flamenco act at La Lupe in Chueca: speechless! My roommate Dani introduced us to some great spots in La Latina neighborhood, the highlight being Matias' bar where over-the-top las vegas style caberet covers of suicidal Radiohead songs can be heard: again, speechless. And, last night my lovely friend Cris (I'll post some photos soon so you all can see the lovely and talented gallegas) invited us to el cine. The feature was Isabel Coixet's latest film La vida secreta de las palabras (The Secret Life of Words).

Speechless.

It was one of the films where the wheels start turning in my head, know what I mean? A film which actually gets me excited about working on texts, and on visual culture, and on thinking about the ways in which we see things that cannot be told or said or related. A film which actually reactivated that hidden desire that I think we all have at some level to just write, without hesitation. Immensely photographic and beautifully composed, the film left me with something I'm not quite sure of yet. Different episodes kept coming in and out of mind throughout the night. A definite must see again, and a definite recommendation.

So if you're into all the strange and fantastically odd things that I'm into: pain, trauma, horror, scars, landscape, photography, memory, wounds, stories, seams and oceanography, well...check it out. You might dig it. If not, there's always Tim Robbins, Javier Camara, or a soundtrack that just about everyone should own.

Gracias Cris! Como siempre, me asombras con tu inteligencia y belleza. Besos...

El dia de San Anton: Or, Throw Some Holy Water on Your Pig...

2006-01-17T16:14:00.000-08:00

Or any other farm animal, household pet, mascota, mammal, reptile, what-have-you... actually any animal that you love or love to eat will fit into this category. Category? For what?, you may be wondering. Ah yes, Spain's very own semi-national holiday: El dia de San Anton, the patron saint of domestic animals, every 17th of January. Right. (Who would have thunk it?)

Well, apparently the Spaniards did. No, no there's no joke here...tonight's version of the 6 o'clock news featured stories about Iraq, Zapatero, Spain's new anti-smoking laws, sky-rocketing numbers of newly arrived immigrants, the latest news in futbol, and, that's right, you guessed it: ample news coverage concerning thousands of Spaniards who flocked to nearby churches and some even forming processions in the street, family pets in hand, as local priests blessed them with holy water, granting each kitty-cat, lizard, or gallo the benediction that it so deserves. In the photo above/right you can see a priest reaching out to bless "chincheta the cat," as hundreds in the background wait to ensure that their beloved pets make it to heaven. Meow...

Once again, Catholicism reigns. In addition to mounted processions and bonfires used to inaugurate the traditional celebrations, certain towns such as Ciudad Real get really into the swing of things by preparing a special bread (also blessed) and parading around demon effigies as part of the ritual. Of what? Who knows!? Who cares!? It shouldn't make sense, that would be somewhat...let me see here...intelligent and inappropriate.

My sacrcasm, albeit somewhat lame (ok, mostly lame), has made me tired. (Yawn). Maybe tomorrow I'll look for Pet Cemetery en espanol...

For now, I leave you all with these photos which, I think, accurately display the wonders of idiocracy into which our species has so deliciously delved...

(In the words of our sweet Nicholas: "Very sexy! Very sexy indeed!" Forget about the Japanese love for mail order man-sized pillows, this year's rage is blessing your cock!...or putting a bow-tie on it...)

Arrival in Madrid: Take One

2006-01-13T13:18:00.000-08:00

So, I've been away awhile, getting ready for the trip to Spain, spending time with family and friends, freaking out, not freaking out, going through the usual Keller family routine of rediscovering the outer limits of pre-travel panic and stress. But, three days ago I finally arrived in Madrid--tired and worn out, but happy to finally be here after so long.

After talking to an academic/jazz singer on the plane for almost 8 hours (yes, Mike apparently I do attract jazzy wherever I go), I decided that sleeping was overrated and watched the sun come up instead (actually, I suppose we were landing into the sun, right?). The photo's not very good since there were fingerprints all over the window and I was super out-of-it. But, I guess that pretty much sums up how I felt anyway: grimy and beat above the clouds.

