Saturday, February 27, 2010

lost for words...in general



It's been quite a while since I last woke up just to have coffee and read the newspapers on the web, listening to "Ella and Louis", enjoying this blessed slowness on the advantages of which I have commented long ago. This can be seen from the density (not to mention quality) of the posts of this blog. As it often happens, the less you read, the less you are able to write. In fact, sometimes even speaking may deteriorate once you are kept away from books for long. This is more or less my case, for various reasons.

One. I am to travel to Crete once every week, where I have to either talk ceaselessly while lecturing undergraduates on Computational Biology and Programming, or bust my eyeballs in front of my tiny net-book screen while preparing the next lecture.
Two. Because of this work-travelling overload I have barely managed to read one book since the beginning of the year. A saddening output especially when compared to my prolific reading during my term in the army (which I still do not miss at all by the way). Two more books that I 've started reading through February, are still disgracefully lying on my small bed-table. Last but not least, I cannot remember the last time I entered a bookstore.
Three. Partly from guilt and partly from bad organization of leisure time, I have stopped reading on the web. That is no more newspapers, google-reader, daily news updates in four languages. All this is gone. My old colleagues will understand how big a change this is.

So, in one of this wonderfully ironic coincidences, I sat on my couch this morning to read my favourite Babelia on the web (by far the best thing being printed weekly in the Spanish language) where I came upon this article by columnist-writer Antonio Munoz Molina. Ironic, because this article somehow dealt with all of the above. Books, bookstores, talking and writing. I apologise to the non-spanish speakers unable to read this wonderful piece, for not providing a concise summary, but the truth is that it is not that easy to sum up all of the things that come through it.

The article starts with a quote by Hemingway and goes on to mention the closing of a certain bookstore in New York, then goes through a brief history of american literature of the 20th century and ends with a comparison of english and spanish in terms of verbosity, conciseness and wealth of vocabulary. All subjects I was connected to, one way or another.

One. Hemingway's mentioned quote was: "Each writer should have a built-in bullshitting detector". To which point I can already see the smiles on my ex-colleagues' faces. You see, during my term in Barcelona I have become famous for two things and these were: 1. bullshitting while talking (scientific talks included) and 2. bullshitting while writing (this blog included). Funnily enough, bullshitting got me through then and there and gets me through still through every class I have to teach. It's more of a style than an attitude and dear old Ernest can say whatever he wants.

Two. The bookstore about to close is Morningside Books somewhere on Broadway and 135th (or 136th, or 137th). I have only spent two months in New York but it so happened I was living a few blocks from that place and I vividly remember spending quite sometime browsing its the old, rusty shelves. I also remember its timid, humble window, which looked nothing like the picture above, taken from a fancy Athenian book store, with more books on the display than on the shelves. Come to think of it, Morningside Books must have been the only bookstore I entered while in NYC, probably intimidated by the size of the crowds in all the huge Barnes and Nobles. As I recalled, the boxes filled with old, used Virginia Woolfs and William Faulkners I was deeply saddened to hear the place is closing down.

Three. Spanish verbosity vs Anglosaxon strictness of content. Having lived in a place where I had to use these two languages interchangeably for more than three years I can see what Molina means. But I cannot help but think how overwhelmed he would be if he were to compare them to Greek. Being in that position (even though not at the level of an established academic like the one he is) I can testify Greek to be superior in bullshitting potential to all existing idioms. The wealth of terms, ambiguities, verbal and written forms is beyond any comparison.

In fact it is so overwhelming that I suddenly realize I am not doing well in not talking (or reading) that much these last weeks. And which also reminds me I have to stop writing and go on to make some long-promised phone calls to friends that have not heard me talking for ages.

(...not that they are missing anything...)

Sunday, February 14, 2010

three wild alley cats

For three whole years I have been walking late and alone through the streets of el Raval in Barcelona. I 've wandered in the alleys of the rumorous Condesa district in Mexico City. Once I got lost in the Bronx past midnight and on two occasions I had to go through some of the rough parts of South East London on my way home. But it was fate that I was to get mugged in downtown Athens, just a few blocks away from the place my father grew up.

It was probably fate because it was one of those nights when nothing works out as planned. First we failed to locate the place of the party we had initially set out for. Then, after ending up in Gazi, we chose a relatively dark alley to park far from the busy, noisy streets. And finally, we made for the bar the wrong direction, that is through the end of the alley instead of choosing a wider, busier street with better lighting. There at the end of the alley, three kids were waiting for us.

I 've witnessed similar situations before, not exactly the same, but cases where one needs to come in the defense of his own self. In cases like those there is one thing that always happens no matter how experienced one is, and that is you always do the wrong thing. Yesterday, I simply tried to run away from those three wild alley cats. Naturally I soon found myself lying on my stomach, while two of the kids were kicking my arm while pulling the stripe of my handbag. I came to my senses, calmed down and was allowed back on my feet only to see my friend Giorgos handing all his money to the senior of our attackers who was at the moment holding a knife gently pressed against my friend's abdomen.

I stood there, trying to grasp what was going on while the three kids (because they were just that, three kids with one -or at least one- knives) turned their backs at us, leaving us in the middle of a desert street. I felt less scared than angry, much more furious than afraid and was more eager of getting even than getting away. I started thinking of all the things I had done wrong. Wrong choice of street, wrong choice of attitude, I thought that I should have taken a different street or turned back the moment I saw them. As I looked around for a witness, some aid or consolation I caught a glimpse of a guy at the other end of the street, a guy who as soon as he caught sight of me watching him turned around and fled. Then I realized that there was no way we would have got away with it.

What had been done was done. We checked ourselves for wounds and scratches. As I found my thigh a bit less bruised than my pride and Giorgos felt his heart much lighter than his pocket, we saw that our casualties were not substantial enough to rob us of our first night out together since New Year's. I reached for a fifty Euro note at the bottom of my pocket and we decided to convert it to drinks as soon as possible. Thus we headed for the closest bar and had what must have been our most deserved drinks ever. At the end of the night each of us would go home with one more adventure to talk about.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

released-recaptured


Outside there is a nasty storm going on. I am asleep because of the freaking wind blasting against my window the whole of last night and trying to set up my new netbook while going through some bioinformatics papers with Brad Mehldau keeping me company. Tomorrow I will be leaving for Crete for the first class of my new job appointment. In brief, a lot of things have changed since the last post some weeks ago.

The rainbow seen from outside the window of my new flat is more than three weeks old. Which says a thing or two for how busy I 've been over this period. A new job that needed all the necessary preparations (mostly of psychological and bureaucratical nature), some old projects still pending and a lot of background household life, the thing I dare to admit, enjoy the most.

It seems thus that my wish came true and so soon after getting over with the ironic joke that the military service really is, I am back on track again, more active than ever (or perhaps as active as I 'd like to be), ready for a new start.

Released from the army - Recaptured by life. Lets see if I can stand the captivitiy