el fin

I think this will probably be my last post unless I feel like adding pictures with ironic captions at a later date. I am in the final stages of emptying my apartment of all the things I've accumulated in a year. So far, 100 euros has been spent shipping things home, and there is probably more on the way. (Which is to say, I'm sure the boat will lose the boxes of my things and there will be many well-dressed fish in the Atlantic).

I am on my way to Torre del Mar, a little beach town that is definitely either to the east or west of Málaga. On the agenda is skin cancer as a result of excessive tanning, Indian buffet on Sundays, tinto de veranos con limon (red wine and lemon Fanta... I know), and a 23rd birthday "celebration," if you can call turning 23 and losing my youth something to celebrate. I'm not bitter. 

Anyways, this year has been a real adventure. I was lucky enough to experience 119 degree weather in Sevilla in September, as well as the worst winter in Málaga's history, or something to that effect. I still don't speak Spanish, but I can swear effectively in a bilingual manner. I refreshed my memory of algebra, physics and biology (not really.) I learned that in order to keep the 12-16 year old demographic interested, talk Twilight to the chicas and basketball to the chicos. If you try to switch those two, eyes will be glazed over in an instant. I traveled to Roma, Firenze, London, Lagos, Lisboa, and many other cities in Spain.

In total, I would call this year a total success, with intermittent moments of homesickness. And, most importantly of all, I have learned that "blog" is "blog" in Spanish.

I should have come up with a better title.

tuenTi

Spain, like every other country in the world, takes the best parts of America and tries to make it their own. (It's like when Canada just slaps a maple leaf onto something and pretends to be a separate country. Yeah, okay. That makes you real people.) In this case, I'm referring to facebook.

Someone in Spain said, "hey! facebook! cool!" or maybe "oye! el libro de caras! que guay!" and then put their minds to work and presented these poor españoles with Tuenti.

I've had Tuenti since October, but whenever the niños asked, I'd play dumb. No, I don't use it very often, but I really didn't want to get stalked out all year. So finally, on their respective last days of classes, I took a photo with them, wrote my name on the board and said "Add me on Tuenti, if you want."  And of course, because I gave them an inch, they tried to take a whole kilometer: "Do you have facebook!?!!??!?!?!"  Facebook? No. There are incriminating photos there. Mom, Dad, don't bother looking. Privacy settings.

Anyways, after uploading their class photos to tuenti, my friend requests came flooding in. Seriously I think my number of tuenti friends was multiplied by 10. And we know that the number of social network friends shows how popular a person is in real life. (ie, myself = extremely popular).

One of my 1S1 kids took their class picture and photoshopped it (or "el photoshopped," as I'm sure it translates).

These kids are just killing me today. Excuse me, I have to go accept 400 tuenti friend requests.

hasta nunca, 4S3

Here is 4S3, a non-bilingual class, but one of my favorites. The teacher drives me to school every Wednesday and Friday, speaks nearly perfect English after being a Spanish language assistant in Ireland for a few years and attending university in England. This is BY FAR my most enthusiastic class, the class that is most excited to see me in the halls, when I enter the room, and I always leave to a round of applause. Flattering? Certainly.

BUT... Today they gave me a good-bye card... and that is when I realized that while we have had a lot of fun, they have learned approximately nothing.

Phonetic spelling of my name... Well, Americans can't do much better.

It sounds like a command almost, "WE NEVER FORGET YOU."

Or maybe robots.

We're human beens. Mistakes happen.

But how can I be upset? Look at what a good time they are, hanging with their profe, Jose Antonio.

Sad day.

1S1Niños

Here are my precious kids from 1S1 bilingual on our last day of clase. As you can see, they pay close attention to current economic conditions and particularly concerned about the unemployment rate- but not for John, who works in a bank.

sometimes in life you need to make sacrifices...

This weekend, my grand and valiant sacrifice was to trade hygiene for a couple more pounds in my savings account. London is not a cheap city and hostels for three nights ranged from 200 to 500 pounds... um, no gracias.

We had a specific neighborhood in mind, that of Earl´s Court near Kensington, because our friend already had a reservation at a hotel in that area. Because of the hideous price tags, we postponed booking a hostel until Friday morning around 11am. Did I mention we had to be at the airport by 4pm?

Finally, we found the beautiful Barkston Garden hostel. You would think that a place with the name "Garden" in the title, wouldn´t be as terrible as it was...

I won´t go into all the detail, but I leave you with a simple "Would You Rather?" question:

Would you rather stay at a hostel where there are bed bugs or a hostel where the toilets don´t flush?

