TREASON!

I hereby bring before the High Court of Blogdom, one Schnocone, charged with the crime of treason.

What did he do, you ask...well, in the course of the evening quite a lot, but let's start with the treason.

As I related last week, I got fired under extremely ridiculous circumstances (Schnocone agrees to this point). As a show of solidarity, he quit the same job the next morning. So that updates us to yesterday morning when Schnocone returns to Ellsworth's to continue working. The Reason: Schnocone felt bad for Ellsworth because he's been working on this project since February and Schnocone wants to see it through to the end. True, he got me this job, and it pulled me out of the throes of poverty. Regardless, you do not quit a job to show your loyalty to a friend only to start the job again within a week. What a betrayal of friendship! Schnocone also says that he quit only because it was awkward once I got fired. Is it not more awkward now that he already quit and decided to return a week later. That, I say, is far more awkward. So here we are now. In an act of appeasement, I got a free margarita tonight, which if I may say so, was not that strong. I think it's not so much to ask for a free drink every night that he works, which amounts to less than five dollars out of the sixty dollars earned a day. That's certainly the cheapest price I've heard for a betrayal of friendhsip, but apparently it's not enough for economics-major-Schnocone.

Which brings me to my next point. If you weren't with me on the last one, you're sure to be with me on this one. Schnocone thinks that there was nothing wrong with the Civil War era draft where the rich could pay someone poorer than them to take their place place in the battlefield. When Bighead and I tried to argue that this was fucking crazy...an idea that they threw out in the 19th Century, he argued that there were no victims in the case, and that we were trying to deprive poor people of the free choice to earn money by replacing rich people on the battlefield. He actually accused us of being against poor people through what he hinted was condescending patronage...He actually believes this!

Bighead and I exhausted all avenues of debate, but it wasn't enough for the economics major who believes that everything has a price and the contract entered into should be honored as pure free will of all individuals involved. Sure, we tried to say that certain things shouldn't be given a money value, and one shouldn't be able to buy themselves out of their obligation to their society, but he said that they were fulfilling their obligation through their monetary payoff to the poor person.

Even when we tried to argue that one shouldn't be able to buy oneself out of a social contract it wasn't enough. Apparently I'm depriving poor people of money that they may need. We also tried saying that a society should hold that certain things do not have a cash value, because there are certain things that are beyond the realm of money, but once again we were accused of depriving the poor of their free will. Is it just me or is this insane? Tim said that his argument was in the spirit of the social contract that the rich are fulfilling their obligation to defend their society in time of war while we said that the social contract is above financial matters. But again, Bighead and I were depriving the poor and not making sense, grabbing at abstract, ethereal values in a concrete world. I can't explain my frustration. Maybe Schnocone can explain it better, but am I the only one disturbed by this?

By the way, this whole argument started over whether or not scouts should be able to pay someone to do their police call garbage pickup for them.

P.S.--I really want comments on this one, because it was a huge argument and I'm eager to know whether or not one of us is crazy. So if you read this, please comment.

Uh-Oh.

So here we are, preparing for the next Supreme Court confirmation hearings, and now we have the personal memoranda of the candidate, analyzed by the NYTimes, the former beacon of quality reporting. Eh what the hell, there's really not a major newspaper better than the Times, so I guess they're still the beacon...at least the crossword hasn't diminished in quality. Well, here's the article. So yeah, we're fucked, and all the quality time spent in the Region isn't going to help him...it was the outskirts anyway.

So here are the predictions--
1. You can kiss the opposition to the Solomon Amendment goodbye, and any hope for gay rights. This means don't ask don't tell still stands, states won't need to recognize the marriages of other states, and sodomy laws could well be reinstated, so get your buttfucking in while the time lasts.
2. Affirmative action is also going into the shitter, so if you're brown, remember all those injustices your family suffered and you may have suffered as well...well, don't expect any leg up from state schools. What we need is another brown justice, which is why I support the Hoosier Lush for the Supreme Court. She'd do right.
3. Prisoners' Rights...what prisoners' rights?
4. Prayer in school? Sorry Schlomo, you're going to have to take your yarmulke off and direct your "Baruch attas" at that cross on the wall. Yahweh will understand...after all, Jesus was his son...wasn't he?

