Most adults shake their heads and wonder why anorexia and bulimia are in the rise in Medellin, when it is easy for any young woman to know. Clothing in stores comes in two styles: fashionable and frumpy. Guess which sizes match each style.
I went shopping today, and it is amazing how a short trip into a store could make me feel like a blimp. I´ve lost a lot of weight, and I still feel like I need to be half my size to look well dressed.
This is one of those things I miss from my visits to the US. The fact that I could find clothing that fit, and was designed to look good on my body. Here, the latest fashions are just scaled up: so if I can get something my size, it is a skinny jean that makes me look like an ice cream cone with muffin top to boot, or a shirred top that sticks to .every. curve.
I even made a mistake and tried on a bathing suit. Brr. I won´t go into details but let´s just say that I hated the experience. I wanted to hide under a rock and never again see the light of day with anything less than jeans and a long sleeved shirt.
But this time it was much different than 15 pounds ago back in February when I first tried to go shopping. Today I did manage to bring home a jean. I had to search in the "woman´s" department among muu muus and elasticized waist pants, but I found a pair of jeans that makes me look good and doesn´t go up to my arm pits. It was also under my budget, which was amazing, since it seems my taste goes with very high prices I can´t afford.
There´s a lot of pressure to be really thin here, and I´m constantly reminded how being naturally curvy isn´t as accepted as having a silicone implant chest. That´s my explanation for the bathing suit I tried on. It seemed that the sizes referred only to the chest, and the rest of the suit was left more or less intact, perfect for a size 6.
Showing posts with label Colombia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Colombia. Show all posts
12/04/2007
11/21/2007
Serenade
The first time I heard a real live serenade with mariachis was about 20 years ago, at my grandmother´s previous house. That house was wonderful, in the neighborhood we had shops nearby to buy popsicles and chocolates, my first visit to a public library happened there and it had a great balcony with wooden balustrades that matched the turned wood detailing on the windows.
One night at midnight, the blare of trumpets woke us up. My grandmother rushed through our room and started peeking out the window. On the house across ours we could see the young man with a van full of mariachis behind him, standing in the driveway, hopefully looking up to see if a light would go on.
When a serenade takes place, it is common knowledge, or so my mother says, that no lights should be turned on in the neighboring houses. It adds to the drama. You see, when a woman receives a serenade, she can look outside her window with the lights turned off and see who has brought the music without people knowing she´s looking out. If it´s someone she wants to encourage, forgive or what not, then she turns on the lights to her room and it is understood that she is satisfied with the gift or peace offering, depending on what the case is.
This time, she turned on the lights and walked out on her balcony wearing an old fashioned night gown in shiny fabric. He asked her to come down, her parents stayed up in the balcony, and when she walked out he went down on his knees, asking for her hand in marriage.
For years I wondered when anyone would come and serenade me, thinking it was the most romantic thing someone could do for the person they love. A couple of nights ago, the blare of trumpets raised me from the computer, and I ran over to a window. The van was parked, violins were being played and trumpets blown on, however, the mariachis were quickly wisked inside the apartment building beside mine, and several other people peering from their windows in different apartments had to get back inside a bit dissappointed.
I wonder what the modern equivalent to serenades is in this modern world. The mariachi dream became quickly tarnished as they were brought up in almost every social event I had growing up. I never lay in bed thinking about marriage and proposals and romantic dates, with the firm superstition that thinking about stuff jinxes it, I go used to not thinking about it.
So better yet, I wonder what MY modern equivalent to the serenata mariachi is.
One night at midnight, the blare of trumpets woke us up. My grandmother rushed through our room and started peeking out the window. On the house across ours we could see the young man with a van full of mariachis behind him, standing in the driveway, hopefully looking up to see if a light would go on.
When a serenade takes place, it is common knowledge, or so my mother says, that no lights should be turned on in the neighboring houses. It adds to the drama. You see, when a woman receives a serenade, she can look outside her window with the lights turned off and see who has brought the music without people knowing she´s looking out. If it´s someone she wants to encourage, forgive or what not, then she turns on the lights to her room and it is understood that she is satisfied with the gift or peace offering, depending on what the case is.
This time, she turned on the lights and walked out on her balcony wearing an old fashioned night gown in shiny fabric. He asked her to come down, her parents stayed up in the balcony, and when she walked out he went down on his knees, asking for her hand in marriage.
For years I wondered when anyone would come and serenade me, thinking it was the most romantic thing someone could do for the person they love. A couple of nights ago, the blare of trumpets raised me from the computer, and I ran over to a window. The van was parked, violins were being played and trumpets blown on, however, the mariachis were quickly wisked inside the apartment building beside mine, and several other people peering from their windows in different apartments had to get back inside a bit dissappointed.
I wonder what the modern equivalent to serenades is in this modern world. The mariachi dream became quickly tarnished as they were brought up in almost every social event I had growing up. I never lay in bed thinking about marriage and proposals and romantic dates, with the firm superstition that thinking about stuff jinxes it, I go used to not thinking about it.
So better yet, I wonder what MY modern equivalent to the serenata mariachi is.
