21 / 2 / 07
Thru the Lense
When a man lies he murders some part of the world.
-Merlin
"Excaliber"
Well, I finally have enough hours to keep myself afloat. 23 hours a week is a lot for a teacher because you travel like a nomad. And I have an intensive course next week from 8:30 to 12:30 M – F or L – J (Lunes – Jueves), so that's 16 extra hours. So I am psyched. And I'm substituting next week as well.
Let me tell you about my friend Laura that I met a few weeks ago at one of my favorite bars in Chueca, a section of Madrid. She's 25 and has a law degree. She's over here taking Spanish courses because she wanted to coast for a while before she becomes an a junior lawyer and starts putting in 14 hours a day. She talks a mile a minute and chain smokes like Joni Mitchell ( I can't stay away from these chain smokers). She's smart as a NASA scientist, is from Houston and a left wing liberal. She loves porn. "I was kind of addicted to it," she says, half smiling half embarrassed. "Even gay porn, and I'm straight….-ish." I never got to press her further on this.
She's got a great body and she's really petite. I'm always tempted to pick her up and toss her in the air, but we don't quite have that kind of relationship yet.
She's a complete lunatic.
And a very dangerous women.
I really like her.
So yet another interesting character. Madrid has no shortage of them. What I love about Laura is that she's so honest. It's just so refreshing. She is what she is and she makes no apologies. She gives no quarter and asks none. You got to love it.
IN PHASE
The moon is back, praise Jah. It's just a sliver, but soon I'll be here two moons. Tempus Fugit.
I go to bed at 2AM normally and get up at 10AM. Pretty cool, I suppose. Some weeks I'll be working til 9:30 PM. Not a big deal since dinner is at 10 PM. I seem to have no trouble adjusting to the Spanish schedule.
The weather has been lovely. I walk 25 minutes to and from work everyday. I wear a light-ish rain jacket with a fleece underneath. It's cool cause I wear the hood when it's cold and it doesn't really mess up my curly locks. Plus I look like a Jedi with my hood up, which is kind of cool. I always pull my hood back when someone asks me a question or I need to cross one of these insane Spanish roads. It's a great effect. Very dramatic.
So truly I am in exile, like Yoda or Obi Wan. But enjoying my solitude, I am.
+
Take what I say in a different way
And it's easy to see that this is all confusion
-Yes
The cherry blossoms are actually starting to bud here. Sweet. March will bring the Seester and Janet. And the bulls. And spring.
The customs people called me at 9:30 AM the next morning after my tirade. I need to send them a fax of my passport and letter stating everything in the package is for personal use and not for commercial purposes. Socks? A pot and a pan? What am I going to do, open a podiatrist clinic and a small restaurant?
I'm learning that there has been an enormous push back against religion here, since Franco died. Franco had forced Catholicism on them, along with so much else. So even though today is Ash Wednesday, my two college student girls are going home to the south east for carnival this week. Kind of heretical when you really think about it. They used to put people in thumb screws for that 600 years ago. What progress!!!
I think I'm finally out of things to say. Still trying to getting my jeans out of the tree. Goddammit.
Yeah. I'm done. Time to read my mindless spy thriller and off to slumberville.
+
We are extraordinarily adaptable creatures. I believe I have almost adapted to Madrid . I like teaching a lot so far. Things are kind of lazy and slow here. Everything takes a long time to get done. I float through the day like a dish towel broken free of the wash line and drifting on the air pockets.
We need to do something with the living room. There's a lot of space, but the furniture is left over from the time of Columbus and about as comfortable as the cold hard earth. We need a cheap solution to hold us over a few months. Maybe inflatable furniture? Time to consult the Internet.
I wonder what ever happened to Molly Ringwald?
And that note I buried to myself in the backyard of our apartment when I was eleven?
Was the Loch Ness Monster real?
These and other great mysteries unlocked in the next installment. Lastly, any comments may be directed to krcfjg333@gmail.com and I'll have my people contact your people. Lastly, per my attorney's advice, I should say that everything that in this blog, both past, present and future, is fiction and bears no resemblance to people living or dead. That being said, it's all true. Now Brian, you can get off my back.
And finally much thanks to the Voice of America, who now is not just my executor for my North American affairs, but also posts the blog for me from email. Keep up the good work, and please liquidate all of my holdings in Tasty Edible Toilet Paper. I have a distinct feeling it's going to go down the shitter.
OBI WAN: I've failed you Anakin. I have failed you!
ANAKIN: I should have known the Jedi were plotting to take over.
OBI WAN: Anakin, Chancellor Palpatine is evil!!
ANAKIN: From my point of view, the Jedi are evil!
OBI WAN: Then truly you are lost!!!
- The light saber duel on Mustafar
'Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith'
Friday, February 23, 2007
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Parallel Lines
Parallel Lines
I'm not present
I'm a drug that makes you dream
I'm an Aerostar
I'm a Cutlass Supreme
In the wrong lane
Tryin' to turn against the flow
I'm the ocean
I'm the giant undertow
-Neil Young
DOMINGO
Well, there was a thunderstorm on Friday, and my best pair of dress pants that I wear to work took a header off of the clothesline, four stories down. Que bummer! They were stuck on a wall in some dead ivy (hopefully not poison) about a story up. The problem is that no one has a key to the beautiful little courtyard down below (Spanish intelligence at its best). So I devised a contraption made out of rope and an upsidedown pants hanger. Then Stuart and I taped two old metal decorative plates to each end to give it some weight so we could swing it. Then the fishing began.
My black pants were blocked by some nasty tree branches and it was dodgy going. I couldn't get the line out far enough. But Stuart is like 6'2 and has better reach he was half out the window and hanging with his feet propped against closed part of the window. "If I fall, tell my family I love'em."
"I'm not telling your family you died trying to get my pants."
"With my luck I'd live"
"How about I just make up a nice story about you saving orphans?"
"Aye. That'll do."
"But I'm going to grab your feet so you don't fall, just the same."
After about 20 minutes the pants were hooked and brought safely in.
But then the metal frame on one side of the line broke hanging laundry and we had to cut a broom handle longer than the pantry window and tie the line to that. This is how my time is spent here.
The bad news is that when I woke up this morning, my best pair of jeans was in the same spot. This time our fishhook gave way and we lost the plates. So my jeans are still out there. A cleaning lady comes on Friday to clean the halls and she has the key to the courtyard. And it doesn't look like they're going anywhere.
TECHNOLOGY AND FAMILY
Talked to Mel, Mom and Jan via Yahoo IM tonight, video audio and all. It was great. Mom was amazed at the technology. I got to chat with Bryan too. We hope to have Internet in the flat soon, but it may take up to a month. The Spanish are as efficient as a three year old picking up his toys. Mel sent me a DHL package, 3 day mail, and it is still in customs three weeks later. It's not like she sent me a live giant panda and an ounce of weed. But such is Espana.
And so life rolls on. I watch life down on Calle Bravo Murillo from the deck for about 10 minutes a day. Today was very clear and the mountains to the west of us were breathtaking. It's easier to look out at the mountains than down at my jeans.
CIRKUS
The bars and clubs were absolutely jammified last night as all of the Madrillenos were out celebrating carnival: basically trying to get their ya-ya's out before Lent. The Plaza del Sol was wall to wall people. Never have I seen it so packed. And the costumes: people dressed as bugs, clowns, wizards, etc. Men were dressed in drag and every fifth person had a wig. But the best costumes were three people waiting at the traffic light dressed as prawns. They had big orange suits on. Their faces poked out at the bottom of the neck while the prawn heads were another two feet above their heads. Priceless!
I don't know when I'll get to post this, or when I'll get to post again, but a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY goes out to the Sleestack, who will be an undisclosed age on February 20 th. What's most important is that she's younger than me.
Then there's Lent. This place is so massively Catholic it's unbelievable. There are actually Catholic prayers mounted in some subway cars. So even though I'm Buddhist, I've decided to honor the tradition. This year I am giving up:
a) Listening to stupid people
b) Knife throwing (which I'll miss terribly!)
c) Using a fork
d) underwear (none of it's clean anyway)
e) and making fun of Shrubby: W. Bush (I don't think I'll last a fucking week).
Okay, It's 3 AM. My brain is mush. Sloppy kisses with tongue going out to all of you!!!!!
Lunes, Feb 19th
LET THE HAMMER FALL
I'll blacken your Christmas
And piss on your door
You'll cry out for mercy
Still there'll be more
-Procol Harum
Just for the record, I wasn't the one who pushed the plate off the table. I was just the one who smashed it into nano bits.
Alluded to above is the saga of the DHL package Mel sent me containing clean socks, a video cam and mike for the computer, and a pot and a pan that the Chaos sisters so thoughtfully sent (It was supposed to arrive while I was living with the cannibalistic witch, cause I wouldn't touch those pots and pans).