Some of us didn´t have the luxury of choosing.

vooooooolcaaaaaanooooo (like how they say it at the rainforest cafe)

So in my 22 (almost 23, sadface) years of existence, I have never once thought of volcanoes. Of course, as I type this, I realize that for the very first time I accidentally lied to my faithful followers. There was that time, freshman year of college, when I took The Ocean Planet, thinking that it was all about the ocean and sharks and scary fish that I never want to think about while swimming. Unfortunately, 97% of the Earth is covered in water, thus giving it the nickname "the Ocean Planet". So that was a class filled with tectonic plates and natural disasters and overall boredom.

If we can move past my accidental white lie, I suppose I can rephrase to say that volcanoes have never before affected my life. And while I haven't had a Pompeii-like experience, I am flying to London on Friday and getting a bit nervous about this damn nube de ceniza over Europe preventing me from my vacation from my vacation.

Luckily, I try to keep up with world news when I'm not at the beach (spectacular weather, by the by). And this morning, I read that they will be lowering the safety restrictions because otherwise flights will be horrifically backlogged. I forwarded it along with my flight information to my mom, because I like for her to know at what time I will be departing and arriving in a country, especially if I'm flying on a less-safe airplane. It's for her peace of mind.

So, cross your fingers that this ash cloud drifts back to Iceland or Norway, or somewhere that no one cares to fly to.

Gardens/Death Trap

Last week I went to check out the botanical gardens a little bit north of Málaga. One thing I want you to remember while looking through my beautiful pictures and thinking to yourself, "Wow, this looks so bonita and tranquil, I want to live there": I got some kind of atrocious rash from this deceptively pretty place. Sure, its gone now, but it will probably resurface in 3-5 years and kill me.

So enjoy these fotos, but I'm holding a grudge, los jardines botanicos, alias, "La Concepcion."

Hint: If you hold your mouse over one of the images, it will enlarge said image. Mágico.

the spanish classroom: helping spread urban legends

So, I was helping out in physics class with Antonio Lechuga (think we've gone over this, but that translates to "Anthony Lettuce," or best Spanish name ever) and we're talking chemical reactions.

Clearly my role in the classroom is more to mispronounce "heterogenous" and "homogenous," but sometimes while trying not to fall asleep, I learn some interesting new facts. Today was not one of those days.

Recently, the class did an experiment involving Mentos and Diet Coke. Sort of like this Mythbusters clip, but explained in unintelligible English.

In class, we were discussing physical versus chemical reactions (physical means that the molecules aren't actually changed; it's like the difference between steam from a really hot shower or electrocuting the bathtub with a hair dryer. Or something.) and a student asked again about the experiment. Basically, she wanted to know if you would die from eating Mentos and Diet Coke together.  And Antonio Lechuga's response? Maybe you won't die, but it's very dangerous. 

How serious was he? Antonio Lechuga (can't. stop. saying. his. name.) switched from English to Spanish to get his point across. He said something along the lines of DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME and LIFE IS ALREADY DANGEROUS ENOUGH, WHY TAKE CHANCES?

Yeah right, after telling them that they would be having a test on their ability to memorize the periodic table of elements - been there, done that - I'm predicting that SuperSol sells out of mint Mentos and Diet Coke in the next week. Go ahead and try to live on the edge mis niños preciosos... I think you're safe.

what a great day to try to read the paper

Every morning on calle Larios (and by street, I mean ice skating rink because it rained this morning), there are people that pass out free fake newspapers with about one important story and 6 pages of H&M bathing suit ads. This morning I accepted the reputable and esteemed 20 Minutos (I don´t speak Spanish and could have finished it in 5).

So I cracked it open on my commute along the Mediterranean, while listening to Rodney Atkins, which is really just a huge mishmash of informacion for me to process. So when I saw the article about the 16 year old trapped in the body of an infant, well I had to take a minute. My exact response was to close the paper, then re-open all 6 sheets of newsprint, just to see if I processed it correctly. This story alone could have made my morning or the local circus freak show...

But no, I forged ahead, and made it to the sports section. And there, my morning was made, with a photo of "el bateador Kevin Youkilis". That´s right, the Medias Rojas, or the Red Sox, as their uniforms state (but maybe they will pull a "Los Suns" soon?) made an appearance in the Spanish newspaper.

The best part was the caption. Paraphrasing, the point of the story was to comment on the fact that the Sox were using pink bats to honor the madres. However, the photo was in black and white. Go figure.

dunks, 'bucks, java, brewed, perfecto's, bagelz....

Did I forget anyone?

Summer is approaching and that means one thing: Iced coffee. Of course, I like my cafe con hielo (seriously, ice is one of the hardest words for me to say in the Spanish language. Add in the fact that iced coffee is a foreign concept here... well, I'll continue, but let's just say LOST IN TRANSLATION.) all year round, but I am really craving it right now.

