fin de semana (part 1)

Ah but its a sad reminder
When your organ grinder has to come to you for the rent
And all you’ve got to give him
Is the use of your side-show tent

Yes and that’s all that remains of the years
Spent doing to rounds
And it never rains around here
Well it just comes pouring down
- Dire Straits


It’s 1 AM. Don’t seem to be able to sleep when the sun’s not out. Makes no sense. Hardly slept last night and here I am – wide awake. This fucking bed is so short I don’t really fit. ME! I’m 5’8. I don’t know what that is in meters! It’s raining, which it never seems to do here in the winter. Anyway, here are the tales of gore and crapulence from the weekend:

Saturday Morning’s All Right for Fighting

We found a great bar – Cuban place. Great music, mojitos, etc. Some of the gals were with us for a while. Then it was just the Martian and I. We walked out the bar at 5 AM. We were on Gran Via when this Joker comes running up to the Martian. The guy starts kicking at his feet and says “David Beckham, yeah!”

“Mind your wallet,” the Martian yells. I had already thought of it. Sure enough, the guy tried to grab the Martians wallet out of his front pocket. “Hey you fucker!” he yelled, and the guy ran off like he had set him on fire. “You fucking pussy!” he screamed and chased him down a cobblestone alley. It was the funniest thing I’ve even seen. The Martian’s no street fighter, but he had this guy scared shitless.

We concluded that the cops must know them and because we caused a ruckus and were onto them, they ran.

We were searching for another place to go til the Metro reopened at 6 or 7 (I forget which) and we wisely decided to call it a night. We started to walk towards a good street to get a cab for each of us when some moron runs up to me and pulls the same shit. “David Beckham!” and starts kicking my feet. At the same time, he tries to reach inside my front pocket. Now, I don’t like either my wallet or my balls being grabbed, and without thinking, slammed him in the solar plexus with a right. He buckled over and I kept walking. He was twice my size, but the solar plexus treats us all the same. Then the Martian chased this guy down an alley. This one was not cobblestone but the end result was the same. The guy fucked off.

Once again, it’s easy to see why Spain hasn’t done squat since the 16th century. They are a bunch of pussies. The Martian was like, “For fuck’s sake. If you’re going to mug me, hit me over the head! None of this pussy shit.”

The Time of the Season

Saturday afternoon was gorgeous. I went and saw a great flat in the Chueca section of Madrid. It’s the gay section with tremendous bars and shops, and it’s a great flat. Don’t know if they’ll pick me though, as they want the person to commit to a long period of time. Anyway, the Martian’s room is down there. He called me and we got lunch. Then we took the Metro down to Vicente Calderon Stadium where Atletico Madrid plays, the working class team of Madrid, as opposed to Real Madrid, which has a huge payroll and lately, underachieves. I found a guy with season tickets and we got 70 Euro seats for 40 E. We were 20 rows from the pitch at the center half line. Incredible. Atletico tied Racing Santander 1 – 1. And it was cold! But I met my man Pedro and now have a hook up for season tickets!

News Flash: While I fill you in on the past weekend: we committed to a great flat tonight. Huge by Spanish standards. It’s Stuart, a 20 year old rugby playing Irishman (and a great lad), Kristen (a sweet gal from Orange County, CA) and myself (El Dude). Should be a wild ride. Views of the mountains, a deck to barbecue on, and big rooms. Viva la Madrilenos!

Crush Time

I was gambling in Sevilla
When I took a little risk
Send lawyers, guns and money
Mel, get me out of this!
-Warren Zevon



It was another banner weekend. Many tales to tell. Unfortunately, I have a huge assignment and a flat to see at 20:00, so I’ll have to fill you in on another day. I think my land lady is a cannibal. The flatmate I met the first day, Maria, disappeared and the puta has been making bad smelling stews for a week. So I need to get out this weekend before she Sweeny Todd’s my ass. Damn but I hate that woman.

Sydney (we all call her Texas) saw an empty flat tonight. There are three rooms and four possible folks from class, which would be nice. The others are a young gal from California, a young guy from Ireland who’s funny as hell and me. I’ll try and see it tomorrow.

Class is almost over and I have to do my resume, so I’ll write as soon as I can. Keep rocking in the free world! I promise a long blog with international intrigue, sordid details and a titilating view into the future!

My true profession

The open road is infinitely hopeful
Take all those memories and throw them in the fire

Don’t hurt yourself
Don’t hurt yourself
Don’t hurt yourself
Anymore
-Marillion

My war with the Puta has escalated. I now run the washing machine every night after 10, without clothes in it, just because she asked me not too. The bedee has become my urinal (so nice to have one without going to a bar!) and one Saturday morning I put my toenail clippings in the grounds of her coffee while it was brewing. You want a piece of me, bitch! Then I took the meanest poo in four years and she went in after- she came out scowling.

Teaching goes swimmingly. My mom told me on Sunday, via IM (way to go Mom!) that she told me years ago I should teach. And I’m just like; I realize that! Haven’t you realized by now that I have to figure out these things for myself? Thanks for throwing that Montreal steak seasoning in my wounds. Feels Bueno!

