It´s Final

This just in. Spain legalizes gay marriage in time for the big Orgullo festival this weekend. It´s gonna be ginormous, I bet. That´s pretty crazy. I wonder what the pope thinks. This used to be the Church´s favorite country. Franco was probably their favorite leader. Oh, right. Apparently Franco´s grandson is some big, eurotrash cokehead. How hilarious is that! And he was on a reality show too. HAHAHA. I´m sorry I missed that. It was last year. Damn my age.

I return to the USA, July 5, one day after our blessed Independence Day. How beautiful...I don´t have to deal with hillbillies setting off dynamite in the street or blasting sirens in parades or barbacoa with family (this I´ll kind of miss...a little). I get into NYC and may spend the day there or return straight up to Cantabria to start looking for a job.

Oh, I forgot to mention that I finally saw flamenco in a cozy little tablao. Unfortunately, tourists practically ruined the intimate beautiful experience. It was really amazing and I´m quite glad I finally went. It´s a spectacle and so sensual and tragic. Really grrrreat.

Yesterday went to the beach.

Today the Drake´s family is here, so we´ve got that.

Haven´t determined when I return to Madrid to say my farewells to the only city that truly never sleeps. Bah I say to New York. PS-have you seen the new design for the Freedom Tower. HAHAHA What a piece of shit. I absolutely hate it. It´s so gross. disgusting. behemoth. ungraceful. blech. Chicago wouldn´t be caught dead with that piece of shit. So it goes. If you don´t know what I´m talking about, seriously just go see Batman Begins for the way cool shots of the Second City. Second my foot. I´m really excited about seeing it again...but hopefully not till late August.

The real tragedy of the stolen computer is that now the Drake and I can´t watch Seinfeld or Curb or movies or listen to music. We thought it might be a good idea to pick up a David Sedaris book and read it out loud, but Valencia has shitty English book selections, so that blows.

The End.

¡SOCORRO! or Three Times a Charm

First off, does anybody have a copy of my resume on their computers that they can email me? Here´s why:

That´s right, dear readers, Bacchus has been the victim of yet another theft, this one bigger and more diabolical than its predecessors. As you know, I´ve been in Murcia, Madrid, and Granada, and while I was in the last two sites, someone broke into the apartment in Valencia through an interior window that looks out onto a shaft, and stole...wait for it...my computer. That´s right, everything I´ve written in college is on that computer and it´s now zip bang gone. What this means in the archives-obsessed hist and lit quarter of Harvard is anybody´s guess. At first of course, I felt horribly violated and very upset, inconsolable, but now I´m ok, so that´s good. I just look at it as one more story...albeit an expensive and traumatic one, but there´s nothing I can really do about it.

Of course I went to the police and of course they did nothing but have me fill out a report. They didn´t even come to the scene. I signed a bunch of reports and added my two scents about how I think it was someone in the building or in the apartment directly across the street, which the woman there told me she would relate to the "investigative group." I don´t know how to roll my eyes in Spanish, so in my inner monologue I just thought "right, I bet you´ve got your best crack team on it right now."

The problem is that there´s probably virtually no serious crime in Valencia, so I think losing a computer should be a pretty big priority, but somehow I doubt it´ll see the light of day, despite the fact that it´s probably incredibly easy to solve considering it happened from within the apartment building. I really wish I had the money to hire a private dick. He could totally solve it. So up in a puff of smoke is the last three years of my life. A little sad, but there wasn´t anything priceless on it, and hopefully I´ll get another one through insurance.

Also, I forgot to mention that I saw Batman Begins and became entirely nostalgic about Chicago. Seriously, that movie is one big wet-dream to a native son living abroad. The Drake and I loooooved it, especially when the camera pans across Marina City to show Batman perched atop a skyscraper, and the part where they pull up all the bridges isolating the island of Gotham from the mainland, which anyone with a brain knows that those bridges don´t isolate shit. They just cut the city in half along the Chicago River. We laughed at this point, and the people next to us were a little perturbed. Also, I remember reading reviews describing this Gotham as being more of this world, like a kind of skewed New York. I can´t remember who this reviewer is, but what idiot cannot identify the most perfect skyline in the world. Seriously, the city itself is an architectural museum. So that´s it. I´m coming home soon if they can get me a flight, otherwise I´m going to starve to death.

Just kidding, but seriously between getting the laptop stolen and Batman making me crazy (almost weepy) nostalgic for home, I think it´s time to get the hell out of Dodge.

Así que ya he vivido.

Si te mueres antes de ver la Alhambra, no has vivido.