There's something about iced coffee that reminds me of driving to Newfound Lake with the windows down and the country music up... or maybe getting an iced to go, to make it through an atrocious day of work, hungover... Whatever the reason, its the food group that I am most missing right now- no matter how much "better" this European cafe is supposed to be.

Anyways, I will be catching a flight home on June 11. I am flying from Málaga to Dublin to JFK, and from there the trusty Corolla will be taking me home. I negotiated flying into JFK rather than Logan in exchange for the difference in ticket price to be paid in french vanilla iced.

SOLD.

mystery: solved.

Some friends recently relocated to my less-than-desirable neighborhood. On their street, there is woman who lives in a first floor apartment always, always at her window. Typically there are people outside of said window and there is an exchange of money.

Some theories included drug dealing or money laundering. Both of these are fully plausible in my neck of the woods, but we've solved the mystery. 

Friends are visiting from Australia/England and were insistent upon purchasing some "holiday fags". (I was surprised by what that meant as well.) They went to a store around the corner and asked, but it was apparently too late to buy them at the time. Strange, because I didn't think there were rules in Spain. Anyways, the always helpful proprietor told them to leave the store and buy them from the woman in the window. 

So it was just cigarettes. Kind of a let down.


EDIT:
I forced my friend to read this, against his will. He lives on the street with the old lady and was the first to point her presence out to me. While agreeing that perhaps she does sell cigs as a side hustle, there have also been envelopes passed through her window, along with sketchy looks back and forth.

Unfortunately, I'm no Sherlock Holmes, so this case remains open. But we'll label it as, "at LEAST Marlboro Lights and probably other more interesting things." Cool.

more school pictures

It's certainly no drive along I-93S or even Route 108 in Rhody... 

and due to like, nature or or science or whatever, 

there are no more sunrises to watch for my daily commute... 

But still, it's not so bad.

Edificio 1 of I.E.S. Bezmiliana. 

Some sort of science-y perception exhibition in Edificio 2 with my 1ESO class. 

Inside of Edificio 2.

Sort of like vocational school for ciclos formaticos (technology, etc.)

Scariest building for me, because most of the students are my age or older. 

Intimidating.

Basically, comparing the perception of this chica from an adult to a teen.

Teen: "¡Que guay!" - How cool.

Adult: "¡Que verguenza!" - How shameful. 

Same perception as in America, I would imagine.

There are mirrors in front of her eyes, so she can't see her classmate flipping her off.

Yes, it means the same thing in Spanish.

Loving them some optical illusions.

la playa

So I've decided that in order to transport a little bit of the Mediterranean lifestyle into your lives, I will start taking pictures at the beach. Not just any fotos... la crema de  [insert word for crop in Spanish].

Just as a reference for how nice his hair was, 

it took me a LONG time to believe that this was not a topless woman from the back.

THAT nice.

football (and i'm not talking 'bout the NFL here)

I just realized that two events have recently transpired (/still transpiring) that made me realize just how important sports are in American culture.

First, my roommate comes out of her room, dressed (claro que si) to the nines. I ask her where she's headed and she replies, "a football game." Immediately, I think to myself, "OMG TOM BRADY." Then I had to slowly, painfully backtrack my brain and realize: We are not in America. Football is not football. In fact, here in Spain, football is fútbol and that does not even mean fútbol americano. Once I realized that she was not going to see the Pats play at Gillette, I realized what today was.

THE SEMI-FINAL GAME OF THE CHAMPIONS LEAGUE. 

FC BARCELONA 

(MY "HOME" TEAM. SET ME ON DEFAULT FAN MODE.)

vs. 

INTER-SOMEONE 

(THEY ARE FROM ITALY. PROBABLY CUTER THAN BARCA.)

Then, I remembered that I could not care less. We don't have a TV en casa, and if I tried to go to a bar to watch, I would probably change 90 minutes of soccer into a drinking game, and most likely I would be turning my long weekend into a longer one. Needless to say, I am not watching the game and instead catching up on my ch131.

But really, could we Americans be any more obnoxious? Football, perdoneme, soccer is the most watched sport in the world. Meanwhile, baseball is America's national past-time, unless it has been surpassed by football, but baseball already claimed the catchy slogan. I HAD TO EXPLAIN HOW BASEBALL IS PLAYED - POORLY - TO MY STUDENTS.  Like, you know, its the one with the bats... and the ball... they have to run in a diamond shaped... you are wearing a hat with an interlocking N and Y... (gross.)

Explaining to foreigners how soccer ranks in popularity - I usually say fútball americano, beísbol, baloncesto, hockey.... y fútbol - causes their jaws to drop. Recently, I was talking with a colleague (am I old enough to have colleagues?) and he was simply shocked that I did not care in the least about American soccer. "But, you have won some important games lately... but... you are improving greatly... wait, what's this baseball shit again?"