Well, it’s 1 AM. Time to go to bed soon. Maybe this way I won’t wake up at 2, 3 or 4 like I always do. Except when I stay out past those hours. I may have found a nice flat tonight. Will see another tomorrow.

Well, time to come clean with you all. I’m not really taking a TEFL course out here. Chris, my next door neighbor, called it years ago. For over 8 years now, I have worked for the CIA. I have already “eliminated” 4 of the 6 people responsible for the Madrid bombings in 2004. 2 to go. From there, it’s off to Korea to kill that peckerhead who runs the country – Il Jon Kim, Kim jon Il- whatever. He’s not the cute little puppet we all saw in Team America!

Other than that, it’s status quo. I still wear pants as infrequently as possible, when given the chance. I still keep trying to obtain a new copy of Revenge of the Sith (Mel confiscated all of mine- “this is not going to help”!) to no avail.

It hypnotizes me. The heart-wrenching scene when Padme realizes that Anakin has gone over to the dark side. I can relate.

Everything else is fine.

A Human Condition

My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spareI had to cram so many things to store everything in thereAnd all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short peopleAnd all the nobody people, and all the somebody peopleI never thought I’d need so many people
-David Bowie

Time to tell you about some of my fellow students. Amazing stories. So much beauty and so much pain – fuck. It’s just overwhelming. Everyone has a story. I guess we’re all here for some reason. You all know my scene and quite frankly, I am bored to hell with my story. So here’s some others, truly extraordinary:

The Martian: 44 from Ireland. My good buddy. We are the two old geezers. He was a very successful IT consultant until about a year ago. About three years ago, he began getting the symptoms of MS. He walked around for another year sweating it out, afraid to go to the doctor. When he finally went to the doctor, after a barrage of tests, the doctor declared that he was fine. It was psycho-somatic. He was under a great deal of pressure and had actually convinced himself he had MS. So in his own words, he “fucked off” for a year, stopped working and traveled around the world with money he saved up. He came here to see if he would like to be a teacher.

Stuart: Also Irish, but only 20. Grew up on his father’s dairy farm of 40 cows. He spent this summer on the Spanish southern coast, working at an English immersion summer camp. He loved it. Then he went back to Ireland to work. In October, a very good Spanish friend of his, 24, dropped dead of an epileptic seizure.

“Fuck it,” he said, “I’m going back to Spain. Even at my age, who knows how long I’ve got.” For the record, we have three Irish with us and I have bet them 300 Euros to split between them if they can all three go a full day without saying ‘fuck’. They quickly rejected the bet.

Amanda: A good friend and good egg. 24 from Denver. She spent the last year in S. Korea teaching English. Then she came home this July. She was at a party in a hotel room with people she knew and didn’t know. This one guy kept talking about how he was sure he could jump from the window and hit the swimming pool. They were drinking beer and smoking pot, nothing too crazy. Suddenly Amanda looked out the window and this guy was lying on the pavement, a pool of blood at his head. Her guy friend tried to jump a fence to get to him and shattered his ankle.

They called the police and they got him in an ambulance. The police grilled them. They told them they were drinking and smoking pot – that was it – and how he was talking about trying to hit the pool. If he was on something else, they were unaware.

The guy’s still alive, but as far as Amanda knows, a vegetable. But she doesn’t really want to know. She had plans to come Madrid anyway, but the incident made it all the easier to get away.

Where the players lick their wounds
And take their temporary lovers
And their pills and powders
To get them through this passion plays

No regrets, Coyote
I’ll just get off up a ways
You just picked up a hitcher
A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway
-Joni Mitchell

---

On the Flats

Dried up, a guitar upon my knee
I should have sold out when the devil came for me
Dig a hole and throw it out to sea
Break the code, how happy I could be

I still wave at the dots on the shore
And I still beat my head against the doorI
still rage and wage my little war
I'm a shade and easy to ignore
-Porcupine Tree

Well, still trying to find a flat that’s livable, the place I saw tonight was clean, but the room didn’t even have a desk, was 6 x 12 AND they wanted a year contract. And it was way to the north and had no local neighborhood. “Does it have Internet?” I asked.

“No, but you can steal it.”

Are these people kidding?

I talked to this guy yesterday. I asked if I could come down and see the flat. He said sure. I got there 40 minutes later. “I’m here to see the falt. Jay Greco, we spoke on the phone half an hour ago.”

“I have 77 flats I represent.” He was English but had that annoying “I could give a fuck” attitude that so many Spanish have. Here we go again, I thought.

He goes “It’s $450 E.” Like I’m going to take it without seeing it. Lazy fuck. I told him I’d like to see it first. “Oh, I’m too busy right now.”

“I called you at half twelve,” I said. “You said you could show it to me.”

“No,” he said with an evil smile. “I tried to explain that I could explain it to you if you came down.” This douche bag spoke perfect English. And by the way, so I do. I walked out and slammed the door.”

And so the search for housing continues. I called the company I rented this cell from. He couldn’t understand me for shit. When I cursed him out, he miraculously began to understand that my lease ran out in ten days. “We’ll find you a place, we’re just busy now.”

“Fuck you. I paid you a 50 E deposit.”

