The best exhibit at the National Zoo

Seriously. Who needs animals where there is a backhoe? A backhoe!!!

I mean, really. Naturally, we were entranced by this for several minutes.

Please place that "Absent Minded Professor" sign here. Thank you.

"Hey."

"Hey there."

"Um, so did you drive in this morning?"

"No." Duh. Of course, I didn't.

"Where is the car then?"

"It's not in the driveway?" Oh crap, someone stole our car?

"Um, did you remember to drive home last night?"

"No, I me-" Wait. Yesterday? When I was late to class and drove in and dropped Xan off and you and he went home on the metro, and I stayed late so I wouldn't have to walk in the rain, which means the car is still here on campus which means that it's PROBABLY GOING TO BE TICKETED RIGHT NOW??!!!!! "Ohmigod. I gotta go."

"You are unbelieveable."

¡Sí, soy trailera! (Action Heroine Blog-a-Thon entry)

I spent last weekend at a fantastic workshop in Edmonton, Alberta, learning all about the many different kinds of movies revolving around “Latsploitation” – i.e. Latin American exploitation films. I learned a heck of a lot about exploitation films in general (which frankly I knew very little about beforehand) and how Latin America in general fits within the context of the many “genres” of exploitation films. (For the record, my own contribution to this project is on Luis Llosa’s films made in Peru for Roger Corman’s Concorde-New Horizons pictures in the late 1980s, and how they might fit into current definitions of Peruvian national cinema. Also for the record: yes, I actually auditioned for one of these movies. No, I didn’t get the part. Yes, my high school English teacher is in the movie. Enough questions.)

It was also at this gathering that I was introduced to Lola la trailera.

Played by actress Rosa Gloria Chagoyán, “Lola the Truck Driver” is a super-sexy Mexican woman who inherits a big ol’ truck when her father is killed and she has to get to the bottom of things. In the process, she kicks some major ass and takes names. Seriously, she is a very different Mexican woman on screen than anything I had ever seen before: in a bar-room brawl, right after confirming on a date that “sí, soy trailera (yes, I am a trucker),” she smacks people on the head with a beer bottle instead of running away. These movies all take place on the Mexican-American border – part of a sub-genre of cheaply made, popular Mexican films derogatorily referred to as “cine churro” – and stress a different kind of nationalism than what we generally see from the likes of Alfonso Cuarón and Alejandro González Iñárritu (which actually Mexicans apparently don’t watch anyway – they do watch a lot of Lola, however). She succeeds in working against against narcotrafficking, foils her gringo nemeses and still looks good in a red mini-dress.

Honestly, I’ve only just been exposed to this myself, but I’m already smitten. One of the first things I did when the workshop ended was order a copy of the film Lola la trailera (1983) for my university so I can show clips for class. (Of her many films, it’s the only one subtitled so far.) What’s amazing is that apparently Lola-the-character has now turns the actress Chagoyán into something of a border activist herself. You’ll have to read more when this essay collection comes out sometime next year hopefully, with this article to be written by my colleague (and former advisor!) Catherine Benamou, who gave a fantastic presentation.

Thanks to YouTube (and some guy who apparently has a serious pantyhose-on-Mexican-women fetish), you can get some glimpses of what the big deal is about. Below are two pieces of what appears to be the same scene from Lola la trailera 3 from 1991; look for “Lola,” the actual truck that Lola drives, in the second clip. The other woman, by the way, is her madrina, or godmother.

Clip 1:


Clip 2:

This entry sends a big shout-out to Catherine Benamou (whose presentation inspired this posting), David Wilt (whose Mexican Film Resource Page provides a wealth of information), the Latsploitation Queens Vicki Ruetalo and Dolores Tierney (who put together the workshop and are organizing the larger project) and all the colleagues who I hung out with in Alberta last weekend. The entry is part of the 2007 Action Heroine Blog-a-Thon, featuring a variety of other blogs all talking about chicks on film who kick butt. Thanks again to Nathaniel at The Film Experience for putting this all together. Check this page for all the other participating blogs in this experience.

Ketchup, with relish

I know I've been very lax with the blog these days. Finishing the manuscript has taken its toll on extra-curricular writing. Indeed, I only started really seriously looking at the paper I delivered in Edmonton on Monday on the Saturday before. I resolved that I could not go to my workshop until I finished the manuscript -- and so it was that, with about three-or-four hours of sleep for several days before, I managed to finish it. You have not seen a man more relaxed.

Now it's time for a quick edit -- and a lot of catching up. Luckily, the summer class is going well and I've caught up with grading there. I'll have Xan to myself for the next week since our day-care person is on vacation and Ange's 10-month gig doesn't end until next week. I have a flurry of other activity due this summer even after this edit goes through, including the translation book, the final copy of this paper I delivered and a new course prep for fall. So bear with me.

Coming up, however, are a couple other things: a posting about Edmonton in general, and some new pics of the boy, who is splendiferous. And, on Tuesday, my posting for the event advertised here. Originally, I planned to talk about the very woman pictured here since I think Angela Bassett is kick-ass (literally) and I actually really enjoy this movie. (Hey, I even have an academic piece about it.) Either that or Buffy, natch. But this last weekend in Edmonton introduced me to a new, different heroine, which I think could be more interesting for the blog-a-thon. So, stay tuned. And I promise I'll write a bit more these days. No, really.