I suppose that's all I have to say for now. I hope my overreacting was grandiose enough. Can I officially take the place of Cassandra, pulling out my hair, raving about the end times? Schnocone already got his turn with the Ellsworth job, so now it's mine. Speaking of the American Apocalypse, I'm thinking this could be my thesis topic because both the left and the right like to foresee the end of America in their grandstanding, just on different terms.

In other news, I finished a rather annoying part of my job training today, thank Jesus (see heathens, was that so hard?). Not sure what I'll be doing tomorrow, but I do enjoy my job, it's kind of relaxed and very air-conditioned, and when I'm done, I just stay at the library and go upstairs to read, because there's no better place to read than the library.

Also, I'm LOVING TVE at Bighead's, where I listen to lisping Spaniards to my heart's content.

After the Deluge

So I started work at the library. It's a pretty good job, but kind of confusing because all the books are not catalogued using one uniform system. Because the library system at Harvard predates the Library of Congress call system, there are two different ways the books are catalogued which is really confusing, and I always feel like an idiot when I make a mistake. And they always catch mistakes. They're so meticulous, they would really be amazing Nazis. We're talking Hitler's finest. Ok, maybe that was too far.

Friday night...well, let's not talk about Friday night. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Let me know if you're interested in how I was duped into smoking a hookah all by myself and then finding out that it wasn't just filled with delicious flavored tobacco. Otherwise, it's hush hush and probably not internet worthy. Nothing embarrassing in the vein of Indian-Pilgrim relations night on the Harvard shuttle, but still unpleasant.

So, that's about all that happened this weekend. Schnocone made garbage fried rice and Bighead deceived us with a big stupid internet rumor of the Smashing Pumpkins (one of my favorite bands e meritus) reuniting at Lollapalooza. What a waste.

Some things I still miss about Spain: the lisp, bread for 40 cents, wine for 40 cents, clara (beer and sweetened seltzer mixed), sunlight at 10pm, etc.

BUT, today I found out that Bighead's random MIT cable gets feed from TVE, that's Television Espanola, so tonight I watched a little bit of flamenco and heard the glorious lisp for the first time in weeks. Hallelujah!

A Gift from the Alcohol Fairy

So after going to bed last night slightly tipsy, I woke up today with a few little gifts from the alcohol fairy. 1)A barely perceptible, but very persistent headache, and 2)A Brand New Job.

I woke up, went to assure that I had work study, and prepared for my interview. I went to the library at 4, had a brief interview and got hired on the spot. I really think that the internship in Spain is a huge plus. People see it and their interest is immediately piqued. I love it, even though it was such a waste of my qt in Spain.

So now I have work on Saturday which is a blessing and a curse. The good news is that I have a job, but the bad news is that Becky's friend is coming to town and bringing with her free admission and free drinks for me at The Liquor Store because she's, how shall we say...friendly, with a Yankee and a bartender there, so we're connected. Unfortunately, I can't go all out because I need to bring my A game to work on Saturday. How sad.

That's it!

The Big Chill

Ok, so now I'm in cool-down mode. After getting fired and completely hopped up on adrenaline and endorphins and then bringing it down with alcohol, I'm finally in my right mind and can speak about things a little more clearly.

First of all, of course Ellsworth was a decent person who overpayed us for the work we did. I just like to talk. Is that wrong? And when he came in, I talked with him because I like to be on good terms with my employers. Apparently this was seen as slacking. Whatever, I'm over it.

As for the flittish comment last night, I think the mixture of adrenaline, endorphins, and cheap champagne (Thanks Ethel and Becky!) may have loosened my lips a little...ok, a lot. Things were said, accusations were made, imaginations ran wild, and that's what you get. Really, we just wanted to think of ways of getting some money out of the guy, and what with sexual harassment on the mind after Becky's altercation yesterday, that's what sprung to our minds. oops. all apologies.

Last night was a blast, though. Schnocone was late coming, so Becks and I went to Shay's and talked it up, spilling some super-double top secret stuff. Let's just say Becky has looser lips than Karl Rove and me combined! Ethel bought us a bottle of champagne to celebrate our getting fired, and we took an elegant, entwined arms toasting picture. Schnocone also bought me a beer because he was going to make some more money off of Ellsworth before quitting. And today, as a show of his Polish roots, Schnocone enacted a demonstration of solidarity and quit his job this morning, so now the work force over there is crippled.