“We’ll find you a place, I guarantee. Now what was your name…”

It’s nice to be made to feel so welcome.

So there it is - the staggering lows you suffer to experience the dizzying highs. Oh well. I’ve done worse. I did once spend 8 hours in Trench Town jail cell …and I escaped with my bunghole intact. But that’s another story.

So I’ll get to school early tomorrow and begin searching the Internet again. There’s still a good chance I’ll find another place by next Sat. Otherwise, it’s another month in the house of horrors.

I’ve thought about coming home, but it’s way too early to give up. Couple this with the fact that the home I’ve known the past 6 years, and more so the last 15 months with Frippy, no longer exists. Soon Darth will be back. And then the birth of either my daughter or Mordred(ina). Talk about UFO (Unlimited Freak Out). So in a way, I have been cast adrift. It’s also kind of finally hit me that I have some major emotional shit to deal with after all that has gone down the past four months. Well, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

I am convinced I will never die.

-

The moon is back in phase, though only a sliver on its bottom. Makes me feel better anyway. Makes me think of all of you a world away. I also found a pack of Marlboro lights with one cig and a lighter in it in my leather jack – they belonged to the Russian Bird. She had asked me to hold them. Isn’t it amazing how another human being’s possessions can flood you back with memories? I stuck it into a spot on the little TV that hangs from the wall that only gets six channels, and not Canal +, which shows football (what the hell’s the point?). Anyway, it makes me smile when I see them.

A grew a goa-tee to look less gringo-American, more Spanish and more like the Professor de Ingles I soon will be. My hair also grows longer by the week. Anyway, after about two weeks, it was time to trim my beard. I plugged in my beard trimmer into one of these crazy Euro outlets (with the power converter) and it fried. Finito. Termina.

So I got a new one today. There was a nice old man behind the counter (An Elderly Old Man Behind the Counter of a Small Tienda). I gave him a ten Euro bill and was counting out the single Euro coins. He saw the rune the Sisters Chaos (Mel and Janet) had given me for Christmas in my hand. He pointed to it, I guess mistaking it for a 2 Euro coin. I found enough change and gave it to him and said, “No, no currencia, es un rune.” He asked to see it, so I gave it to him. I translated as best I could – “Keep esa con tu while viaje y sabe tu eres esta aqui en su hearts.” Then he read it aloud himself. Guess he knew English – “Keep this with you while away and know you are here in our hearts.” I carry it with me everyday.

“Very nice,” he said.
“Si,” I said. “Si.”

-

I remember walking home from the disco on Saturday with the Russian Bird on my arm at like 6:30 AM. I guess I was singing. Since my iPod was stolen, I often sing to myself. Who the fuck can understand me anyway?

“Why do you sing?” Natasha asked.

“Because I’m happy.” She seemed satisfied with my answer.

“What do you sing?” I’m sure she had somehow smoked a cigarette in-between the exchange.

“It’s a band called Porcupine Tree.”

She smiled that Red Army stopping smile of hers. “Porcupine Tree?”

“Yes.”

“I no know them.”

“That’s alright,” I said. “No one does.”

But I do. And I think they’re the best prog rock band to come out of the 90’s, hands down. And I guess that’s all that really matters. Doesn’t it?

A Young Reader’s Guide to the Spanish Exile Blog

Put a bullet in your brain
And it takes all the pain away
- David Bowie

I’m beginning to understand why Spain hasn’t been a world power since the 1500’s. EVERYTHING takes a long time to do here. Everything is a line (or a queue as my dear Irish friends would say). It took two days to recharge my pay as you go phone. And they are very insular and racist against things non-Spanish. It’s nothing for someone in a bar or restaurant to yell “hey Columbia” to a Columbian person behind the bar, “Una otra cerveza,” but I get the sense it’s not all completely in good humor. And if you don’t speak perfect Spanish, they may not give you what you want, even if it would be easy enough to surmise it from the context. It seems both ironic and fascinating that while the rest of Europe is opening itself up to the idea of being European (thanks to the EU), Spain is becoming more withdrawn. It could spell ugly times down the road, at least economically, if not otherwise.

There was a horrible racist incident here while the Spanish national team was qualifying for the 2006 world cup. I don’t know who the opposition was but every time a black player touched the ball, he would be greeted with monkey grunts and the throwing of bananas. I mean – wow! Fucking crazy. FIFA (The Football Association) punished Spain severely by making them play the next home to an empty stadium, which is devastating economically.

I knew there was an anti-Muslim sentiment here, a reaction to the Madrid Metro bombing of March 2004, as well as the conquest of Spain by the Moors hundreds of years ago. And the horrors of the Spanish Inquisition show a failure to accept diversity.

Actually, the Spanish penchant for staying out all night and partying was a contrast response to the decades of harsh dictatorship under Franco. Their social life was the only thing they could really control, so they partied like it was 1599.

Anyway, just a little background for you into a very complex and unique country. But the racism is hard to take. Then again, I’ve lived in the Confederacy for the past eight years.