I kind of forget my point to this post. Maybe that while most malaguenos are cheering (or rooting against FC Barca... Must be Madrid fans, because Malaga CF is utterly irrelevant) in bars or at home, I am writing a blog about how little we care about football.  I wonder who is having a better time?

NEW LIFE GOAL: Look like a Spaniard...

...or maybe a North African?


I am not EXACTLY certain of New England's longitudinal alignment on the globe, compared to that of Málaga. (Fact: I thought "longitudinal" was a fake word, but spell check votes yes. But, Málaga does not exist. Interesante.) However, we have had a recent stretch of beach days and I have had what can only be described as a life-changing realization.


Beach weather in Spain lasts until 7pm.


That's right, so after a strenuous day at school, even if I don't get home until the atrocious hour of 3:30pm, I can still make it to the playa for a few hours of sol.


Some more important facts that can only be learned along the Mediterranean coastline:

• Shame, embarrassment, or vergüenza is not in the beach vocabulary. I have seen more women topless than in a women's locker room. For the record, male readers, this is not a major pull to the beaches of southern Spain. Believe me, the women who are topless are NOT the ones you are hoping to see. Ick. And the men... Speedos are just as popular here as the European stereotype would lead you to believe. I'm thinking that I might start bringing a camera to the beach just to start a new daily post, highlighting the best of the worst of the beach bodies here.
• I have a new aspiration in life: Become one of the guys that walks the beach, selling "AGUA, CERVEZA, FANTA" from a cooler at a ridiculous markup from 20 centimos to a euro. What a great scheme. Of course, I have to work on my yelling voice, the sing-songy ones are particularly catchy.  

Anyways, I'm about to have a post-playa siesta... and then it's work, beach, sleep on repeat til June 11. 

Then... real life? joder.

4ESO

It was Patri's birthday! 

(Patri is in the green in the front of the group. 

Sadly, the picture did not come out great because it was taken in the world's most sunny classroom.)

So we didn't do anything for, literally, all class. Instead we hung out, sang a beautiful rendition of Happy Birthday, by which I mean it was certainly... boisterous, but also horrifically off-key. Did I mention boisterous? Also, one of the chicas brought in a cake. And by cake, I mean a tupperware container filled with what appeared to be pudding, with cookies scattered throughout. If only I were kidding. ONE WORD, NIÑOS: FUNFETTI.

So during "class", we somehow started talking about smoking cigarettes. I managed to get the class to a somewhat manageable level of noise, and asked for whoever had not tried a cigarette in their entire lives to raise their hands. (These kids are 15-16 years old.) Myself, one chica, and one chico all raised their hands. Immediately, the entire class turned on the chica, calling her a liar. Finally, she put her hand back down. Then they turn to the boy, who defended himself valiantly, saying that the only time he tried it was in Madrid, so it doesn't count. A respectable effort, but still. Joder. I told them next class we were going to talk about cancer.

If you have read my previous posts and been like, whoa, who were the punks who kept talking about joining the Latin Kings and dropping the N word? Here you are, the delightful gentlemen of 4S3. Lucky for me, I have found a way to entertain them, the two boys on the left will talk my head off about soccer, the one all the way to the right is disillusioned enough to think that the Lakers are the best basketball team in America, and the second one to the right? He's a mess. But we talk about whatever. Like him trying to quit smoking and me refusing to buy him firearms. We get along okay. 

1ESO

So I've always felt, you know, REALLY creepy bringing a camera into school. Just all those memories of having to sign all kinds of waivers or whatever to release my picture if necesario. I mean, I guess America has LAWS or whatever, so maybe things are different in Spain. 

Well, one of my teachers, Alberto had to deal with a crisis, leaving me in charge of little angels such as these: 

Times 25 or so. I spent about 30 minutes, mildly threatening them, saying "SHUT UP!" in different languages and generally trying to get them to do the work assigned. 

For the record, men reading this post, I would say that the girls in the class did double the work that the boys did, but that would imply that most of the boys did any work at all. And I would hate to lie to you, or at least I don't feel like lying to you in this particular post. The class and I came to a general consensus that girls are smarter than boys.

Once those 30 minutes or so passed on by, we started playing "The Witness Game." Basically, two kids are accused of a crime and need to come up with an alibi. One kid sits outside, the other one stays in the room, swears on a Bible or something to tell the truth, and then is prosecuted by a fellow student. Then the following student is called in and that niño is questioned.

If their stories don't match up, well, they're guilty. And then they get executed.

The girl prosecuting is probably smarter than me. 

In two languages. 

And ten years younger than me.

Shit.

I don't think that's how you sit on the witness stand.