Today, I got an email for an interview about a library job, so everything's coming up Zorro. Still have yet to hear about the time and place, though. Shouldn't be unemployed for long.

CANNED!

So...I've been fired. Me especially. Here's the exact email. Very exciting--

Tim, I've appreciated greatly your work and thank you. Unfortunately, when Ryan
and Becky work together not that much is getting done. When I came by (you were
not there that day) the two of them stood by a dining room window, spent a lot
of time (Ryan especially) holding the brush in the air while they talked away,
every so often applying some paint to the wood. I didn't say anything, but did
ask Tom to separate them so they would have to work more (since I felt the
payment was sufficient for the work that needed to be done). Well, last time,
they again were together, not accomplishing much, and when Tom returned,
evidently sitting and chatting in the living room.

All this is to say that I don't think I can continue to have Ryan do work and
am unsure about Becky once Ryan is not there, but I know Becky is your friend
and perhaps you can discuss this with her.

I am blunter than Tom wanted me to be, but I wanted to be as clear as I could
with you. You and Andrew are outstanding, but I will understand if you feel this
is somehow unfair to you. Tom said you'd be by at 8 a.m. tomorrow and I don't
know if you'll get this before then. I'm going to see if you also gave me a
phone number.

If you get this you can get back to me. If you don't get it I'll call in the
morning once you're at the apartment.

Again, Tim, I really do appreciate your help, and when Ryan was not there, I
did not think the same problems arose. My best to you, Ellsworth

Ok, so this guy is obviously a douche and here's why...He didn't send me any news of my firing, instead sending this email to Tim, and an email to Becky telling her to tell Tim to check his email. Secondly--the reason that I would be seen dilly-dallying is because they had no fucking idea what to do next, so of course I was twiddling my thumbs. Secondly, the only day he actually saw me working, he chatted me up, so of course I'm going to be genial to the boss to establish a good relationship. Maybe he doesn't understand, but I've been living in SPAIN for the last six months. Does he not understand that I'm still acclimating myself to the American work ethic? Seriously, for that subcontinent, I'm a fucking machine. A tower of power. Becky and I were ready to do work today, but they had no paint. Hello, if there's no paint, we can't...wait for it...PAINT. And taping takes a lot more time than expected. Moreover, we were never alerted to the fact that we were doing subpar work slowly. Maybe if ONE SINGLE GODDAMN word was said, then we could have moved faster, but nothing was said...NOTHING. OOOH, I'm on fire. This is the second time I've been passive-aggressively fired, and I'm not happy. But on the upside, I sucked over $300 from this schmuck, so the jokes on him. I'm looking for a library job now anyway. Plus, I care about my country. I want a job that can contribute to this fine country of ours. Maybe I should report this guy to the unions and the IRS for hiring scabs...illegally at that!

I'm not the most confrontational person in the world, but for the love of god, perhaps a warning or dealing with me personally would be in order. When I was there, I worked fine. Ellsworth, who was there one day, should perhaps have observed me personally, and if he thought I was doing unsatisfactory work, then he should have had Tom tell me to step it up. As it was, none of this happened, and now I'm pissed and going out because I don't have to wake up at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow. UGH. Back to poverty! Have fun Ellsworth...Becky's not coming back either, and Tim already wanted to quit but I pressured him to stay. Now you only have two people left. I'm sorry that I'm a chatty person, but unlike some people, I can actually talk and work at the same time. Don't miss my supreme court exclusive below.

The Supreme Court Nominee and I

So it turns out that John G. Roberts is a Hoosier. Furthermore, it turns out he's a Northwest Indiana Hoosier, hailing from the outskirts of the Region. While it's impossible to call him a Region Rat since he's really from Michigan City/LaPorte, we still share basically the same cultural upbringing...namely, steel mills and Catholic school. It's funny to think that had he grown up a few miles east of where he did, he probably would have graduated from my high school. We're talking same-diocese close. Which begs the question...Why have I never heard of La Lumiere, the Catholic boarding/day school which he attended? Is it because it's near LaPorte? Because it probably doesn't have competitive sports on the same level? Because it's a frickin' boarding/day school? I don't know, but it's all very strange. I always thought there were only three Catholic high schools in the diocese, and now there's this phantom school? Very strange indeed, but it does seem a little east coast for the Region...uniforms with ties and jackets, dorms, etc. Still, this is very weird for me.