Anyway, to finish up, here’s a list of terms for our young readers for the past, present, and future:

Mel: My sister, Melissa, also known as Missy, Seester, the Sleestack, or the Voice of America, as she has been my steadiest contact during my sojourn, as well as the point person for my finances back in North America.

The Martian: Martin Kelly, my Irish friend

The Mural: the local bar across the street

The Puta: (the whore): My land lady and housemate

Jamon: Any number of 167 ham products

The cell: My 7 x 8 room

The Russian Bird: Natasha

El Dude: My Alias

The Bell or the Flem: Kate from Belgium

Darth: She who shall not be named, strong in the ways of the Sith

Cerveza: Beer

Celsius: No fucking idea

Metric system: ditto

Truly clean laundry: A thing of the past

637 251 685: My phone number, in case you ever really need me for some odd reason. The country code is 34. You may have to add +34 to the number. I really don’t know how that works now that I am local.

Keep rocking kids

Natasha

I went home with a waitress
The way I always do
How was I to know
She was with the Russians too??!!
-Warren Zevon

There’s something about Madrid: no matter how hard you try to be good, sometimes it just doesn’t work out. Blame it on Madrid, I guess. It’s certainly not my fault. Plus I’ve always kind of sucked at ‘being good.’

Anyway, after the blowout on Friday night, I awoke at 4pm. Martin was rousing me by telephone to go watch Leceister England play Munster Ireland in some European rugby cup. This Irish bar was packed. The Irish love any chance to throttle the English for 800 years of oppression. But Munster lost.

So then the other folks met us for dinner, then we went to Sol, the tourist area with all the bars. Some of the others decided to go to a nightclub but it was 1 AM and I decided to call it an early night (that is early for Madrid on Saturday). Deirdre and I took same Metro back (the Metro closes at 1:30 AM and then you have to cab). So now it’s 1:45 or so and I haven’t seen the crowd at the Mural Bar, my main delving into Spanish culture across from my cell, and I decide to have one last beer and say hello.

The place was hopping, there was a big party for somebody’s birthday and all the regulars were there. I met some new folks and introduced myself as El Dude, which gets a lot of laughter. Then when they try to say my real name, they understand why. So I’m talking Spanglish with this dude, when this blonde hottie interjects herself into the conversation. She spoke some English and Spanish with us. Her name was Natasha, born in Moscow, had lived in Madrid for 13 years, and was now divorced. I thought she was with the guy next to her, but she said she wasn’t.

She kind of looked like a blonde Christina Ricci, which is probably why I couldn’t say no to going with her to a ‘disco’ when the police made the bar close at three (if the police don’t come they may stay open all night). Thankfully, it was more of a DJ place than a disco and I danced my ass off with her til 6:30AM. She could really shake her boogie and she chain smoked like Joni Mitchell. It didn’t matter. Whisper sweet communist propaganda into my capitalist ears! Then we went to a Cervezaria for breakfast. We got there at about 7AM and it was jammed! Everyone was getting breakfast from the night before. Madrid is a dangerous place. I got to bed at half past 8.

Mel, using Skype to talk to me while I typed franticly, said, “Geez, you’re just like a kid in a candy shop, aren’t you?” Es verdad (true).

My Nana always used to tell me “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

Es Verdad, Nana. But I sure am enjoying the ride. Besides, hell only exists for right wing extremists and Mormons.

Out of phase

But if I'd known how that would sound to you
I would have stayed in your bed
for the rest of my life
Just to prove I was right
That it's harder to be friends than lovers
And you shouldn't try to mix the two'
Cause if you do it and you're still unhappy
Then you know that the problem is you

-Liz Phair

I haven’t seen the moon yet here. It must be out of phase. Whenever I’m in a foreign country and I see the moon, I’m always baffled that it’s the same one I see from the yard back home- I’m on a different land mass, yet I can still see it. I miss it. I hope it comes back soon. It reminds me too that all of you are out there.

It’s been quite a two weeks. Wow.

The weekends (fin de semana) are insane. I was out till 5 am on Friday. All of us from class went out and just kind of went nuts. NEVER do shots of Jameson with an Irish guy. It’s a no win situation. The gals went crazy too, picking up guys and making out with them right on the dance floor. Ay Carumba!

For once in my life I used a little more discretion and rapped with this English gal from class, Rachel, for like two hours. I was then smart enough to go straight home and fall into bed (I kind of had to because there was no room in my cell with the laundry rack still drying my stiff clothes), unlike Martin (the Irish Guy) who wound up in a Spanish Police station. Rachel, Deidre and I said goodbye to him at 5am and he didn’t get home til 7, so there are 2 hours that are unaccounted for. Now Martin, 44, doesn’t not speak one solitary word of Spanish- not a one. I asked him what the hell he did to get brought downtown – to which he replied that he had no fucking idea. The policia were shouting at him in Spanish and he just kept saying “No habla, no fucking habla” but he pronounced the H which should be silent, which makes it even funnier (I usually handle the Spanish when we go out – and he just goes to English speaking places a lot). Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity. Or public drunkenness. We’ll never know. Just another one of life’s great mysteries. All he could say is that after he said “No Habla” 19 times, they let him go. Thank god. Otherwise I would have woken up to a text message on my phone:

Hello lad- Have you ever planned a prison break?

