sue me... i was hungry

Despite my mother's worries that I had succumbed to the dark world of eating disorders last year, there are few things I lurve more than food. I attributed the unintentional but welcome weight loss to a combination of a) full-day hangovers (which has led me to very nearly swear off heavy drinking) during which I can't eat, and b) power-walking to class, a high-speed daily endeavor not all that different from slalom skiing (just replace the red and blue flags with slow-moving Spanish señoras wrapped head-to-toe in thousands of dollars worth of animal fur). Due to my affinity for waking up late and procrastination in general, I did in 10 minutes what my roommates did in 20 in order to get to school before the spit-flying festivities of Teresa Bordón's riveting 9 a.m. linguistics class commenced.

Digression over. The fondness (understatement) of food - particularly those foods involving high levels of sugar, deep fried potatoes and/ or scoopable lactic products- is genetic to the noble Mattern lineage. It was passed down to me by my dad, Jim "why get 1 cinnamon roll when you can get 2" Mattern, much in the way that other families pass down antique pocket watches or china dishes brought over on the proverbial boat from the homeland. When it comes to edible goodies, the admirable self-control of my mom - Bernie "who wants to split a cookie" Kaiser - clearly has little or no presence in my gene pool.

This brings me to the random encounter of the day.

On my way to work this morning, I decided some mini-donuts would make a delicious companion to my multiple morning cups o' joe. For a fleeting moment (something more or less equal to the speed of light), I contemplated stopping into the fruit market to grab an apple or some other farm-grown product of nutritive value. However, in a mental boxing match of less than one round, fresh produce quickly lost out to the sugar-fused brawn of bite size chocolate-covered rings of dough.

As I cheerfully walk out, donuts in hand, a homeless guy approaches me. To ask for money? No. To ask for donuts? No. To tell me he's Jesus re-risen from the dead? Not even! The comment was essentially the following: "Be careful... pretty girls who eat too much turn out not so pretty."

Don't worry though, the Dr. Phil tough love approach doesn't work well on me.

ramblings on tourism

I was totally that girl at one point. Yes, the one walking around snapping hundreds of pictures, thinking that - in the long run - the pictures that my artistically-inclined eye elected to take would do justice to a 14th century cathedral or a winding, cobblestone street. Hell, I took 400 pictures during Holy Week in Sevilla. Do I ever look at any of them? Rarely. Looking back, I think about 5 pictures to document the week would have sufficed. Frankly, unless I'm on the hunt for a new picture for my computer background, I generally skip right through entire chunks of albums - yes, even my own - until I get to the much more interesting pictures of people... namely the ones in which I look pretty. I kid, I kid..

Sure, pictures are fun to flip through when you feel like getting nostalgic for past experiences. I LOVE looking at pictures from college, for example. Then again, pictures taken at college are 100% necessary- without them, all those fuzzy Friday and Saturday (and Tuesday and Thursday and occasional Wednesday) nights would remain mysterious and forgotten. "Hmm I don't recall doing a kegstand. Why was I in a headlock? Aha that must be where my cell phone is! Oh, so THAT'S why my leg is sporting a bruise the size of Texas. Oh no, did I REALLY wear a trucker hat? Hey wait a minute... I don't smoke! So THAT'S where my pants are. Why am I playing the air guitar on top of the beer pong table?" The 68 long-arm photos (that you SWEAR you didn't take) that magically made their way on your camera served as guides to help piece together an evening's events and fill in the myriad blank moments.

Pictures are also good for - in cases like mine - keeping in touch with people who are far away. But hell, if I only see you twice a year, in the interim I sure as hell don't want to see pictures of a building you saw during your recent business trip to Minneapolis. I'm really only interested in if you got fat since I last saw you. Joke! I want to see you out frollicking through the streets of Manhattan, riding a mechanical bull at the Liquor Store bar in Boston, canoodling with your girlfriend/ boyfriend/ baby-daddy who I haven't met yet, looking all gussied up for your cousin's wedding, etc.

Back to tourism. The thing that kills, kills, KILLS (exaggeration rocks) me is seeing tourists so intent on snapping "the perfect picture" that they miss out on practically everything that lies beyond the limits of the tiny camera window that they have their eyeball constantly plastered to. The desired monument comes into view and BAM- they scramble frantically from one side of a building to another, switch from vertical to horizontal shots, zoom in and zoom out. They don't just sit back and take it all in- the view, the atmosphere, the people, the simple idea that they are looking at something that has been around since before America was even discovered. To contemplate the fact that Segovia's Roman aqueduct has not a single ounce of mortar holding the stones together or that Granada's incredible Alhambra palaces were built prior the existence of Spain as a single, unified entity.

Nowadays you can't walk through a cathedral or read the inscription on a monument without walking straight into someone's picture. It's like a touristic game of minesweeper... First step- clear. Second step- clear. Third step- shit, that entire group of golden agers is about to launch their fanny packs at me. THEN people get pissed at you because you inadvertantly "ruined" a group picture that they roped some poor, unsuspecting victim into taking with 8 different digital cameras. This is the digital age people- share your photos! That's half the benefit of digital photography!

Once they leave a monument, those same tourists then walk through beautiful medieval streets that wind through old buildings en route to the next stop listed on the travel guide itinerary. But, they miss the so-called "little things" along the way because they spend that walk flipping through the pictures they just took. And it's sad. The draw of European destinations is without a doubt the atmosphere. Everything is steeped in history and a world away from the modernity of American cityscapes. But too many people miss those experiences because of their quest to get the most "oohs" and "ahhs" from people back home to whom they show their photo albums.

In the end, what really makes a trip are the experiences you have while the camera is stowed in its carrying case. Memories - the visual, true-to-proportion image complemented by its accompanying feelings, sounds, smells and tastes - are far more detailed and true to reality than a photoshopped picture. A fantastic dinner, getting tipsy off a bottle of wine, kicking back in a plaza and people-watching, that dog in front of you that peed on every lamp post in sight along the way. Your mind automatically remembers these things - or at least mine does - because it knows when the camera isn't being used. So replace a few of those digital photos with mental snapshots while you sightsee... and for the love of God, fanny packs are so 1992. Let's not abuse the concept of utility over fashion...