You say tomayter

Via Ogged, see what kind of English you speak. It would be more interesting if the quiz broke down what is "General American English," but its not that finely tuned a tool.

Your Linguistic Profile:
55% General American English
35% Dixie
5% Upper Midwestern
5% Yankee
0% Midwestern

Retrospect

Since I started writing this, I haven't been sure whether Newyorquina is serving a real purpose by encouraging me to write more, or whether I am producing anything with real content, substance, or wit. I had visions of becoming one-of-the-gang of the bloggers that I read regularly, but that hasn't happened, perhaps because my blog is boring, or perhaps because I'm not a regular comment-poster on most of them. But I kept doing it, because it was kind of fun to think of things to talk about and every once a while, someone would comment favorably on a post.

Yesterday, I read through the entire blog, and I realized that I am, in fact, happy with the purpose it has served so far. I started off awkwardly at the beginning and I noted an affect that is grating in some cases and pretentious in others. But over the months, it seems that I have gotten more comfortable with the format and with putting together relatively succinct entries on my day-to-day, mundane struggles and rants. In this setting at least, I'm not a good writer, because I don't have a good sense of how my own voice sounds to a reader and I don't yet have control over the tone, pacing, and affect that I employ. But I see progress and feel like the blog functions as a good excercise, for now at least, in articulating observations about my life, some of the issues I think about, and the outrageous shit that appears in the news.

Smug

I have already been for my jog today. I worked out today. I rule!

Spring is (sort of) here and its a little bit easier to get moving in the morning. My apartment smelled like heated cat box this morning so getting out into the brisk fresh air was sort of welcome.

Last night I finished In Sheer Rage by Geoff Dyer which is a personal memoir about a man who is trying to write a book about D. H. Lawrence. One might think I would have trouble getting interested in such a book given that I know practically nothing (actually really nothing) about D.H. Lawrence. I remember a copy of Women in Love being in house when I was five. So I was surprised how much I liked this particular book. In great part, it has to do with the fact that he weaves some critical observations on D.H Lawrence in with some very funny writing about his travels to some of the places that Lawrence lived and some rueful, self-deprecating comments on his own life.

Rites of Spring

The decent weather has come to New York and everyone is a little bit giddy to see the long winter come to an end. I had a very summery weekend, even though its not quite yet really warm. But in anticipation of the new season, here is a list of things I did to celebrate:

Made fish tacos for friends
Went to the park, jogged
Took a nap
Went to the park, read
Went to a salsa class,
Went to brunch (outside!)
Had a pedicure
Bought sandels
Took new sandals to the park, walked, got blister, put normal shoes on and finished walk

Of course it is Monday and now I am back at work. I actually put in a couple hours in the office on Saturday, which was relatively painless. We will see how much I get done today.

Poco a poco

OK, now this has become a salsa blog. How una norteamericana overcomes her intense fear of trying move in public and learns to dance. Or at least is able to go enjoy dancing in a club. That really is the objective. Just to be able go out and enjoy it. Last night I went to the dance basics class at the Y because they were doing a latin dance on this particular friday. Ah, the Y, where people wear workout clothes and tennis shoes. We did a bolero, and practiced little arms motions with the merengue, and then went to salsa, where I was not OK exactly, but better. Better. Better than I was.

Little bittersweet reminder

I was trying to figure out what was going on with my credit card balance this morning, and was pulling various cards out of my wallet. There, suddenly popping out of my wallet, was a ticket stub from a movie theater in Madrid. I stared at it for a few minutes, trying to remember which movie it that my ex and I went to see in Spain this summer. Then it all came back to me. It was a little tiny revival theatre and we went there to see Last Tango in Paris, which, which oddly and unexpectedly, we both absolutely loved.

The second step is admitting you have a problem

Last night I went to a salsa party to dance and had to face some of my demons. I don't think people who know me would think I have social anxieties, necessarily. It turns out, however, if I walk into a room of pretty people who know how to dance, especially if that dance involves steps, I immediately become terribly intimidated and am convinced that I have intruded on a party to which I explicitely was not invited.

I held up pretty well though under pressure, I think. I did the little dance class and struggled through the practice sessions. When the real dancing started, I danced with a couple people on the dance floor, although I spent the whole time feeling guilty for imposing myself on my partners. The nice thing about the scene was that it was full of people who really love to dance and that was what they were there to do. So it was fun to watch and to chat with people.

BBQ not bombs

I went to the anti-war protest in Fayetteville this weekend. I was impressed with the diversity of the crowd, in terms of veterans, peaceniks, trade union folks, and students. I did see a few of the wacky people that I used to know in Durham, which was funny. I also had a real eastern North Carolina bbq sandwich from the vendor selling lunch and was moved by a number of the speeches from current service people and veterans. It was worth the trip down to visit my folks. (My Dad actually came along with me.)