As you can see, I'm kind of developing a soft-spot for the guy. Yesterday, of course, I was less than enthused. I was actually, downright ecstatic, hailing the end of America. My mantra for about an hour and a half was "America is over. O-V-E-R over." (Don't you think an "America Is Over" t-shirt would be great? I just don't want to get my ass kicked by hilljacks in pickup trucks which is exactly what would happen if I donned it outside the Harvard bubble, although even here we're sometimes not safe.) In the time since passed, it's hard to say exactly where he stands, but I have been advising my friends to use condoms because otherwise they're gonna have babies popping out left and right. (Yes, as you can tell, I have very high opinions of my friends.) It's comforting to know that if anyone is going to spell the end of American progress, it's a nice gentleman from my neck of the woods. Good Rust Belt stock, and not some bitchy East Coast aristocrat, Western cowboy, or southern Bible thumper. Don't you just love how I write off all of America except my neck of the woods, lumping them all together in one big pot? I'm sure you all love that. Seriously, though, I love the East Coast, my road trip to the South was perhaps my favorite vacation of all time, and I don't really know the west except LA, but I'm sure I'd love the big sky and open range.

Plus, how conservative can this guy really be? He worked in a steel mill through college! His dad also worked in a steel mill! He's got union blood running thick through his veins. If he does flip America back to the 1950s, at least he'll be betraying not just his country, but also his roots. Oh wait, he's Catholic. Shit, we're fucked.

I was in another one of my pissy, sick-of-America moods because of this, swearing my expatriation to beautiful, forward-thinking Spain, when I settled into my bed (ok, futon pad on the floor) to read some Sarah Vowell. I ripped through a hundred pages starting at around 12:30pm and felt immediately better. Few things make me prouder to be American than the curmudgeonly patriotism of Ms. Vowell. I'm all geared up to read Winesburg, Ohio and American Pastoral, but I have a millstone called Moby Dick around my neck. I'm already halfway done, so I have to finish it, but I swear to god, every time the thing gets off plot and digresses into info on whaling (i.e. every fucking chapter), I find myself wanting to gouge my eyes out with Schnocone's plastic forks so that I won't have any choice but to not finish it.

PS--I'm obsessed with the Supreme Court, and no one else really seems to care to talk about it. Schnocone had no idea what was up when I walked into the room, and the Beckster and I were the only ones watching the tv for the announcement. Bighead showed a reasonable amount of interest, but lacked the passion I had. (maybe because he's not quite the defeatist that I am when it comes to America. I've pretty much given up all hope and joined in this macabre death march to the repressed past with bells on. I've seriously lost almost all hope. Hopefully the midterm elections will perk things up, but as it is, I'm riding this thing until the wheels fall off, then doing an awkward butt-scoot until we ride it clear off the cliff. I really think it's fun to embrace defeat and the end times. Look at all the fundamentalists and all the mileage they get out of the Rapture, Apocalypse, whatever. Don't tell me they don't get sick pleasure from talking about end times and fire licking the loins of heathens like me. mmm, fire loins. that's some good condemnation right there. Ok, maybe I'm losing my brain, drunk on the idea of the end of America, which I think could be a thesis topic--the end of America at the end of the century...negative images of the USA in post-modern society. Because let's face it, both the leftist idealists and the right wing hystericals regard America as some kind of warped, twisted place in need of correction. They just look at this state in different ways. Is the jaded view of the noirists that different from the sincere view of the apocalypse-fetishists? They both see the terminus of the American Dream as a pretty black, dark place. Where's a professor when I need one.

Settling into Prolonged Vagabondage

I'll thank you to keep your mind out of the gutter. This has nothing to do with S&M, although you could assume, quite rightly, that I do derive some sort of pleasure from forcing myself to live a nomadic existence (the masochism), and also derive pleasure from forcing my presence on friends who may or may not be sick of me (the sadism).