It arrived on Jan 27th. It was in customs. After a week of trying to talk to someone, I emailed them and got a reply. I guess they needed my Passport #., so I gave them that. They said DHL would be my proxy. I said fine. I called back three days later, and they were still working on it. And three days later and so on and so on. I started to get bitchy in my quasi-Spanish and they said customs closes at like three and they would call the next day. No call. I call back the day after, "Lo siento, customs is closed. We'll call tomorrow morning." This happened again. The third time was today. Poor Miguel who answered my call, it wasn't his lucky day. Miguel spoke a little English.
MIGUEL: Customs is closed. You will must to call tomorrow.
EL DUDE: You've told me that three times now. Can't anybody over there write a fucking note and remember to call? I want a manager.
MIGUEL: I am sorry. Customs is clo-sed.
EL DUDE: This is bullshit. I want a fucking manager right now. Suddenly, like the gift of tongues, I become completely fluent. El jefe, ahora! Comprende?No me creas tu bullshit! – Torro Doo Doo!
MIGUEL: Si, rapidamente. (30 seconds go by) Lo siento. I am sorry, there is no one to talk to in customs. I can give you a new complaint number.
EL DUDE: Great. Another complaint number. Now I can paper my walls with them. The hell with customs!!! I want a jefe there at DHL.
MIGUEL: There is no one here to talk to.
El DUDE: You know what, this attitude is why your country hasn't accomplished fuck all in 400 years. I work until 3pm and can't call before then, I don't have some cushy Spanish job where I get to siesta for 4 hours and then go back to work. Now here's what you're going to do. I'm going to give you mi numero telefonica and you're going to call me back tomorrow, no later than 11 am. Comprende???? (I give him my number in Spanish.) Very good. No later than 11 am. Yes. Lo siento. Yo sabo no es su faulta. But you just got me on the wrong fucking day, you poor bastard.
MIGUEL: No, I understand why you are upset.
So let's see what happens. They're probably setting fire to my package right now. Don't worry Seester, get it I shall. Let the hammer fall.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEL!!!!!!
Miercoles (Ash Miercoles)
And it's true that I stole your lighter
And it's also true that I lost the map
But when you said I wasn't worth talking to
You know I had to take your word on that
-Liz Phair
Sometimes life is beautiful. We see little glimpses of true unadulterated happiness. Most of the time life is lovely, but there are those certain moments that are impossible to put into words. So I won't.
DON'T STAND SO CLOSE TO ME, PART II
So last Viernes (Friday) I went to teach the older sister of that pair of sisters I teach. Ana is even prettier than Maria and a few merciful years older. She answered the door in her pajamas. Now, it's very common for Spanish folks to wear their bed clothes constantly around the house. Still, it was a bit jarring. So she says hello and ushers me into Maria's room. I figure she'll go and get changed. Nope. She just shuts the door.
Now when you are tutoring a student, you usually only have one book, so you sit pretty close together so that you can both read the text. All that was separating her from me was a layer of flannel. Sweet Hindu baby Jesus, you have to be kidding me!!!!!
Well, she seemed to enjoy her lesson and her oral skills were excellent. All in a day's work.
IRLANDA
From the point of conception
Until the candle is burned
The point of departure
Is not to return
- Rush
I saw Deidre today. She was pretty shaken up from her mugging, but she's staying! I'm thrilled because she's a good friend. Also, because I know from my experience in Jamaica (and Vietnam) that you should never leave a place on a bad note. It'll become the highlight of the entire experience. Time abroad is too few and far between and it would be sad for her to remember this part of her life this way. Besides, Irlanda (our nickname for her, it means ' Ireland' in Espanol) is one tough bitch!
TAYLOR: That´s it. Keep them flying.
LUCIOUS (the Ape): What´s that?
TAYLOR: …The banners of discontent.
- Planet of the Apes
I'm not present
I'm a drug that makes you dream
I'm an Aerostar
I'm a Cutlass Supreme
In the wrong lane
Tryin' to turn against the flow
I'm the ocean
I'm the giant undertow
-Neil Young
DOMINGO
Well, there was a thunderstorm on Friday, and my best pair of dress pants that I wear to work took a header off of the clothesline, four stories down. Que bummer! They were stuck on a wall in some dead ivy (hopefully not poison) about a story up. The problem is that no one has a key to the beautiful little courtyard down below (Spanish intelligence at its best). So I devised a contraption made out of rope and an upsidedown pants hanger. Then Stuart and I taped two old metal decorative plates to each end to give it some weight so we could swing it. Then the fishing began.
My black pants were blocked by some nasty tree branches and it was dodgy going. I couldn't get the line out far enough. But Stuart is like 6'2 and has better reach he was half out the window and hanging with his feet propped against closed part of the window. "If I fall, tell my family I love'em."
"I'm not telling your family you died trying to get my pants."
"With my luck I'd live"
"How about I just make up a nice story about you saving orphans?"
"Aye. That'll do."
"But I'm going to grab your feet so you don't fall, just the same."
After about 20 minutes the pants were hooked and brought safely in.
But then the metal frame on one side of the line broke hanging laundry and we had to cut a broom handle longer than the pantry window and tie the line to that. This is how my time is spent here.
The bad news is that when I woke up this morning, my best pair of jeans was in the same spot. This time our fishhook gave way and we lost the plates. So my jeans are still out there. A cleaning lady comes on Friday to clean the halls and she has the key to the courtyard. And it doesn't look like they're going anywhere.
TECHNOLOGY AND FAMILY
Talked to Mel, Mom and Jan via Yahoo IM tonight, video audio and all. It was great. Mom was amazed at the technology. I got to chat with Bryan too. We hope to have Internet in the flat soon, but it may take up to a month. The Spanish are as efficient as a three year old picking up his toys. Mel sent me a DHL package, 3 day mail, and it is still in customs three weeks later. It's not like she sent me a live giant panda and an ounce of weed. But such is Espana.
And so life rolls on. I watch life down on Calle Bravo Murillo from the deck for about 10 minutes a day. Today was very clear and the mountains to the west of us were breathtaking. It's easier to look out at the mountains than down at my jeans.
CIRKUS
The bars and clubs were absolutely jammified last night as all of the Madrillenos were out celebrating carnival: basically trying to get their ya-ya's out before Lent. The Plaza del Sol was wall to wall people. Never have I seen it so packed. And the costumes: people dressed as bugs, clowns, wizards, etc. Men were dressed in drag and every fifth person had a wig. But the best costumes were three people waiting at the traffic light dressed as prawns. They had big orange suits on. Their faces poked out at the bottom of the neck while the prawn heads were another two feet above their heads. Priceless!
I don't know when I'll get to post this, or when I'll get to post again, but a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY goes out to the Sleestack, who will be an undisclosed age on February 20 th. What's most important is that she's younger than me.
Then there's Lent. This place is so massively Catholic it's unbelievable. There are actually Catholic prayers mounted in some subway cars. So even though I'm Buddhist, I've decided to honor the tradition. This year I am giving up:
a) Listening to stupid people
b) Knife throwing (which I'll miss terribly!)
c) Using a fork
d) underwear (none of it's clean anyway)
e) and making fun of Shrubby: W. Bush (I don't think I'll last a fucking week).
Okay, It's 3 AM. My brain is mush. Sloppy kisses with tongue going out to all of you!!!!!
Lunes, Feb 19th
LET THE HAMMER FALL
I'll blacken your Christmas
And piss on your door
You'll cry out for mercy
Still there'll be more
-Procol Harum
Just for the record, I wasn't the one who pushed the plate off the table. I was just the one who smashed it into nano bits.
Alluded to above is the saga of the DHL package Mel sent me containing clean socks, a video cam and mike for the computer, and a pot and a pan that the Chaos sisters so thoughtfully sent (It was supposed to arrive while I was living with the cannibalistic witch, cause I wouldn't touch those pots and pans).
It arrived on Jan 27th. It was in customs. After a week of trying to talk to someone, I emailed them and got a reply. I guess they needed my Passport #., so I gave them that. They said DHL would be my proxy. I said fine. I called back three days later, and they were still working on it. And three days later and so on and so on. I started to get bitchy in my quasi-Spanish and they said customs closes at like three and they would call the next day. No call. I call back the day after, "Lo siento, customs is closed. We'll call tomorrow morning." This happened again. The third time was today. Poor Miguel who answered my call, it wasn't his lucky day. Miguel spoke a little English.
MIGUEL: Customs is closed. You will must to call tomorrow.
EL DUDE: You've told me that three times now. Can't anybody over there write a fucking note and remember to call? I want a manager.
MIGUEL: I am sorry. Customs is clo-sed.
EL DUDE: This is bullshit. I want a fucking manager right now. Suddenly, like the gift of tongues, I become completely fluent. El jefe, ahora! Comprende?No me creas tu bullshit! – Torro Doo Doo!
MIGUEL: Si, rapidamente. (30 seconds go by) Lo siento. I am sorry, there is no one to talk to in customs. I can give you a new complaint number.
EL DUDE: Great. Another complaint number. Now I can paper my walls with them. The hell with customs!!! I want a jefe there at DHL.