So goes the Spanish saying that "if you die before seeing the Alhambra, you never lived."
And so as I have seen the Alhambra, apparently now I can die...a pauper. It was beautiful and in bloom and all the superlatives in the world cannot do justice to the airy sense of space and nature afforded by the brilliance of those muslim architects that did create it.

Apparently I´m poor. I know I´ve been through this before, but seriously, I´m poor. I´ve talked to my mom, and she´s confirmed it...yep, I´m poor. So I´m currently awaiting word from my travel agent to let me know when I can come home and be poor in America, Boston, where the Beckster has confirmed that I can stay there as a parasite, and damned if I won´t hold her to that. I don´t think she realizes just how little money I have, but hopefully I can find a job there. If things don´t work out, the Drake has been enlisted to drive me home so that I don´t have to waste money on a plane ticket.

In other news, I´m thinking about rewriting Ginsberg´s "America" to apply to Spain:

España, I´ve given you everything and now I´m nothing.
$---.-- to my name.
Go fuck yourself with your old world beauty.
España, I am the conversos.
García Lorca must not die.
España, I love you.

It needs work, but you get the idea. I have no hope to stay in Madrid for the parties of the Orgullo festival nor to see if they get the Olympics (fat chance). Now, I just want to go to Boston so I can be poor somewhere else with at least the hope for a job.

That´s it!

Madrid de Nuevo

I´m BAAAACK!! Yes. I. Love. Madrid. Yes. Yes.

So I went to Murcia with the fam and had a time. It was basically going to the beach, going to cafes and going to restaurants. Really great. Oh, and watching Urgencias, or ER with them. I loved it. The whole time I was there I couldn´t help thinking that I´m in Spain in the summer home, bathing in the Mediterranean. Who am I? Really. Whose life is this? I can´t even imagine what would go through my head in Mallorca. Probably something along the lines of "I hate this family. Why am I here? I want to go home and spend my last summer with friends, not these rich bitches."

Which brings me to another point. My real Spanish family probably isn´t as rich as I thought. They are by no means poor. They are totally upper middle class, but they aren´t shockingly rich. Their apartment was probably grandfathered in, so it´s really cheap, and they have all this great property and a lot of money, but I don´t think they´re rich rich. Which probably explains why they were nice. Sorry, I can´t escape my working class prole childhood prejudices.

From Murcia I was supposed to meet the Drake in Granada, but the town in which my family lives is a bitch to get to and from, and I don´t think I could get to Granada directly, and when my family offered to take me back to Madrid with them I jumped so here I am with the Drake, showing her around. Tomorrow we go to Granada before going back to Valencia and I´m home in like a week and a half.

THE ANECDOTE PART
Good story. When the Drake and I arrived in Madrid, we went to this pretty nice hostal (sic) there. We asked for a double and they gave us a room with two twins separated by a nightstand with a shower in the room, just hanging out there in the corner. The owner of this hostal proceeds to show us the room, explain its workings, and offers to push the two beds together if we would like. I said no that wouldn´t be necessary, but she was insistent. "Really, it´s not a problem, it´s fine, we just move the nightstand, it´s really more comfortable that way...you know, `nicer.´" All this is translated from Spanish. Of course I blushed and said no thanks, but she wouldn´t let it go, probably thinking I was uncomfortable based on my blushing which was enhanced by a slight sunburn. Then she´d explain how the metal exterior shade worked, offer to put the beds together, explain the air conditioner, offer to put the beds together, etc. The Drake and I were dying laughing after she left the room. Finally she relented, but offered the parting advice "Well if you want to push the beds together later, that´s fine, it´s really quite easy." My god woman, what do you take us for, ashamed nymphos?

This is especially funny since under Franco a man and woman couldn´t even share the same hotel room unless they brought along their family book to prove they were married. So that´s how different Spain is now.

So I guess that´s enough update for now. Coming to the Bridge soon and I´m pretty excited. The next week in Valencia I´ll probably spend at the beach. The Drake and I are thinking about coming back to Madrid for the HUGE gay pride festival next week. It´s apparently the biggest party of the year in Madrid with more 1.3 million people in the march last year, and this year will probably be bigger this year to combat last weeks "traditional marriage" "profamily" rally. In that news, the Senate vetoed gay marriage here, so now it goes back to the Congress where they´ll probably send it back to the Senate slightly modified before it goes into law. A parting note on Spanish politics. Protests are huge here, but they´re not called protests. They´re more manifestations which is good because it shows that you´re not necessarily anti anything, you´re just pro something. And the big traditional marriage manifestation, although it was organized with a little homophobia lurking around the edges went off without a homophobic sign or chant or anything. It was all very civil. Could you IMAGINE that happening in the States...NEVER!

