Explaining "As much use as a chocolate fireguard" to an adult student:

"So a fireguard is a little iron wall, and you put it in front of the fire for safety. So the children can't get near."

-"Aaah, yes, I know.

"So, how useful is a chocolate fireguard?"

-"Not useful!"

"Good! And why not?" (I want to see if he knows the word "melt.")

-"It is not useful! The children will eat it!"

Oh.

Everyone should just make art their friends like.

Cuz no matter how special one's friends are, there are still tons of people like them.

These are my poem a day poems.

Every Day

There will be more.

Every day there will be more.

Color Party!
In an effort to peel off our winter crusts (because scabbing hides infection) we threw a color party in our flat. The theme was color both in defiance of winter and to encourage our guests to wear something other than slimming black. It didn't really work:



But I guess super beautiful people have flower faces anyway. See my housemates, Ivan and Elodie and Ewan, flanked by Gonzalo and Patri:



Elodie and I made colorful food. Some of it also tasted good.



I guess it was a good party. Our couch got moved. This is Rosanil who uses her excellent English to call me "little fellow."



Unfortunately I fell asleep with a headache a sore throat and jetlag early on, on a pile of coats.

Then Hannah came! We ate. She should live here.

Secret surprise!



Beginning: Mary Kate cut my hair! So see here's how it went down: I was shaggy, so shaggy. Then! It was the first day of school. So! I hopped on a bus and went to school, and there were maybe three teachers and six students and no coffee and it turned out the governor had decided that due to snow (snap out of it, europe) classes were canceled BUT schools were not closed. Yep: all schools must open, but no teaching allowed. So! I and the other auxiliar de conversación were sent home (we took cookies from the teachers lounge to make up for the 7 euro transportation costs) (not that we won't be paid for that day) while some of the other teachers who had not listened to the radio that morning stayed and watched the stranded kids whose parents had also not listened to the radio that morning.

End: So! That's why my hair is different.

okay Middle: Sooo I called Mary Kate, who also works for a snowstruck public school, and with sweets and coffee manipulated her into spending oh maybe an hour slivering my hair off. Mary Kate, as the Spanish say: muak muak muak.

Ah.



It's snowing.

Fifth grade ran out of steam today and the teacher declared a game of hangman. Fifth grade is tricky, partly because only three of the 20 students are girls, and partly because the bilingual program only came to the school two years ago. Because they didn't have the advantage of starting young, fifth is struggling with more or less the same lessons as the third graders: past, present, future, and whatever vocabulary their science book demands (jungle animals, currently).

Hangman is fun, though. A boy spaced this phrase on the blackboard:

"- - - - - - - - - - - -"

"A" someone said (yelled).

" - - A - - - - - - A - -"

One of the three girls shot a hand up. "Yes, I know, it is Play Football!" she said. Correct. Everyone laughed. Football=soccer, remember...all the kids are obsessed. "It's so easy to know what boys are thinking about" she said in Spanish as she spaced her word on the board. A long word:

"- - - - - - - - - -"

They still don't know how to guess. Instead of starting with vowels they choose the obscure consonants. The first correct guess, with half the man hanged, was "C"

"C - - C - - - - -"

"Crocodile!" said (yelled) one boy. Correct. "It's so easy to know what girls are thinking about."

Papa said photos, put up photos. So! While I wait for photos of Lisboa from Hannah, and photos of floor-mosaicking from Rocío, and photos of last summer from Elen...let's look at pictures of music.

Did I even mention how nice my single day back in Berlin and reunion with Heiko was? It was about as pleasant as something exciting can be. We just mainly were near guitars. I sang along with Heiko at somebody's birthday party and at this concert here at a patio bar/gallery:



We are in a box. The door is supposed to be closed, the musicians only visible by screen and peephole, but since all the kids at the event were playing inside when it was time for Heiko to perform we let them stay. They played all the instruments I had been nervous about having to play while Heiko sang his songs, and then we all sang "Beat it" and it was REALLY FUN only we were all yelling and one littler girl started to cry. Which is why we put children, generally, in cradles and parks and not in boom boxes.