MIGUEL: There is no one here to talk to.
El DUDE: You know what, this attitude is why your country hasn't accomplished fuck all in 400 years. I work until 3pm and can't call before then, I don't have some cushy Spanish job where I get to siesta for 4 hours and then go back to work. Now here's what you're going to do. I'm going to give you mi numero telefonica and you're going to call me back tomorrow, no later than 11 am. Comprende???? (I give him my number in Spanish.) Very good. No later than 11 am. Yes. Lo siento. Yo sabo no es su faulta. But you just got me on the wrong fucking day, you poor bastard.
MIGUEL: No, I understand why you are upset.
So let's see what happens. They're probably setting fire to my package right now. Don't worry Seester, get it I shall. Let the hammer fall.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEL!!!!!!
Miercoles (Ash Miercoles)
And it's true that I stole your lighter
And it's also true that I lost the map
But when you said I wasn't worth talking to
You know I had to take your word on that
-Liz Phair
Sometimes life is beautiful. We see little glimpses of true unadulterated happiness. Most of the time life is lovely, but there are those certain moments that are impossible to put into words. So I won't.
DON'T STAND SO CLOSE TO ME, PART II
So last Viernes (Friday) I went to teach the older sister of that pair of sisters I teach. Ana is even prettier than Maria and a few merciful years older. She answered the door in her pajamas. Now, it's very common for Spanish folks to wear their bed clothes constantly around the house. Still, it was a bit jarring. So she says hello and ushers me into Maria's room. I figure she'll go and get changed. Nope. She just shuts the door.
Now when you are tutoring a student, you usually only have one book, so you sit pretty close together so that you can both read the text. All that was separating her from me was a layer of flannel. Sweet Hindu baby Jesus, you have to be kidding me!!!!!
Well, she seemed to enjoy her lesson and her oral skills were excellent. All in a day's work.
IRLANDA
From the point of conception
Until the candle is burned
The point of departure
Is not to return
- Rush
I saw Deidre today. She was pretty shaken up from her mugging, but she's staying! I'm thrilled because she's a good friend. Also, because I know from my experience in Jamaica (and Vietnam) that you should never leave a place on a bad note. It'll become the highlight of the entire experience. Time abroad is too few and far between and it would be sad for her to remember this part of her life this way. Besides, Irlanda (our nickname for her, it means ' Ireland' in Espanol) is one tough bitch!
TAYLOR: That´s it. Keep them flying.
LUCIOUS (the Ape): What´s that?
TAYLOR: …The banners of discontent.
- Planet of the Apes
Monday, February 19, 2007
On the Fly
Half the time you didn't know any better, but half the time you did
Hanging around like tommorrow doesn't apply to you
- Liz Phair
Well, I had a blog all written, but this damn machine doesn´t have Word. For fuck´s sake!
I don´t really think tomorrow applies to me. I just take it day by day.
Got an offer today to teach an entire intensive English class every day next week from 8 - Noon. It´s out of town, but worth it. I knew I´d teach 8 hours for this class, but now I have 16. That´s a week´s worth of work. 4 hours is a long time to teach one class, but I´ll figure it out. If worse comes to worse I´ll put on fishnet stockings and start singing showtunes. That´ll keep them occuppied.
I miss Fripp. He never Emails or Instant Messages me.
I´m still kind of in shock from hearing an hour ago that my friend Deidre was the victim of an attempted mugging last night, somewhere in the tourist area of Sol, I suppose, since that´s where her Mother and sister were staying for the weekend.
From what Deidre told Stuart, the mugger followed them into their hotel and tried to snatch her mom´s bag from behind. The strap didn´t break and she held on, and hit her head. Then Deidre grabbed on and they were both dragged down the stairs and had to go to the hospital. Awful.
Of course the New Yorkers out there know you should just let go of your bag if you are in danger.
Fuckers. This place is filled with thieves. It´s unreal. But there´s very little violent crime because there are no guns so don´t worry about me. What a shame, for Deidre. She´s one of my best friends.
Sydney (Texas) talked to her and said she´s planning on leaving Madrid altogether on Monday. That would really suck. Hopefully it´s just a gut reaction. But when you see your Mom dragged down the stairs and hit her head....
So that´s the dirty underside of Madrid. This has been a great experience so far, and I´ve got work til July, but if I return to Spain in August it will be in another part of the country like Mallorca or Sevilla. All of my friends say the South rocks. You´re by the beach, the cost of living is cheaper, and the women always tell me the chicks are hotter. Sign me up!
so we're led by denial like lambs to the slaughter,
serving empires of style and carbonated sugar water
and the old farmroad's a four-lane that leads to the mall
and my dreams are all guillotines waiting to fall,
and i wonder then what it will take for my country to rise.
first we admit our mistakes and then we open our eyes.
'til nation's last taker succumbs to one last dumb decision
and america the beautiful is just one big subdivision.
-Ani Difranco
Saturday, February 17, 2007
BACK ON THE AIR
Dead Women Don’t Wear Socks
What you don’t have, you don’t need it now
-U2
Hello! Tried to post on Sunday but it was rainy in Madrid so every Internet place was “Occupado” and there were no free computers. But I had a nice dinner at cool wine bar and then saw Atletico Madrid beat Athletic Bilbao 1 – 0 at Calderon Stadium. I love that place! The atmosphere, the crowd, the vibe – it’s all great. I sit there with my Atletico scarf and look like I’m ten times warmer than all the other “Madrilenos” because they can’t handle the cold at all. But truly are they bonkers about football. It was a 9 PM start on a Sunday night, kind of strange by our standards. They don’t sell beer inside (it’s UEFA rule, because of hooliganism) but that doesn’t stop people from partying around the stadium with beer and mixed drinks in plastic cups.
The flat is coming along, even if we never really have hot water for showers or dishes. It’s very run down though, as the last tenant died in October. I don’t know if she actually died in the house, but there’s a good chance that if she did, I’m sleeping in her room and in her bed. We found a date book from 1981, a couple of those laminated pictures with saints, and a few pairs of socks. While I am not proud of it, I will admit to wearing a couple of the black ones when our washer was not working. The gal friends that I actually told where mortified. Hey, life is hard here in Madrid. You do what you have to do. It would be different if I had killed her for them. But no, the autopsy showed natural causes.
We had our flat-warming party on Saturday. It was fun. A few of our friends from school and about six friends of Stuart’s friends (He worked in the south of Spain this summer), all female, who were all smoking hot.
Deirdre said to me, “You must be in your glory, surrounded by all these hot Spanish women.”
“Sure.” I said. “They’re all nice looking.”
“Nice?” said Deidre. “They’re fucking gorgeous.”
“I stand corrected.”
So our party winded down at about 2 AM, and then we went out to a disco. Psychotic, isn’t it. Oh well, when in Spain….
So then I woke up at 2 PM, cleaned the flat with Stuart and Kristen, and then went downtown to Madrid’s center to check out the hostel my sister will be staying in come March. Her and Jan are coming for a week in March, which will be great.
One thing I have really learned in the last month is that Americans live in absolute splendor with the best appliances, amount of living space and technology. I have to turn up this little heater to do the dishes. And dishwashers are a distant memory. While some flats have them, ours does not.
But I have a big room and we have a big common living space. And an awesome deck. The deck looks down onto bustling Calle (Street) Bravo Murillo, as does my room. The kitchen and Stuart and Kristen’s rooms look out at the mountains where there is actually snow. Unfortunately there’s a big ugly crane out there too - always the yin and the yang.
I miss hockey. The only ice they have here is in drinks.
And I miss constant access to the Internet. What a valuable tool that is.
I walked in the big park towards the south of the city on Saturday evening. It had beautifully manicured hedges and all. Then I heard drums. I followed the noise for a while and came to some kind of outdoor monument- think the Jefferson Memorial shape with no roof, and not made of marble. This is where the drums were coming from. They were smoking lots of different stuff and drinking beer, about a hundred of them. There were fires lit everywhere, and this long cosmic arc of drums. There was only a little talking going on. It was so primal. I half expected to see monkeys hammering rocks with bones. Then of course, the monkey throws the bone into the air…. I didn’t stay long, but it was a very bizarre thing to see. It was so tribal, in the middle of this park. This was the hoedown of the people. The Madrillenos are different from any other people I have met. It’s still hard for me to get my arms around what makes them tick. So far, I would say eating, dancing and staying out all night. I guess it’s all a question of priorities.
Martes (Tuesday)
Things are starting to somewhat normalize. We cook at home, we eat, we go to work, etc. The weather has been nice – like DC in early Spring. Kind if rainy too, which is a sign of winter here. All in all it’s very temperate. It was about 16 Celsius today.