The Long Goodbye

I just sent an email to my travel agent to begin the discussions of my return to the states, and I´m officially realizing that in about two and a half weeks I will be leaving Spain for another place and I´m a little sad.

BUT, in the last week I´ve discovered just how much I love horchata a cool milk and almond drink that they sell all over the place to cool people down in the scorching heat and humidity. Odd that dairy is used to cool down, but I love it, it´s so weird. Also, they have the equivalent of lemon slushies that are really good too.

Tomorrow I catch a bus at 4:45 AM to meet the fam in Murcia. Very excited. From there I go to the grandeur of the Alhambra, and after that I return to Valencia for a spell before Madrid and then Boston with a possible layover in NYC.

Also, is the term pulling the trigger not a national phenomenon? I swear I´ve been using this forever, but in the last two weeks, I´ve heard from several sources that they don´t know what that is. I won´t explain it because it´s just not necessary if you don´t know, but I absolutely love it (the phrase, not what it describes). Ok, I´ve just checked to see that there is a reasonable definition out there, so I think it is pretty universal. Damn, I was really hoping that this was one of the verbal innovations that my friends have come up with like "sharecropper feet," "no no NO no" "you need to learn" "you do NOT" "he needs to quit it" "lunchy lunch" "little clown" etc.

Ugh, I hate internet cafés, they don´t provide me with the environment I need to write mindlessly about crap.

I still haven´t heard from the Mallorca family which is a little upsetting, but should they call me there´s NO WAY I´m picking up the phone, especially since I had a dream that I caved in and went with them. I´ve been having very vivid dreams lately, but I won´t bore you with them since other people´s dreams are always boring unless they include you directly. I should know, the Drake shared one with me that actually put me to sleep in the middle of it. Unless of course it involves making out with celebrities like, oh, say, the Beatles.

Can´t wait to go back to the Bridge where I will whore myself out to Harvard University Libraries or something like that, maybe a café where I´ll make far less in tips than I will at home, but right now home is not looking like the most appealing option for several reasons, although IU could be fun. Does anyone know if Baby Huey found a job at IU or if he´s made the walk of shame back to 444?

BREAKING BLOG NEWS--BACCHUS QUITS SUMMER JOB IN MALLORCA

The first step has been taken. At 18:11 Bacchus Americanus sent an assertive email dripping in honey and blood to his employer resigning from his job as Anglobitch and (here´s the sticker) asking for 100€ for travel expenses and airline fees.

The Triple Crown and other horror stories

I´m just going to get this out of the way. Mom probably shouldn´t read it, but it´s worth noting. Last night I pulled what I like to call the triple crown: pulling the trigger, blacking out, and waking up the next morning oh-so-refreshed. Granted I had the horrible Catholic guilt nagging the back of my mind, but what are you going to do. I have now resolved to be more cautious with hard liquor which I generally don´t drink in Spain do to the fact that beer is cheaper in bars and you can buy a liter of decent box wine for forty cents. That´s all I have to say about that.

I got some killer canvas and rope shoes. They´re so peasant and I love them. They´re called alpargatas.

The New Axis of Evil:
I´m currently waging a new three-pronged war to eradicate the following three evils of the modern world.
1) Only children. Siblings are good.
2) The phrase "hooking-up." Is there a more loathsome turn of the English tongue? I think not. It´s horribly unspecific and whenever someone is using it, the listener wants as many details as possible. I´m sorry, but one phrase should not be able to encompass all activity from making out to having sex, so I´m asking you dear readers, to eliminate it from your stockpile of stockphrases.
3) Regional dialects. Thank god Valenciá is not that prevalent here, but it is still a presence, and I find it and Catalán and the like to be very annoying. Get over your ego and get behind Castilian.

The new White Stripes album. This is the first piece of new music I´ve heard since coming abroad and I like it, of course, but as with all White Stripes albums I have problems with it...major problems. For the love of god, I know it´s inspiring to work fast, and I´m not asking to spend years overproducing sludge, but please spend some time to write a bridge. I love the bridge. Where are the bridges? Ugh. However, I´m not going quite as far as the New Yorker reviewer who I think is basically way off mark even though she has some good points. I think Blue Orchid is a great song and doesn´t really need a bridge, but slower, ballad-like songs on the album scream for them. She´s right that My Doorbell is a killer song, but it´s not a girl group song and could never be sung by the Supremes. It´s obviously a Jackson Five song. Is this reviewer deaf? Oh, and I will not stand for this Meg White bashing. I will have none of it. Yes she´s primitive. No, she´s not as effective or subtle as Mo Tucker, but damn if it isn´t exactly what the band needs. I think the reviewer talks about how her bass thumping ruins Blue Orchid. That´s just annoying and untrue.