Note the words I taught them that day: sandals, flip-flops, and partners in crime. 

Violeta now on trial. Prosecution brought in a second lawyer to examine the witness.

Prosecution watches too much CSI. 

Actual question: "Where did you find the body?"

Impressive, when you consider how much trouble they normally have with English. 

Sadly, I did not watch any executions last Tuesday. One team of criminals was found guilty, but the bell rang before they were sent to the chair. Better luck next Tuesday?

some things never change

Today, in social science class, I started trying to French braid my hair. (A female life skill that I never learned.)










Then, I started yawning. A lot.










And then, the teacher asked me a question and I was completely caught off guard.










I could have been in Betty Papik's math class sophomore year of high school, or any of Larry's politics class throughout college... Except this time I was in front of the class, helping teach about the difference between Romanesque and Gothic architecture and paintings. Joder.

fotos de film festival festivities

(alliteration.)

Teatro Cervantes gettin' all decked out for the film festival. Snazzy.

Faceless mannequins in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. 

(They didn't, I'm just sayin'.)

Everyday on the way to school is strollin' a Hollywood premiere. 

No big deal, just the life of an American language and culture assistant. 

Contrary to popular belief (and my lack o skill with a camera), I do not come to Europe armed with a disposable camera. 

See the cool settings my Canon has?

No snappy caption for these photos. Just got off the bus and here were the King and Queen of Spain. 

Weeeiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrddddddddd.

Mirando Al Cielo

New favorite Spanish song! And - una sorpresa - it's not a song that I encountered in a discoteca. This is actually a slower song... is this a sign of me broadening my horizons? If so, I guess it's fitting, since the song's title translates to "Looking at the sky".

Its about some hombre that gets shipped off to war, 

and he's all sad 'cause he's missing his puta back at home. 

parents- don't read this. contains swears in TWO languages. everyone else- this is essential information.

So every day I learn a new, essential Spanish vocabulary word. Naturally, one of the first phrases I ever learned (I'm talking TMHS Spanish here) was "hijo de puta," which translates to "son of a bitch."

Clearly, this means that "puta" equals bitch. Well, luckily, my "palabras malas o palabrotas" (swears) vocabulary has been taken to a whole new level. Sure, I can't conjugate a verb if my life depended on it, but who cares if I don't know the imperfect form of some incredible simple word, like "estudiar" (to study)... I can just mumble some form of the word and add in a "joder," or maybe a "mierda."

So getting back to the point of this post, is that I have been learning all different forms of "puta" and it's thoroughly amusing. 

Remember, puta means bitch?

Well, if you say "reputa" it's the WORST KIND OF BITCH. I learned this because there's this song called "Tu Reputación" sung by Ricardo Arjona. Arjona sings all these really slow songs that sound more like love songs. Well, the first line says, "Tu reputación son las primeras 6 letras de esa palabra". Get it? Translated it says that your reputation is the first 6 letters of that word... uh, not a compliment, whoever this lucky chica is. 

You thought that's all I learned, didn't you? Well, to go a different route, if you call a friend, "putita" it shakes that negative connotation that puta and reputa have. It's basically like, "hola putita, ¿que pasa?" or "hey bitch, what's up?" I don't know if me and my 50 year old coworkers are quite at this level yet, but I have high hopes for Tuesday in the staff room.

Finally, don't think I've spent 7 months here and haven't learned how to insult a dude as well! Putero is the latest addition to my vocabulary list, and it means manwhore. I think a girl can also be a putera, but no one in my circle of friends would know.

So there you go- just another reason to love the Spanish language. I thought they only had one swear word- puta, and really its just like a root word with all kinds of derivations. ISN'T LEARNING FUN?

going green.... grudgingly.

My father, the guy you see riding his bike along I-93S in rush hour traffic and who takes entirely too much joy out of ripping two-ply napkins in half, will certainly be proud of his favorite daughter. 


I am very reluctantly, by which I mean entirely against my will, becoming more environmentally friendly. The Corolla has been sitting in the driveway for the past seven months in the Bay State, while I walking to the bus stop and then commuting with my fellow Spaniards. Save that gasoline. Granted, when I get a ride to school, it takes NINE minutes to get there. That whole walk then bus then walk thing takes a solid hour. Does it really matter if we save gas for future generations? Do I care about pollution? The world is going to end in 2012 anyways. And if that happens, I would prefer to get 51 extra minutes of sleep every day, then worry about fossil fuels. Yawn. 


And then the bombonas and shower issue: In Sevilla, we were forewarned that it is very uncommon to take a shower more than once a day in Spain. There are severe drought issues that Spain encounters basically every year except for this one. (Yes, we are back to overcast and thunderstorms in the AM here on the Costa del Sol.) Showers are kept short, to say the least. 