Work is fine. Tomorrow night I’ll be teaching again to a pair of sisters. Haven’t met them yet as it’s through an agency, so we’ll see how that goes. Training at my main place, ELC is fine. Mostly just doing lesson plans and all, but I believe I’ll like it. My boss, Alex, is actually the owner of the company. He’s about the same age as me from Edinburgh. He came over 20 years ago to teach English and never left — Spanish wife, kids, the whole sha-bang. Anyway, he seems to do well and has asked my assistance with marketing, so we’ll see if this gig grows into something even bigger. Seems like they’ll be more hours down the line for me as well. So I’m pleased with that.
What else would you give a shit about, my dear reader? There’s an accordion player out under our balcony everyday. Old little guy, with his hat and all. His constant playing drives Stuart, my flatmate, batshit for some reason. He’s a farm boy. I guess he’s used to animal sounds.
I continue to go out on the deck a few times a day and watch the hustle and bustle. Very interesting stuff; to be a big lazy spider in a blue web, high above, and take it all in. The cars, the chirping traffic signals, the random voices, the ringing of cell phones and the unceasing accordion add to the din.
DON’T STAND SO CLOSE TO ME
Miercoles
Young teacher,
the subject
of school girl fantasy
-The Police
I can’t post on the blog for some weird reason. My computer at work hates blogspot. Oh well. I’ll be preserving the record here in Word until I can get to the Internet café. We’re having a hard time finding out how to get WiFi in the flat. Everything here, business wise, is so half-assed. I think anyone reading this blog could become the country’s top Exec inside of two years.
More windy spring weather. More jamon (ham). More cured cheese. It’s all good. I taught my first class with a new company- 4 hours a week to two college age Spanish sisters. Ay Carumba! I walked in flustered, having searched for the place for 20 minutes (Spanish planning leaves a lot to be desired).
This smoking gal opens the door (like 21). I introduce myself and she says she’s Maria. She then walks me into her room and closes the door! Wow! Total culture shock!
“You are hot?” she says in Spanish.
I was relieved when she closed the window. Although, it turned out to be bad because it was 90 degrees in there. I wear t-shirts when Spaniards wear sweaters. So here I am, sweating like Michael Moore, trying to teach her. The dizzy broad who runs the English agency had the two of them at the wrong levels, and the books I brought were way too advanced for her. So I just danced my way through it for an hour and a half. When we were done, the lesson had gone well but I was soaked like a sponge. I was putting my jacket on and said. “You did very well, Maria. I’ll see you tomorrow at 18:00.
“You want to meet my sister who you have Friday? Hey Ana!”
“Buenos dias. Hello” She says. Also smoking hot with a beautiful smile. Also blonde, maybe 23.
“Hola,” I manage to squeak out.
“En Viernes.”
“Si,” I say, swallowing my tongue. “On Friday.”
#
Miercoles evening
Irish Accent: “Who was that on the phone, your one on one (lesson),” said Stuart.
“Yeah,” I said. “Isabelle.”
California surfer girl accent: “The hottie from the autobus?” says Kristen.
“Yes.”
“Good work, man,” says Stuart. “They’re good money, dem one on one yolks. When are you seeing her.”
“On Friday.”
“On Friday?” he asks. Classes are rarely on Friday, and if so, early in the morning. “What time?”
“Seven,” I say.
“In da morning?”
“No, night.”
“That’s a date,” says Kristen with a laugh.
“Aw, that’s a date, for fuck’s sake,” says Stuart. “How much she pay’n ya?”
“20 Euros.”
“20 Euro to go out on a date? Not bad man, not bad. That’s top dollar.”
#
And so the world keeps on spinning. Turning. Possibly wavering, in its orbit. The sun rises, the sun sets. Settling into business as usual, life as normal. I’m just an irregular guy trying to make his way in the big Spanish city. It’s high time for things to normalize. Maybe.
EL DUDE, THE PIMP
Part One: Last Martes (Tuesday)
We all went out after Deidre and Sydney came to check out the house. Kristen saw this place with just a yellow and black sign outside that said The Jazz Bar. “Sweet!” we’ll see some jazz, we thought.
The door was locked and we had to be buzzed in (I’m used to being buzzed on the way out). Anyway, we get in and there’s no jazz. Just a few folks sitting around the C shaped bar. But they do have an ancient foozeball table that has one side in white for Real Madrid and one side in white and red stripes for Atletico Madrid. Stuart and I played a few games (I kicked his ass). Then we played plastic darts and I kicked everyone’s ass at that. Then these three guys walked in the bar and things got weird.
They all started coming up to Sydney and saying “La Rubia (the blonde). They were like jackals. They’re all gawking and acting like stupid school boys. Kristen left because she had a tough day and was schnockered (a girl should never drink an entire bottle of wine). Then this one tall stupid guy comes up to me and starts trying to be my buddy. “I love Americans. I love Americans.” Then he asks if I think Sydney will go home with three of them, like she’s my ho. I tell them definitively ‘no.” They’ve now all surrounded here.
“Okay” I say. “That’s it.” I push them all away into a neutral corner and pay for our drinks.
“Papa Jay!” yells Stuart. That’s their name for when I take control. I took Sydney by the hand, pushed my way through the jackals, and walked her home.
Yet another story about how ignorant the Madrillenos can be thick as a brick.
Part Two
It’s easy to love folly…in a child
-Merlin to Arthur
Excalibur
Exactly one week later, Deidre and I go out for a drink. We couldn’t find an Internet place that I’ve been to twice before. Damn! The streets all look a like here. I even knew the street name and couldn’t find it.
So we went to a cervezaria for a beer. Some bars only sell eight ounce beers in bottles, which is weird. I want to say “Throw that thing back until it grows some.” Anyway, good thing it was a small beer as the place had no ventilation and I thought I was about to drop dead from all the smoke! So we left.
“Want to hit The Jazz Bar for one more?” she said. “You can sell Sydney off without her being there!”
“Sure,” I said.
We didn’t need to be buzzed in again this time and I waved to the bartender, a gal with long black hair. We both ordered a Mahou (pronounced Mao, like in The Deer Hunter), a local beer brewed in Madrid. We yapped for a while about our news jobs and such.
It was mostly older men and they were wasted. They were leaning against the bar in with their eyes shut and looked like they were on smack. Drinking, smoking like fiends and singing White Snake’s “Here I Go Again,” in Spanish. It was a scene, but the bar had good ventilation and we could breathe.
Then this little guy with long, straggly, feathered, gray hair starts shooting darts behind us, by himself. The strange thing is that he’s cursing and punching the wall. “He’s losing and owes himself money.” Deidre laughed.
Soon it was 12:30 and we paid the bill and made to leave. Deidre had noticed one of the guys across the bar as one of the dopes who tried to “rent” Sydney. This guy comes over towards us. Great, we think.
“Hello, Hello my friend,” and he shakes my hand. He then takes Deidre’s hand and goes to kiss it, but he’s drunk and it takes five days before his lips can touch her hand, and just before they do, she pulls her hand away.
“I thought he was going to lick my hand!” she says with a giggle. I’m trying to get past this asshole and head home, but he’s inbetween the bar and the fooseball game. He ‘sbabbling something and extends his right hand towards me. I’m ignoring the old sod. So suddenly the bastard slaps me in the face with the back of his hand like he’s some Girl Scout. Needless to say, I am furious. Deidre throws herself in between us (she’s 5’8 just like me). I leave my feet and and thrust out both arms and hit him in the breastbone with open palms. He went staggering back. At this point, I’m on auto pilot. I’ve just been back hand slapped across the face by some drunk Spanish pussy. Given it wasn’t hard at all, but it’s the principal. I pulled back my right arm and tried to think about what the Seester, who spent a decade in the Navy, taught me about hand combat.
Open palms. Thrust through the target: which in this case is the fucker’s nose. Christ I hope he’s not HIV positive, cause there’s going to be a lake of blood when his nose breaks. Thrust the chards up into the brain. No! That will kill him. Just strike through, not up. There’s three guys over there,,., only one big enough to cause trouble if they come to the aid of this douche when I drop him.
Q:“What was the last thing to go through the fly’s mind when he hit the windshield?”
A: “His Asshole.”
Say goodbye to your nariz asshole!
This all took less than a second to go through my mind. My arm was all the way back now and ready to go forward.
“NO!!!! Jay Don’t” Deidre screamed, and jumped in front of me. I had
just told her the entire story about Darth and how I would never hit a woman, and could prove it. She put me to the test. Fuck! I really wanted to drop this bitch. I’m no street brawler, as you all know, but when some gutless Spanish slug slaps you, it means it’s time to throw down.
He must have realized Deidre had saved his bacon, and he starts saying “It’s a tradition! It’s just a tradition!” I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. The barmaid was yelling in Spanish. I knew she spoke a touch of English.
“Tell him that it’s tradition that now I kick his ass!”
The big lug of a guy pulled the asshole away and we left. “For fuck sakes,” said Deidre. “Soon we won’t be able to go to a single bar around here. You okay?”
I told her I was fine.
So, we won’t be going back there. I still don’t know what the fuck he was talking about when he said “It’s tradition.” Did it having something to do with Deidre pulling her hand away when he tried to kiss it?” I mean, he was looking at it like it was a jamon sandwich. I have no idea.