Inside Down

This quote goes out to my buddy Bryan (to the tune of Genesis’ the Carpet Crawlers).Praise Jah for instant messengers!

XXXXXXXXXXX

The coochie cleaner
Cleans your wiener
You’ve got to get in to get out

And also a shout out to my cousin Lisa whose birthday was the 14th.

Teaching goes swimmingly. Today I taught an advanced class about the Beatles and we examined the lyrics ‘Revolution’ and the political significance. I also taught grammar- slang and the subjunctive tense (if). I think I’m going to really dig this teaching gig.

I am feeling way more comfortable here in general. I know the metro, I know where to buy food and I know how to get Internet Access. I instant message Mel every day and Bryan a good bit too. Life is so much slower here. I feel like I’ve really started a new life. The shadow of the Empire grows more faint every day. I don’t know how much else new there is to tell, which is good. The wild stories are good, but I needed a fucking break.

My new drinking buddy is Martin Kelly, a good sort from the Emerald Isle. Actually, everyone in class is fairly cool and we’ve gone out a good bit.

Things that are weird:

This dude Todd is from Boston, so we watched the Pats – Chargers game. It ended at 2:30 am here.

When the light goes green for pedestrians to walk, the light chirps at you like a mechanical cicada on acid.

The Spanish are not used to taking things “para llevar” or “to go.” So if you ask for coffee to go, they give it to you but are left mouth agape. The coffee is great, but when we get a coffee para llevar, the plastic cup is not really meant for it and almost melts in your hand. Maybe it’s the plastic that gives me such a buzz?

Hooters are not a big deal here. Playboy and stuff has topless chicks on it and they don’t put any sleeves on them. The USA is so puritanical it’s mind boggling.

What else? It’s been weird to learn English grammar again. The other day we learned present simple and past perfect. I find there’s nothing simple about the present or perfect about my past.

I finally got the Puta to give me a vacuum cleaner and vacuumed my room. There weren’t dust bunnies, but dust tigers and bears. It was a disgrace.

I am still sick or allergy ridden. Not enough to put me on my back but enough that I’m not right. Maybe I was never really quite right, but I have felt better. We all got sick, us twelve gringos in the class. We sound like a TB ward.

I am doing laundry while I blog. I’ll try drying these in my room- somewhere. The laundry I did Monday and put out on the patio never dried. It had that lovely Madrid carbon – monoxide smell. Ummmm…cancer through my pores. Truly this is a more civilized country.

This is to the tune of “Cocaine Blues” – Lyrics and Music by Johnny Cash, as modified by Jay

I moved to Spain and I took a few spills
In came a sheriff from the Basque Hills
He said “El Dude, get your face on the ground!
You’re the dirty hack that shot your woman down”

When they came for me I was dressed in black
But I had a San Miguel shoved up my crack
I cut a fart and blew them all away
I knew sweet beer was gonna save my life one day!

Downside Up

I looked up at the tallest building
Felt it falling down
I could feel my balance shifting
Everything was moving around

These streets so fixed and solid
Ah - the shimmering haze
And everything that I relied on
disappeared

Downside up, upside down
Take my weight from the ground
Falling deep in the sky
Slipping into the unknown

All the strangers look like family
All the family looks so strange
The only constant I am sure of
Is this accelerating rate of change

-Peter Gabriel


Well, teaching went very well last week. Taught an intermediate class about visiting Washington DC and a beginner class about going to a DC United game. Teacher said to stick with what you know. There’s a lot of prep, but it’s been very good.

My Spanish is starting to kick in again, Gracias a Dios! But I have a long way to go.

The fin de semana, the weekend, is an amazing thing in Madrid. My classmates and I all decided we needed to cut loose after a rough first week. I had my iPod stolen right of my room, quite possibly by the puta who owns the place. But compared to what happened to some of the other folks, I may have gotten off easy.

Sydney, a gal from Texas, wore her stilettos (people do dress up here, but she’s a teacher, not a porn star, at least not that day) and broke off at the heel in the Metro. We had to carry her up the stairs. Her foot is severely sprained and they wouldn’t give her crutches. It’s still swollen like a run away garden zucchini.

Rachel, an early twenties chain smoker from England, got an upper respiratory infection and was spitting up blood. Deidre, from Ireland, walked in an hour late to the first class because the Spanish don’t really use street signs. In her rush, she missed a bitchy little step that serves no purpose and landed flat on her face, pushing a tooth into her gum. And by now ¾‘s of us have had or have colds. And don’t even mention what all of this new food had down to my digestive tract – it’s been brutal.

So we went out for beers on Friday, two American gals, this Irish bloke, and I. We hit an English pub, then a little cervezaria I knew for some sardines and cheese. Then we stumbled upon a Latin American place where the folks were quite friendly. I got home at 7:30 am! I then slept til 5:30 pm. The Spanish don’t go out til 22:00 (10 pm). At 3:00 am the streets are packed on the weekend. It’s crazed.

