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.