linducha

Surround Sound to Dance

The first piece of the Trisha Brown Dance group started in silence, with several dancers onstage in metallic costumes. I thought at first that something happened to the sound. Then it was obvious that this was a piece without music. A bit later in the piece, the dancers continued to do their yoga/pilates-inspired gestures while I heard what sounded like a marching band from the right, outside corridor. Could it be that the UofMN marching band was practicing outside while hundreds of audience members were trying to concentrate on the dancers on stage? The band must have passed on to the next street. People were whispering about the clashing performances of the reknown dance group and the somewhat off-tune marching band. The dancers moved toward the next segment; their legs and arms jerking and flowing almost in time with the patriotic blasts of the trumpets and constant rat-a-tat-tat of the snare drums. All of a sudden the marching band was behind the audience in the corridor, moving at a slow pace; the volume coming and going as the band circled the outside perimeter of the audience and dancers on stage. During the pause until the next piece, nearly everyone reached for their programs to find out if the marching band was indeed part of the performance.

IKEA-OS

The other day we went to IKEA to purchase a stainless steel kitchen counter. We first located the item, along with its wire shelves, on the IKEA website. So, all we had to do was go over there, find the counters, and place an order in the warehouse and we'd be on our way. We approached the parking lot and immediately found the yellow entrance sign. While taking the escalator up, we started salivating when we saw the brightly colored ad for poached salmon with dill and red potatoes. We decided right then and there to have dinner first. The IKEA dining room was a bit sparse, but, according to my Swedish mom, the open-faced shrimp and hard-boiled egg sandwich was not to be missed. The two tired ladies were at the ready, their ladles anticipating the floating poached salmon with béarnaise sauce, along with the red potatoes and very overcooked greens. The next stop was the densely packed apple torte resting on a lake of vanilla sauce. I had to have the black current sparkling juice to wash it all down. We passed the high top tables and chose the lower seating with the comfortable dome lights hovering just over our heads. Once we took the last bite of apple torte, we were off to the showroom to find our new "Udden", with its parts.

The escalator took us to the grand showroom that really just moves you around a very large warehouse from kitchen to office, to bedroom. The signs lead you around, with promises that the checkout is near. We finally saw our Udden, its stainless steel gleaming in the distance. We decided that two wire shelves would create a lot of space for all our appliances, pans, and cutting boards. We took the name and number down and made our way around the showroom toward the warehouse where we would pick up our countertop in boxes, ready to assemble. We made it to the warehouse where there were sturdy shelves holding multiple IKEA products ready to be loaded onto large dollies. After about ten minutes, we spotted a guy in a yellow IKEA shirt. We sighed with relief that we could finally be on our way. We showed him our order form and he promptly asked us what the shelf number and bin number were on this item. We didn't notice any such thing, only the name "Udden" and the wire shelf names. He informed us that, since the item didn't have a shelf number or bin number, we had to go back to the showroom to order it from one of the sales people. As we rolled our eyes at the thought of trudging through the showroom once again, we made our way back, found another Udden and, after several minutes, we located a yellow shirt. This sales person was very noncommittal; somewhat annoyed that we had spotted her. Even though we were standing right in front of our Udden, she said that she really needed a visual of the item! We thought that maybe the IKEA magazine could point this out in a clearer manner. She walked us back to the warehouse and found one of her yellow-shirted colleagues who was stationed at a computer. This new yellow shirt was fairly new and entered our Udden serial numbers not once, but twice. All she had to do was make a printout and we'd be on our way to the cashier. Unfortunately, the printer was blinking red. A very youthful yellow shirt rescued her and our order form was in our hands. The cashier was very automated with directions and a smile as she motioned toward the pickup counter; the blue counter. Ernesto said, "Well, which blue counter? They're all blue!" It was indeed the blue counter at the far end of the store. Once we were all packed in the car, our boxes in the back seat, we were relieved to realize that we were actually done with the IKEA shopping experience. Now I know why IKEA is a multi-billion dollar industry. They don't spend money on training their staff.

Playa Fun

Ernesto and I went to Playa del Carmen last week. This was the fifth time there. I just can't say enough about this wonderful place. I go to Playa for a truly relaxing vacation. The days started with running on the beach. It's quite a challenge to run on sand because it has very little resistance, and the tide coming in moves you from left to right. The big reward at the end of the run is to take off your running shoes and dive into the ocean. Breakfast included the usual huevos rancheros and plenty of fresh papaya with a generous sprinkle of lime juice. The rest of the morning and afternoon was spent on the beach body surfing, soaking up the sun, and looking forward to a cold Victoria and octopus, shrimp, and cod ceviche. Later on we'd meander over to the new gay Tukan beach and sit back at the bar with a piña colada while we'd watch people bake on the beach. There were usually a group of guys doing acrobatics, assisted by an embedded bosu ball in the sand. Some days they had drummers to accompany them.

