Growing

Taking a walk down memory lane (thanks to facebook), I suddenly realized how long my hair has gotten over these last few months. What's funny is that my hair normally takes ages to grow even an inch. In the past 8 months, my hair has gone from being a bit under the shoulder to nearly touching the middle of my back. I'd say its grown a good 4 fingers-length.

I've also noticed that my nails grow much faster as well. Could it be the fantastic Spanish water, encouraging my roots and nail follicles to speed up the growth process? Maybe its all those fruits and veggies that I eat on a much more regular basis. Or perhaps its due to the fact that even when I'm the most stressed out, it's still nothing compared to the anxiety I would feel while at NU when four papers, three exams, working for 12 hours and meetings would pile up on my plate.

Looking at things that way, life is pretty sweet right now. My biggest worry is whether or not I should try to book a trip to Florence or get a new camera. Yep, I'm definitely living the good life.

New jams

Thanks to my friend Andrea's blog, I am now able to keep track of exactly how much time needs to pass before I find myself back in the Mile High City, back in a country where eating on the street and wearing flats without stockings isn't offensive, and where cafes aren't literally covered with garbage.

In anticipation of my return, I have given up on trying to find Spanish music that I can listen to. Most of the stuff I've found is either heavily influenced by the Gypsy rhythms of Flamenco (see Ojos de Brujo), or they are yet another imitation of some modern rock/emo/pop fusion that's been done to death by bands throughout the UK and the US (see El Canto del Loco).

Rather than focusing my efforts on Spanish music, I am re-kindling my love with "rock en Ingles" and discovering cool new bands. Well, new to me. Amongst my favourites: The Horrors, a London-based band that remind me quite a lot of Joy Division. The heavy bass lines, the use of synthesizers and the lead singer's voice, especially in the song "Primary Colours," reminds me of the jams off "Unknown Pleasures."

I'm convinced that all of this has already been explained much more eloquently and analyzed to death by those better in touch with music in the States, but cut me a break. I've been in Spain for 8 months!

Is this a joke?

Creed to reunite

Really Creed? Really? Didn't you do enough damage to humanity the first-time around?

The end is near...

So I just spent 28 minutes on Skype with Air Canada to change my flight back home. This was necessary for two reasons:

1. I was slated to return to the States on July 6th, keeping me hostage in Madrid two whole weeks longer than necessary (my last day at school is June 19th).

2. I was slated to return to Chicago, not Denver (it was cheaper for me to purchase a flight from Chicago to Madrid and buy a separate flight from Denver to Chicago than to get a flight from Denver straight to Madrid).

In any case, I am now set to return to Denver on Saturday, June 27th. Which means that if I know my father (which I think I do), there will be some MAD CARNE ASADA on Sunday, June 28th. And that suits me just fine and dandy.

Sadly, I spent $55 more than I had anticipated spending on getting a flight back on that day. And since its on my credit card, it makes me feel yucky on the inside. However, I am planning on visiting one of my favorite Arabic-speaking, curly-haired super-Jew NU friends in Cairo right after I finish school, and this date was necessary in order for me to maximize time with her and ensure a speedily return home. Plus, I am going to be paying off my own debts soon (pending getting a job when I return, which hopefully will happen) and I'll feel less bad. AND this is the last bit of traveling I'm going to be doing for a long, long time I think. So in the long run, $55 USD is not much, really. It's the same thing I'd make tutoring on a Monday night. At least this is how I'm justifying these things.

I am so exhausted...

Back in the old days of Northwestern, a sure sign of springtime was seeing the hoards of students (myself included) heading to the Lakefill to enjoy some sunshine, some good tunes, and the beautiful scenery of Lake Michigan. Today, I had enough of missing that and had my own little "day at the Lakefill" -- Madrid-style, of course.

Amy and I went to a little hill on Madrid's Engineering School campus, located right off one of Madrid's principal boulevards. After settling ourselves down for an afternoon of chilling in the sunshine, we were joined by my friend and co-worker Mike. The three of us spent 4 hours (no joke!) sitting on that hill, watching Spanish lovers make-out hardcore, eating candy, having boxed sangria, and petting dogs. It was quite an enjoyable afternoon.

Interestingly enough, as Amy and I walked from our apartment to the hill a few blocks away, I had a brief moment of complete ignorance. For about two seconds, I was transported back to those moments in Evanston when the two of us would bring a blanket and a good book to read at the Lakefill. For those two seconds, I completely forgot I was in the middle of a huge metropolitan city. For those two seconds, there was absolutely nothing strange about Amy's appearance. The flip flops, running shorts, sunglasses, and flowered shirt were perfectly normal, as was the big blue blanket she was carrying under her arm. But the comfort bubble was popped pretty quickly when we crossed paths with the students and parents of the Italian School two blocks down. They certainly didn't think Amy's "ready for the Lakefill" appearance was as normal. But they are the ones missing out.

On a completely random brainwave, I have to rant about how upset I am that other people are taking photos of awesome street graffiti. Obviously, I am aware that I didn't invent photography or graffiti, nor was I the first to think to take photos of some of the REALLY awesome stuff, but it just chops my hide when I see other people doing it. That was MY thing, like being bilingual at age 10 and having been to Mexico. Then I grow up and realize all of that is much more common than I thought and that I'm really not such a special snowflake. How the hell am I supposed to be an individual, dammit? Guess I'll have to go back to coloring my hair extravagant colors -- or better yet, shaving it all off...

Rediscovery

I absolutely love it when I find myself in a funk and turn to some good tunes to cheer me up (or help me wallow through my self-pity). Even better than that is when I re-discover fantastic jams that I hadn't listened to in ages.

Take, for instance, The Stills' "Logic Will Break Your Heart." Fantastic album, with some really memorable songs for me. "Still In Love" really takes me back to my high school years. Equally fantastic was my re-discovery of Cursive, a band I initially despised, came to adore, and subsequently forgot. Both "The Ugly Organ" and "Happy Hollow" got me through some particularly dramatic moments in college.

Although I often complain that I'm out of touch with the newest "hot" thing in the States, for the moment I'm happy being taken back to a previous era in my life.

Spanish police

In the past, I've complained about the complete lack of "customer service" Spanish culture has. By this, I'm referring to people who won't take an extra 10 seconds to tell you the price difference between two items, not telling you the location of where you can obtain a particular vaccine if its not in that office, etc. But today I stumbled upon my as-of-now favorite "screw customers" moment in Spain, which features none other than two Spanish police officers.

As I was walking back home today, I saw a crowd of teenage school children standing in a wide circle in front of the Ejercito del Aire, a building I assume is Madrid's version of an Air Force. As I neared the group to cross the street, I saw two teenage boys throwing punches at each other merely meters away from two police officers standing next to a parked van in the building's parking lot. The two boys were really going at it -- one kid even had a bloody nose! As I looked around to see if anyone was going to try and break up the fight, I made eye contact with one of the police officers and told him the boys were fighting. He shrugged at me, and turned to speak to his colleague, completely ignoring the fighting going on in his face.

I paused, standing in the middle of the street for a few seconds, my brain trying to work out what the hell was going on. How could 2 boys be fighting and having 2 policemen watching them? "Shouldn't the officers try breaking something like that up?," I thought. Well, I was wrong. Because two random men in suits came to break it up instead of the people who are paid to keep the peace.

Just another "WTF" moment in Madrid.