11/13/2007
fear of technology
Last month, when I was at pop!tech liveblogging the conference, I was given a N95 nokia phone... everyone else who got one got happy playing with it at the conference, installing their GSM sim cards into the new gadget and off they went. Me? I kept it in its box and I stayed as far away from it as I could. Like a pig with diamonds. I kept on: clacking away on a borrowed clamshell Y2K ibook, my Nokia 1112 sitting in my room and working as an alarm clock/watch. I´m not that much of a tech buff. I don´t "get" gadgets and the need to get a bigger, better one every time it comes out. So I felt like they had given me a Lladró collectible sculpture. Pretty, expensive, sought after and not quite useful for myself.
I came back to Colombia resolved to sell it. Then I started thinking. Who is going to buy this phone? If this person is willing to pay for the phone and use it... why can´t I? None of us at Hiperbarrio have laptops or cellphones that go online. We work with blogs but can´t really experience mobile blogging. It didn´t take much to get me convinced to give it a test drive and make the most of it, get updated and see why people get all excited about connectivity. And here I am with a computer unlike any I have seen. A computer that does a lot more than what my desktop computer where I´m typing this does. And it fits in my pocket.
After much hemming and hawing, yesterday I took the cellphone out of its box and charged it for the first time. Today I popped it open and inserted my sim card.
Today I felt the technological gap in my own skin.
I was able to understand my mom and her fear of cellphones.
I was able to get why people don´t like computers when they´ve never used them.
I could get why people freeze in front of ATMs.
Usually there is a slow learning curve: You learn how to do something with technology, then you upgrade a level, then another, then a bit more. Every time you upgrade, you learn something slightly newer and slightly more complicated. You slowly go from the tecchy equivalent of boiling water to eventually making caviar and truffle lemongrass frappès as aperitifs. It is painless and gradual.
Today I felt as if after making scrambled eggs, I had somehow skipped every intermediate step and been sat in front of a poisonous puffer fish with a samurai grade steel blade and had been expected to make fugu sashimi for the royal family.
I have no idea how to use that thing. It taunts me. I can see the icons and I can read the labels, they are in plain English (or Spanish, I tried them both). But I don´t have the faintest idea of what they mean. My theory on the step by step learning curve? Not original. The writers of the Nokia manual apparently take it for granted that you´ll know lots of stuff before getting a phone like this one. Can´t blame them. The handbook is 134 pages long... in only one language.
The manual is peppered with terms like HSDPA, UMTS, Ad-hoc, LAN, IMAP4, DTMF. WTF! I feel like Melanie Griffiths in Born Yesterday, looking up every single word in the dictionary and trying to piece things out to get a sense of what they are asking. I feel like an alien who just got told a Chuck Norris joke... with the task to first find out who Chuck Norris is, what martial arts are, what movies mean, where Hollywood is, the definition of sitcom, what makes a TV work and then have to piece it all together to understand how come it is that he makes onions cry.
I already faced my first challenge: I can´t sent out text messages. I searched online for answers, checked other nokia phones I could get my hands on who are also in my network to see configurations, i´ve practiced my google-fu and I´m stumped. After doing the official Nokia troubleshooting I have to follow their recommendations: see my service provider and ask them to give me the message center phone number.
I´m afraid that whomever sees me at the service provider counter will be even worse off than myself. The English manual won´t be much use, and the N95 hasn´t arrived here yet. I´m crossing my fingers, though.
I have a lot more respect for anyone who dares confront not only the technological gap, but also cultural and language gaps on top of it. Like our students who surf the internet without prior experience, no knowledge of English and just based on trusting what we tell them. I think this experience is making me a better trainer. It has reminded me of what it feels like to SUCK.
What would I give for a tecchy mentor to show me the way!
I came back to Colombia resolved to sell it. Then I started thinking. Who is going to buy this phone? If this person is willing to pay for the phone and use it... why can´t I? None of us at Hiperbarrio have laptops or cellphones that go online. We work with blogs but can´t really experience mobile blogging. It didn´t take much to get me convinced to give it a test drive and make the most of it, get updated and see why people get all excited about connectivity. And here I am with a computer unlike any I have seen. A computer that does a lot more than what my desktop computer where I´m typing this does. And it fits in my pocket.
After much hemming and hawing, yesterday I took the cellphone out of its box and charged it for the first time. Today I popped it open and inserted my sim card.
Today I felt the technological gap in my own skin.
I was able to understand my mom and her fear of cellphones.
I was able to get why people don´t like computers when they´ve never used them.
I could get why people freeze in front of ATMs.
Usually there is a slow learning curve: You learn how to do something with technology, then you upgrade a level, then another, then a bit more. Every time you upgrade, you learn something slightly newer and slightly more complicated. You slowly go from the tecchy equivalent of boiling water to eventually making caviar and truffle lemongrass frappès as aperitifs. It is painless and gradual.
Today I felt as if after making scrambled eggs, I had somehow skipped every intermediate step and been sat in front of a poisonous puffer fish with a samurai grade steel blade and had been expected to make fugu sashimi for the royal family.
