I get ideas on the train, as I'm walking to class, as I'm walking home from class, when I should be lesson planning or sleeping. It's exciting to get such frequent visits from my muse, but it's also a little bit of a problem. I'm exhausted, but I can't lay down and rest until I've emptied my thoughts out onto a page. Even when I have nothing to say I have to write to calm my brain. Mostly I've been writing posts for the Ttmadrid blog, but also I've done a little more work on the Lilly Frank trilogy (my sci-fi/vampire/romance/spy trilogy) and some journaling.
I got word from kiwi Craig about the TtMadrid blog: it is set up, but what I sent him won't work as a blog post because it's too long. He's counting it as an article, which is both good and bad. Good because I get paid more for it, but bad because I still need a good first post for the blog. I have plenty of OTHER posts ready, but no good first post yet. Gr. So my goal is to write my first TtMadrid blog post this weekend and get that sucker going.
Today I marveled at how good some very simple things can be. Like popcorn and orange juice, for example. Or a baked potato with cottage cheese. Not exactly free, but definitely cheap and on my list of "the finer things in life."
Have just decided that I can not only hear the next door neighbor's English bulldog snoring, but I can also hear the person who lives below us. Am very glad we are on the top floor and have no upstairs neighbors...am thinking that with walls and floors this thin we must sound like a herd of elephants up here, even when we're being careful.
31 January 2008
28 January 2008
uping the date
Item 1. Shannon, Meaghan and I decided to stay in our current apartment. It's economical, comfortable and familiar, and we like the roommates and landlords.
Item 2. This evening I was sitting in the lounge of one of the companies I work at with fellow teachers César and Meaghan, and I found out that César's birthday is 3 days before mine and that Meaghan shares my mom's birthday. Strange coincidences.
Item 3. I am on the verge of being published on the TtMadrid website. I have several blog posts ready and at least one article, maybe two. All I need to do is figure out a name for my TtMadrid blog (any suggestions?) and email what I have to the coordinator person, who happens to be my kiwi friend Craig.
Item 4. For some reason I know a ton of people with January birthdays: kiwi friend Craig, friend Brad, uncle Peter, and friends Tucker, Justin and Javi, not to mention the Aussie ex-roommate and a couple other people I'm acquainted with. Happy Birthday, January people!
Item 5. I found out that my dad comments on my blog under a pseudonym.
Item 6. Rediscovered The Gotan Project in my music libaray. Love love love it. A little like jazz at the circus, with accordion and some circuitous melodies.
Item 2. This evening I was sitting in the lounge of one of the companies I work at with fellow teachers César and Meaghan, and I found out that César's birthday is 3 days before mine and that Meaghan shares my mom's birthday. Strange coincidences.
Item 3. I am on the verge of being published on the TtMadrid website. I have several blog posts ready and at least one article, maybe two. All I need to do is figure out a name for my TtMadrid blog (any suggestions?) and email what I have to the coordinator person, who happens to be my kiwi friend Craig.
Item 4. For some reason I know a ton of people with January birthdays: kiwi friend Craig, friend Brad, uncle Peter, and friends Tucker, Justin and Javi, not to mention the Aussie ex-roommate and a couple other people I'm acquainted with. Happy Birthday, January people!
Item 5. I found out that my dad comments on my blog under a pseudonym.
Item 6. Rediscovered The Gotan Project in my music libaray. Love love love it. A little like jazz at the circus, with accordion and some circuitous melodies.
27 January 2008
Today feels like spring: the sun is warm, the sky cloudless. Birds chirp. The air is cool but the breeze has just a hint of warmth to it.
Tonight Shannon, Meaghan (the new roommate) and I need to decide if we are going to stay in this apartment after February, and if not, whether we all want to try to live together in the next place. I have considered striking out on my own to find a room in a Spanish-speaking household, but I've heard so many horror stories from people with bad roommates here that I might rather rent a 4-bedroom flat with Shannon and Meaghan and find a Spanish-speaking person to take the fourth room, even if it means I'm not speaking as much Spanish in the house.
