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Monday, February 20, 2012

The Yak and the Mouse

And this is the second sonnet:


I now tell how a yak is like a mouse
and how both, though different, did fall in love.
The yak did not invite guests to his house
but one morning he spied a walking glove
and watched it curiously from above.
Careful not to stomp it with iron hoof
he lifted it, now gentle as a dove.
A quivering mouse scurried about, aloof.
That creatures could be gentle this was proof.
The yak was moved and gave the mouse a home.
The mouse would stick her head out of his floof
and both were content to talk and to roam.
Though they both had nothing, neither felt poor
for they had each other and needed no more.

The Yak


In English class we took a look at some sonnets. I really liked them, and I thought it would be fun to write my own. It's a lot harder than it looks, and this was my first attempt.

He stands steadfast upon the grassy mount
Glow'ring over caved in mountain goat dens.
His eyes glance on more mice than I can count
But he sees them through a distorted lens.
Little does he notice the pecking hens
nipping at his hardened hooves like fury
because they cannot lock him in their pens
and less when preening their wings with flurry.
Beneath his feet other rodents scurry
But only upon this one does he gaze
And waits for her to come with no hurry.
They will live their squeaky, silent days
Happy in difference, and happy in same
Neither one totally winning the game.

Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day is always disappointing. Mainly this is because the bright pink hearts hanging from the ceiling mixed with the smell of burning chocolate hypes us up to receive. Love, gifts, romance, sex. If you don't have a boyfriend, it's easy to be glum. Suddenly you notice all the cute, happy couples in which all the girls are more attractive than you and who get to waltz in late to class because they were busy holding hands with their boyfriends in the hall and who are probably going to get a nice dinner and flowers later while you cry your eyes out in your room over your ex- where is he anyway? Everything becomes a sign that other people are more worthy of love, and every candy heart you eat makes you feel worse. But the happy smiles on those couples' faces are faker than yours. For girls, there will never be enough pampering on Valentine's Day. A single red rose just means our guy can't afford any more. A bouquet had better be followed by an amazing evening or else we'll get excited for nothing. A fancy dinner is a must, and if we can't use our new cocktail dress it's not good enough. Since it's Valentine's Day, we're allowed to overeat, and any sign of unhappiness or disgust at our voraciousness from our man makes us pouty. After dinner, some dancing is preferable, but really anything that entails the guy catering to our euphoria will do.

It's hard to live up to expectations, needless to say.
Guys in relationships get the worst deal, though. They have to dish out the dough for things that will only make their girl unhappy and then when they want a hug, kiss, whatever, the girl either doesn't think it's romantic enough or is too mad to do anything.
The best way to avoid all of this is to not do anything. The guy's margin of benefit will not dip into the negative hundreds, and girls will enjoy less romance more at a later date. In the end, everyone is happier except Hershey's.
That still doesn't make me feel better.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Good Leads, Bad Leads

I do a lot of dancing now, and all this dancing has made me attuned to differences between leaders. There are some things I like and some I don't.

Good leads:
1. Lead. I almost can't enjoy a dance if my lead isn't leading, because I have to concentrate on trying to follow him with no direction from him.
2. Ask someone to dance politely. And this goes for follows too. One of my friends asks people to dance by holding out his hands and wiggling his fingers. It's ok when he does it with me, because he knows me really well, but if a random stranger did that I would consider it kind of rude, because he's basically ordering me to dance. There's no opportunity to say no if I don't want to.
3. Have fun with dancing. I love dancing with leads who are having fun, and leads love dancing with follows who have fun. It makes me feel good that someone is enjoying my company and is having a good time dancing with me.

Bad Leads:
1. Get mad at their follows. It's a dance, guys. If we can't follow you, it's probably because you aren't leading us well enough, but if you are and we don't get it, the dance is supposed to be about having fun. You can suffer through three minutes of horrible following, thank us, and move on. We don't intend to be horrible.
2. Ignore the bubble. Yesterday when I went salsa dancing someone danced with me and hugged me, and put his hand not quite too low but almost. I told him I wasn't comfortable with that kind of dancing, but he ignored me. It was very uncomfortable, and rest assured I will not be dancing with him again.
3. Apologize for everything. Just like leads shouldn't get mad a bad follows, follows shouldn't get mad at leads who can't lead. We may not enjoy the dance, but we accept that the lead can't lead very well and make the best of it. We don't need to hear apologies for every mistake you make. Believe me, we know how you feel.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Me No Like Players

An interesting difference of opinions came up between Olaf and I a few days ago.