I have no idea how to use that thing. It taunts me. I can see the icons and I can read the labels, they are in plain English (or Spanish, I tried them both). But I don´t have the faintest idea of what they mean. My theory on the step by step learning curve? Not original. The writers of the Nokia manual apparently take it for granted that you´ll know lots of stuff before getting a phone like this one. Can´t blame them. The handbook is 134 pages long... in only one language.
The manual is peppered with terms like HSDPA, UMTS, Ad-hoc, LAN, IMAP4, DTMF. WTF! I feel like Melanie Griffiths in Born Yesterday, looking up every single word in the dictionary and trying to piece things out to get a sense of what they are asking. I feel like an alien who just got told a Chuck Norris joke... with the task to first find out who Chuck Norris is, what martial arts are, what movies mean, where Hollywood is, the definition of sitcom, what makes a TV work and then have to piece it all together to understand how come it is that he makes onions cry.
I already faced my first challenge: I can´t sent out text messages. I searched online for answers, checked other nokia phones I could get my hands on who are also in my network to see configurations, i´ve practiced my google-fu and I´m stumped. After doing the official Nokia troubleshooting I have to follow their recommendations: see my service provider and ask them to give me the message center phone number.
I´m afraid that whomever sees me at the service provider counter will be even worse off than myself. The English manual won´t be much use, and the N95 hasn´t arrived here yet. I´m crossing my fingers, though.
I have a lot more respect for anyone who dares confront not only the technological gap, but also cultural and language gaps on top of it. Like our students who surf the internet without prior experience, no knowledge of English and just based on trusting what we tell them. I think this experience is making me a better trainer. It has reminded me of what it feels like to SUCK.
What would I give for a tecchy mentor to show me the way!
11/08/2007
Rainstorms and Podcasts
At 6:30 I had to get together with some friends and record another episode of our podcast blogotemático. The place we meet is quite close to my house, so it´s perfect walking distance, but awkward to use public transportation to get there. Today, as soon as I stepped out of my house, a torrential downpour fell and I was completely soaked by the time I got there.
Being wet when I know I can´t get immediately dry and warm makes me angry. I start fuming and my mood spirals downward from there. It´s completely different when it´s raining and I´m heading home: then I´m quite prone to ditching the umbrella and once I get home stripping off my drenched clothes, bundling into warm pjs and settling down with a cup of hot tea. But to be outside with puddles in my shoes and having clammy wet jeans sticking to my calves annoys me to no end. I wasn´t fit company by the time I got to the coffee shop at the Parque de los Pies Descalzos . So I sat down, took out my knitting and lowered my aggressiveness to humane levels.
I have gotten better at managing my anger: I now carry items that make me happier to assist this process. This time I had a flask of hot chocolate in my bag, a cream chease and goldenberry jam sandwich, the sock I´m knitting and a dry wool sweater in my bag. After some self induced therapy I was able to enjoy the usual banter on what goes on in the Colombian and international blog scene, and record with no mishaps.
If you understand Spanish, you can download our latest episode of Podcast Blogotemático, where we discussed my adventures at Pop!Tech as the Latin American Spanish language live-blogger who didn´t look the part but played it well, the terrible BLOG magazine the largest publishing house in Colombia created (I´ve analyzed Semana´s BLOG magazine in this article) which is basically a teen magazine without even a website of its own to justify its name, and we reach the conclusion that mainstream media in Colombia have NO idea of what is going on in the wilde internets, capping off with the terrible episode in losbloggers.tv (which doesn´t have anything to do with blogs) where they say that mac´s Operating System is Linux.
Being wet when I know I can´t get immediately dry and warm makes me angry. I start fuming and my mood spirals downward from there. It´s completely different when it´s raining and I´m heading home: then I´m quite prone to ditching the umbrella and once I get home stripping off my drenched clothes, bundling into warm pjs and settling down with a cup of hot tea. But to be outside with puddles in my shoes and having clammy wet jeans sticking to my calves annoys me to no end. I wasn´t fit company by the time I got to the coffee shop at the Parque de los Pies Descalzos . So I sat down, took out my knitting and lowered my aggressiveness to humane levels.
I have gotten better at managing my anger: I now carry items that make me happier to assist this process. This time I had a flask of hot chocolate in my bag, a cream chease and goldenberry jam sandwich, the sock I´m knitting and a dry wool sweater in my bag. After some self induced therapy I was able to enjoy the usual banter on what goes on in the Colombian and international blog scene, and record with no mishaps.
If you understand Spanish, you can download our latest episode of Podcast Blogotemático, where we discussed my adventures at Pop!Tech as the Latin American Spanish language live-blogger who didn´t look the part but played it well, the terrible BLOG magazine the largest publishing house in Colombia created (I´ve analyzed Semana´s BLOG magazine in this article) which is basically a teen magazine without even a website of its own to justify its name, and we reach the conclusion that mainstream media in Colombia have NO idea of what is going on in the wilde internets, capping off with the terrible episode in losbloggers.tv (which doesn´t have anything to do with blogs) where they say that mac´s Operating System is Linux.
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