Now with our lack of hot water, my showers are borderline nonexistent. While this is absolutely disgusting, at least it has some people in Spain respecting my personal space. Por fin. As it has been nearly a week without hot water, I have caved in on two occasions and visited friends to use their hot water. Though they do not use bombonas and have an actual hot water heater, there is still a 7 minute cap on showers before the temperature drops. 


My point? I really don't want to hear ANYTHING about me leaving the air conditioner on all summer. I've done my part for the environment. Good riddance.

cultural capital 2k16?

So there's this competition of sorts occurring here in Europe. Basically various cities in Spain are gunning to be crowned "Cultural Capital" for the year 2016. Málaga, against all odds, is a contender. As a result, there are signs all over the city, proclaiming that it's in the race, and they are doing things like tearing up every street on my commute to work, in the name of beautifying the city.

Or something.

Well, in my opinion, Málaga is really putting its best foot forward, culturally. Right now, the city is outfitted in red carpets in honor of the Spanish Film Festival that's taking place in the center. It seems to involve putting up gates to limit where a person can walk, and of course the aforementioned red carpets lining the streets. I'm fairly certain there's also the option of buying overpriced tickets to watch a movie in a language you barely grasp. Also, minor Spanish film stars who are not named Antonio Banderas or Penelope Cruz, so I don't know who they are. (What's the matter Antonio? To busy to come visit your hometown? That's some real civic pride. And don't even start with "oh there's volcanic ash grounding flights." I call bullshit.) Pictures to come.

And then, on the Paseo de Parque, there is a food and culture festival. How to describe this event? With just a single word: empanadas. If you feel this is not descriptive enough, here's some more words: Uruguayan empanadas, Bolivian empanadas, Paraguayan empanadas, Mexican empanadas, Argentinean empanadas. And one more for good luck: Mojitos.

In actuality, this is festival representing many different countries and continents, with food or knick-knacks representative of each country. Want a scarf from Egypt? Okay. A string of elephants representing good luck from Morocco? Es posible. (This is hypothetical, not an offer to blow my paycheck on my readers. I need to save up for an empanada from each country. And then to go back to Paraguay a couple hundred times).

But really, while all of this is exciting and cultural and international or whatever, what prompted this post was my roommate emailing me this:

That's right! A music video starring some random band that was shot in Málaga. Ironically (or naturally?) I did not recognize my adopted hometown at first glance- but the club where the people are breakdancing certainly rings a bell. "Liceo" is located in the center and one of our Spanish friends bragged to us that he and his friends were responsible for the net (not seen in the video) separating the first and second floors, because they threw drinks onto the crowd below.

Now seems an excellent time to use a new word I just learned- "canis." Basically it means hoodrats or hoodlums... I think.

Viva la cultura, Málaga. OOOOOOLE.

falta 2 meses

I moved to Spain on August 28 and will be leaving for Boston via JFK on June 11. 

I know I just did a whole long blog post on pros and cons, likes and dislikes. But let me just say, today, TODAY, I cannot wait for June 11. Or to be more accurate, June 12, when I will be done traveling and jetlagged and laying in bed with my dogs and probably calling my dad who will be downstairs in the kitchen from my cell phone to order a breakfast sandwich (for real, Mom, buy the eggs). And then sending Mom out for Dunks iced. It sounds like I'm anticipating becoming a paraplegic, but really, just banking on squeezing every bit of joy from my arrival home out of my parents.

Anyways the reason I'm excited to go home?

NO BOMBONAS. 

If you can recall, bombonas are the magic tanks of some kind of flammable gas (SAFE) that heat our water, provide gas for the stoves, etc. Basically, what separates us from the gypsies on the street. 

And we don't have any. I got a haircut yesterday solely because I wanted clean hair. The haircut was only 7 euro, so I could totally go todos los dias, but I do not think that is a fiscally responsible solution. 

So please, cross your fingers that my bombona friends come by tomorrow yelling "BUUUUTAAAAAANNOOOOOOOOOOOO".

(Oh, the flammable gas is probably butane. Lightbulb just went on, at least there's still electricity en mi cabeza...)

there's no place like home...

... but there are 9 month vacations abroad. I've been thinking about all the good and bad parts about going home, lately. Trying to figure out if I'm excited, sad, anxious that I don't have a future, or what. So let's put it in a list...

GOOD THINGS ABOUT MY RETURN TO AMERICA:

1. Iced coffee. Is that weird? Should I have put my dogs, family or friends, first? All of them? But seriously, think about your Dunkins habit. Even if you drink your coffee hot (weird), you know there is a specific way that you enjoy your coffee, a way you get it every single day (medium french vanilla iced, skim and sugar... unless I'm at Java Madness, where I switch it up for snickerdoodle iced. My mouth just watered.), that can never be replicated. So yeah, ICED COFFEE.

