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Sabado 26 de Enero - Okay. Maybe I will be able to post this from home. Finalmente!!!!!

Had Kristen over for dinner last night. I made tortellini in ajo olia sauce. For appetizers; a brie and goatcheese mixture, some pepperoni-like sausage and roasted peppers on french bread with ajo olia de Extremadura! Yum. Nikos ate with us too. We never left the kitchen, like in America. It was great.

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Sports Day, 20 de Enero 19:05 – 5:05, 21 de Enero

It's just a game

don't let yourself slip away

-Triumph

It was a rare sports trifecta with three very meaningful games: Atletico Madrid vs. Real Madrid, then Pats – Chargers , then the marquee event; Giants – Packers. The Madrid Derby was torture: Real scored just 1:30 into the contest with Raul knocking in an easy shot. Then Atleti had about six good chances, two hitting the post. At the end of the half Real scored quickly again and it was over.

I watched the game in a mad little bar in Getafe. Maria didn't feel like watching the game so i went by myself. I found this place Manchueto. La Profesora said later “That place is crazy.” As usual, she was right on the mark.

At first it seemed so cozy and friendly. Everyone knew everyone who walked in the door. When i walked in, they were playing the Atleti anthem. A few of them were wearing the red and white striped jerseys, which was why i walked in. Then an older retarded lady walked in with Real Madrid sweats on. Everybody said hello to her (Her name was Sylvia), a few teased her about her outfit but it was all in good fun. What a nice place, i thought. The first half was fun, even though the game blew. Then things got weird.

They only had Mahou in little pony bottles, so that's what i was drinking. It was the beginning of the second half and a guy walked in with a black wool hat and a little beard that looked like dirt on his chin. He walked to the bar and turned to watch the TV.

The young guy behind the bar, maybe 21 and obviously the son of the owner, calls him by name and immediately asks him what he wants. This is odd because you can be in a place and never be asked what you want. He ordered a coke.

Now some rummy walks in. Every Spanish bar has one, some old drunk who is ignored unilaterally, yet served no matter how shitty he gets. He gets into some shouting match with an Atleti scarf who looks just like David Crosby. David Crosby is calling him “Baracho” and the rummy is arguing with the wind. He finally died down when the rummy found some new folks to ignore him.

Sylvia, the retarded lady, hardly talks, i notice. The only time she utters a sound is when an Atleti player goes down, and then she lets out a shrill baby cry “Wah, wah waaaaaaaaaaah. Ma-ma. Ma-ma. Ma-ma.” At first i didn't know where it was coming from. It somehow permeated the din of this small little bar.

When the guy in the black hat asked for the bill, the kid behind the counter shouts “Una coca cola por Javy Gomez! (one coca cola).” He obviously didn't like the guy and called him out in the middle of the bar. The guy just took his change and left.

I stopped back by Maria's and then took the Renfe train to Madrid. The bus i always used to take doesn't go all the way to Atoche any more -requiring 2 buses. So i guess I'll be training from now on.

I got to Dubliners in Sol around 22:30. I saw a friend, Scott there. He was with a few folks and it was fun to watch the game with someone. He used to work at the J and J Bar where all the guiris go.

There was this guy in an Atleti shirt. I thought he was part of Scott's crew but no. He was obnoxious, his English sucked and he wouldn't stop talking to me.

He kept saying, “Let's go talk to those girls. Let's go talk to those girls. He only wanted me to go because i could speak English. Dubliners is a guri meat market and there are lots of hot girls. But they are sooooo young. He tries to chat up some girls and they of course treat him like he's a gravedigger straight from the job. When he he's leaving he grabs they're ass. Then he points to me! Luckily the girls realized i'd have to be elastic man to grab their asses from 10 meters away. The guy was a real bozo.

There was a bozo from Queens there who kept talking to us throughout the Giant game. At first we talked because he knew Scott and had a Mets jersey on. But then he just talked to hear himself.

“I like this game. I like this game.” He said it 220 times. It was ridiculous. When he was busy yelling at the screen I turned to Scott and said, “I moved away from NY to get away from morons like this.”

“Absolutely,” he said. He's from Philly, so he knows.

