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A Little from Column A . . . |
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Written by Domina M
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Aug 25, 2010 at 12:00 AM |
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My Spanish isn’t good enough for technical support. I could say my English isn’t good enough for technical support and not be that far off the mark. Tech support is all about the wording and pinning someone down to find the exact problem. No, I don’t need a new router. No, I don’t need to restart the computer. I assure you it’s not my software.
Rapidly spoken touchtone directions to a maze of menus sent me cross-eyed. Correlating the numbers I could pick out to the options I could not undersrand caused me to push random buttons until the system felt sorry for me and found an operator. I hoped an actual person could understand my dilemma and “no hablas rapido.” Instead I was sent to hold purgatory with a song that repeated every 40 seconds or so, and “baby” I really wanted it to “be okay,” for you. After a half hour the technical help line, unceremoniously dumped my call.
Many years ago there was a Mistress Vendetta who fancied hanging out with me in New York. One of us would get a call with someone who couldn’t speak properly. At that point we would both shout: “Foreign or stupid? Foreign or stupid? Foreign or stupid?” into the receiver. I wish I had never done that.
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Last Updated ( Aug 14, 2010 at 08:33 AM )
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Hoping Everything is Real |
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Written by Domina M
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Aug 24, 2010 at 12:00 AM |
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Of the things life does, at this moment, suck is not one of them. I am in Barcelona, where I have always dreamed of being and in a castle, to boot. I would like to think it’s from the middle ages, but it’s probably closer to 300 years old. At one time, someone planted a herb garden, which has become completely feral. Over the 14 acres of the compound one could bend over and have a large chance of plucking thyme, rosemary, mint or even a spring onion.
I have staff here, a maid, two chauffeurs and a carpenter that arrives every so often. My first few days here I felt like a princess, but now I know I have to be the queen. People serve a princess and she is in a constant state of repose. A queen must take control to get things done. The staff has not been forced to work that hard before I arrived, and the general attitude in Catalonia is that of “manana, manana, manana.” I’m more of “ahoy, ahoy, ahoy!” I will have to grasp everyone’s psyche; some people like the carrots; some people need the stick.
I had a dream last night where I tattooed all of my legs and arms like I had an entire rose garden growing up my limbs--something completely out of my personality. Then it went into the same dream I always have where a major plot element involves my walking through a strange structure that seems to have endless doorways, hallways and rooms that enter in to other rooms.
Perhaps that is why I feel so comfortable. I’ve lived in the building with a bizarre layout leading to seemingly endless rooms for years in my dreams. I’ve daydreamed about living in Barcelona for as many years.
Waking up is not an option.
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Last Updated ( Aug 14, 2010 at 08:34 AM )
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Written by Domina M
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Aug 23, 2010 at 12:00 AM |
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Barcelona always had a mythic place in my heart. I find it hard to even believe I am here and I smile idiotically at everything. People smile back.
How long everyone takes to do anything annoys the New Yorker heart that still beats inside of me. It is the heart of the tourist season, but, even though Barcelona is a huge tourist destination, most of the shops are closed. They want to holiday, too. I am again considered vulgar her as well because I work constantly and like nice things. Types like me are called “rats,” because we work like rats in a maze. I am told that the Americans, English, Germans, French and Japanese invent and produce things. The Spaniards enjoy them.
Most everyone speaks English and I can pass with my present tense Spanish and a little bit of charades. The French bartender speaks no English and I speak no French. We laugh, speaking Spanish in our own respective accents. I fall back into my habit of speaking with a lot of idioms and colloquialisms, which cause the English native speakers to look at me like I just grew a pair of horns. I figure it is all for the best. A little lack of communication means my bizarre sense of humor is a bit lost on everyone.
The streets wind around, like a plate of spaghetti and I get lost often. I don’t mind. I find cafés with Internet, plant my bottom down and wait for someone to eventually find me. In the cafés air-conditioning is scarce and the humidity covers every part of my body as though the air itself worshiped my under my clothing. Wearing make up is pointless. The humidity makes my skin soft, glowing so I really don’t need it.
I lost my wallet at the airport, or, more likely, I was pick-pocketed. Conversely from Beirut, petty crime runs rampant. The small courts are so backed up, the police only focus on anything that might cause personal harm. I am repeatedly warned to keep my purse directly in my presence at all times. Purse snatching is an art form here. The fear of God is put into me about this that I have dreams about chasing someone and taking them down to the ground.
The castle is a whole different story.
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Last Updated ( Aug 14, 2010 at 08:34 AM )
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Written by Domina M
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Aug 17, 2010 at 12:00 AM |
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Lebanon is such a strange land. I traveled several places in Asia, and so, it is not that much of a surprise. The cognitive dissonance is almost physically tangible here.
Some women wear burkkas. Others wear short shorts with strips of fabric that barely pass for tops. Many keep a strict Halal diet, but one can smoke and drink in restaurants almost 24 hours a day. At he beaches the lack of clothing almost makes me blush, almost.
Prostitution is rampant in Beirut. Usually our of strip clubs called “super night clubs.” My hosts shout “Bitches!” when they walk by and I clamp down on that immediately. I find that unacceptable. Petty and violent crime is almost unheard of, especially for tourists who everyone wants to return.
The one thing that sets me aside from most everyone is the fact I wear a lot of jewelry. It’s considered a vulgar display of vanity. I am okay with that. People stare at me everywhere I go, but more out of curiosity than anything disparaging. Everyone speaks English and is very friendly. I try to respect their culture with the few Arabic words I know, but they laugh and say my accent is cute.
It’s such an easy city, but I am hurried in my mind to get to Spain to see all the opportunities that wait for me there.
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Last Updated ( Aug 14, 2010 at 08:34 AM )
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Writings 