On Sunday, while my beloved Seahawks were squandering a game they would lose in overtime, we went to one of the cathedrals of football, Santiago Bernabeu, where Real Madrid plays. They sing, they dance, blow horns and go nuts. It is a family outing. They beat Zaragoza 1 – 0. It was a life long dream to see a game there. I like to set the bar kind of low. But it’s illegal to serve alcohol at a football match all over Europe because of hooliganism. And they say Americans are dumb asses!

What else in this outside down world I find myself in? Working the washing machine in my flat was completely foreign. I had no idea. I then found out I didn’t use nearly enough detergent. And you can only fit a load about the size of a teabag. Then you have to dry your stuff outside and I’m right in the city. My clothes may be dirtier than when I started. They are still wet 24 hours later.

I ran out of socks because I packed like an asshole. They were wet and I tried to dry a pair with a hair dryer before I stood outside from 9-11pm (they really are night owls) at the Real Madrid game. The dryer didn’t work so well. Luckily, I found a pre-used pair I had missed under the bed, turned them inside out, and away I went.

Today I got a dozen luxurious socks at H&M. It really is the little creature comforts that you appreciate. So enjoy your enormous, clean houses. Enjoy your American Football beamed into your home. I took so much for granted. But still, it’s been an amazing wild ride so far. It just takes a while to adjust. I’ll let you know when that happens.

Also, the Spanish have a hell of a time with Jay. It comes out “Hey!” and everyone turns around. And Jota (the letter J in Spanish) is very close to Jote (which means faggot). So I now introduce myself as “El Dude.” It’s working quite nicely.

Okay- I got the puta to give me a vacuum cleaner, which had no charge in it, surprise, surprise. Filthy whore. I was attacked by a dust bunny with a fully formed mouth when I grabbed those socks under the bed yesterday. It should be charged now. Time to claim my cell as my own til I can get the F^*k out of here.

Here’s a sloppy wet one going out to everybody!

10/1/07

The Horror, the Horror

Christ you know it ain’t easy
You know how bad it can be
The way things are going
They’re going to crucify me
-John Lennon

Well, tomorrow I teach my first class, part of my 8 hours of student teaching. They are an intermediate class. This lesson is about visiting DC, seeing the Washington monument, going to a DC United game, etc. You need to ham it up and gesticulate a lot because the entire class is in English. Should be fun. Our teacher is very good, even if he is a spooky Norwegian.

But NOTHING is as scary as this flat. I’ll start looking for a new place this weekend. Janet, the owner who lives in the living room, cooked some crazy fish stew and the house has stunk for two days (probably still will tomorrow). Add to that the fact that there is a pelt of some kind drying on the kitchen radiator. It’s smaller than Fripp-size, but has black, brown and white on it. Scary. Then there’s the fact that the kitchen table and the toilet looked like they had been cleaned for the first time ever yesterday, by me. There’s a toaster oven that is tall and thin – it kind of looks like a counter-sized grandfather clock. It has bread crumbs in it left over from the Spanish Inquisition. Add to that that I tripped the breaker and blacked the whole flat out (all 50 square feet of it) just by plugging my laptop in with a surge protector last night. Other than that the place is swell.

Except yesterday morning I brought my personal case into the bathroom to shower but realized I forgot my towel. In the 2.3 seconds it took to fetch it from my cell, Janet jumped into the bathroom. At first I though the slum lord was going to cut me in the shower. I heard water running for a while, but she was out 5 minutes later. Bewildered, I went in and shut the door to take the poop du jour. Staring down at me in the bedee were rivulets of water. She had just cleaned her coochie in the weenie washer! Now, while I’m not proud, I will admit to smelling the panties of women I was dating or married to. But this just freaked me out. When you’re on the throne your head is practically in the bedee. Ugh!!! And I had actually entertained the idea of using it when the shower was having a freezing day instead of a mildly tepid one. Fuck that.

I do have a little balcony off my room which would double my square footage if my Swedish flatmate, whose room also looks out onto to it, didn’t have a drying rack out there that takes up the whole thing. But I guess I’ll dry my clothes there too. If it ever gets dry. No rain but it’s been as foggy as London for four days, very rare because Spain normally has dry winters. We are so buggered with global warming. And Germany and Sweden are dying for snow. Seems like the only place on the planet that has any snow is Denver.

Tonight I instant messaged Mel from my kitchen on a contraband wireless connection. I’m jaygreco333 on Yahoo. I have internet access at school too. I also found a great little mom and pop place that I went to at 11pm for drinks and tapas. People were dancing to Latin stuff and drinking some home specialty wine mixed with something I can’t pronounce that was really good. They give you free tapas with a drink. One was a piece of French bread with a blue mold on it. It looked hideous but tasted delicious.

So other than the typical lumps you take when you first go to a foreign country, things seem to be going pretty well. It’s so different it’s unreal. I forgot how different things are here. Everything moves very slowly. My big accomplishment yesterday after work was buying another bath towel. No wonder why these guys haven’t won a war since the 1500’s. But I guess they have better fish to fry. Also, 3 out of every 5 people smoke like Joni Mitchell, one after the other. And tonight was the first time I saw someone light a joint in a bar, which I heard is quite common. They’ll smoke anything – road tar, hard wood, ham – you name it. If it burns they smoke it.