Sunday, after housesitting for the chicas, I cooked them chicken paprikash that I stewed for about three hours, and some dumplings that didn't turn out quite well, along with cucumber and tomato salad that my grandma makes, with a twist...fresh mozzarella. (On a Judge Ito sidebar, we've been watching a lot of Food Network, and don't you think Mario Batali needs a queer makeover? I mean he's a great chef, and people think I am annoyed by him because he's fat, but that's not the case. I'm no weightist. I'm annoyed because he's a slob. Get rid of the pony tail and get rid of those short pants, hippie. Plus, he's obviously my favorite Food Network all-star, so take that.)

--DON'T SEE CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY--
I don't know why anyone is treating this movie as anything more than a shitty remake of the 1971 original. It's as if Gene Wilder and everyone else from that superb movie is the elephant in the room that can barely be mentioned in any review. In short, there was no reason to make this movie. They would have you believe that it's more faithful to the book, but at heart, that's not enough. It's still the same movie as the original, done on a more annoying scale. Johnny Depp is absolutely unbearable. The entire time all you can think about is Gene Wilder and how much better it would be if they resurrected him from retirement to restar in a remake of his old movie. If that sounds masturbatory to any of you, maybe you should see this movie just to see how bad Depp is in it. That said, the beginning of the movie is pretty great. The Charlie is better, and very sweet, but once they enter the chocolate factory, the movie goes to shit, and that's not how it's supposed to be. The songs are terrible, and they are what really gave the factory magic in the original. Pure Imagination, the Grandpa Joe song, the Oompa Loompah songs which are infinitely better than the ones here are sorely missing, and it just seems like a CGI fest. And has no one noticed that for all the vision of Tim Burton, the main room of the factory looks almost exactly like the one in the 1971 version. Ok, I'm gonna back off now because I'm getting too worked up.

This weekend I saw Ada from Madrid. It was awesome. We went to the People's because the Cantab was charging cover...I hate cover. As Huey says, it's wholly undemocratic. After, we went to the Kong and shared what was my first scorpion bowl. It was heavy on the ice and Schnocone stealthily snatched up all the plastic playthings.

My job continues to trail along, but it's only a matter of time before it ends. That said, I return to the Region on August 18 which is almost exactly one month from today.

Espana Strikes Back

So yesterday, the day after my one week anniversary of arriving in the States, I got the strongest pangs of homesickness for Spain that I have registered. I'm not quite sure what brought it on, but I found myself sitting in Bighead's slightly depressed, desperate to hear Spanish and drink a clara (a drink which is half beer and half sweetened seltzer water). No doubt most people cannot understand the allure of such a nauseating sounding drink, but I was jonesing for it. I went up and down Cambridge aching before I realized that I should just go to the Coop and read some Lorca which I did. Unsurprisingly, it only made things worse, and so I grabbed for that great American writer Sarah Vowell.

I picked up her latest, Assassination Vacation, and loandbehold it begins with a preface equating historical tourism to the Camino de Santiago in Spain. Damn, even she's against me. The thirty pages or so I read rejuvenated my spirits, but I still felt a little disheartened because let's face it, my enthusiasm for my country just didn't match hers, although the whole experience definitely gave me a shot in the arm.

I think it may have been brought on by my failed attempt to write an email to Chachi and Joaquin because I don't have accents or tildes on these keyboards, and I can't find a computer with MS Word that makes it easy to add them, so I gave up, deciding to wait. I also noticed some hand motions on TV which were quintessentially Spanish body language, and I watched a little Mexican tv, but it also was unfulfilling since the Mexican accent although beautiful and clean, still doesn't sound quite right to my ear...a little too exotic and sibilant. I need my elegant lisps. Thhhhh DAMN IT Thhhhhhhh!! There was a great gossip program on, though, called the Fat Man and the Skinny Lady, and guess what?...they were in Madrid, but they didn't speak to a single Spaniard, so my thirst for the Spanish tongue went unsated.

Today I feel a little better. I'm apartment-sitting for the girls who went to the Vineyard today, leaving me and Schnocone behind because I don't really have the desire to spend the travel money, even though I'm not quite poor anymore.

PS--Where's Beulah? Calling all Beulahs?

I have poor taste and What is my personal summer soundtrack??

