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I met my long lost father...

So this is a story...true to life...that happened to me soon after arriving to Spain. Let´s set it up...

here in Spain, things move very slow. paperwork is the slowest of all things. I am sure there is some reason behind it all but it takes months to get your paperwork done for your residency. Of course it would take longer if i were not married to a Spanish citizen. This paperwork seems to not be done in one place. Still with the new invention's of fax lines, the Internet and online forms, paperwork still moves slowly.

So rumor has it that you have to arrive early in the morning to get in line and expect to wait all day just to talk to someone. So we brave the dark early morning hours with alternating high and low beams thru the hills and winding roads to head north to Girona. Down what i would consider "back roads", we sped thru the stretches of road from one small town to another. Finally we reached Girona and Carme told me to go up to the building and wait in an already forming line. As I wait in the dark morning, hoping no one comes up to me and asks me something and I panic and cannot understand their Spanish. mind you I had only been in the country 2 weeks at this point. As soon as I think this, I notice a man in this loosely formed lined now turned and facing me and smiling. It´s dark and maybe i am not seeing him well in the shadows of the dimly lit street. I could tell the man was African, older ...maybe about mid to late 50´s, and slightly shorter than I. The reflection of the street lights in his glasses made me wonder was he looking at me or staring off in the distance.

Just then I felt the man make a motion towards me. Was this it? was he here to rob me? Was he here to talk me to death like my people we from his tribe before slavery? So he stuck his hand out to me as offering a handshake. Still this motion could not be taken as a threat, as outreaching of a hand in any culture would be considered peaceful, still i reluctantly shake his. He laughs this deep and guttural laugh. One could consider it a sinister laugh but if you read on you will see why I was not sure at his intentions by his laughing alone.

So after what seemed to be an eternity, he finally spoke, still not letting go of my hand. I tried to peek over my shoulder to see if a criminal partner was slowly sneaking up on me to snatch my bag or something, but I did not want to take my eyes of Kunte Kinte. So he is speaking and i am not catching a word he is saying. and it´s not because he is speaking Spanish. quite frankly, i am not sure what language he is speaking. He sounds like he is gurgling and drowning and I can´t make out anything. i can´t even read his lips. Then reality sets in...I wonder if this is a ploy for his partner to come along and knock me over the head. Maybe they are delaying me and attacking Carme in the parking garage. I frantically look around and i see my wife strolling across the street. i could not be more relieved to see her. I quickly mentioned for her to come join this train wreck of a conversation.

The look on her face was priceless and I felt a wave of reassurance as she obviously could not tell what this man was saying as his gurgling and mumbling continued. Out of kindness, we both sat and tried to piece together what he was saying. Finally, Carme showed the man mercy and said in Spanish "i cannot understand a damn word you are saying to me...sorry". the man motions to us to wait a second as he is unbuttoning his top botton of his shirt. I am thinking to myself, was the shirt that tight to cause him not to be able to speak.

Just then, the sun broke thru the tall building of this metropolis and a ray of light bathed this strange man. At first i thought it was a sun flare but after instinctively turning my head, raising my hand and squinting to bloke the bright light shining in my eyes, I realized it was not bling bling reflecting this light...but a VOICE BOX! This man had just had surgery, we find out once he pulls out his battery operator voice box hand control. Now we can understand him! Still we are taken back by the fact that we have not ever spoken to a person with a voice box, together or alone. i can tell by the silent look Carme and I give each other during the man´s telling of his important story he now has to retell. he goes on and on and i am lost...I am only catching a few words but not able to make much sense of it all. Usually people here speak with their arms in such an animated way that you think you are in a game of charades (first word...sounds like...). but sadly this man is stuck with one arm to motion with and it is not working.

So as the story goes on, I am looking into Carme´s face to get some indication as to what this man wants. By now I am figuring he is not here to rob us so I relax and wait. The man stops speaking and turns to me and just smiles a serious smile, not once taking his eyes off of me. Carme is speaking now and I am still mesmerized by his unbreakable glance. Not until Carme tells me the story do I break eye contact with him and look at her with amazement. this man has just told Carme that I am his long lost son. I was to meet him here with a friend named Marta who found me and was bringing his son to meet him and he wanted to know where was Marta.