Madrid itself is expensive – and it doesn’t help that the dollar is getting pounded compared to the Euro. It’s a crazy place but very fun. It’s so different from the District I don’t even know where to begin, so I guess I’ll just continue to give it to you all piecemeal. It’s been a real eye opening experience and I already have some new story arcs to weave into the next novel, so all is well.

Beware, when I return I may ask to rent your walk-in closet. It’ll be an upgrade.

And I purchased a six-pack of Geniuss Beer the other day, made in Barcelona. I think it makes you smarter.

12/1/07

Fanny

Nope. Don’t feel any smarter. False advertising once again.

One of my classmates is a smoking hot woman from Belgium (I guess she’s a Bell, or a Flem – neither sounds so good.) For reasons I don’t really understand, other than she thinks I’m devilishly handsome ( and who could argue!), she told me that fanny means ‘ass’ in America but ‘vagina’ in Belgium. I knew her for three hours and she said “vagina.” I’ve known women for twenty years who never said the word “vagina” to me. The conversation was completely unsolicited, which begs the question; “Does anyone love me for my brain? Am I just another hot bod?” I left the States because women only saw me as a piece of meat. Can’t I be handsome and intellectual? Goddamn you all, goddamn you all to hell.

Cuisine on a budget

Cured ham blues

Had Serrano ham for breakfast
Had cured ham for lunch
Had it again for dinner
Now that may seem a bit much

But you seem I am a Spanish ham
Robin Hood
I left it out for 6 days
And it still was good

The moral of this story is never to order a kilo of ham because it's a hell of a lot.

Lagged

Quote of the Day

I used to love her
but I had to kill her
-Guns and Roses

Can’t sleep- stupid jet lag. Went to a cervezaria tonight and had Iberian ham. You stand up at the bar to eat and they give you tapas. Instead of free peanuts or olives, they gave me free pork rinds. All I needed was the bacon y queso bocadilla and I would have had the pork trifecta! Shame I got full.

Then I walked around. EVERYTHING is different, even the supermarket. It’s like bizarro world. Lots of cans of things with sardines. Things are so much slower here too. People seem to truly live their lives. I’m looking for roommates if anyone wants to join me!

Something in this kitchen smells funky. I haven’t looked in the freezer yet. I’m afraid I may find a head or something. This place is scary! Got to get out next month before I’m stabbed in the shower. The frigid water will wash away all the DNA evidence.

Still wary of the weenie washer. It just doesn’t seem kosher. But I like that you can buy a beer at a bar IN the subway. Need to try that someday. And you don’t need a paper bag!

There’s a loud racket coming out from the street. It’s 23:52 but it sounds like a chainsaw. Do they have the mob here in Madrid?

International Incidents and Balls

Well, today class started. Looks like I’ll get a great prep for teaching in a very intensive 4 week course. The class is 11 people; Brits, Irish, Americans, a Bell (Belgium) and a little dude from Portugal who is short enough to fit in my suitcase. However, I have found it easier to split the class into 3 groups; guys, girls I would have sex with and girls I would not have sex with. Respectively the groups contain 4, 4 and 2. I did not include myself as I have sex with myself all the time (sorry Mom! I now regret the lack of foresight in sending you the link for the blog.) Anyway, 4 out of 6 is great odds!

Well, the land lady assured me I will have hot water when I shower tomorrow morning, but I’m not holding my breath ( I’ll need it if the shower is as cold as it was last night). I now know exactly how big my skull is because the water was so icy it pulled tight around my cranium. In case you’re playing along at home, it’s ¾ of a meter, however f*#king big that is. F*#king metric system. And Celsius! I need to learn some of that crap, and quick.

I am in the kitchen now, even though I don’t need the Internet because my room is the size of a small cell. I should entitle my blog ‘the Spanish Prisoner.’ In a week or two I’ll start looking for a new place with some of my classmates.

Our teacher is a thin little bald guy with a scary bulbous head. He’s from Denmark, but was a Brit for years and is kind of see through he’s so pale. It looks like he took most of his dress cues from Bella Lugosi, but he’s an excellent teacher.

Anyway, I went to this bar last night because I was wide awake after sleeping from 13:00 to 18:30 (did we conquer this place that they use military time?). I went out at 23:30, which is the norm for the Spaniards. I went to the mural bar.

I was concerned that a lot of the men seemed to be grabbing their balls a lot. I mean a lot. Way more than the universal 1.3 second rule. Then this tall drunk guy punched his apparent friend in the balls. He hit him hard from the time it took for the dude to recover. I later found out they were brothers! I’m okay with Euro guy kissing each other, but sac volleyball is a heresy! And it wasn’t a gay bar as there were plenty of senoritas caliente!

Anyway, the guy who got his nads punched (Juan Carlos) was quite friendly once he could stand up straight again. He later brought me a beer. We played darts (I kicked his Iberian ass) and I got him a rum and coke. He then told me he was a cop (we spoke in Spanglish as I realized my Spanish was quite rusty). Then this very drunk old timer kept trying to talk to me and get close, probably trying to pick my pocket. Juan Carlos stood between he and me and then told him to get lost. All I could understand was that the old rummy was saying something about Kuwait. The man then went down to the bar and stared yelling because Juan Carlos had sided with el Americano (that would be me). He slammed down his beer, saying things like ‘hijo de puta’ – son of a whore (wow, you REALLY shouldn’t read this blog anymore Mom).