I don’t know why Spanish people hate me so much. Most folks in the states like me. Except for one.
What you don’t have, you don’t need it now
-U2
Hello! Tried to post on Sunday but it was rainy in Madrid so every Internet place was “Occupado” and there were no free computers. But I had a nice dinner at cool wine bar and then saw Atletico Madrid beat Athletic Bilbao 1 – 0 at Calderon Stadium. I love that place! The atmosphere, the crowd, the vibe – it’s all great. I sit there with my Atletico scarf and look like I’m ten times warmer than all the other “Madrilenos” because they can’t handle the cold at all. But truly are they bonkers about football. It was a 9 PM start on a Sunday night, kind of strange by our standards. They don’t sell beer inside (it’s UEFA rule, because of hooliganism) but that doesn’t stop people from partying around the stadium with beer and mixed drinks in plastic cups.
The flat is coming along, even if we never really have hot water for showers or dishes. It’s very run down though, as the last tenant died in October. I don’t know if she actually died in the house, but there’s a good chance that if she did, I’m sleeping in her room and in her bed. We found a date book from 1981, a couple of those laminated pictures with saints, and a few pairs of socks. While I am not proud of it, I will admit to wearing a couple of the black ones when our washer was not working. The gal friends that I actually told where mortified. Hey, life is hard here in Madrid. You do what you have to do. It would be different if I had killed her for them. But no, the autopsy showed natural causes.
We had our flat-warming party on Saturday. It was fun. A few of our friends from school and about six friends of Stuart’s friends (He worked in the south of Spain this summer), all female, who were all smoking hot.
Deirdre said to me, “You must be in your glory, surrounded by all these hot Spanish women.”
“Sure.” I said. “They’re all nice looking.”
“Nice?” said Deidre. “They’re fucking gorgeous.”
“I stand corrected.”
So our party winded down at about 2 AM, and then we went out to a disco. Psychotic, isn’t it. Oh well, when in Spain….
So then I woke up at 2 PM, cleaned the flat with Stuart and Kristen, and then went downtown to Madrid’s center to check out the hostel my sister will be staying in come March. Her and Jan are coming for a week in March, which will be great.
One thing I have really learned in the last month is that Americans live in absolute splendor with the best appliances, amount of living space and technology. I have to turn up this little heater to do the dishes. And dishwashers are a distant memory. While some flats have them, ours does not.
But I have a big room and we have a big common living space. And an awesome deck. The deck looks down onto bustling Calle (Street) Bravo Murillo, as does my room. The kitchen and Stuart and Kristen’s rooms look out at the mountains where there is actually snow. Unfortunately there’s a big ugly crane out there too - always the yin and the yang.
I miss hockey. The only ice they have here is in drinks.
And I miss constant access to the Internet. What a valuable tool that is.
I walked in the big park towards the south of the city on Saturday evening. It had beautifully manicured hedges and all. Then I heard drums. I followed the noise for a while and came to some kind of outdoor monument- think the Jefferson Memorial shape with no roof, and not made of marble. This is where the drums were coming from. They were smoking lots of different stuff and drinking beer, about a hundred of them. There were fires lit everywhere, and this long cosmic arc of drums. There was only a little talking going on. It was so primal. I half expected to see monkeys hammering rocks with bones. Then of course, the monkey throws the bone into the air…. I didn’t stay long, but it was a very bizarre thing to see. It was so tribal, in the middle of this park. This was the hoedown of the people. The Madrillenos are different from any other people I have met. It’s still hard for me to get my arms around what makes them tick. So far, I would say eating, dancing and staying out all night. I guess it’s all a question of priorities.
Martes (Tuesday)
Things are starting to somewhat normalize. We cook at home, we eat, we go to work, etc. The weather has been nice – like DC in early Spring. Kind if rainy too, which is a sign of winter here. All in all it’s very temperate. It was about 16 Celsius today.
Work is fine. Tomorrow night I’ll be teaching again to a pair of sisters. Haven’t met them yet as it’s through an agency, so we’ll see how that goes. Training at my main place, ELC is fine. Mostly just doing lesson plans and all, but I believe I’ll like it. My boss, Alex, is actually the owner of the company. He’s about the same age as me from Edinburgh. He came over 20 years ago to teach English and never left — Spanish wife, kids, the whole sha-bang. Anyway, he seems to do well and has asked my assistance with marketing, so we’ll see if this gig grows into something even bigger. Seems like they’ll be more hours down the line for me as well. So I’m pleased with that.
What else would you give a shit about, my dear reader? There’s an accordion player out under our balcony everyday. Old little guy, with his hat and all. His constant playing drives Stuart, my flatmate, batshit for some reason. He’s a farm boy. I guess he’s used to animal sounds.
I continue to go out on the deck a few times a day and watch the hustle and bustle. Very interesting stuff; to be a big lazy spider in a blue web, high above, and take it all in. The cars, the chirping traffic signals, the random voices, the ringing of cell phones and the unceasing accordion add to the din.
DON’T STAND SO CLOSE TO ME
Miercoles
Young teacher,
the subject
of school girl fantasy
-The Police
I can’t post on the blog for some weird reason. My computer at work hates blogspot. Oh well. I’ll be preserving the record here in Word until I can get to the Internet café. We’re having a hard time finding out how to get WiFi in the flat. Everything here, business wise, is so half-assed. I think anyone reading this blog could become the country’s top Exec inside of two years.
More windy spring weather. More jamon (ham). More cured cheese. It’s all good. I taught my first class with a new company- 4 hours a week to two college age Spanish sisters. Ay Carumba! I walked in flustered, having searched for the place for 20 minutes (Spanish planning leaves a lot to be desired).
This smoking gal opens the door (like 21). I introduce myself and she says she’s Maria. She then walks me into her room and closes the door! Wow! Total culture shock!
“You are hot?” she says in Spanish.
I was relieved when she closed the window. Although, it turned out to be bad because it was 90 degrees in there. I wear t-shirts when Spaniards wear sweaters. So here I am, sweating like Michael Moore, trying to teach her. The dizzy broad who runs the English agency had the two of them at the wrong levels, and the books I brought were way too advanced for her. So I just danced my way through it for an hour and a half. When we were done, the lesson had gone well but I was soaked like a sponge. I was putting my jacket on and said. “You did very well, Maria. I’ll see you tomorrow at 18:00.
“You want to meet my sister who you have Friday? Hey Ana!”
“Buenos dias. Hello” She says. Also smoking hot with a beautiful smile. Also blonde, maybe 23.
“Hola,” I manage to squeak out.
“En Viernes.”
“Si,” I say, swallowing my tongue. “On Friday.”
#
Miercoles evening
Irish Accent: “Who was that on the phone, your one on one (lesson),” said Stuart.
“Yeah,” I said. “Isabelle.”
California surfer girl accent: “The hottie from the autobus?” says Kristen.
“Yes.”
“Good work, man,” says Stuart. “They’re good money, dem one on one yolks. When are you seeing her.”
“On Friday.”
“On Friday?” he asks. Classes are rarely on Friday, and if so, early in the morning. “What time?”
“Seven,” I say.
“In da morning?”
“No, night.”
“That’s a date,” says Kristen with a laugh.
“Aw, that’s a date, for fuck’s sake,” says Stuart. “How much she pay’n ya?”
“20 Euros.”
“20 Euro to go out on a date? Not bad man, not bad. That’s top dollar.”
#
And so the world keeps on spinning. Turning. Possibly wavering, in its orbit. The sun rises, the sun sets. Settling into business as usual, life as normal. I’m just an irregular guy trying to make his way in the big Spanish city. It’s high time for things to normalize. Maybe.
EL DUDE, THE PIMP
Part One: Last Martes (Tuesday)
We all went out after Deidre and Sydney came to check out the house. Kristen saw this place with just a yellow and black sign outside that said The Jazz Bar. “Sweet!” we’ll see some jazz, we thought.
The door was locked and we had to be buzzed in (I’m used to being buzzed on the way out). Anyway, we get in and there’s no jazz. Just a few folks sitting around the C shaped bar. But they do have an ancient foozeball table that has one side in white for Real Madrid and one side in white and red stripes for Atletico Madrid. Stuart and I played a few games (I kicked his ass). Then we played plastic darts and I kicked everyone’s ass at that. Then these three guys walked in the bar and things got weird.
They all started coming up to Sydney and saying “La Rubia (the blonde). They were like jackals. They’re all gawking and acting like stupid school boys. Kristen left because she had a tough day and was schnockered (a girl should never drink an entire bottle of wine). Then this one tall stupid guy comes up to me and starts trying to be my buddy. “I love Americans. I love Americans.” Then he asks if I think Sydney will go home with three of them, like she’s my ho. I tell them definitively ‘no.” They’ve now all surrounded here.
“Okay” I say. “That’s it.” I push them all away into a neutral corner and pay for our drinks.