Spain has crippled my critical sense. Here's some examples:

1. I watched Miss Congeniality 2 on the airplane and actually enjoyed it. Yes, I knew it was bad, but I didn't care. I laughed without reservation, heartily and with passion, as Schnocone likes to say.
--I also watched Melinda and Melinda, Woody Allen's latest film. I liked that, too. I remember Anthony Lane or some schmo talking about how awful and stilted the dialogue was. Did he completely miss the point? The movie was the creation of two hackish playwrights. Play dialogue is almost NEVER believable. It's always overblown and hyperbolic.

2. I've been watching way too much CelebReality on VH1, including The Surreal Life, Hogan Knows Best, and Celebrity Fit Club 2. Yes, they're really bad, but I can't stop. I've been watching people pick euro amounts out of boxes for fun for the last six months. Plus, watching Hulk Hogan's family is absolutely hilarious, and I know I'm not the only one who loves it, as Hoosier Lush has professed her love for the show.

3. In the music realm, I'm kind of inundated. I don't know where to begin since I've been gone so long listening to my old music for a while, which was actually kind of good. I totally rediscovered Wire, some more Dylan, the Supremes, Disc 2 of Being There, and of course, Tim by the Replacements which is truly awesome.
--New music, however, is completely bewildering. I've decided to dedicate my efforts to Sufjan Stevens since Bighead is taking me to his concert as a birthday present. I don't know how I feel. It's totally a loveit/hateit type of music. Schnocone hates it. Bighead loves it. I find myself somewhere in between. I really like it, but I think he sings almost completely dispassionately...almost academically, and the minimalist influence can be trying, but on the other hand I really like it. And I'm not sure whether or not some of the themes are just too maudlin, because honestly, who writes a song about John Wayne Gasey. Sure I had a visceral reaction to it and it hit me like a ton of bricks, but I feel like it might have been manipulative in a Million Dollar Baby, pander to your emotions type way. I mean, honestly, who isn't going to be a little disturbed by a song about the scariest serial killer of all time, especially when you hear about a guy dressing up like a clown and killing young boys when you are a young boy and live in an adjacent state. We'll see. I think overall I'll probably end up loving it. Which brings me to my next dilemma--

THE SUMMER WITHOUT A SOUNDTRACK?
Every summer for the past five years or so have had a soundtrack, but this one doesn't, and it's a little disturbing. I'll list them. I'm very obsessive about music, and all the free time in summer causes me to latch onto one artist and suck the blood out of them. Here have been my previous obsessions:
2000--The Smashing Pumpkins
2001--R.E.M. / Patti Smith--it was a pretty big summer. I think this is all I listened to the entire time.
2002--Sonic Youth--I totally burned out on them. Not even sure I still like them at all.
2003--Liz Phair--Oh how you betrayed us all. Still have hope for the next album, though. Yes, I'm crazy.
2004--Bjork.
2005--?????????

I'm still accepting applications, but so far no one is really filling the hole. I think it may be the Walt Whitman summer since I totally love Leaves of Grass. The End.

They Need To Learn

So I've recently realized that people are not employed based on qualifications, but random acts of something I don't quite comprehend. How else can you explain the fact that when I strolled up to Cafe Pamplona to inquire about employment I was told by the waiter that they were not hiring at this moment? Obviously Cafe Pamplona has sacrificed its authenticity since reopening. I read an article about a few years old about how they only used to hire waifish men. When I entered, the wait staff consisted of a woman and a slightly pudgy guy. I'm obviously qualified, and I speak Spanish with a Spanish accent. I have all the qualifications according to Beulah: maleness, black trousers, and a slouch. Come on, I'm the poster boy for that. I'm certain if I met the proprietress she would immediately fire all other employees and put me in charge. But alas, she's really old and not quite present at her cafe. How sad.

Also, my good friend was also rejected today with the same response when she asked about employment at Lollicup bubble tea. Come on, people, she's female and Chinese, what more do you want?

So that's upsetting. Still unemployed, but now I'm a vagabond worker who fills anything HSA tells me. Also, my swipe card still works all over campus, which is a privelege only study abroad students have because everyone else's has been deactivated. How awesome. If things get really bad, my freshman year roommate is operating a homeless shelter in the square, and he's already preparing a room and a pot of soup for me. mmmm hobo soup.