Scott knew the owner. When the game went into overtime he came up to us and said “ When the fuck does this thing end?” They usually close at 4 but stayed open to the end of the game, although they shut things down within minutes of the game ending. I finished my Guiness and caught a cab home.

Football games last 1:45 from start to finish, 2 hours tops. The Spanish are horrified to learn that an American Football game lasts 3 hours or more. La Profesora almost shat herself before the Seahawk game. “Three hours! Fucking bullocks!” She's such a lady.

I guess I'll go back for the Superbowl. I'll cancel my early class. And then i won't be back in Dubliners until next football season.

So that was my Domingo loco. Why oh why am I such a freak magnet? Comes in handy for the blog though.

22 de Enero 0:59

I cleaned my room today. No vacuum – just the old broom. Dusted too. Dust builds quickly here. Its still 50 degrees out!

22 de Enero 10:35

Odds and Ends

Our brand new dish washer broke after one use. It is under warranty, but still. Talk about lame manufacturing.

It's strange how you buy beer here individually in the supermarket.

It's also weird how they change the start times of football games just three days before it starts.

Are the Giants really in the Super Bowl or was that just a crazy dream some of us had?

Great weather again – high 50's. Unbroken sunshine.

Vale. Time to do more cleaning, then shower and get to class for 14:00. But i have to leave by 12:20 because i have to take metro all the way east and south and then take the light rail.

If you want to learn more about Spain for some bizarre reason:

Winter in Madrid forget the authors name. Something like Sanson: About the Civil War.

Ghosts of Spain Giles Tremlett. Explores history and paradoxes of Spain.

23 de Enero 9:50

My disk drive is 40 weeks pregnant and ready to let this next blog loose before it's so enormous no one will ever read it.

24 de Enero 0:52

Here again. My mind is awash with memories of childhood and the craziest stuff. It's like the memory floodgate opened. I have a lot of time to think as I travel mass transit all day long. The process of this memory river wasn't exactly bad. The only trigger I can place is that I have been heavily mapping out the new novel, and this creative process sometimes taps into memories – parts of my brain that i suppose only get summoned at certain times (searching for file....).

Otherwise all is well. Atleti lost 1-0 to Valencia in the first leg of the Copa del Rey, largely because of a questionable tarjeta rojo to Moto early in the first half. Valencia scored soon after and never relented. They also dove like crazy while take some egregious fouls on Atleti. It looked like good old fashioned home field calls for Valencia. We'll see what happens on the return leg here at Vincente Calderon.

It's like spring here. It never got below 40F last night. And the days are bright, sunny and warm. Hope you in North America (99.69% of readership) are also enjoying some warmer temperatures. From the info Mum gives me, seems like the Northeast has had a rough winter with both snow and cold. My last day in CT in January it was -4! That's when your nuts become snowballs.

Full moon last night. Still freaks me out that it's the same moon you guys saw last night. Okay, my cama (bed) is whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Time to go sex her up. I'll post this blog someday.

Well I've walked these streets

in a carnival

of sights to see

all the cheap thrill seekers

vendors and the dealers

they crowd in

around me

-Natalie Merchant

Billy Joel Syndrome

Well, the past fews days have helped me break out of my Billy Joel Syndrome. I was concerned the blog was becoming stale. I was concerned it might be suffering from a healthy dose of contentness. The worst years of Billy Joel's career were when he was happy and content with then mega-babe Christie Brinkley, who has been married as many times as all of the Moonies put together. Uptown Girl! Are you kidding me? More creative things have come out of Frippy's ass ( i did clean his box for years). Billy did his best tunes when his life was a shambles. I think it's a difficult question for anyone who does any type of art to ask themselves – can you create really beautiful art in bliss? I sure as fuck hope so – but i'm not really sure. Conflict seems to breed heroism and romanticism.

Here's a random note that's remotely on topic. The Seester once told me that when she first heard Angry Young Man she thought it was written about me! Yeesh! That kinds sucks I was ever perceived that way. But i feel much more peaceful now. Besides, I don't have a front car seat under which to put my tire iron. You can take the boy out of New York....

To taste my bitter triumph

a mad immortal man

-Rush