“Papa Jay!” yells Stuart. That’s their name for when I take control. I took Sydney by the hand, pushed my way through the jackals, and walked her home.
Yet another story about how ignorant the Madrillenos can be thick as a brick.
Part Two
It’s easy to love folly…in a child
-Merlin to Arthur
Excalibur
Exactly one week later, Deidre and I go out for a drink. We couldn’t find an Internet place that I’ve been to twice before. Damn! The streets all look a like here. I even knew the street name and couldn’t find it.
So we went to a cervezaria for a beer. Some bars only sell eight ounce beers in bottles, which is weird. I want to say “Throw that thing back until it grows some.” Anyway, good thing it was a small beer as the place had no ventilation and I thought I was about to drop dead from all the smoke! So we left.
“Want to hit The Jazz Bar for one more?” she said. “You can sell Sydney off without her being there!”
“Sure,” I said.
We didn’t need to be buzzed in again this time and I waved to the bartender, a gal with long black hair. We both ordered a Mahou (pronounced Mao, like in The Deer Hunter), a local beer brewed in Madrid. We yapped for a while about our news jobs and such.
It was mostly older men and they were wasted. They were leaning against the bar in with their eyes shut and looked like they were on smack. Drinking, smoking like fiends and singing White Snake’s “Here I Go Again,” in Spanish. It was a scene, but the bar had good ventilation and we could breathe.
Then this little guy with long, straggly, feathered, gray hair starts shooting darts behind us, by himself. The strange thing is that he’s cursing and punching the wall. “He’s losing and owes himself money.” Deidre laughed.
Soon it was 12:30 and we paid the bill and made to leave. Deidre had noticed one of the guys across the bar as one of the dopes who tried to “rent” Sydney. This guy comes over towards us. Great, we think.
“Hello, Hello my friend,” and he shakes my hand. He then takes Deidre’s hand and goes to kiss it, but he’s drunk and it takes five days before his lips can touch her hand, and just before they do, she pulls her hand away.
“I thought he was going to lick my hand!” she says with a giggle. I’m trying to get past this asshole and head home, but he’s inbetween the bar and the fooseball game. He ‘sbabbling something and extends his right hand towards me. I’m ignoring the old sod. So suddenly the bastard slaps me in the face with the back of his hand like he’s some Girl Scout. Needless to say, I am furious. Deidre throws herself in between us (she’s 5’8 just like me). I leave my feet and and thrust out both arms and hit him in the breastbone with open palms. He went staggering back. At this point, I’m on auto pilot. I’ve just been back hand slapped across the face by some drunk Spanish pussy. Given it wasn’t hard at all, but it’s the principal. I pulled back my right arm and tried to think about what the Seester, who spent a decade in the Navy, taught me about hand combat.
Open palms. Thrust through the target: which in this case is the fucker’s nose. Christ I hope he’s not HIV positive, cause there’s going to be a lake of blood when his nose breaks. Thrust the chards up into the brain. No! That will kill him. Just strike through, not up. There’s three guys over there,,., only one big enough to cause trouble if they come to the aid of this douche when I drop him.
Q:“What was the last thing to go through the fly’s mind when he hit the windshield?”
A: “His Asshole.”
Say goodbye to your nariz asshole!
This all took less than a second to go through my mind. My arm was all the way back now and ready to go forward.
“NO!!!! Jay Don’t” Deidre screamed, and jumped in front of me. I had
just told her the entire story about Darth and how I would never hit a woman, and could prove it. She put me to the test. Fuck! I really wanted to drop this bitch. I’m no street brawler, as you all know, but when some gutless Spanish slug slaps you, it means it’s time to throw down.
He must have realized Deidre had saved his bacon, and he starts saying “It’s a tradition! It’s just a tradition!” I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. The barmaid was yelling in Spanish. I knew she spoke a touch of English.
“Tell him that it’s tradition that now I kick his ass!”
The big lug of a guy pulled the asshole away and we left. “For fuck sakes,” said Deidre. “Soon we won’t be able to go to a single bar around here. You okay?”
I told her I was fine.
So, we won’t be going back there. I still don’t know what the fuck he was talking about when he said “It’s tradition.” Did it having something to do with Deidre pulling her hand away when he tried to kiss it?” I mean, he was looking at it like it was a jamon sandwich. I have no idea.
I don’t know why Spanish people hate me so much. Most folks in the states like me. Except for one.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
The slow bus to hell
Okay, so before I took this job with a REAL company, English Language Consultants. I had some hours with the Shakespeare English Company, then I promptly quit because it was a nightmare to get to, my boss showed up late my first day (the reason why i didn´t go watch the Stupor Bowl) etc. But what took the biscuit was this bus driver, let´s call him Dbag. So I've taught my class andnow I'm going to another interview to get more hours. It's outside the Metro area(Madrid has like 4 zones) so I need to take a bus. The lady at the school says take the 561 towards Rio Rosa. I get on the bus, pay Dbag and say tell me when we get to Plaza de Colon. ¨No va a plaza de Colon"
¨No shit¨
"No¨
"Shit. Okay.¨
I call Sheetal back and she says that I was right. That it goes there. Okay so I try again.
A new guy says it doesn´t go there either. So I can´t get Sheetal this time. An old lady asks where I am going and says I have to face the other way. Can you believe that neitrher of those fuckers told me that. And I speak some Spanish. Anyway, it´s a one way road and I need to walk like 2 kilometers, however far that is.
Then I´m at the bus stop and the bus starts to pass me by. I slam the side of it and yell. The door opens and its Dbag. I´m glaring at him. I get on and say¨"Plaza de Colon." I pay him and sit down anyway. Some old man is trying to tell me something but he´s talking so fast it´s like he´s git a crab calmped onto his balls and I can´t understand a thing. He finally gets off and tells me soemthing and pints to the driver. I tell the driver, sternly, to tell me when we get there.
We get there, and it's a big circle that says PLAZA DE COLON. I wave as I get off and say¨"Fuck you very much." Sometimes being an English speakerhas it´s advantages.
But I did meet a cutieon the bus ride home, Isabelle, and I´m going to give her one on one English lessons. It´s called karma.
¨No shit¨
"No¨
"Shit. Okay.¨
I call Sheetal back and she says that I was right. That it goes there. Okay so I try again.
A new guy says it doesn´t go there either. So I can´t get Sheetal this time. An old lady asks where I am going and says I have to face the other way. Can you believe that neitrher of those fuckers told me that. And I speak some Spanish. Anyway, it´s a one way road and I need to walk like 2 kilometers, however far that is.
Then I´m at the bus stop and the bus starts to pass me by. I slam the side of it and yell. The door opens and its Dbag. I´m glaring at him. I get on and say¨"Plaza de Colon." I pay him and sit down anyway. Some old man is trying to tell me something but he´s talking so fast it´s like he´s git a crab calmped onto his balls and I can´t understand a thing. He finally gets off and tells me soemthing and pints to the driver. I tell the driver, sternly, to tell me when we get there.
We get there, and it's a big circle that says PLAZA DE COLON. I wave as I get off and say¨"Fuck you very much." Sometimes being an English speakerhas it´s advantages.
But I did meet a cutieon the bus ride home, Isabelle, and I´m going to give her one on one English lessons. It´s called karma.
Back on the radar
END TRANSMISSION
I loved her
I lived her
But that’s all bled away
She never realized I only talked
When I had something to say
It’s not what you do
It’s who you want to be
Bad medicine goes down easy
When you take life less seriously
Have I gone bonkers?
Truly gone fishing?
Til the monkey with the checkbook
Says “End transmission.”
I wonder about the big things
And the shit that doesn’t matter
But I know that in April
Little feet will pitter-patter
But there’s no use in ruing
The things you can’t change
Life is beautiful, horrifying,
disjointed and strange
Are you living your dream?
Or will you just go on wishing?
Until the monkey election winner
Says “End transmission.”
I loved you
I knew you
But I guess not so well
I saw you in heaven
And I’ll see you in hell
The day and the night time
Bleed into each other
And I know in good time
I’ll find another
And maybe my life
Is one, big, botched subdivision
Til the monkey with the spork
Says “End transmission”
So I’ll just keep dancing
Til the world’s underwater
And give her a kiss
Cause you know that you oughta
And I’ll say “Would you mind
…If I spanked your ass?
After we we’ll walk in the park
And smoke a little grass”
Til the night and the daytime
Bleed into before
And the monkey in Armani
Doesn’t matter anymore
-Jay
It was about fucking time I had an original quote. I am writing again, which is always cause for celebration. I have also been crushed with interviews and moving onto the new place. The flat needs some work, but Kristen, Stuart and I love it. But it’s frustrating when you’re going commando because you have no clean boxers and you can’t work the washing machine (Stuart figured that out, finally, being a Euro).