The Teamster Try

Today I worked! That's right, I made 60 greenbacks for 4 hours of work painting with Schnocone and Beckster while listening to the Boston oldies station. Can we all agree that the oldies station is the only worthwhile corporate station in every market? It's so reliable, especially now that Schnocone tells me that XRT in Chicago has reached a new low...actually playing Nickelback.

The best part of work was the fact that it was basically just the three of us, talking, singing, and working very slowly. No, we're not in a union, but that doesn't stop us from acting like we are.

Last night Beckster made me some coconut skrimp and caribbean rice. It was delicious, and very filling. After, we went to my very first American bar legally. I was kind of nervous. We went to the People's Republic and had a great time. Just one drink because we had to wake up early tonight, but it had a good atmosphere...sooooo different from Madrid. Honestly, it was a Thursday night but felt like it was Monday morning. In Madrid it would have been wall to wall packed with the streets filled with people searching for the party. I totally love the American scene, too, though...just in a different way. I loved the mellow and the fact that I could actually sit down, hear my friends talk, and still get a hint of the ambient music. It was like my 21st birthday, which I think we may celebrate tonight at the Cantab. I'm crazy excited.

For lunch today we had some of Schnocone's garbage cuisine. It's a really great innovation. It's just like fusion, except way trashier and uglier. Schnocone is a master of garbage cuisine. At NYE, he made delicious garbage fried rice, and today we had garbage scrambled eggs. I can't wait to see what other garbage he can put together.

Today--more job hunting...maybe.

Sleep Study?

Dare I get rich quick?

We all know about sleep studies. 9 days in an environment without windows clocks, phone calls etc. Sounds like hell, right? But if hell pays $1,860 for nine days it can't be that bad...right?...right? And I am po po. What shall I do? I totally need advice for this one since it could drive me to the looney bin, but I do need the money, and it does sound pretty enticing.

Back in the Bridge and Still Alive

Rumors of my untimely death in the city that never sleeps have been greatly exaggerated.

Who thought a little flight delay and no cash to call anyone could cause such a stir? Yesterday my flight was delayed about an hour and a half, setting off a chain reaction of events that included phone calls to the NYPD, Fung Wah bus company, etc. to confirm my still being alive. I didn't mean to freak anyone out, but I had no money to call anyone with, hadn't quite thought about the possibility of collect, and was really in a hurry to get to Schnocone's as soon as possible. ASAP in this case meant 4am...oops, but that's really the best I could do. I made a friend on bus, which I NEVER do, but it was good because I had someone to walk through Boston with me since I didn't have money for a cab. Anyways, I'm sorry for the scare, but I don't know why the frantic calls began at 7pm when that's only an hour after my "scheduled"arrival time in NYC. Whatever, I'm alive. blah blah blah.

The job hunt begins.......NOW.

No es adiós. Es hasta luego.

So this is my last blog entry from Spain. I´m sad, but in denial so I don´t even really feel like I´m leaving. Plus I´m sure I´ll be back soon.

Tomorrow I arrive in Boston probably after midnight which SUUUUUUUCKS because I´ll be in Chinatown and probably won´t be able to take the metro home even though I don´t really have enough money to take a taxi. If anyone has a car, let me know. I don´t know how this would help since you can´t get in contact with me...so better yet...let Tim know. Seriously. I need to get in before 12:30 which doesn´t exactly seem likely.

I Blame You.

Happy Independence Day, or also importantly, 150th Anniversary of Leaves of Grass, first edition.

Yeah, I´ve totally been getting into Walt Whitman. It´s especially great to read now that America is flushing itself down the toilet just like in 1855 when it was first published. I don´t think any other poems quite affect me the way these do. It´s better than the Declaration of Independence and Constitution combined. If we could form a government based on the thoughts contained within Song of Myself, America would be all the better.

On the other side of the America coin, I saw "Evangelism´s Rising Star" on Larry King last night because I´m in a hostel and I can watch it. He was very interesting and not quite so repellant as most evangelists. He had a very "I don´t have the answers. I don´t judge. That´s god´s job," although I´m sure he would use the uppercase G. Granted, I would never hang out with the guy, but lack of fire and brimstone was refreshing. The audience was not. Here were some of the call-in questions:

"I want to know what you think about something my friend told me. We were talking and he said that after the Rapture, the last person who god lets into heaven will be Lucifer because he´s a forgiving god."
--I don´t know where to begin on this, other than to pull the trigger after the bad taste that left in my mouth to think that people actually believe in Revelations, the Rapture, and Lucifer. Are you fucking nuts? Holy Shit woman, buy a clue. No, better yet, I´ll buy one for you.