I know, i know...but it´s true. i am not lying.

so after politely telling the man that i am not his son, the man seems hurt and disappointed. Like i was playing some cruel joke on him intentionally. he retreats back into line, sulking a bit. Carme and I can´t do anything but stifle our laughs. The reason is that i often express to her how as an African American, I feel almost obligated to some how connect with the Africans here in Spain. Almost like my spiritual Mecca or my Alex Haley´s "Roots". It´s hard to explain but historically, blacks in America never felt like part of America (civil rights, Jim Crow laws, lynching, etc) and with the inception of African in our race title...well that just implies we have some ties to the continent. yeah I know there was a failed movement in the 70´s (dashikis and afro picks) and the 80´s (I wore an African medallion myself). But there has been no concentrated effort to follow Marcus Garvey back to Africa. Not with all the bad press they are getting. So anyhow, Carme ribs me about my new African friend and I was not allowed to let that go one bit.

So to make a short story long, we finally get inside to talk to someone and despite complying with the requirements listed on the web page, it seems we have to get 2 more pieces of information and are sent on a scavenger hunt which will take us to Blanes and to Barcelona on two separate days. I swear, all this waiting in line for nothing...sigh.

So why does this process take so long? I have an idea. You see after returning to Girona after venturing on the scavenger hunt around the coast Brava area, we went int to finally turn in all the collected items. So back to Girona first thing in the morning to wait in the line to start the process of finally getting my residency card. We were very early and needed a special queue so we were first in that line. second in line was this man and woman. the man was short, pale and thin as a rail. the woman was almost as tall as I and African and looked like she could bench press a bus...not just any bus but one of those luxury ones. She had shoulders the width of a single lane by way. This woman was huge, beautiful and Queen Latifah-ish but probably some James Bond assassin girl or something. Well anyway, to finish painting the picture, this woman stood a fool two feet over this man. Carme and I never thought much about them as many people come to this office with their immigration lawyers. But actually they were in our line. We did not put 2 and 2 together until we actually heard them say it. That much in Spanish I could understand.

Now I see why paperwork takes so long...to discourage those trying to pass one over on immigration. If this were an actual couple, she would break this man in tiny pieces with one well timed thrust! She was used to Shaka Zulu, Mr. Peabody is not making a dent in her chassis.

Amsterdam pt2...into the city

So now we are all settled into our residence for the night and decide to head out on the town. Amsterdam is a about 20 minutes away and we are driving a rental car we got from Germany. Johnnie seems to think that the car will be vandalized, since we have plates from Germany, if we park it in the city. So best we park outside and take the metro into town. So we head to the station about 3 stops away and brave the cold for a 10 minute wait for the next train.

A few minutes later, we pulled up into central station. Central station is not some underground receptacle like Penn Station NYC. It´s like a bunch of street cars that all seem to converge in one area. the streets are filled with cars, trains, pedestrians and bicycle riders. I swear to make a fortune, you can open a bike repair shop there. All the bikes seem a bit outdated by American standards. No deep treaded tires on mountain bikes or 15 speed long distance riders. Seems like bikes with a need for a a wicker basket. They do have cute little bells to warn you when they are approaching you from the rear.

Amsterdam is relatively flat and most of the area is under sea level like New Orleans. Most of the area is protected by dams or what they call dikes. These dams are fortified but Johnnie tells me one broke in the 50´s and a lot of people died fro the flooding. Yippee! So take a look at a map of Amsterdam...there are nothing but canals everywhere. You are crossing water whether you like it or not. i guess the canals are for the drunks to have a place to urinate at a moments notice or to wash out the streets after a profitable night in the red light district.

Speaking of the Red light district....it´s INSANE!!! An outside shopping mall for prostitution. It´s not a strip mall like Willow lawn, it´s more like a labyrinth of debauchery an ill repute. As you wind down a main canal, there are windows...small rooms with a full length window where the girls...and some boys who are girls...stand there in bikinis and such trying to entice the casual passerby to taste their wares. black, white, tall or short...real or fake...all within footsteps of one another. And i here that it´s so accepted, the cops know the girls and patrol to make sure they are OK. They even have the area clearly marked on city maps for your conveince.

Some of the more interesting things I saw was the banana bars. email me if you want to know what goes on there but WOW!!!

anyhow...soon we were out of the district and passing by one of a million sex shops with all their wares in the store window...and i mean anything you can imagine or have a nightmare about. Sickening and exciting at the same time. We turned a corner and in one breath...a nice whiff of the coffeehouses that are strategically placed in prime spots around the area. We happened past a corner spot called the Jolly Joker. we joked about going to get some coffee rather than something else...but the stench was too thick for one to see the actual bar. After more questions, i found that there are some weird laws here in Holland. It´s illegal to grow marijuana. It is NOT illegal to posses a small amount of it. It is tolerated to be sold...hence the shops but the small amount you can buy at a time. So the question is...if it illegal to grow...then how do the shops get it to sell it? I am sure if I had taken the time to sit back and inhale the sweet smells of nature´s own, I would have spent an eternity thinking on that matter.