2. Getting my hair-cut with only the normal amounts of anxiety experienced when a stranger is standing behind your head with a sharp object. I do not care how good your Spanish is, how fluent you think you are- you tell me you don't panic when trying to explain exactly how your hair should look, and I will call you a liar. 

3. Whoops, I got distracted: family, friends, MY NEW "CUTE, BUT NOT VERY SMART" PUPPY. Sushi with Grandma as soon as I get home. 

4. I return right at the beginning of the best time of year. Sam Summer's are already on the shelf, the cottage is opened, and hopefully I'm going to have a huge head-start on my tan. Sorry friends. 

5. THE COROLLA. If I had a car in Spain (in combination with only working 12 hours per week), I would have driven all over this country 10x over, with the exception of Gran Canaria, because that means Canary Islands, and those are, well, surrounded by water. AND NOT RELYING ON PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION!!!! Sidenote: I hope I haven't forgotten how to drive. Think my parents will let me drive home from Logan after what will probably be a 12+ hour journey? 

6. Buffalo sauce. Food so spicy that it makes me cry. Parentals brought 3 bottles of Frank's Red Hot in January... is it weird that they are already gone by mid-April?

7. That thing called "the English language". Not having to conjugate people's verbs for them. Speaking at a normal pace. Not guessing what things mean (and hoping I guess right). 

BAD THINGS ABOUT MY RETURN TO AMERICA:

1. The cheaper lifestyle here. Where, in America, can I buy a beer or a tinto de verano (red wine and Fanta, DELICIOUS) for less than water? Bottled, not from the tap, but that's not the point. Going grocery shopping and buying a serious amount of food, for less than 10 euro is fairly liberating. 

2. The nightlife. Seriously, my goal before I leave is TO SEE A DISCOTECA CLOSE. I want to hear "last call". I think that would translate to "la ultima bebida" or something. I think the latest I've made it is to 7:30am, and still the club is packed. Of course, when I leave at 7:30am, I can't help but think that the bars at home are closing at the same time. Depressing. 

3. Travel. It's normal to see 10 euro flights to other countries. I mean, sure, with taxes its about 80 euro, and then with the exchange rate, but still! Real cheap. Hitting up Paris and London before I go home though, so that should quench my travel urges for a bit. 

4. I don't have a future there. This one should maybe be number 1.

5. The public transportation. Sure, unreliable, but there's something nice about falling asleep on the commute to work, rather than having to stay conscious 'cause I'm driving or whatever. Also, not having to worry about a DD ever. Although we live within walking distance to all the bars/discotecas, which is a blessing and a curse considering the hill we live at the top of. 

6.  Not living 10 minutes walking distance from the beach. Enough said. 

7. Knowing that I can't use "Lo siento... no hablo español" when I don't want to understand. For example, homeless people, giving people directions in the street, solicitors asking for donations for what is probably a good cause. Although, the other day I was walking where there was construction and a guy yelled something at me (in retrospect, I think I heard "¡ARRIBA!" aka "UP!") and seconds later something crashed to the ground 15 feet from me. Whoops. Maybe the English won't be so bad after all.

So, in total, I think that I will be happy about being home for approximately 2-6 weeks, and then I will be incredibly bored. However, that doesn't change the fact that I should definitely purchase a plane ticket in the near, near future, before prices quadruple.

something to check out at your 9-5

I know, I know. Everyday, you're sitting in your cubicle, hating every single minute of your life. Well I just want you to know its not all fun and games here in Europe. I mean, it RAINED in Italy! WTF?! See, I can empathize with you, sitting in your fluorescent lighting, writing your TPS reports.

So here's a slideshow of some places I've seen over the months... 

....try not to hate me TOO much. 

language barrier

Sometimes, things just don't translate. Example A:

Yeah, we freaking went to Mickey D's for a McFlurry.

Sure, the helado is delicioso, but sometimes, you just need something American.

I've been living in Spain for 9 months. It was due. 

Also, potentially life changing fact: one of the flavors was Toblerone... I got Oreo, but I'll keep you updated.

I literally just googled and then downloaded the American McDonald's menu, in hopes of shedding some light on this situation. Snack wrap? Is that what it is?

Anyways, basically anyone who knows me knows that I'm kind of a stickler for correct grammar/punctuation/etc. WELL, living in Spain has certainly tested my patience. It seems that direct translation form Spanish to English is impossible, and in lieu of accuracy, the writers of menus, signs, and worksheets rely entirely upon guesswork and Google translate. 

I can relate, I've been there. You think all those A's in Araujo's classes were based solely on brainpower and cheating? (Kidding, mis padres.) www.spanishdict.com is bookmarked and used daily, but I don't broadcast my errors to the world. 

