So, I decided to start something over here: http://loadmito.blogspot.com. Maybe you'll take a look sometime?
I just can't keep away! Well, I found out one of my stories if finally published online. Take a look at Dead Mule: http://www.deadmule.com/content/?p=90
Leave it to food to make everything better.
In the interest of time and, well, interest, I thought I'd post a quick dispatch from the city until i have the time and resources to start a new blog somewhere else. Is anyone still checking/reading this? Not even sure, since I signed off about a week ago.
Early in the week it was gray and cloudy and muggy and ugly here. then we got all of our stuff into our new place and once we recovered from the shock of how small our apartment we will be calling home for the next year is, we got down to business buying all those necessities that we'd forgotten about since we'd been living in a furnished place for the past two years.
It was pretty mindnumbing and tiring. And I was grouchy and thinking -- what have we gotten ourselves into?
then we stumbled upon a little greenmarket near our home selling gorgeous apples, beautiful ripe tomatoes and all manner of little grown things that I just fell in love with. Then we found Fairway, this grocery in Harlem, not too far from us that is something of a Whole Foods (but not as polished) and a Harry's (for thos of you who remember them in Atlanta). We were called out by an old French lady while we were piling up the olives into little plastic containers. "You must be from Spain! Only the Spanish love olives this much!" Are we recreating our BCN life (albeit more expensively) already? Perhaps.
The following day it was back to tracking down shelves and chairs and things to hang and organize with. But we got caught in the rain, a downpour like I haven't seen in years, without an umbrella. As we huddled under some scaffolding, we noticed an umbrella left by someone -- maybe that bum that had been begging only moments before? I snatched it up and we were across the street to take refuge in the shop we've frequented just about everyday this past week -- Bed Bath & Beyond (I'm embarassed to say). At least P got a kick out of the fact that he now says I'm stealing from the homeless. I posit he was just a kid begging for a hobby, not the truly indigent. Well, he left the umbrella fair and square.
We got a call from Carlos (our friend from BCN) who happens to be in town and he invited us to dinner on Friday night with his friends Darren and Sam. They live not too far away (at least in NY terms) so we headed down and had some Greek food, followed by red velvet cake at a place called Fluff (nothing compared with the slices at the Jesus Bakery in the ATL) and then drinks at Therapy (god, I forgot about the gay scene!) and Barrage. The next day was a brunch at their house -- actors, actresses, industry types -- lots of name dropping, but thank god, not much attitude.
It's been a week. And we are missing our beaches and apartment. But give us some time, I'm sure in just a few short days, well, maybe weeks, we'll be over all this moving in crap and ready to take the city by storm.
I have to admit, it doesn't feel like we're moving. Not quite. No, rather, it's just another trip and we'll be coming back here in a few weeks and getting ready for another group of students and then take them all around Spain.
Thank god, no more students, no more of that. But I'm sure I'll start missing people and things here soon enough. But first, I just want to get to New York, see our new place. Unpack and not go ANYWHERE for a good long time.
So, here's goodbye to this blog for a while and see what is cooked up once we are in our new home. Hasta la hora y muchos besitos!
Scotland, sol and shit.
Stuart planned a Burns night, a traditional Scottish party that usually takes place in January to coincide with Robert Burns' birthday, for the summer since he happened to have a haggas in the freezer and plenty of Scotsmen and women around.
I brought along a bottle of cider since it's from Asturias and had a bagpiper on the label (didn't know that northern Spain is all Celtified did ya?) but only had a bite of the meaty delicacy since it tasted a bit like meatloaf and I can't stand meatloaf. But it was my last farewell with some of my writing group friends. And hopefully there are no more goodbyes to be had.
Questions I am no longer answering:
-Are you excited about moving to New York?
-Are you going to miss Barcelona?
-What are you going to do in New York?
-When do you leave again?
But when I showed up P was ready to go out and we ended up in the darkroom of Metro until the wee hours of the morning.
Not too late that we couldn't get up and get ready to go to the beach with Guillem. Patricio chose to go to the nude gay beach in Sitges since I'd told him I'd finally made it there, about the sex in the woods behind and he wanted to use up some of his last pills that are hangin around.
We made it to the beach and P was rollin in the waves (take that as many ways as you can) and he and Guillem decided to explore the other beach. When he came back, it was without Guillem, who was exploring the woods. When we saw him next, he was naked and laughing.
We thought it was because it was a great time in the buff with a beautiful man. And then he showed us his shorts: covered in shit.
Seems when he got down on his knees (why you ask? use your imagination) he didn't notice where he was planting himself and got some human fertilizer in the process. Talk about a mood breaker.
After we returned (outfitting Guillem in a sarong for the train trip home) we planned to see Willy Wonka. I'm not sure how much hype there's been for the film back in the States (the kind of soul-destroying, movie ruining publicity I seem to recall) but it was a great time and the end to an amusing, if at times disappointing and disgusting, day.
And only two more left.
Five boxes sent
Four bags packed
Three days to go
Met up with Jill and Garry (editors of the BCN Review) for a few farewell copas the other night and finally stumbled upon a bar that serves leche de pantera
(panther's milk). I'd never heard of the stuff until last year when Canadian Chris was here and searching it out to no avail.
The kids next to us began passing around an unmarked brown bottle and tapping out cinnamon and I realized, there it is! la leche! (hehe: that can also have some sexual undertones, of course, as well as mean something REALLY COOL.) So I ordered a shot and drank up.
Wow! It tastes good: a milk base with brandy and rum (perhaps) and other secret ingredients. The cinnamon on top really works and there's none of the strange eggnog-y taste that I expected.
I was feeling a bit tipsy when I left after a few beers and the panther's milk, so when I passed by my frontdoor putas I decided, It's about time I found out their names.
The one that has been there since I moved in and has always beens sweet said her name was Valentina.
"De verdad?" I asked, thinking perhaps this was her prostitute name and not having the drunken tact to not ask.
"Pues, Valeria. Soy de Albania."
So, I had never met anyone from Albania and now I have. The other girl, who is a newbie and replaced the other beautiful prostitute with the long black hair is named Ana. I didn't ask where she was from, but I expect she's Spanish. But, I was too sloppy to remember to ask.Vocab update: Hacer un frances
-- to be into blowjobs (as if that even needs to be stated!)Hacer un griego
-- just plain ole anal fucking (umm...because the greeks started it?)
Guillem tells me you can find these in personals as in: looking for someone who wants blowjobs and sex. Seems kind of redundant to me. How many other strange cultural stereotypes referring to sex may I uncover before I leave? Well I have less than a week to find out.