Mauricio = Rango = Cholodenko

All I can really say about our third professor is that he is an emaciated, angry, old man from Mexico who hates humanity, and also Spain.

Still, there is something kinda okay about him.

 Is it that he actually teaches a class with, dare I say it, content?!?¡?¡?¡¿¡?¿¡?¡¿¡?¡?

OR: maybe it is because between hating on Spain's pillage of Latin America and commenting on how Queen Isabel was a puta, he says random things like:

Mauricio: So, Oscars yesterday... WHO WON?!?!

(pause while people look around confused... is Oscar some Carlista we forgot about?? Or maybe another anarchist that killed someone/burned down another church??? Or maybe it's Catalan for "4-page paper, with wit and irony like New York Times Review"?). 

Mauricio: You knooooh, recently I see this movie, it was called... Children, are okay? ... or something like that?

(pause. pause. more pause. ... someone goes "The Kids Are Alright?") 

Mauricio: Ya ya ya, it was fine, but... (CRAZY HANDS MOTIONS... seriously, this dude could give me tips) FOR OSCAR??? I don't theeenk so.

OR: maybe it's the fact that the the combo of his (inexplicable) Little Lord Fauntleroy haircut, extreme level of skinny relative to head-size, and perpetual stinkface make him eerily resemble the lizard from the new animated movie with Johnny Depp?

Whatever the reason, he is a bitch. But an endearing bitch? Talk to me about this again after I've written all of the 3 papers he's assigned us due within a week of each other.

Mexican wrath: nothin' like it.

Lisbon: Land of Desserts, Street Drinking, and Many, Many Lesbians

After a few days in rainy Madrid, we were off to Lisbon, Portugal—or, as it is called in Spanish and Portuguese: Lisboa.

Our first day, we walked around Lisbon—not exaggerating—unaware of anything at all. A brief list of things we didn’t know until well into our trip includes:  where Lisbon is located on the Iberian peninsula, what Portuguese topography even looks like, how to say “Hello,” “thank you,” and/or anything else in Portuguese, the history of Portugal, what Portuguese food/drinks are like… The list is endless.

For this reason, the first night we walked around Lisbon in awe. The city is on a bunch of hills! There are cobblestones and tiles everywhere! Bafflingly, there is a giant, largely empty plaza right next to the sea in Lisbon! (The central “beachfront” property consists of some pillars a few meters into the water, that’s it. No beach, restaurants, nothing. The opposite of Barcelona coastline.) There is also a church that consists of raw arches with no roof! And a giant elevator tower! The main city is shockingly consistent in terms of tiles and architecture. One question arose: WHY?

It wasn’t until the next morning—researching a nearby neighborhood called Belem—that I came to understand so much of what I had encountered the night before.

One major, formative event had somehow eluded us: Lisbon experienced a major earthquake in 1755. The earthquake caused a tsunami, which in turn caused a week of uncontrollable fires. In the end, 85% of the city was destroyed. Enormous amounts of people died. The King went crazy, and made the royal family live in a tent city. 

Therefore: The empty plaza next to the ocean? The final remnants of the royal palace that was swept into the sea in the tsunami. The roofless church? The ruins of the major church of Lisbon, that was destroyed in the fires. The weirdly consistent sidewalk tiling and organization? The fact that a vast majority of Lisbon buildings  were constructed in the past 200-300 years, by the post-Crazy-King king, who mobilized a movement to keep people in Lisbon to reconstruct the city. (Also: Lisbon was the first city to build earthquake-proof buildings. They tested models via having soldiers march around the buildings over and over again, to see how much the shaking of the earth affected the stability of the building!) Crazy shit, yo.

Lisbon’s strange and extremely insane history was not the only surprise in store. Three thematic aspects of Lisbon amazed me: Desserts, Street Drinking, and, yes, LESBIANS.

Madrid: Trashy Wine = Good Wine

Most wine tastes horrible, let’s just put that out there. 

I am acutely aware of the many many wine snobs who will disagree with me on this point. I mean, my uncle is a former president of the OWLS: The Ogden Wine Lovers Society (... yeah, it exists). My parents, somehow defying the basic laws of Slavic-ness, shun hard alcohol for the nightly classy, over-priced and, most confounding of all, “dry” glass of wine.

Yet, this phenomenon of purist-wine-loving has always evaded me. I mean, alcohol tastes horrible, so you cover up the taste, right? As much sugar as possible, right?? RIGHT??!?!

According to Spain, the clear answer is: Right!!!

More fun wine facts after the jump.

Chillout Hostel: A Place to Chill with Some Bros, in Broken English

Our hostel in Portugal deserves its own post for so many reasons. First, it was named “Chillout” hostel, and they took their chillin’ theme pretty seriously. There was a large wall of suggestions of places where one could chill and activities with which to chill—including a write-up of a weird faux-far-Eastern-ware store called “Lost in…” and a long card on how to catch a ride on a Portuguese fishing boat. 