JD couldn't meet me at the airport, since he had a sexy date with sleep in his Ikea bed (wink, wink bb! don't break another one!), but I managed to navigate myself to my new home despite my two huge 4-ton bags.

Milagros (yes, that's right, "Miracle" the maid) let me
in and showed me around the place. She was great--a very warm welcome after a semi-hectic morning of sweat and panic at the airport without JD. And after carrying my luggage up the 5 flights of stairs to get to my fourth floor apartment (1 = 0, has been my most recently renewed montra), I stepped into the kitchen sunlight, took a deep breath, a much needed sigh of relief, turned around and there it was peeking out from behind the door: the gigantic pata negra of jamon iberico.

Ah, Spain...

Needless-to-say, the apartment is absolutely lovely and spacious! Dani, my new roommate, is awesome, very funny, and totally relaxed. He's already shown me the digs around the barrio, so I'm getting settled in more and more.

I miss you all! Please write, or call, or post photos, or send a lil' shout out...I hope all is well with everyone across the Atlantic.

More news to come soon...

Christmas Time Is Here (sigh...)

2005-12-22T20:57:00.000-08:00

Ah, yes. Christmas time, that favorite season when people all around the country flock to be with loved ones, shop endlessly, forget how to drive, drink ungodly amounts of alcohol and eggnog, stuff themselves silly, and decide that going to church is (all of a sudden) important.

I'm at home in Colorado now with the 'rents...we just finished decorating the tree. (See X-mas remnants to the left). In a nutshell, it would be an understatement to say that my mother is attached to X-mas. She has just under a dozen boxes of Christmas glitter, ornaments, and disastrous gradeschool art projects. (Perhaps the Janimal can top this, Jon? Do keep me posted.)

It should be a joke. But, it's my life...

So, I helped "assemble" the fake tree and decorate it lavishly while my mother narrated the history behind each ornament. Poke my eyes out...

I love her, but she drives me crazy.

And to share with you all some of the treasures that are locked away in the Keller basement in one of the crusty old boxes labeled "X-mas", I will share a Christmas poem by Paul Keller (date unknown, my guess is c. 1980).

Winter Wonderland by Paul Keller

Sleigh rides
are wet and fun
slippery and funny.
It reminds me of skis and sleds.
Freezing.

For a much funnier account of Christmas bliss at the Keller residence, check out Mike's blog. Enjoy it folks...there's only more to come...goodnight (please wish me luck).

Yeeehaw!

2005-12-13T08:25:00.000-08:00

The nightmare has finally ended. (Dramatic sigh.) Just as I was starting to get really down about my living situation next semestre, something amazing happened! Last Friday I found an apartment in Madrid! I'll have a home in January--Yay!! Of course, I wanted to share the good news with everyone (well actually just with myself, since I'm the only one who reads this thing anyway)...but I felt that a blog entry was in order since--wait for it-- my blog basically sealed the deal! Trato hecho! Yes, that's right, it was all "up in the air" until my little 'ol blog confirmed that I am for reals ('lil shout out to Robert Wells.) A very good thing, indeed.

So, come January I'll be back in this magnificent city, working, reading, and livin' it up!

I've included some pics that I found on the web for people to get an idea of the city. They're all generic shots of Madrid for tourist sites, but...what the hell.

Above, is a shot of Gran Via and Alcala.
(Standard postcard picture.)

To the right here is a pretty crappy street map I
found of el barrio where I'll be living (close to
Bilbao). Of course, almost all the actual streets are totally illegible, but you get the idea...The great thing about the apartment is that it's really central, close to the National Library, and a pretty comfortable walk to the Filmoteca, Gran Via, the major museums, Malasana, and Jon's favorite gay neighborhood, Chueca...where I'm sure Why Not? will be graced by our presence. Jajaja.