This weekend was a good mix of play and work. I had a lot of organizing/planning to do for my classes, and I got a good chunk of the work done, so I'm going into the week feeling relaxed rather than harried. I will actually have time to write during the week because I'm on top of lesson planning for once.
Yesterday the girls and I went clothes shopping at Principe Pío (there is a big indoor mall there). I escaped with a lovely silk blouse, a pink jacket for spring, and a grey courduroy blazer.
Then last night we went out for drinks with some friends. We went to what is quickly becoming a favorite among many of us: Bar Colorado just off the Plaza de España. It is a Mexican bar, with actual Mexican bartenders (though they are all much whiter than the Mexicans I meet in Oregon) who remember us and usually give us a free shot of tequila at the end of the night.
Last night one of them had filled a mini squirt gun in the shape of a killer whale with tequila and he periodically passed down the bar squirting jets of tequila into people's mouths.
The time before that they let me try on the Místico mask (Místico = Mexican wrestler) and we took some pictures and then I realized I couldn't really breathe because the mask has no nose or mouth holes so I took it off and made Martín wear it for a while.
Every time we go there there's something new and fun and different, not to mention the fact that they play fabulous music. I only wish the place were bigger and had a dance floor.
Also I have a non-sexual crush on one of the bartenders, Roderigo. Last night I told one of his co-bartenders, who had nothing better to do at that moment than listen to me chatter, that Roderigo was my boyfriend only he didn't know it. Why don't you tell him? the guy said. Oh, no. I can't do that, I said. What if he says no? Well that's why you tell him, not ask him, was the reply. Hm. Good point.
Tonight Shannon, Meaghan (the new roommate) and I need to decide if we are going to stay in this apartment after February, and if not, whether we all want to try to live together in the next place. I have considered striking out on my own to find a room in a Spanish-speaking household, but I've heard so many horror stories from people with bad roommates here that I might rather rent a 4-bedroom flat with Shannon and Meaghan and find a Spanish-speaking person to take the fourth room, even if it means I'm not speaking as much Spanish in the house.
This weekend was a good mix of play and work. I had a lot of organizing/planning to do for my classes, and I got a good chunk of the work done, so I'm going into the week feeling relaxed rather than harried. I will actually have time to write during the week because I'm on top of lesson planning for once.
Yesterday the girls and I went clothes shopping at Principe Pío (there is a big indoor mall there). I escaped with a lovely silk blouse, a pink jacket for spring, and a grey courduroy blazer.
Then last night we went out for drinks with some friends. We went to what is quickly becoming a favorite among many of us: Bar Colorado just off the Plaza de España. It is a Mexican bar, with actual Mexican bartenders (though they are all much whiter than the Mexicans I meet in Oregon) who remember us and usually give us a free shot of tequila at the end of the night.
Last night one of them had filled a mini squirt gun in the shape of a killer whale with tequila and he periodically passed down the bar squirting jets of tequila into people's mouths.
The time before that they let me try on the Místico mask (Místico = Mexican wrestler) and we took some pictures and then I realized I couldn't really breathe because the mask has no nose or mouth holes so I took it off and made Martín wear it for a while.
Every time we go there there's something new and fun and different, not to mention the fact that they play fabulous music. I only wish the place were bigger and had a dance floor.
Also I have a non-sexual crush on one of the bartenders, Roderigo. Last night I told one of his co-bartenders, who had nothing better to do at that moment than listen to me chatter, that Roderigo was my boyfriend only he didn't know it. Why don't you tell him? the guy said. Oh, no. I can't do that, I said. What if he says no? Well that's why you tell him, not ask him, was the reply. Hm. Good point.
23 January 2008
a MacGyver in the kitchen
Making do with what I've got is an important lesson from my time here in Spain. I have to say, I think I'm getting pretty good at throwing together a decent meal with whatever happens to be around and without reference to a recipe. Tonight, for example, I had on hand some porkchops, an onion, a clove of garlic, a couple potatoes, some soy sauce, some orange juice, and a bit of salt and pepper. The result: some pretty darn good porkchops and potatoes if I do say so myself.