Here’s reason number two why Spain hasn’t been a world power in 500 years – they get lost going around the block, let alone trying to invade some foreign land. They can’t give directions for shit. They don’t know the name of streets two blocks away – it’s brutal taking directions from them. More on that later or tomorrow. But here’s the news — I got a good job with a good company. I started yesterday. I will eventually be working with Banesto, the big Spanish bank, training their IT people to talk English with their mother company in London. Should be sweet.
My posts have been few and far between because we have no Internet at the flat yet ( will send this from work). We had no hot water or heat for a while, but that’s fixed. We celebrated our new crib on Sunday with me cooking: fried and breaded artichoke hearts ala Jaybo, followed by pasta with fresh sauce. Kristen and Stuart went crazy over it. Kids just have no idea how to cook. Thusly, I begin the transition between existence and living. I am happy. All is well. The shadow of the Empire cannot touch me here.
Some more insights on Spain:
- Hillary Swank is a sex symbol here. Did I just fucking write that?
- No one here says “excuse me.” They just push by you on the street or the Metro ( and then I swear at them in English, which they have no clue of).
- The climate of Madrid in the winter is almost exactly like that of DC
- I’ve met a lot of Spanish who are gross and wear the same clothes for days in a row. For instance, or landlord, Diego, always wears the same shit and smells like ham
- Why do we have to wear pants? What’s the fucking point? Pants piss me off.
Well, that’s all for now. Imagine, going to bed before 2 AM!!! I hope you all are well. Live long and prosper. END TRASMISSION.
I loved her
I lived her
But that’s all bled away
She never realized I only talked
When I had something to say
It’s not what you do
It’s who you want to be
Bad medicine goes down easy
When you take life less seriously
Have I gone bonkers?
Truly gone fishing?
Til the monkey with the checkbook
Says “End transmission.”
I wonder about the big things
And the shit that doesn’t matter
But I know that in April
Little feet will pitter-patter
But there’s no use in ruing
The things you can’t change
Life is beautiful, horrifying,
disjointed and strange
Are you living your dream?
Or will you just go on wishing?
Until the monkey election winner
Says “End transmission.”
I loved you
I knew you
But I guess not so well
I saw you in heaven
And I’ll see you in hell
The day and the night time
Bleed into each other
And I know in good time
I’ll find another
And maybe my life
Is one, big, botched subdivision
Til the monkey with the spork
Says “End transmission”
So I’ll just keep dancing
Til the world’s underwater
And give her a kiss
Cause you know that you oughta
And I’ll say “Would you mind
…If I spanked your ass?
After we we’ll walk in the park
And smoke a little grass”
Til the night and the daytime
Bleed into before
And the monkey in Armani
Doesn’t matter anymore
-Jay
It was about fucking time I had an original quote. I am writing again, which is always cause for celebration. I have also been crushed with interviews and moving onto the new place. The flat needs some work, but Kristen, Stuart and I love it. But it’s frustrating when you’re going commando because you have no clean boxers and you can’t work the washing machine (Stuart figured that out, finally, being a Euro).
Here’s reason number two why Spain hasn’t been a world power in 500 years – they get lost going around the block, let alone trying to invade some foreign land. They can’t give directions for shit. They don’t know the name of streets two blocks away – it’s brutal taking directions from them. More on that later or tomorrow. But here’s the news — I got a good job with a good company. I started yesterday. I will eventually be working with Banesto, the big Spanish bank, training their IT people to talk English with their mother company in London. Should be sweet.
My posts have been few and far between because we have no Internet at the flat yet ( will send this from work). We had no hot water or heat for a while, but that’s fixed. We celebrated our new crib on Sunday with me cooking: fried and breaded artichoke hearts ala Jaybo, followed by pasta with fresh sauce. Kristen and Stuart went crazy over it. Kids just have no idea how to cook. Thusly, I begin the transition between existence and living. I am happy. All is well. The shadow of the Empire cannot touch me here.
Some more insights on Spain:
- Hillary Swank is a sex symbol here. Did I just fucking write that?
- No one here says “excuse me.” They just push by you on the street or the Metro ( and then I swear at them in English, which they have no clue of).
- The climate of Madrid in the winter is almost exactly like that of DC
- I’ve met a lot of Spanish who are gross and wear the same clothes for days in a row. For instance, or landlord, Diego, always wears the same shit and smells like ham
- Why do we have to wear pants? What’s the fucking point? Pants piss me off.
Well, that’s all for now. Imagine, going to bed before 2 AM!!! I hope you all are well. Live long and prosper. END TRASMISSION.
Saturday, February 3, 2007
To Be Over
Childlike soul dreamer.
One journey, one to seek and see in every light
Do open true pathways away.
Carrying closer,
Go gently, holding doors will open every way
You wander true pathways away.
After all your soul will still surrender.
After all don't doubt your part,
Be ready to be loved.
- Yes
Insanity, profanity and hilarity. That’s how it goes here. That’s how it goes everywhere.
I taught my lesson today on Music. We did instruments and then listened to different music genres. Then they tried to identify the instruments in English. I played The Who ‘the real me’, Pink Floyd ‘have a cigar’, BB King ‘nobody loves me but my mother’, and Miles Davis ‘what I say.” They dug it.
Then I was paying my bills via Internet when I heard the Martian teaching. Sweet Hindu baby Jesus! He was talking with beginners about living rooms (picture an Irish accent). “Chairs. The Sofa. Say so – fa. Fireplace. Yes? Chimney. Chimney” Guess they couldn’t get it. “Chimney. Chimney – the fucking smoke comes out.” Hysterical.
If you think about it; fuck is the most interesting word in the English language:
Fuck – verb
Fucker, you fuck – noun
For fuck’s sake, fucking slow – adjective
Fucking fast – adverb
Fuck off, fuck you – exclamation
Brilliant! Really an incredible word. I’ve learned so much about the English language. Interesting for a writer. Being a native I can just sound stuff out. Incredible to learn why I use it.
So the school sends out our resumes tomorrow and say we should have lots of calls, maybe even tomorrow. I’ll let you know as soon as I here. Then moving this weekend to a place of our own. Should be a scene.
Since I have less than 48 hours, my classmates call me every half while I’m at the old flat to make sure I don’t wind up dead and eaten by the Witch. Kristen called this morning- “Do you still have your legs? You’re not tied to the bedpost are you?”
“No, just running late, thanks. Be there soon.” It’s nice to know people care.
I’ve thought of ways to kill her before she killed me. Olive oil on the shower floor? The Voice of America gave the name of an almost untraceable animal tranquilizer. Well, not to worry. I’ll hardly be there the next two days.
Tomorrow is the last day of class. Then we go out to celebrate with our teacher, Jon, the bald, gay, Norwegian. Great guy.
Then the Martian, Rachael (English) and Pedro (Portuguese) all leave. Pedro is the little guy. We call him the Portuguese Napoleon. He hates the Spanish. I guess 500 years of rivalry is hard to dismiss. He’s going to go to Brazil and teach English (and of course they speak Portuguese down there). His wish is to hook up with Brazilian girls until his heart eventually gives out. Vaya con Dios!
Come to think of it, the Irish hate the English. And who could blame them. 800 years of oppression. Black ’47 – England, seen as a bunch of good guys after defeating Hitler, were exporting beef like crazy out of Galway while the Irish starved because of the potato crop bust. Many bodies were found with green streaks in the corner of their mouths, from eating grass.
But one thing I don’t think we’ll see again is a European war (which would be nice!, since they tend to drag the whole fucking world into it). They are too tied together now economically with the Euro. So the whole world wins.
El Dude’s sweeping generalizations about Spain:
- They are a bunch of pussies. They are a bunch of thieves and pick pockets with no honor. Stealing is a way of life. Even the smallest 7-11 type market has a guard to ward off thieves. Stealing is completely accepted here. A bunch of weasels. I could take over the entire capital with a hockey stick if I really wanted because I still have some balls.
-They are masters of inefficiency. I’ve seen more efficient things come out of my ass.
-It’s incredibly laid back. It’s 2 AM and I am in early for a Thursday. This is a dangerous place.
-You don’t want to be a pig and live here. You’ll die and be eaten 207 ways.
Well, I have my first interview today. We’ll see how that goes. Should be exciting. I guess I’m going to finally go to bed before 4 AM. Hopefully I’ll sleep well. Only two more days and then I won’t have to worry about being eaten by some crazy Spanish witch. It really is the little things, isn’t it?
Here I Wait
Well, Spaniards are nothing if not always late. My first teaching interview, with of all things, the Shakespeare English school – seriously. My interview was 15 minutes ago, but the Flem, who had an interview at half ten, juts started to interview a few minutes ago. Deidre will probably be here for hours.
Time Lapse
Well – I got six hours of work and start Monday, with two more interviews to come on Mon and Tues. So – we’ll see how it goes. It’s always piecemeal. This Shakespeare school seems very unorganized, But, it’s one on one lessons and it’s with Accenture, but I need to travel away from the center of town, so I’ll just play it by ear. Like my life. But no regrets. I just take it as it comes.
