Tag Archives: second language learning

Device-ification Now

creative E-learning Concept Book and Laptop 3d render

This morning I reset my Kindle to address a memory issue. I went nuclear and used the factory reset option. That erases everything on the device.

I like the idea of full erase. To me, wide-open unused space is desirable, especially on a hard drive.  Maybe it’s an American thing–the lure of the open range and the West. It also appeals to the minimalist in me. My sock drawer is more than half empty. I like it that way. How many pairs of socks do I need? On the other hand, erasing books? Think about your bookshelves. Ours groan under the weight of the books we read last year, and the year before, and the year before that, going way back in time. Your books form you, become a part of you. Picture those shelves completely empty. A little dust, a few stray bookmarks and receipts. Nothing else. It’s like mind erase. I’ve seen dementia. It looks like that. Continue reading

Ciao, Signorina?

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“Signorina?” I say.  My wife and I are in an airport restaurant in Venice, waiting for a friend to arrive. We have an hour or so to kill.  There’s no better way to do that than by eating.

I’ve ordered the pasta; my wife has the prosciutto and mozzarella.  We need some bread. Well, my wife needs some bread.

She shakes her head. “You really should call her signora,” she says. Continue reading

Margaritas, Cold Sweat, and Dante

beata-beatrix

Dante wrote his long poem for Beatrice Portinari (that’s Bay-ah-TREE-chay)

“Rojo,” my wife says to me one morning.

We’re in the car on the way to the gym. We work out in the basement of the township senior center. Treadmills, ellipticals, exercise bicycles, a couple rowing machines—there’s always a few of these not in use. There are also number of pneumatic weight machines, for maintaining a senior citizen’s various muscle groups. You sit at these machines. They’re good for gentle sedentary social exercise.

“What about it?” I say.

“Why can’t anyone say it?” She says it again, “Rojo.”

“Rojo,” I say.

“Nope.  That’s not it.”

Rojo is a Mexican restaurant in the area. When our niece comes home from Italy, we have a family gathering at Rojo. Twenty or so of us get together to eat and drink. We try to organize these get-togethers on the Tuesday dollar-a-taco night. Rojo serves acceptable tacos and cheesey beany burritos and sizzling fajitas. Also popular is the house margarita, a greenish slurry of cheap tequila and an industrial-grade margarita mix that gives the drink a long distinctly chemical finish. The cocktail is served in an over-sized chalice; sort of like a small glass bucket. I don’t think it comes with an umbrella. (It should come with an aspirin.) Continue reading