Onward! In November I met these lovely Swedish ukulelists, and because they are tall and beautiful and like Beirut and the Magnetic Fields I took them to Eszenas, that flamenco/tea/hippie/unlicensed place I always talk about.



They are Martin and Inti, and for this month we are in a band called The Autism. We hope the name does not sound mean, it is meant in homage.



So this is what some people look like these days!

La EKKA is hosting a Free Market this Sunday. Baskets and buckets and barrels of free clothing, free coffee, art for to freely view music to freely hear.

Also Juliana will be doing her truly funny SCUM Manifesto one-woman show. ¡Julí!




I am to play the ukulele and lose my voice and forget things.



The picture is NOT retouched. It is lit up cuz the natch light was weak. It has nothing to do with I cannot balance a ukulele on my head and look pretty simultaneously.

Propaganda




In what sort of mood was I yesterday? The absolute best possible thing was Constructivism.

guys today one student who was also my student last year called the berlin wall "The Fallen Fence."

Oh guys. Gosh. I'm sorry I I every day coming back from school in the train, often with a cookie took from the teacher's scrounge oh ho ho i mean lounge, honeys, I take the train ride back and I think of all the Moments and all the Notable Differences and all the Ducks and all the Analyzable Structure and then I read my book and fall asleep and wake up and come home and do the grocery scrimping and then I do not update my blog! And it has been ages. My oh my. What's up. I love my little school. I hate waking up early. Today I used rubber bands to explain muscles. I also hugged a bunch of kids back and also swatted another kid who was making fun of someone crying. A Difference. Hugging and swatting. It's so good, so useful, especially in a bilingual school where communication is precarious. But! What I've been excited about this week: the kids are learning English. They ARE. Everyone suddenly can speak a little, can definitely understand a bunch. Especially the 1st through 3rd. The difference is palpable.

From the Salon:

Right


Left


Straight ahead.



My room from below.



My room from above.



The hall is not always so dark.



Honeys mines I've been, let's see, 3 months out of Madrid, um almost a month on New York's couches, this is math, um another week at home, I was in Germany for more than a week and then later one day more, I just can't count the houses and beds and friendships I crashed on, we'd better ellipse...I got into Madrid the 27th and I didn't move into anywhere until the night before last. I'm homestarved, I think in this state any old bunker would satiate, BUT: this house is sunripened, handpicked, local grown organic uh a 20 year old WOOFer named Michael with a beard played flute to it while it grew...it's a good apartment.



The street is called Costanilla de los Desamparados, which means "itsy sloping street of the Homeless." Which ho ho ho, feels right. We're certainly camping at the moment, unmoved in, unfridged beer and floorspace conferences.

It's Atocha zone (by the gorgeous train station), metro Antón Martin, officially part of the Barrio de las Letras, or Literature Neighbourhood, where famous phrases have been bronzed and hammered into the pavement.

Our flat! Right about Lavapiés, where we lived last year. It's up in the world, and it is where we have moved. The rooms are big and sunny, the hall is big enough to gallop up, down, wide enough to lean in and converse, all four of us plus someone's friends, the floors are wood (excepting that of the big chummy kitchen, which is brick)...there's a balcony in the living room, plenty of traffic noise tra la. We're all pretty in love at the moment, with the apartment and with each other for having stuck through and stuck together and found this THING, this beautiful sunny thing. Ewan already is making noises about staying in it more than the (age! age!) year we have contracted.

tomorrow i find out EVERYTHING. everything. times, places, fates, faces for the names. candy for the baby. all things!

Dear Guys,
I am coming to the East Coast, which is where some of you sometimes are. Are you there? I would love it if you were. I will be in New York City and in New Jersey sometimes, but I am without itinerary generally. I come the 24th of this month and I leave the 17th of the next month so I have some time to sleep on your couch and discuss being lost in this world, which is big. Let's compare struggles and cook, sometimes bake. Also can I sleep on your couch.
With my utmost request,
Sophie

¿se conoce alpedrete?