Ummm, I guess that´s about it. I´m still dragging my feet on the return home, but should be with it pretty soon.

Good Article

I´m just giving a heads up for a David Sedaris essay in the New Yorker this week. Check it out online. It has several references to being a crossword snerd that I identify with. Also with getting asked to switch seats on a plane with a married woman´s husband even though you don´t want to and the alternate seat is inferior. This happened on the way back from Puerto Rico, so there´s that.

Standstill. Going to Mucia Monday to visit the family in their summer home and I´m friggin excited. I love them so much. Also, I´m edging closer to putting a close on the Anglobitch job, but still very indecisive. We´ll see what happens. They haven´t talked to me, and I´m pretty much done with them, but I need to contact them and schedule a flight home. I´m afraid that if I talk to them I´ll cave under the promise of endless fun in the sun on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. But now I´m thinking drunken times with friends is a little better, plus if I don´t like them, my mind can make a hell out of heaven. We´ll see.

Poughkeepsie Ain´t Just a City in Upstate New York

I´m poor. Not poor poor. But poor nonetheless. I checked my bank account online and I have just over $100. That´s right. I still have substantial wiggle room on credit, but without liquid skrilla I could be in a bit of a pinch this summer.

It´s not so bad. I still have 100€ on hand, so I officially have somewhere around 175€ or $220 left. I have approximately 2.5 weeks left in Spain since I´m dumping the au pair job, but should they come through, I´m thinking that this is looking like my ONLY chance for employment this summer, and I don´t really want to return to the café to bus tables with no friends left in the area (unless Baby Huey by an act of god cannot find a job, and the Drake comes back to work at the café too). I´m told Huey had an interview which does not bode well for me, but there is the off chance that they won´t hire summer help.

So, this is all a little sad, no? I guess that´s what you get for living the trust-fund-throwaway-child life on a po´boy´s bank account. Oh well, at least they did away with debtor´s prison. What I really need now is for phat Harvard cash to come to my rescue next semester. Perhaps I can find a table-waiting job in Cambridge, too, but on these funds, it looks as though I´ll be running home as quickly as possible.

Wasting Time, Sitting Still

Hey all,
So I´m still in Valencia, loving the life, but I really don´t have a place here and am kind of wasting time, etc. The Drake has quit her Spanish classes, realizing she has no interest in learning another language...how dreadfully American. If you´re reading this and your blog has not been updated, seriously, write something for me...I´m a little bored with the internets.

Of course you want to know about my job. Well, still no word from the mother. I´ve got to get a really bitchy name for her, but I can´t think of one. It looks as though Bacchus is returning home to kick it in the states for his final summer tour before summers become just another season...you know, the one that´s hot, and not the enchanted playland of youth populated with board games, old movies, swimming holes, and yes, of course, sweaty slave labor in dead end jobs with lifers who for some incomprehensible reason have the authority to tell you what to do, all while having contempt for the fact that you go to Harvard, despite the fact that you are in fact without plans for a future, and the dreaded name doesn´t quite carry as much weight, and after I graduate I may, in fact be stuck as a lifer in one of these dead end jobs with these shlubs telling me what to do forever. Well, that or a job in consulting. How I dread that word. I don´t even know what it means, but I think it´s probably the modern day equivalent of being a scrivener, and quite frankly, I´d Prefer Not To.

What a lovely prose rant that was! Speaking of lovely prose, the man who owns my flat in Valencia is an ex-pat writer with a dignified ex-pat accent that screams of an American who spent waaaay too much time in England. You know the type, all plosive syllables are waaaay too aspirated. He´s totally cool, though, and completely reminds me of one of my best acquaintances from the Advocate. You know, the type of person who is a great friend, but you never ever see, so you´re technically not friends, but every time you see them you have great, long conversations. Oh, and he´s also veeeery Irish. We went through quite a bit of wine at dinner at his place and ended up staying there till after 1am talking about America, writing, Bob Dylan, Walt Whitman, etc. Very intelligent guy, but when I´m around him, I kind of feel like I´m putting on airs, really playing the Harvard role, which is funny, because I don´t think I´ve ever behaved this way in my life, I didn´t even know I had it in me. Now I´ve gotta think of a name for this alter-ego. Yes, you all think it should be Master Percy, but I don´t think that is sufficiently uppercrust enough.