So, here's my proposal, Junta de Andalucía (aka, the government). Hire me to travel through Andalucía, or maybe España as a whole, correcting your atrocious grammar and spelling errors. First step is to eliminate the British spelling (colour? favourite? analyse? theatre? Actually, "theatre" looks pretty classy, that can stay. But the rest....? LEARNT!?) and move on from there. 

And I know that tourism is a pretty big deal to you guys and you would like to draw in more Americans who would otherwise be offended by hideous grammatical errors and very confused about the overactive chicken in McDonald's, I will allow you to pay me a starting salary of 80,000 euro per year. You're welcome. 

feliz dia de conejo

That actually means happy day of the rabbit but the sentiment of "happy Easter" is still conveyed, I think. 


So I have to admit something unbelievably shameful. I'm here in Malaga, where the second best Semana Santa celebrations are held (I'm guessing Sevilla is number one and Antonio Banderas comes here for this one, so I am just putting two and two together), and yet, I have almost no photos of the festivities. 


I think it's because it was so damn frustrating getting anywhere, and I didn't want to become just another tourist with a camera. 


Stupid Asian stereotype, ruining all my fun. 

¡¡FELIZ PASCUA!!

PS I celebrated by spending the day at the beach. OLÉ. 

PPS I'm very sad that my vacation is almost over. How the hell am I going to wake up for school tomorrow? Oh wait, I don't work Mondays... suckers.

hola a todos

Just remembered that you all get anxious when I don't blog. 

Needy.

Well, I am just thrilled that tomorrow is Easter. IT MEANS SEMANA SANTA IS ALMOST OVER. 

Sure, I had a week off from school (that means I worked 12 hours less than normal) and got to relax. But, I CANNOT WAIT for all these damn tourists to leave my city alone. Also, these processions are really cool to watch.... once.

What makes a procession (essentially a giant parade) different here in Spain? Well, for one, there is a specific parade route, that they enjoy so much they circle it approximately 14 times. (That number is made up.) Also, they carry this huge statue around and that shit gets HEAVY. More importantly, these parades last for about 7 hours (This number is partially based on fact. Or guesstimate, since they begin around 7-9pm and end around 3-4am.) and Spaniards smoke like chimneys. So they are attired in the KKK's finest, smoking cig's or eating a sandwich, just taking a break from lugging around Jesus. 

Also, I'm pretty sure no Spaniard actually enjoys these processions. They block off the streets, essentially shutting down entire parts of the city. I'm talking about having to walk several blocks out of the way just to get from point A to point B. (Sidenote: Point A is probably a bar, Point B is probably the beach. Or a different bar.) However, if a foreigner makes a single disparaging comment about them, such as that they are all the same, or boring, or inconvenient... well, let's just say that unholy comments will be made. 

And finally: 

GOOD NEWS, God has stopped despising Spain and the weather has been phenomenal all week. 

BAD NEWS, I think Rhode Island drowned. 

Orange Sticker Violation

The other night, I'm in my room and think to myself, "Wow, is the barrio louder than usual tonight? No... maybe this is standard. A few more musical instruments than normal, but no big deal."

Then my roommate comes into my room and says, "What the hell is going on? Is there a procession outside or something?"

I open my window and see this: 

I feel like its the scene from Beauty and the Beast with all the angry villagers. 

Another shot, I've been practicing taking night photos with my camera.

As you can see, still terrible. 

Normal.

pre-semana santa

Spain doesn't always do everything right. If you've been reading my blog long enough, you are perfectly aware of this. Let's face it reading about what they do wrong (many things) is a whole hell of a lot more interesting to read, especially from a cynical person such as myself. 

So let's focus on something that Spain is really, really good at:

Throwing a party. 

Fiestas are an incredibly important part of life here. My fellow coworkers who have a solid 30 years on me have told me about family birthday parties lasting til 3-4am. (Hey mis padres- can you make it to the end of the 7pm news?) Every city has a fería, which is a weeklong party and if there's a holidy on Tuesday, might as well take off Monday too. Make it a puente (bridge). 

Here's some pictures of the Malaga Semana Santa preparations:

Someone (someones?) spent hours of their lives taping those red sheets over the balconies. Beautiful.

This isn't even the biggest Semana Santa celebration in Spain. 

Where do all the chairs come from? 

More importantly, where do they go for the other 51 weeks of the year when it is not Easter?

Some pretty serious bleachers. My powers of observation have picked up on a red theme. 

Also, I'm pretty sure that either the Pope or Antonio Banderas sits in that box thing at the top. 

Whoever's the most important to the malaguenos. 

But I think Tony is pretty much in the clear re: sex scandals, so maybe its his seat.