I dislike guys who sleep around more than girls who sleep around, and he dislikes girls who sleep around more than guys who sleep around.
Obviously, one reason we could think differently about this is that girls who sleep around are more threatening to guys than other guys getting it on with whomever. And guys are more threatening to girls.
I think there might be more to it, though. Logically, I should dislike girls who sleep around more, because they should hurt my chances of finding a boyfriend who hasn't had a dozen bedmates. They also give girls in general a bad reputation, assuming people assume higher numbers of sluts in the population than there actually are. They make sex more accessible to the guys girls want to be with, so those guys don't need to commit to relationships.
Guys who sleep around are just filling the stereotype that males are constantly horny.

Of course, upon further examination, slutty girls do not hurt my chances of finding a boyfriend who isn't sexually inundated. This is because a large population of the girls that sleep around tend to sleep with a small population of boys. The bad reputation I'm not sure about, because I don't know how most people view women. I'm inclined to think that people assume that most women they meet are not sluts. As for guys girls want to be with, I'm not even sure if I'd like the kinds of guys that get a lot of free action, or that I could get them if they weren't sleeping around.
That means I have no reason to dislike girls for their behavior, other than when they cheat on my friends.
What does that leave? The threat that a player might try and use me, and personality. Players tend to be more narcissistic and get a lot of attention, both of which turn me off to the idea of hanging around them. Narcissists are irritating because they think they're better than they are. People that get a lot of attention are more likely to be narcissistic, and I also dislike larger crowds of loud, obnoxious people.
I'm not entirely sure why it's important, but Olaf asked me why we had the difference of opinion and I couldn't quite give him an answer on the spot. Not at least I have more insight into the matter.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

The Second Worst Month

The professor is waving
his hands at a blank screen
ignoring the blinding reflection
of swirling snow
which winks a pearly sheen.

My pineapple chunks
reek of sugar and sweet
but I swallow the exotic sun
and run my tongue
over the make-believe heat.

This month- made alive by
a fruit- is an otherwise wan
array of bleak gray days.
At least before you realize
what happened, it's

Monday, January 30, 2012

Calle 13

These lyrics, once translated, are beautiful, and when I heard the chorus of this song I was struck by it.
I'm posting it now in Spanish, and maybe I'll translate it later.

Soy, soy lo que dejaron, Soy las sobras de lo que te robaron,
Un pueblo escondido en la cima, Mi piel es de cuero por eso aguata cualquier clima,
Soy una fábrica de humo, Mano de obra campesina para tu consumo,
En el medio del verano, El amor en los tiempos del cólera,
Mi hermano!

Soy el que nace y el día que muere, Con los mejores atardeceres,
Soy el desarrollo en carne viva, Un discurso sin saliva,
Las caras más bonitas que he conocido, Soy la fotografía de un desaparecido,
La sangre dentro de tus venas, Soy un pedazo de tierra que vale la pena,
Una canasta con frijoles.

Soy Maradona contra Inglaterra Anotándole dos goles.
Soy lo que sostiene mi bandera, La espina dorsal de mi planeta, en mi cordillera.
Soy lo que me enseño mi padre, El que no quiere a su patria no quiere a su madre.
Soy América Latina un pueblo sin piernas pero que camina.

Tú no puedes comprar al viento,
Tú no puedes comprar al sol
Tú no puedes comprar la lluvia,
Tú no puedes comprar al calor.
Tú no puedes comprar las nubes,
Tú no puedes comprar mi alegría,
Tú no puedes comprar mis dolores.

Tengo los lagos, tengo los ríos, Tengo mis dientes pa cuando me sonrío,
La nieve que maquilla mis montañas, Tengo el sol que me seca y la lluvia que me baña,
Un desierto embriagado con pellotes, Un trago de pulque para cantar con los coyotes,
Todo lo que necesito!

Tengo a mis pulmones respirando azul clarito,
La altura que sofoca, Soy las muelas de mi boca mascando coca,
El otoño con sus hojas desmayadas, Los versos escritos bajo las noches estrelladas,
Una viña repleta de uvas, Un cañaveral bajo el sol en cuba,
Soy el mar Caribe que vigila las casitas, Haciendo rituales de agua bendita,
El viento que peina mi cabello, Soy todos los santos que cuelgan de mi cuello,
El jugo de mi lucha no es artificial porque el abono de mi tierra es natural.
Vamos caminando, vamos dibujando el camino!

Trabajo bruto pero con orgullo, Aquí se comparte lo mío es tuyo,
Este pueblo no se ahoga con marullos, Y si se derrumba yo lo reconstruyo,
Tampoco pestañeo cuando te miro, Para que te recuerdes de mi apellido,
La operación cóndor invadiendo mi nido, Perdono pero nunca olvido, oye!

Vamos caminado, aquí se respira lucha.
Vamos caminando, yo canto porque se escucha.
Vamos caminando, aquí estamos de pie.
Que viva Latinoamérica.
No puedes comprar mi vida!


More lyrics: http://www.lyricsmania.com/latinoamerica_lyrics_calle_13.html
All about Calle 13: http://www.musictory.com/music/Calle+13