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).