Here, to the right, is a shot of the metro stop. Once again, a random photo from the internet--not classy but a pretty accurate view of the area.

So, thanks to everyone for reading this. And, an especially big thanks to Dani, por asumir el riesgo! Gracias! Gracinhas! Gracies! Merci! Obrigado! Grazie! Thank you!

(Muzzletof!!! Good things, good things!)

Kai Garden Splendor!

2005-12-07T21:00:00.000-08:00

Tonight a group of friends and I dined at the fabulous Kai Garden, where, of course, we were treated like royality with great food and even better company (love the lady who owns the joint!). The extra bonus was that we all received Kai Garden's New Year's calendars for 2006, the year of the dog.

Naturally the other bonus was getting to reminisce about Collin's drunken confession to me this past October: "SShhhhh! Patty, we ate all this asparagus tonight with dinner...and it smells sooooo bad when you pee, but...hehehe, sshhhh don't tell anyone, no I'm serious, shhhh, don't tell but I secretly like it! (insert gagging nosies here, followed by a long sigh of orgasmic bliss)."

Needless-to-say, a recommended favorite is the chicken with asparagus dish (also the Chef's special--wink, wink!)

So thank you lovelies--Mike, Sharon, Jen, Robert, Andreea, Nicholas, Collin, JD, and Mark-- for coming out in the cold Michigan slunk (wow, what a weird word) to delight with Mongo in the Kai Garden splendor!

Tune in next time when Mongo will, in fact, read poetry...(er something)

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!

2005-12-01T18:28:00.000-08:00

So, I should be working on revising my dissertation prospectus, but instead I dedicated a generous portion of my Thursday evening to watching none other than the marathon "What The F**k Happened To Michael Jackson!?" chronicles which aired on VH1 and listening to the latest indie rave "Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!" One of my prof's just forwarded me a story on them from NPR. Madness? They're FABULOUS! I can only hope to catch a show of theirs very soon...Detroit, Denver, Madrid...??? Who knows. So check it out, if you haven't already. It's good music for mixin' it up, or shakin' it down, or a dance seizure, or laying in the grass, or just walkin' around by your lonesome.

* * * * *

Oh yeah, and here's what they look like...

Hitchcock is a Superstar!

2005-11-20T07:30:00.000-08:00

Mike and I just got Netflix and decided to watch Hitchcock's classic, Notorious, the other night. Amazing! Breathtaking! Incredible shots! Ididn't think that anything could top Vertigo in my mind, but the portly Englishman proved me wrong...again.

***

If for no other reason, everyone should see this film because Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant are two of the hottest people I think I've ever seen. They're stunning in the film. Everything's loaded with sexual tension (prrrrrr....), and suspense, and charm. If you haven't already, see it!

***

(I mean, come on, could they honestly be any better looking?)

My Latest Obsession

2005-11-07T15:44:00.000-08:00

So, I stumbled upon Fran Herbello's photography this past summer in Ann Arbor as I was inventing new ways to proscrastinate--actually, more like deviate--from my prelims reading list. In a word, I'd say that his photos are "on"--in every sense of the word. They're beautiful, and creepy, and staged, and utterly bizarre, and lovely. I'll be writing about these images below (and others) one of these days...but, for now, here's a taste. Hope you dig 'em.

Supposedly his work is all done with model prep and careful staging/lighting. Most people seem to mistake his images for digital manipulations of body parts when, in reality, it's his expression of the camera's direct intervention over bodies...

And, who, of course, doesn't want a hot sexy pair of hair-stocking covered legs? Hmmmmmmmm, hair-stockings, legs....

Definitely a favorite--bizarre, uncanny, cleanly shaven, sewn ass cheeks.

More images to come soon...

First entry (oh baby!)

2005-11-01T19:17:00.000-08:00

Hi Mongo! I love your poetry.

Your Fan,
Mongo