The nightlife in Valencia, sadly, is not the equivalent of Madrid. It is quite fun, but lacks the gutbusting powerpunch of the capital. It´s much more of a cafe culture, and there´s not a bar with American/British music to be found. I actually heard Blue Monday once, but I only got to relish in half of it since my accomplices were bored and left. Sad.

I suppose that´s it. Seriously...UPDATE. I have no idea what is going on back home(s).

Balenthia at last

So now I´m currently in Valencia with the Drake. Today I made rice and filetes, and they were both failures. There´s a lot more to simple Spanish cooking than you think. At first we were disappointed until we decided to just pretend Schnocone cooked it, and then we realized that it was actually pretty good for his garbage cuisine. Tomorrow we try again.

Since I last posted, not much happened, but the Olympics fiesta in Madrid was really great. Beforehand, I decided to botellón which means I drank calimocho (coke and wine). Not a good idea when the temperature is over 100 degrees and you´re about to stand around in a group of sweaty sweaty Spaniards radiating body heat, and pushing to get closer to Shakira. Needless to say I was nauseous and spent half the time craning my neck searching for streams of air that hadn´t already been breathed and blown out of the noses of other people. If I wasn´t as tall as I am, I totally would have passed out. At the fiesta they had an artificial fire display (fireworks), and the explosions blew out the windows of my apartment building because we´re just that close to the center of things. I really hope Madrid gets the Olympics, but I think the French are going to weasel their ways into it. They´re like the Susan Lucci of candidate cities, so you just know the IOC is going to hand it to them this time around.

Ummm, my job could not be sketchier so I´m pretty sure I´m going to squat in Cambridge for a little bit before coming home because Mallorca is looking less and less certain. Then I´d probably return to GI in August. I hung out more with the Señora and her daughter and had a time watching what we call "Los Mexicanos" which is actually just a mexican telenovela, but it´s better to just call them mexicans since categorizing people is what Spaniards do. Ceriously, though, the Lush´s Mumma would love this show, it´s all cheesy period drama that is so bad that I always fall asleep halfway through while the other two sit transfixed. I think I´m going to go visit the fam in Murcia once they arrive, because they´ll probably actually CALL me unlike some Spanish women, so I´ll actually be able to meet them. Ugh.

Oh, but Valencia´s seriously cool and the three of us are loving it, even if we´re a little lazy and don´t actually do anything. That´ll change soon, but I love living my cheap imitation of a trustfund baby´s life.

Luego.

Oh, I also drank at an Egyptian temple in Madrid. It was pretty awesome.

Burgos, Birthdays, and Bombshells

Happy Birthday, Ricardo. It´s my brother´s birthday, so happy to that. I learned that the elusive part of Cumpleaños Feliz is in fact Deseaaaamos todos.

I was in Burgos and had a time with Teddy, his girlfriend, and their friends. Totally cool group of people, and as always we were out late, laughing a LOT, talking a lot, and generally drinking way too late. Woo to that. Burgos was totally a totally cool little burg. Much better climate this time of year than Madrid, where I am currently sweating like a pig, a fat one.

This weekend marks the coming to Madrid of two bombshells. My señora´s daughter arrived, and so I have now met her entire family, and have solidified my opinion of them as being one of the best families I have known in my life. Seriously amazing people. The daughter is hilarious as they all are, and she´s incredibly beautiful. They all look alike except the padre. It´s hilarious, the mother´s genes kicked the hell out of the padre´s in the womb wars.

The other bombshell in Madrid is Shakira, who I will be seeing in concert tonight. Never thought that would happen, but it´s free and right by my house. Can´t wait. The city is crawling with life right now, just exploding completely with the Rastro and the build up to the anouncement of the olympic city for 2012, which probably won´t be Madrid, but it gives them an excuse to celebrate (like they need one every day here´s a party). I leave the city this week and am about to cry. I love it so much, and as I was walking around all day, I was totally beaming. This week I go to Valencia to live with the Drake and am really excited.

Tomorrow I go find out what the hell has happened to my au pair job. Not quite sure. Haven´t talked to them in almost a week, so tomorrow I´m going to solidify plans before flying the coup. I may be officially jobless as the passive aggressive señora may have already fired me and I don´t know. Should be interesting. If all turns out badly, I can always look down other avenidas ilegales. Or I could come home early, squat in Boston, you know, college stuff. That´s all for now, I´m on a timed computer and people are waiting for me to come down so we can drink heavily before Shakira and generally have a time with the city of Madrid for perhaps the last time. Crap, I´m getting teary...not really, but if I could I would. This is the city for me. Can´t wait to come back again and again.