Wow

Is that...?

Is it...?

A light? At the end of the tunnel?

Wow, so this is what it's like to be out of that tunnel? How warm the sun feels on my skin!

What a difference it feels to be...

...DONE.

(Quick edits start next week after Edmonton. And I finished about twelve hours after my latest self-imposed deadline. But at least it's all out on paper. Seriously, this is good news.)

mABBAmatics

"The Winner Takes It All"
("But tell me does she kiss/Like I used to kiss you?/Does it feel the same/When she calls your name?")
-
Swedish reserve
*
a can of mace
=
Alanis Morissette's "You Oughta Know"
("And every time you speak her name/Does she know how you told me/You'd hold me until you died/Till you died, but you're still alive")



"Waterloo"
(Swedish entry and winner of Eurovision song contest 1974)
*
[Frankie Goes to Hollywood + SNL's "Dieter"]
=
Verka Serdushka's "Danzing Lasha Tumbai"
(this year's runner-up -- you really need to see this to believe it)



The ABBA Gold CD that Angela found for me at the local library book sale
+
yet another trip to Ikea
+
happy child in back seat of car bouncing and singing along to "Voulez-Vous"
("vooooooooooo, a-HA! a-HA!")
=
completely manufactured Swedish goodness
/
realization that I walked through the entire store with Xan's child-size fireman's hat only after we got to the check-out line
("Dada wear the hat. DADA wear the hat!")
=
slightly mortified, but only slightly

Sweet dreams, little boy

So here we are, at the beginning of a new era.

See that? That's my kid. In a bed.

Just off to the left of the picture, you can just see the post that is part of his crib. Early this last week, I found him having climbed up the rail of his crib, stuck at the top because he was afraid to fall down. For the rest of the week, he slept with the rail at the lower position, so that if he tried to climb out, he wouldn't fall very far. (Pillows on the floor also helped alleviate fears for us. As it turns out, he didn't actually try again.)

We had our eye on this bed from Ikea anyway; it's just a regular kid's bed (not a toddler bed), but it does flip over into a pseudo-bunk thing for later. Plus, it comes with a canopy which, because it has stars on it, we naturally purchased. It would have taken me about two hours less time to put it together, but someone small insisted on helping when he realized what I was doing. (Oh yes, and we had to go back to Ikea to return the very cool sheets we bought; upon opening, we discovered to our horror that they were duvet covers instead -- and Xan has the coolest hand-made quilt ever, since it features monsters. Hence, the cool blue tones you see here.)

In any case, Ange tried to put him in the crib, assuming he'd prefer that. Nope: "Xan sleep in big bed." OK, then. If he hasn't slept in it in two days, the crib will go upstairs for good.

Then again, I can't believe this will go without a hitch. As I type his, it's only been four hours. I expect at some point he'll wake up and freak out -- and my guess is that that will happen around 5:30AM when he'll fall out of bed. Stay tuned for updates. For now, let's just hope he keeps on sleeping.

I keep looking for Rick

One of the major news stories today, of course, has been the change of leader in France. As such, news stories on NPR have constantly been playing "La Marseillaise."

Naturally, therefore, I've been playing that famous scene from Casablanca in my head all day. Because I really don't think of France whenever I hear that song. I think of Madeline LeBeau's open mouth singing, "Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras." Is that wrong?

But should it be a philodendron, a cactus or a spider plant?

My super fabulous undergrad assistant for the last year, Liza, graduated this last weekend. She took my class her freshman fall (naturally, earning a well-deserved A) and I wanted her from the beginning to lead my post-screening discussions at some point. She has done a great job this year and I'll miss her greatly.

I had met her mom several years ago when her cousin Grant (who was also my assistant before Liza) graduated and the whole family came from Minnesota to celebrate; this time, because we couldn't join them yesterday for dim sum, Liza and her parents took us out for lunch. Among other things, her parents asked about what students were really like and I have her my impressions. "I have to say, however, that the thing that really gets me are students who expect to get an 'A' for class participation for just showing up. 'I was here, don't I deserve an "A"?'"

"That's amazing."

"Yeah, I mean, a potted plant can sit in the corner every day. Does it deserve an 'A'?"

"You know, you should do that."

"What?"

"Bring a potted plant to class on the first day. And just sit it on the corner every class. And you can always point out that by the end of the semester, the potted plant has actually grown."

This, I have to say, is brilliant. If anybody gives me grief, I can just point. That potted plant is getting more of an education than you are! Sheer brilliance!

I have all summer to pick my potted plant. And my pot. Because the Fleischer memorial hibiscus, currently in my office, is just way too big for me to lug all over the place. Consider this a solicitation for suggestions.

Until further notice, here is the party line

Enough people ask and I'm tired of giving the real answer. My wife has also snarkily noted that she no longer believes what is actually the real answer, so I have decided to stop telling anyone (including her) the truth.

So, if anyone asks, know that the answer (which I will deliver with my most Nutrasweet of smiles) will be this: "No, the book is not even close to being done. I have a lot to do on it. I may never finish. There: are you satisfied?"