Home



Home



Home



Home



Home

A lot of the women from the Eskalera Karakola are lesbians---or bi, or trans, or otherwise queer--and many are immigrants. The Sunday brunch often turns into a discussion of various forms of discrimination these women experience, at work, in the street, and in the gay community. The term "gay pride" is particularly controversial, in part because "gay" conceals lesbian presence, and in part because, for most of these women, pride has never really been the issue so much as basic rights and dignity. Most have been victims of hate crimes, some have lost friends, and, as much in Spain as in their home countries, many have lost jobs. Since Spain allows gay marriage, facilitating gay migration, it is seen as a hub of gay culture; the Pride celebrations here attract zillions of tourists from all over the world.

The mainstream pride celebrations are mostly held in Chueca, the (expensive and male-dominated) so-called "gay" district of Madrid. My wonderful abundant Asor made the poster above to advertise various alternative activities the Ekka and others have organized: lectures, marches, fundraiser concerts and discussions focusing on the plight of immigrants and other otherized minorites. I've been participating as much as I can in these last few packed packing days--saw Asor and Camila speak, saw some legendary women rappers at a squat in a graaaaveyard, hoo, and have littered my neighborhood with propaganda.

I love the women of the Eskalera Karakola, and can't imagine this year without them. They accepted me completely, they've given me so much---many became my students, and many my friends. They're one of the biggest reasons I'm excited to come back.

When Mary Kate was here we hung out with them a lot. She was also impressed by how open and kind (and fun) they were--how the Brunch was truly a social space for women, not a cruise bar or a cult. We all went to see Clara in a concert in which Pedro Guerra and Ismael Serrano also played. Also a dude from my neighborhood who works in my favorite bodega.

Clara and the dude she played with:



The triumphant metro ride back--we pushed Anixua, the gorgeous Canary sexologist in the center, to get her photo taken with Pedro Guerra and Ismael Serrano like she wanted, and now she loves us very much:



The next day we celebrated Asor's birthday at a Cuban restaurant:



Anixua, Asor, Asor's childhood friend, me, Stef--Mk is taking the photo:

It's the last ten days! I'm miz, really. But how pretty things've been: Mary Kate was lovely here, charmed my friends and will hopefully send over some pictures so I can prove how charming. Since she left two more guests have come and gone.

Last Thursday morning Lizy phoned, saying she was near the center and would call me once she reached Lavapies. I said great darling, I'll have a student in my room but you can bop around and make tea. I said I live in the plaza my address is--and she said oh I'll just call you. So, lovely. My dear student Pablo arrives, we discuss the poetry we read last week (W. Carlos Williams Plums/K. Koch parody of), we---we are distracted by what sounds like my name outside. I balcon.



There is no one. We resume class, 6 minutes pass, then I am sure I hear my name again: "Sophiieee, Sofía, guapa, Sophiiiia," balcon again and indeed, Lizy is calling me from the street (having fully circled the plaza). I beckon from balcony and she bounces upstairs and all is golden apples.

Later we picnic with Bea. Bea is someone I have mostly known through others: Sergio calls her his beloved, Lizy calls her her twin/shadow (and indeed when we met up Lizy wore long white and Bea long black, amazing). I'm so glad we finally made it into each other's lives. Bea's extraordinary, a witch baby but a real woman: someone, like Sergio, I'm sure I'll meet again. After Lizy left she stayed another night, before being off to Francy and Sicily.



Since Ivan left we've filled his room with guests every night. Last night I slept there, as that's where the sheets were. Soon I'll be a guest--then truly at home--then hoopla dee.

After Allison Bechdel drew me, or drew a photo of me, I remembered my desire to wander fiction in fictional form. It will happen in time. Sergio, when here, gave me a copy of his super super funny comic, Serio te lo digo.

This is he drawing something in the front:



And this is that thing:



Roundheadguy: Excuse me, can I ask you something?

Myhead1: No

Myhead2: No

Myhead3: Yes

Roundheadguy: Well...nevermind.


I THINK depicting me as a threeheaded contradictress was cuz drawing someone's face is hard but with three resemblance can be approximated. Yes? No?