Pretty soon I'll be a regular MacGyver in the kitchen, able to whip up a gourmet meal for four with nothing more than an egg, a chicken bone, some cheese and a length of string. Gotta have the string. Ooh, and maybe a paperclip.
Pretty soon I'll be a regular MacGyver in the kitchen, able to whip up a gourmet meal for four with nothing more than an egg, a chicken bone, some cheese and a length of string. Gotta have the string. Ooh, and maybe a paperclip.
a tale of deporation
So this fellow Andrew had been living and working illegally in Europe for about three years at this point. His girlfriend is English and lives in London, and the plan was to stop in London for a couple days before continuing on to the U.S., where he was starting the necessary paperwork to live and work legally in Europe. He'd been in England just the month before and hadn't had any problems, but since then the girlfriend had moved and he didn't have her new address with him. Therefore he left the "address where staying" spot blank on the customs form and that's where the trouble started.
When the immigration officer started asking him about where he was staying and for how long and with whom, etc., etc., Andrew didn't have all the relevant information. At this point he became nervous, and when the officer asked him for his girlfriend's phone number Andrew's brain froze up and provided the wrong number. Twice. The officer called the numbers but of course did not reach Andrew's girlfriend. No more games for Andrew, do not pass go, do not collect $200.
He was told to sit on the bench and wait, and eventually a security guard came and got him and escorted him to the airport jail. When Andrew entered the outer room he found himself in the company of about seven guards. One of them looked him up and down and said, "I think we're going to need a big glove for this one."
Andrew sweated. "Are you serious?"
The guard laughed heartily. "Naw, man, I'm just kidding ya."
"Ah ha ha ha..."
Andrew was led to a cell, where several other immigrants awaited interviewing and judgment. Eventually Andrew got his interview. He was honest:
Had he been working without a contract in Europe? Yes, he had.
Why had he gone to Morocco so many times? Was he aware of the loophole? Well, yes, perhaps he had heard something about it.
Okay. You've willingly worked illegally in the EU and knowingly played the system. I'm sorry, but we can't let you into England. You'll be on the first flight back to Madrid tomorrow morning.
Back to Madrid?
Yes. The law states that we have to deport you back to the country you flew in from, not to your country of citizenship. (Hmm... So basically one could get stuck living and working illegally in Europe because one can't fly home. Brilliant.)
Once he got back to Madrid Andrew had to buy another ticket home that didn't go through England. This time he made it all the way home.
Lesson learned: have a travel plan (or at least a plausible story), write down your addresses and phone numbers, play dumb.
When the immigration officer started asking him about where he was staying and for how long and with whom, etc., etc., Andrew didn't have all the relevant information. At this point he became nervous, and when the officer asked him for his girlfriend's phone number Andrew's brain froze up and provided the wrong number. Twice. The officer called the numbers but of course did not reach Andrew's girlfriend. No more games for Andrew, do not pass go, do not collect $200.
He was told to sit on the bench and wait, and eventually a security guard came and got him and escorted him to the airport jail. When Andrew entered the outer room he found himself in the company of about seven guards. One of them looked him up and down and said, "I think we're going to need a big glove for this one."
Andrew sweated. "Are you serious?"
The guard laughed heartily. "Naw, man, I'm just kidding ya."
"Ah ha ha ha..."
Andrew was led to a cell, where several other immigrants awaited interviewing and judgment. Eventually Andrew got his interview. He was honest:
Had he been working without a contract in Europe? Yes, he had.
Why had he gone to Morocco so many times? Was he aware of the loophole? Well, yes, perhaps he had heard something about it.
Okay. You've willingly worked illegally in the EU and knowingly played the system. I'm sorry, but we can't let you into England. You'll be on the first flight back to Madrid tomorrow morning.
Back to Madrid?
Yes. The law states that we have to deport you back to the country you flew in from, not to your country of citizenship. (Hmm... So basically one could get stuck living and working illegally in Europe because one can't fly home. Brilliant.)
Once he got back to Madrid Andrew had to buy another ticket home that didn't go through England. This time he made it all the way home.
Lesson learned: have a travel plan (or at least a plausible story), write down your addresses and phone numbers, play dumb.
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