Juan Carlos told me to be very careful of pick pockets and to just carry a copy of my passport, which I knew and I do.

Then he asked me if I want to go to a whore house. “Tu Sabes…,” he said “…fucky fucky.”

“First of all…,” I said, “..only little Asian dudes say ‘fucky, fucky.’ You’re weirding me out. Second of all, I thought you were a cop.” He confirmed he was, so I guess it’s just like back home in North Jersey.

We all know I love whores, but the whole thing sounded fishy and I like to blow my money on whores at the end of the month, so I just went home. It’s called fiduciary responsibility. See mom, something to be proud of!

Dude in strange land

I'm here! Listening to some Djam Karet on the iPod, still eating serano jamon, still sipping a San Miguel. The kitchen is the only place i can snag the internet, which is handy.

I'm unpacked. This place is less than spartan. There's 4 of us here, although only two are here now. The owner lives in the living room. Now I really feel like an immigrant. This place is so small - 4 of us here is the equivalent to 11 people in a house in Paterson NJ. And now i also know why they have those bedee toilets, you know, weenie washers - cause there's no hot water! My shower was excruciating. I'll probably be looking for new accomodations after this month.

But I'm here, I'm not queer, get used to it!

Okay, I'm going to the bar down the street for some food. It's 11pm, but folks are just getting back from the football game and just getting started. They stay up all night here. I'll let u know how that works out.

On the way out here, several times I wondered if I had truly lost my mind. I needed help just to use the pay phone in the aeroputo so that I could get the key to my flat.
Then I couldn't find the door to the building my flat is in. Or how to turn on the hot water.

Tomorrow I brave the Metro! Boo yeah!!!

Good-Bye to Me

Can't believe I really used to have a crush on Patty Smyth. Oh well. You get the dark and dirty tales at 3 AM.

Less than eight hours til I leave the house, really for good. So many memories. I am awash. In reality I stink and need a shower. Oh well. You do the best you can. In the immortal words of Jimmy Hendrix- "Good-bye everybody." I'll talk to you from my Safe European Home.

Many well wishers stopped by and then they had a gathering over at Gabby and Volker's. I got a LaSalle Men's club t-shirt that says El Presidente. And a pair of Coors Light Boxers. My only new pair of boxers! Oh the joy, the elation. Good-bye friends. Good-bye North America. Lick my balls, W Bush.

Good Friday

Well, it's Friday and all is well. Or Good. Tomorrow I leave for Madrid. Wow! So much planning and it's here. Saw the Caps tonight (last night) for about the 40th time with my buddy Jamey. Jamey sprung for killer seats at center ice in the lower level. Always good to see old friends.

sidebar: Jamey is moving to Korea in the Spring, and that could be my next stop.

The Caps won convincingly, 5 - 1 over the Habs. And we went to Austin Grille for LBJ margaritas, as we always do. I recommend the crab quesadilla quite highly. I get it every time. That'll be my last time in DC before I go. Wow. Reality hits you like a hard cold screw, flung at your head.

To anyone who reads this (Me, perverts, CIA) I love and will miss you all. The tremendous out-pouring of love you have thrown my way the last 6 weeks will never be forgotten. You're all really extraordinary folks.

And thusly, I bid you ado, my dear blogee. I go to a sweet slumber with the four-legged sleeping pill, Fripp.

Long live rock and roll! Speak to you from Madrid, I shall. Email didn't exist 15 years ago when I was in Jamaica. Nor digital cameras, nor cell phones...

Come visit.

Song of the Day-
Cocaine Blues - Johnny Cash: Live at Folsom Prison
woke up this morning
making the rounds
took a shot of cocaine
and shot my woman down

went straight home
and i went to bed
stucking that loving .44
beneath my head

Paternity in the Afternoon

48 hours from now i'll be in the airport, beginning my trek, and not soon enough. Darth is driving me batshit. I got my passport, took my paternity test and now have a list of errands a yard long before I meet Jamey for the last Caps game for a while.

"Paternity test?!!!" did I hear you say, dear bloggee. Oh yes. They swabbed my mouth for epithelial cells, finger printed me and made me sign where it said "alleged father." How did I get here? How did this happen? Darth- you broke my heart.

T Minus 3

72 hours to go and there's so much left to do it's madness. Maybe that's why I picked Madrid; Mad - Rid. Maybe Spain can put an end to the insanity. I have so much more to say, but I promised I would clean out the garage before I go. Thank sweet baby Jar Jar Binks for iPods!

Anyway, this is my blog. Welcome to the adventures and misdventures of the Expat: a 38 year old American with a healthy wanderlust, a penchant for the unusual, and a need to escape the ever grinding gears of American Society. It's more Jay than you can handle, 24/7. And don't miss Jay Shower Cam as well Knife Throwing at midgets (i think they prefer little people) every Thursday nite. It's fun for the whole family!