Last Live-blogging Work Entry

That´s right, folks, it´s my last day of work here in Madrid, and things are looking a little brighter. After this I´m going out with my intercambio Andrés, then I have to write a paper. After that only three exams keep me from pure summer bliss. Are you jealous yet, Harvard? In the last few days I´ve learned from Beulah and my good friend Sancho Panza that there has been a hate crime in Cambridge of all places. Calling someone a faggot and then beating them senseless may be all well and fine in Indiana, but I really expect more from you, Cambridge. Honestly, what decade are we living in. I honestly think America may be the only developed country that still has a problem with homosexuality. My God, Spain legalized gay marriage...SPAIN, you know, the country with the really Catholic history and a little Inquisition problem. Get on the bandwagon, Uncle Sam, I promise the ride won´t be too bumpy...unless you want it to be. badumching.

Last weekend I was in Lisboa with Baby Huey and MFGF, and we had a good time, drinking port, and I displayed my uncanny ability to find a cool, cheap bar in a hoard of bad, overpriced, touristy ones. We also saw some beautiful castles and ate loads of seafood...and port. Did I mention port? I love port, it tastes like raisins...naughty raisins. The bad thing about Lisbon is that it´s on oodles of hills, and if you know me, you know I´m morally opposed to exercise, making the trip more than uncomfortable if I actually wanted to do anything. We went to the beach and saw a few Code Purples. You know what I´m talking about, waterpark crowd...speeeedooos. We determined from the manner of speaking the main perp was Italian...how bland and expected. Also, Portuguese, as Baby Huey soon found out, is completely bizarre. It sounds Slavic, but vaguely familiar. I can basically read it, because it´s so close to Spanish, but the pronunciation is so shussshhhy I can´t understand a word of it spoken. We were also perplexed by obrigado/a which means thank you, because the gender rule didn´t apply. Did you use masculine if you´re a male, or if you´re thanking a male? Observing the locals didn´t help because they broke all plausible rules that would have explained it. I finally came up with an understanding: Portuguese exists in some kind of fourth dimension that we Americans just can´t understand, and the rule regarding gender and thanking can only be understood by those who can comprehend this fourth dimension. We gave up.

Oh, right, bullfighting. I love it! My only regret about bullfighting is that Hoosier Lush isn´t here to do the awesome triple clap, shout at the toreros, hiss at bulls who are reluctant to die, and wave the white hankie in approval. As you may have guessed, it´s brutal and bloody, and the humans have a huge advantage, but this doesn´t mean no one gets hurt. In the first one I saw, the bull charged over a torero, but luckily he got up uninjured, and knocked a guy off a horse. In the second fight, the bull pinned a guy´s leg between the wall and his horse, and he had to be limped off. Another bull actually gored the matador. We thought for sure he was dead, but he just got up, grabbed at his crotch (yeah...OUCH), inspected the torn seam in his traje de luces (suit of lights), and hobbled off, unable to complete. He got a round of applause and seemed fine, until he actually got out of the ring and the helper people bum-rushed him, picked him up, and carried him off. Oh, Spanish pride and machismo...it´s a thing of beauty. I wonder if they knew that we could still see him even though he wasn´t in the center of the ring.

For those veggies and vegans out there, (and carnivores too), this all sounds horrible and cruel, but for the carnivores, I say it´s a little ridiculous because these bulls live way better lives than any other cow, and only to endure about twenty minutes of brutal torture. Where´s Mills when you need him, I think utilitarianism will tell you that that´s not a bad deal, but I wouldn´t know since I slept through most of MR22 Justice and did none of the readings for it. For the rest of you still objecting, just follow my Madre´s advice:

"Don´t feel sorry for the bull. Feel sorry for the matador. It´s his art, and he´s going in there and risking his life all the time, just for the sake of the spectacular. You need to have sympathy for the bullfighter."

If that doesn´t make sense to you, you´re either saner than I am or you´re just not Spanish...although there are plenty of Spaniards opposed to bullfighting. I personally think they should be charged with treason. I went to the bullfight with one of my less-thickskinned friends who whimpered and hid her eyes for the first fight, but by around number 4 (there are 6 bulls each corrida), she was hooting and hollering and clapping and standing with the rest of us. It was hilarious.

Here´s the best part: there are patron saints of bullfighting, and before they fight, they have a ritual where they say these special bullfighting prayers. How fucked up is that? Baby Huey had a great analogy to this, he said it´s like praying to God before drunkdriving...blindfolded...in a stickshift.

"Oh God, guide my hands and pedalfoot as I careen this death machine down these residential boulevards, and please don´t let me hit anyone or get caught. I know that what I´m about to do defies reason, but so does the Catholic church, so maybe we can meet halfway on this. Yes, I´m an idiot and that didn´t make much sense, but I am drunk, and I can´t be expected to be in control of ALL of my faculties. Amen."

Only an hour left of work, yeeehaaww!