Still, the true test of chillin out were all the kooky employees of the place, many of whom were a bit too chilled out for their own good.

I’ll organize this post via hostel characters, in chronological order of acquaintance.

After the jump!

Klepto Cat

What a clever kicha!

Some Positive Affirmations from Mama Joe

Mama Joe, lovely gay man that is, has really been enjoying his time travelling with me in Madrid and Lisbon.

Some precious snippets:

(actually out of the clear blue)

Mama Joe: Fuck you and Julia!!!!!!!! I spit on you!!!!

(in response to a couple at the Madrid airport that kept making out and being lovey dovey)

Liza: Look, they have matching luggage.

Mama Joe: More like UGH-gage

Liza: Do you spit on them, too???

Mama: I´m working up some spit right now.

(in Chueca, Madrid gay-borhood)

Liza: Joe, you need to be open to these Madrid gay men, like a palm tree.

Joe: WHATEVER, they won´t crack my coconuts!!!!!

(as we were looking for bars in Chueca, he started yelling down the street at me even though I hadn´t picked out any place that was expensive and/or lesbian-y!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Mama Joe: Fuck your expensive lesbian shit!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mama Joe 4eva.


Addendum: Aaaaand from the comments section of this very post:

(in response to the fact that I haven´t gotten my period in 50 DAYS OH GOD WHY)

Joe: ***good luck with your demon baybee****

Adventures in BCN

This past weekend I have:

1) committed petty theft at the champiñeria.... Twice.

2) encountered what can only be described as Dick-in-a-box-Justin-Timberlake, Catalan style. (Trust me when I say his tiny glasses were tiny, and his love of the 90s slash granola was high. Also, he played the double bass)

3) been attacked by vicious dragons spitting fire and sparks!!!!!!!!!

And now, after a weekend of excitement, it is time to go back to a life of relaxation and leisure... meaning yet more travels on budget airlines and general airport hell.

Madrid and Lisboa, here I come!!!

M.Morras' Many Successes with the English Language or, as it is also called...

Words Spelled Incorrectly on the Final Exam for Western Civilization II with M. Morras, Paired with Their Most Probable Meanings

1) Saitn Benedict = or, did she mean... Satan Benedict?

2) teh = a commonly misspelled world in M.Morras' Xanga, the emergence of which suggests that maybe M.Morras isn't as over Jerome as she says she is, evn tho he nvr txtd h3r back & she has AIMed h1m lyke 40 timezzzZZZzzz & he totally iz her FB frnd and it wld just take lyke, 2 secs 4 him 2 hollah @ her if he wantd, esp cuz sh3 rly thought thy had a conexin talking bout MeDiEvAl StAiN3d GlAsSsSsS DePiCtiOnSsS O cHriSt & she cant beleve he wld do dis 2 her!!!!!!!!!!!! 

... Admittedly, "teh" is much less endearing of a typo when written in sad-black-exam-Helvetica vs. neon green Curlz.

3) mena = manna, you know, the bread of the JEWS [POINT VIGOROUSLY AT MICHELLE BENTSMAN]

4)  penomen =  clearly she meant penmen. 

5) ti = Tricky one, as I feel like perhaps it wasn't a typo at all, and M.Morras just jams to TI as she types up exams on Satan Benedict and the other manna-loving penmen of the 13th century courts of Acquitaine, gets distracted by the beat, and thus accidentally includes her boo TI's name on our exam. Also: more proof M.Morras is a thug.

... FYI, if I substitute the last 3 the misspelled words with their most likely accurately-spelled substitutes, question #3 on our exam reads: 

"What does courtly love manna? What kind of penmen was TI?" 

 Yeahhhhh, I got this one.

And, to conclude, my personal favorite M.Morras misspelled word, just because it's, you know, part of the name of the course and all, and was actually spelled correctly in the header of the exam:

6)  Cicvilization = obvs. a long-lost Don Jim-ism referring to the cyclical nature of cultural ethics and social mores within world civilizations. Or something. Also: maybe she just doesn't have spellcheck... Real talk.

A Tour of the Barri Gotic: The Many Love Affairs of M. Morras

So for our last excursion with the illustrious M. Morras, we very very anticlimactically toured…. El Barri Gotic???

Yeah, so having a tour of Barri Gotic at this point in our trip is the equivalent of touring Bartlett (the UChicago dining hall) after two years of living in student housing: we see it and walk through it and encounter it every day... I guess it's pretty? But seriously could we go anywhereeeee elseee pleasseeeeeee? What could we possibly see that we hadn't encountered before?

The answer, kind of interestingly but also 100%-cynically, is that evidently most of what is in the Barri Gotic is fake, and all of the “real” buildings are medieval buildings that were moved to the neighborhood in the early 20^th century. I mean, the tour was even called, “Fake Barcelona—the Invention of the Gothic Quarter.” 