"I don´t know why you shrank from Larry´s question when he asked you if people can get into heaven without accepting Jesus as their personal lord and savior when the Bible clearly says that the way to the father is through the sun. I am the way the truth and the light blah blah blah."
--AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! We actually had thoughtful, caring evangelist who admitted that only god can judge people´s hearts, and now we have this raging lunatic attacking any semblance of rationality. God Damn It are some people stupid. I´m ripping my hair out as we speak, and stuffing it down my throat to induce vomiting yet again.

Luckily he didn´t shrink from his thinking and said that he agreed with what she said but wouldn´t say that only Christians would get into heaven. Some people may wonder why I care so much about something that I don´t really care about, but these people have the same electoral strength as I do. I don´t paint myself as some kind of elite, I think they should be able to vote, but for the love of god, could we start an NGO to buy these people some clues because it is going to cost a wholehelluvalot.

So that´s my 4th of July Rant. But wait, here´s more, and it´s directed at my friends.

I BLAME YOU. That´s right. I blame you. You alone. As we know, I got sunburnt this weekend. I´m pretty much better now, but I still blame you. Why you ask? Here you go. I don´t give a damn how pasty white I am. I haven´t had a hint of a tan most of the summers I´ve lived, except my awesome one when I worked at Dr. Waterpark. But here´s the thing. Whenever I go on vacation to some place remotely nice, you coños always bitch to me about how I spent a week or two in Florida or Puerto Rico or Spain or the general South on a road trip, but I´m not tan. Fuck hugh...I don´t tan that easily. I can be out in the sun for a long time and still be pasty, or I just get burnt. There is no logic. It´s a cross between my pasty white eastern european blood which is pale and my hispanic blood which has a high sun tolerance (to a point). So whenever I go on vacation I anticipate your bitching and the last day I have to get sun, I go all out because obviously casual sun exposure won´t do it. Then I burn. On the last possible day. I burn. Because I already was at the beach a lot, but it doesn´t show, and I don´t want you nagging about how I spent all day inside...which I didn´t. So I blame you. May the god of the crazy Larry King call-ins have mercy on your dogsouls.

Physics Genius or Pseudoscience

I´m calling upon Tim and Brian to confirm my theory. I know nothing about physics, but I think I may have come up with something after straining my brain last night trying to remember my semester studying the nature of light.

Yesterday we went to a beautiful beach where I proceeded to get sunburnt. Not burnt...scorched...incinerated. I wore sunscreen and reapplied like a madman. We all got burnt, but me more than my three companions. I´ve determined that it´s because I spent more time in the water because light travels slower in water, and because wavelength is equal to speed over frequency, meaning that wavelength is proportional to speed. So if it travels more slowly in water it has a smaller wavelength, thus making the UV rays even smaller and more dangerous to my skin resulting in my neon pink hide which I am now donning. It´s not so bad. I´ve been worse, but I´m totally scorched. Blech.

Anyhoo, today I leave Valencia for Madrid. That´s fun. I´ll be spending the fourth in another nation´s capital. Yayhoo. No hillbilly fireworks, thank god.

Also, where´s Beulah? Apparently she´s settled down now, which is good, but the sniper-like random comments were a little confusing. Good to know camp is well.

Over and Out. Tim I´ll let you know when I plan to arrive in Boston. Probably around midnight, but not sure.

Long Day´s Journey into Night

So Sandra Day O´Connor retired. Fuck. Can´t wait to get home to watch this unfold through the American press. Should be interesting, ugly, brutal. I cannot wait. Lay it down, clown, as my friend Paul Westerberg likes to say. I have no hope that the replacement will be at all moderate. None. Oh, I hope he gets someone worse than Santorum. I will be pasted in front of C-Span watching these confirmation hearings. Good night America. America good night. Good night US Good Night US I´ll see you in my dreams.

Then wait for Rehnquist rehnquit. Damn, this blog has more puns than a Gene Shalit movie review. Save me from myself.