By around 4pm we'd head back to the hotel room for our nap in the hammocks. I really like the Shangri La Caribe hotel. This is the second time we go there. The "garden" rooms we stayed in have two levels. They look like they were designed by an architect influenced by Swiss chalets and Mayan palapas. The second floor rooms, where we stayed, have vaulted ceilings since they are part of the palapa. They all have balconies with hammocks. After our nap, we'd get ready to go out on the town. "La Quinta", or 5th avenue, runs parallel to the beach. La Quinta has lots of restaurants, most of them Italian. There are plenty of ex-patriot and quaint Mexican bars, and gift shops with hand made crafts. I realized that thousands of people walked up and down the beach during the day, and in the evening, thousands of people walked up and down La Quinta. We did the same, and eventually we actually had to make the one decision for the day. Where should we go for dinner?!

Mum's the Word

Day One
I just completed day one of jury duty. There must have been at least 100 people in the jury assembly room this morning. We watched a short video about the jury selection process and then we were free to sit for hours, until our name was called. I managed to keep myself preoccupied with work all morning; copying over all of the website files to the new site. We broke for lunch, a generous hour and a half. I am amazed at how many new restaurants there are in the skyways. It’s like a little, elevated city flowing with suits, long cues at all the soup & sandwich places, all abuzz during lunch rush. The afternoon was very long since I ran out of work and I just didn’t feel like starting a new book.

Day Two
9am. I am ready to hear my name. I hope that, at least, the case is interesting. Two large groups of people have been called this morning. The judge and the lawyers will question them, apparently in front of the other jurors. That must be really strange to have to disclose personal information in front of complete strangers!

11:40. Apparently I’m not going to be called this morning since lunch time is drawing near. They probably give an hour and a half for lunch to throw you off. I’d much rather get called and get it over with instead of killing time in the skyways. I feel like I have one of those ankle bracelets on that monitor a felon's whereabouts. I am free to go home, but I need to make an appearance every day, check in, check out, and check back in.

1:37pm. I moved to the “business center” this afternoon, where I plugged in my laptop yesterday, to avoid any unsolicited chatter. It’s quiet in here and it doesn’t smell like stale cigarettes. Fortunately, I am still able to hear the loudspeaker in this room that is just off the main room. I am reading Dan Brown’s “Deception Point”. It’s not exactly a Grisham; a few levels above. It’s an easy read with good character development, and it transports me to another place. I had to buy it again because Frida knocked over some massage oil, soaking the last five chapters beyond legibility.

2:10pm. Still no word. Am I supposed to sit here all day, every day for two weeks? What kind of a silly system do they have for calling jurors? No wonder people dread jury duty.

2:45pm. I hear my name as the loudspeaker cracks. Then I hear it again. I fumble for my things and make my way out of the “business center.” I frantically enter the main room, saying “Here!” so as not to miss my jury call. We lined up in the hallway, waiting to ascend to our jury room where we would be selected. The curly-haired judge called each of us and motioned toward the “comfortable chairs.” We were all seated and asked, in order, a series of general jury-related questions. Next, each potential juror was summoned to the witness chair to answer random questions posed by each lawyer. Some were accepted, based on their possible contribution to the case, and others were indirectly excused. The excused were inevitably sent back to "the pen."

Day 3
9am. It could happen today. I could be chosen as an actual juror. The case is slated to end in two days. The remaining potential jurors are given a chance to answer questions on the witness stand. The two potential jurors answered questions asked by the lawyers, abbreviated dialogues meant to speed up the process, since we had to wait for an hour and a half to get started. Fortunately for them, they were the last two chosen, and the three remaining stooges, including me, were sent back to the pen. All the rejects were there, including the ones not chosen and the jurors who had finished their cases. Even though their cases were over, there was still a week and a half left of service. By the end of the day, when we were released early, I felt like a prisoner on "Lost".

Day Four, Thursday
I sat in the big room today, just to do something different. The two young guys at the next table were babbling about a lot of things, one guy doing all the talking, and the other simply acknowledging with his "ah-hahs." After the first group was called, without me, I slipped into a pseudo slumber, staying awake with all of the chatter, ring tones, and distant laughter. I opened my eyes at some point and went for my designated five minute break. Fortunately I brought the camera today. I took a number of shots in the skyway with the sun spilling in and people walking briskly to their next engagement. Something to do...edit photos. I read the paper again, just in case I missed something. I meandered into the quiet "business center" with a dog-eared paperback of Othello. I just couldn't concentrate on the Shakespearean English, so I reverted back to reading "Deception Point" again, just in case I missed something the first time around.

Déjà vu was sweeping over me when lunch was called. Once again, I didn't make the morning jury cut. Would I be so lucky in the afternoon to be one of the chosen ones? It's really just a stupid lottery. Yesterday, the odds were definately in my favor since I was among the last 25 people, qualifying for a full group. Sure enough, as soon as the jurors ended their case, they rejoined the pool, as well as several people from the "on call" list. So, I was back at square one, a mere number among many potential jurors.