(note the use of "Chicago University")

Meaning: wait, Bartlett is actually older than many of those buildings. Goddamnit, pasta guy wins again. 

More after the jump!

M. Morras 4eva

“Oh yes, sorry I forget, and we miss you …. and you had to come all the way from Ukrania!”

-Prof. Morras (to me, in front of our entire class, after she had forgotten to call on me to present my essay question) 

Más Azúcar, si us plau: A Brief Overview of Spanish and Catalan Dessert Options

Just FYI: I have the world’s biggest sweet tooth. 

In my mind, I eat food so that I can justify eating dessert. Walking into a restaurant, I immediately look for a dessert display. One of my strongest beliefs is that when someone says that something is “too rich” they are actually saying “wait, this food, it tastes too good for my mouth, I cannot handle it,” (Think about it. It’s true!!) ... I could go on and on and on! In short, Liza hearts sugar.

Anywho, for all these reasons, Spanish desserts are a strong interest of mine: What are they? Where can you get them, and for how much? Which ones are actually a little too Spanish for any logical person's taste, i.e. just a ton of unsweetened whipped cream and blechhh almond paste in a ramekin? All these questions and more, answered in the following overview. 

Try not to drool, after le jump.

Selections from 8+ years blogging about the White Stripes (aka Almost a Decade of Uncomfortably Lusting Over Jack White)

With the death of one of the most important bands of my youth, I couldn’t help but start to reflect on my what The White Stripes (TWS) meant, have meant, and still mean to me.

Living in the 'burbs of Detroit, I often have felt like the rise of the White Stripes often carried more bad than good... I mean, even just the controversies involving Jack alone are endless: dating Renee Zellwegger, getting in the car accident, punching Jason Stollsteimer, moving to Nashville, the whole Blanche fiasco, creepily marrying a Tracee-Miller-esque super model, etc etc etc... It all became so very overexposed and silly that, unfortunately, I came to consider the ridiculous myth more than I did the music. 

Still, through it all, I was always interested in what TWS were doing, and couldn’t help but feel alternately loyal, angry, betrayed, vengeful, gleeful, obsessed, etc etc whenever a new snippet on the duo came my way. Plus, I was always grappling with my own strange obsession with the inexplicaly foxy man that is Mr. Jack White.

Out of anthropological curiosity, I sieved through my old Livejournal—updated semi-regularly from 2003 until 2009—in order to find some interesting Liza quips through the ages on Jack and Meg. And there was a plethora. I therefore present: The White Stripes (and Jack White's Physical Appearance) Through the Ages, as Narrated Through Liza Dzul Livejournal Entries of Yore

(click after the jump!)

Farewell, White Stripes

Yesterday the White Stripes announced that they would no longer record or perform music together. It’s strange to say, but—despite the fact I haven’t even really listened to their past two albums—the end of The White Stripes is very very upsetting for me.

The White Stripes in a lot of ways musically framed my entire teenager-dom. It’s baffling, but true: I have made friends through this band. I developed my own appreciation of music through this band. I learned about the history of my own city through this band.

Something about the mixture of Jack White’s anxious, sweaty yelping, Meg’s steady, simple drumming, and the strange psycho-sexual between them was as unique and beloved as it was polemic, frustrating, obnoxious, tiresome, cliché, reactionary, creepy, etc etc etc.

For one thing, (and something people from cities that people actually enjoy living in won’t really understand) the White Stripes brought attention to our perpetually unloved city, at the most basic level. Through their incredible success, the White Stripes showed me that even two outsiders from our sad, dying Midwestern metropolis can come to be the most famous and unique band in the entire world. (In Detroit, songs from “White Blood Cells” and “Seven Nation Army” are so well known that in certain circles you’ll get more of an impassioned response singing a TWS tune than you would singing the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, etc.)

For another, I feel like for much of my basic development as a human being the White Stripes have been playing in the background. I can’t think of any other musical artist that has permeated my own consciousness and understanding of myself and my surroundings through the years as much as the White Stripes have... and I never even consciously liked their music that much. (Entry forthcoming on the Liza Dzul LJ backlog of White Stripes commentary.)

In short, the White Stripes mean a lot to most people I know, they mean a lot to modern music, they mean a lot to our city, Detroit, they mean a lot to my generation of music fans, and, for all these reasons and more, they mean a lot to me.

Jack you seem like kind of an asshole, and Meg, you are somewhat unremarkable (except for your giant boobs), but together you made something magical and I am sorry for future generations of music fans that we all have to see you go. 

LOOK AT THE KITTEH

Photo credit to Steph. Happiness credit to that adorable kicha.

Barcelona's Version of Thundersnow

What a surprise, the weather for the week is 60 degrees and sunny every day!!

Barcelona living = tough. We are regular eskimos, up in here.

As a point of contrast, a picture of the continental U.S. and its snow-pocalypse:

Glad to see the only state not engulfed in a vortex of snow, ice, and lightning right now is Florida. As it was meant to be.