Woke up and I had a big idea
To buy a new soul at the start of every year
Paid up and it cost me pretty dear
Here’s a hymn to those that disappear
-Porcupine Tree
Shifting and Drifting
It is Saturday morning, Feb 3, and I have not become a New York Strip steak. I was very nervous when the Witch was cooking vegetables and no meat all week long. Then she asked what time I was leaving on Sunday – first time the bitch has talked to me in 2 weeks! I was like ‘Oh fuck. Looks like I’m Sunday dinner!”
And then yesterday I actually saw the Witch cleaning! I was like – How much can you possibly hate me? First time I saw her clean anything in a month!
But now I know why. New girl from Maine moved into the empty big room she wouldn’t let me have. She’s very young, and obviously much more tender than I am (me hoofing around for thirty-eight years) so I believe I am finally safe.
Stuart, Kristen and I move in today. Praise Jah!
Last night was lots of fun after getting our Certificates and then going out to eat and celebrate. A very nice time. Lots of laughs til I thought my ribs would crack. Told our teacher, Jon, about the Martian “chimney- the fucking smoke comes out” and he laughed like hell.
Pedro left for Portugal this morning. The beginning of the breaking of the Fellowship. And the beginning of my new life in Madrid. Good thing too – the old one was starting to weigh me down, like carrying around a sack of fucking doorknobs.
To you is it movement or is it action?
Is it contact or just reaction?
A new revolution? Just resistance?
Is living or just existence?
Yeah you! It takes a little more persistence
To get up and go the distance
-Rush
One journey, one to seek and see in every light
Do open true pathways away.
Carrying closer,
Go gently, holding doors will open every way
You wander true pathways away.
After all your soul will still surrender.
After all don't doubt your part,
Be ready to be loved.
- Yes
Insanity, profanity and hilarity. That’s how it goes here. That’s how it goes everywhere.
I taught my lesson today on Music. We did instruments and then listened to different music genres. Then they tried to identify the instruments in English. I played The Who ‘the real me’, Pink Floyd ‘have a cigar’, BB King ‘nobody loves me but my mother’, and Miles Davis ‘what I say.” They dug it.
Then I was paying my bills via Internet when I heard the Martian teaching. Sweet Hindu baby Jesus! He was talking with beginners about living rooms (picture an Irish accent). “Chairs. The Sofa. Say so – fa. Fireplace. Yes? Chimney. Chimney” Guess they couldn’t get it. “Chimney. Chimney – the fucking smoke comes out.” Hysterical.
If you think about it; fuck is the most interesting word in the English language:
Fuck – verb
Fucker, you fuck – noun
For fuck’s sake, fucking slow – adjective
Fucking fast – adverb
Fuck off, fuck you – exclamation
Brilliant! Really an incredible word. I’ve learned so much about the English language. Interesting for a writer. Being a native I can just sound stuff out. Incredible to learn why I use it.
So the school sends out our resumes tomorrow and say we should have lots of calls, maybe even tomorrow. I’ll let you know as soon as I here. Then moving this weekend to a place of our own. Should be a scene.
Since I have less than 48 hours, my classmates call me every half while I’m at the old flat to make sure I don’t wind up dead and eaten by the Witch. Kristen called this morning- “Do you still have your legs? You’re not tied to the bedpost are you?”
“No, just running late, thanks. Be there soon.” It’s nice to know people care.
I’ve thought of ways to kill her before she killed me. Olive oil on the shower floor? The Voice of America gave the name of an almost untraceable animal tranquilizer. Well, not to worry. I’ll hardly be there the next two days.
Tomorrow is the last day of class. Then we go out to celebrate with our teacher, Jon, the bald, gay, Norwegian. Great guy.
Then the Martian, Rachael (English) and Pedro (Portuguese) all leave. Pedro is the little guy. We call him the Portuguese Napoleon. He hates the Spanish. I guess 500 years of rivalry is hard to dismiss. He’s going to go to Brazil and teach English (and of course they speak Portuguese down there). His wish is to hook up with Brazilian girls until his heart eventually gives out. Vaya con Dios!
Come to think of it, the Irish hate the English. And who could blame them. 800 years of oppression. Black ’47 – England, seen as a bunch of good guys after defeating Hitler, were exporting beef like crazy out of Galway while the Irish starved because of the potato crop bust. Many bodies were found with green streaks in the corner of their mouths, from eating grass.
But one thing I don’t think we’ll see again is a European war (which would be nice!, since they tend to drag the whole fucking world into it). They are too tied together now economically with the Euro. So the whole world wins.
El Dude’s sweeping generalizations about Spain:
- They are a bunch of pussies. They are a bunch of thieves and pick pockets with no honor. Stealing is a way of life. Even the smallest 7-11 type market has a guard to ward off thieves. Stealing is completely accepted here. A bunch of weasels. I could take over the entire capital with a hockey stick if I really wanted because I still have some balls.
-They are masters of inefficiency. I’ve seen more efficient things come out of my ass.
-It’s incredibly laid back. It’s 2 AM and I am in early for a Thursday. This is a dangerous place.
-You don’t want to be a pig and live here. You’ll die and be eaten 207 ways.
Well, I have my first interview today. We’ll see how that goes. Should be exciting. I guess I’m going to finally go to bed before 4 AM. Hopefully I’ll sleep well. Only two more days and then I won’t have to worry about being eaten by some crazy Spanish witch. It really is the little things, isn’t it?
Here I Wait
Well, Spaniards are nothing if not always late. My first teaching interview, with of all things, the Shakespeare English school – seriously. My interview was 15 minutes ago, but the Flem, who had an interview at half ten, juts started to interview a few minutes ago. Deidre will probably be here for hours.
Time Lapse
Well – I got six hours of work and start Monday, with two more interviews to come on Mon and Tues. So – we’ll see how it goes. It’s always piecemeal. This Shakespeare school seems very unorganized, But, it’s one on one lessons and it’s with Accenture, but I need to travel away from the center of town, so I’ll just play it by ear. Like my life. But no regrets. I just take it as it comes.
Woke up and I had a big idea
To buy a new soul at the start of every year
Paid up and it cost me pretty dear
Here’s a hymn to those that disappear
-Porcupine Tree
Shifting and Drifting
It is Saturday morning, Feb 3, and I have not become a New York Strip steak. I was very nervous when the Witch was cooking vegetables and no meat all week long. Then she asked what time I was leaving on Sunday – first time the bitch has talked to me in 2 weeks! I was like ‘Oh fuck. Looks like I’m Sunday dinner!”
And then yesterday I actually saw the Witch cleaning! I was like – How much can you possibly hate me? First time I saw her clean anything in a month!
But now I know why. New girl from Maine moved into the empty big room she wouldn’t let me have. She’s very young, and obviously much more tender than I am (me hoofing around for thirty-eight years) so I believe I am finally safe.
Stuart, Kristen and I move in today. Praise Jah!
Last night was lots of fun after getting our Certificates and then going out to eat and celebrate. A very nice time. Lots of laughs til I thought my ribs would crack. Told our teacher, Jon, about the Martian “chimney- the fucking smoke comes out” and he laughed like hell.
Pedro left for Portugal this morning. The beginning of the breaking of the Fellowship. And the beginning of my new life in Madrid. Good thing too – the old one was starting to weigh me down, like carrying around a sack of fucking doorknobs.
To you is it movement or is it action?
Is it contact or just reaction?
A new revolution? Just resistance?
Is living or just existence?
Yeah you! It takes a little more persistence
To get up and go the distance
-Rush
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Watcher of the Skies
There is no right, no wrong
No questions, only orders
Only blue skies and cordite
And flight…Flight!
-Roger Waters
Well spank my ass and call me Gwen! – It’s February. I made it thru the month of January. But before I go to back to the future, one should never forget the past.
Last Friday
Last Friday, I taught an advanced class on New York architecture. It went very well, and the grammar was about the order of using adjectives. You go from most general to most specific. A native speaker can do this no problem, but it’s a bitch for 2nd language student.
Anyway, after class, this tall blondish pretty woman, Anna, maybe 28, comes up to me and hands me a note. It says
I am a fly attendant and need some private lessons in order to get my CV in English and so that I can pass the interview. Do you know anyone who can help?
-Ana
I said, “I can help you.”
“How much per hours?”
“A.. 20 Euro.” A cut rate for my first private student.
“Yes. It may be me and two other of my friend, also are fly attendants. You can do?”
So I’m standing there thinking, I haven’t even got my degree yet and you’re asking if I can tutor you and your three stewardess friends for a huge job at $20E an hour? Um..yes. Sometimes life can be so beautiful I could cry.
In The End
Well, school is almost termina (finished)- 2 more days. They said we should get jobs quickly. If not, the bullfights start up again in March, and I may study to be a matador. That would be sweet!
We move into the new flat on Saturday. I thus begin to start living in Madrid instead of just existing. I have a lease til June 30, so I’ll be here at least that long. This is good because my plan was always to give it at least 6 months. So here I go…. Into the Deep End.
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