I was happy to discover that the Royal Orchid, which used to be on "Eat Street", had a new skyway location. The very animated owner was there too, doling out Thai curries and crispy rolls. I said that I remembered how he used to carve beautiful flowers out of watermelons and cantelopes. I sat down for a quick green curry with vegetables and continued taking skyway photos. Most people were too busy to dodge the photographer, so I had some willing subjects. When I arrived at the pen, I realized that I had forgotten to buy another book. Perhaps I could doze off again. There was only one group called late in the afternoon, but they were sent home because the judge wasn't ready for them. Surprisingly, the rest of us were given Friday off. We were finally elevated to "on call" status for the following week. I guess that my civic duty was simply to be a potential juror.

The Burning Goat

Every year, an enormous goat made of straw is erected in the town square of Gävle, Sweden. And every year, there's always someone who tries to burn it down. I lived there for a year in high school but they hadn't come up with a plan to burn it down that year. But when I think of various pagan rituals, they usually involved fire. Sankta Lucia, a tale that originated in Italy about a pagan saint that fed the poor and brought light to the darkest day of the year, is all about the fire that supposedly burned her at the stake. As for the goat, perhaps the people of Gävle should build it every year, and burn it every year simply to celebrate the Christmas season.

Francine's lost "babies"

Francine just has a way of entertaining herself. She now has five multi-colored, catnip-filled mice that look a lot like her. So, we call it her "baby". We went out of town for a week and came back to discover that none of her "babies" were in sight. So, like before, I put a flashlight underneath the couch, the shelves, and even the bed. We still haven't solved the mystery. We'll probably buy another litter of the catnip-stuffed mice, they'll go missing again, and some day we will find a mountain of dust-bunnied mice in some obscure place.

Goin' Medieval

When Romina said that she and her husband had a restaurant just north of Madrid in a medieval town, I had a general idea of what it looked like; perhaps it was just outside of the main square that had been preserved for historical reasons and tourism. Sergio picked us up in Segovia and we made our way through the winding hills toward a walled city. As we entered through the prominent arch, we teased him saying that he had the keys to the city. The cobblestone streets led us toward the restaurant and the roundabout surrounding the tree, or "olma", which is also the name of the restaurant, "La Olma de Pedraza". Romina and Sergio had a large party that night, so we hung out at the bar. Much later, we sat down at a private table upstairs. Romina and Sergio brought dish after dish of incredible seafood, from fresh squid in their ink to a cod that melted in your mouth. Everything was delicious. We also sampled several desserts, including an almond Tarta de Santiago, and a variety of Spanish brandies. Sergio brought a few extra, unopened bottles saying that we could not open them because they were for us to take home.

Trip from Hell

I was so excited to go to Madrid this time around. The last time I was there, I was allergic to seafood so all I could have were spanish tortillas. For the most part, the trip was all about food; going to tapas bars and swilling Riojas. I guess that the trouble started when we realized how rampant theft was in Madrid. Anne and I went to a shoe store one evening where an elderly woman carefully eased under my jacket, slid the zipper down on my travel purse, and stole all my money. I didn't notice until the next day when I needed some cash. When we were at the train station, Anne felt a hand go for the zipper on her purse. Fortunately, she felt it and slapped the thief's hand saying "No!" Perhaps the thief was an amateur. A few days later, Ernesto and I were in a cafe looking out onto the street. An older man knocked hard on the window and pointed toward the floor. A man sat next to Ernesto seconds later. I looked again at the floor and discovered that there were a set of keys. I brought the keys to the barista, thinking that someone had lost them. When I returned, Ernesto realized that his bag was gone that had his new Leica and cellphone. They even made it more believable by having a woman return to the bar to ask for her keys. Most theft is very organized and usually involves at least three people. I am determined to come up with a theft-proof bag, complete with a taser.

Edgardo Mine

We went to see Edgardo Mine, by Alfred Uhry, at the Guthrie last night; a very good play about a young Jewish boy that is cared for by a Catholic nanny. He has a very high fever and his nanny takes it upon herself to baptize him so that “he will not burn in the depths of hell, but instead go to heaven among the angels.” He is then abducted from his home and taken to the Vatican. Only after publishing letters of protest and summoning the French emperor is his family allowed to see their son. The Pope then proposes that they live in Rome with their son, as long as they agree to convert to Catholicism. Although the play takes place over a hundred years ago, a lot of the same issues still ring true today; whether one religion is better than another, politics and religion make for an evil mix. We saw the “Pope” swilling drinks with the rest of the cast at Cue.

Paparazzi Halloweening

We went to a great Halloween party last night. Nearly everyone was in costume, including a bird cage, an aging and bloated Spock, a stitched-up Marilyn Manson, a chain-smoking Superman, and lots of greasy disco dudes. Ernesto and I were rookie paparazzi from the 1950's, complete with our Leica cameras and "official flickr party photographer" badges. Unfortunately, this was one of the last parties at the Tyler Street studios. Most of the artists are going to be kicked out this winter; a random selection of tenants to be displaced by, shall we say, condominiums? It felt like déjà vu, remembering all of the fun parties we had at the Colonial.