So with my mind full of visions to make Rick James lick his lips...we decided to call it a night and head back to our places for a night of sleep and more discovery the next day...maybe i will write more on that but for now here are the pic:

call me one eyed Jack

So it´s Tuesday night and my eye has been itching since I got on the plane to go to Amsterdam. I had been fighting it for a while and trying not to worry about it. So tuesday night, I noticed my eye was a bit red and not feeling too hot. so I fall asleep...

I wake up wednesday looking like I got in a bar fight and my left eye not matching my right. Well my right one was normal and my left one was about 3 times the size it was the night before. Seems like I have some kind of sty or ifection in my eyelid. It´s not affecting my vision other than being so swollen I cannot keep the eye open even with effort. Some how I never got the gene to be able to raise my left eyebrow without moving my right one, So for the first few hours this morning, I was walking around like I had this suprised look on my face until my eyes became so exhausted i just relaxed.

Also having only one eye to use, I have no depth perception. Carme just handed me a drink and I almost dropped it not reaching out far enough. I decided to put a patch over my eye to hide the hideous display of my one frog eye. So needless to say, I can´t drive nor can I go to soccer practice tonight. This is not promising for my little vacation in the Canary Islands. Worse yet, Alex´s birthday is this Saturday and I don´t want to be mistakened for the pirate who should be entertaining the children at th party. It´s going to be hard to enjoy myself on the topless beaches of volcanic ash with only one good eye. Do you know how many times I have had to mop the bathroom floor. AUGH!!!

I have been to hell...and it´s called AMSTERDAM...but i loved it

Okay...I am still catching my breathe from Amsterdam. What can I say about it. It´s got a million different cultures, foods, and sights. I can´t seem to say enough about it but if you want to know history and all, you need to go to a library or something.

So Alex, Carme, Natalia (Carme´s sis), Noelia (natalia´s daughter), Johnnie (Natalia´s husband...who is dutch) and I all are on this trip to visit and stay with his family in Holland. Carme, Alex and I were to sleep in the house of her parents and the rest were to go to Johnnie´s brother´s house for the few nights. More on the sleeping arrangements later.

They have this Irish airline called Ryanair which offers some cheap flights. The only twist is you get what you pay for in the way of service. So when we got to the counter to check in, we were hit with a 3€ charge for not doing the online check in. Well to their defense, you can only buy tickets online so not having Internet access is not an excuse. Still, the tickets were only 18€ so I can´t complain. Also, there is no checking of luggage under the plane. you have to carry it all and you are limited in what you can carry on board of course. And don´t expect to be handed a bag of stale peanuts...you pay for what you get and you pay out the nose for a 3-swallow can of coke. I think you ever get to inspect the plane before you take off. ha ha. Also, it seems they only fly to smaller airports. Small enough to be remote but large enough to land a 737-800...which is about 180 passengers.

So we head over to the gate and we see this long line forming. We figure for 18 euros it´s every man for himself, right? Well they had one line for people who already checked in (they get to sit first. Never mind the handicapped or people with small children) and then there is the rest of us. Natalia and her family did the online check in so they got on board before us and saved us a row of seats so we could all be together. Funny thing is when you are allowed to go to the plane, it is indeed every man for himself. The best of people come out as we make a mad dash to the plane to hurry and get a seat. As we make it to the plane, an old lady tripped me with her walker and dashed ahead of me. Still my mother taught me manners so instead of drop kicking her, i gave her a wedgie with her granny panties. Sad thing is she was wearing a thong with the really high hip cut so I had to search a bit to get a good grip. So I rode her and her walker, like a rodeo, until I got a grip. Once on the plane, there was a row waiting for me. I felt sorry about the wedgie I gave the old lady but she deserved it. As I sat down and started to dose off as we were running a bit late but i think I remember the captain asking if anyone was able to give him a jump so we can get flying.



We took off from Girona (which is the largest city in this area outside of Barcelona and landed in a small German town called Wheeze. I figured the town was full of asthmatics and smokers, but who knows. I noticed the area looked a bit military like. Johnnie confirmed that it was an old German airbase. Still it was a little creepy in that it seemed like a setting for a concentration camp.


Soon, we were out of the town (Alex likes to ask if we are "out of town yet" whenever we go away anywhere). After two hours of flying and getting a great view of the Swiss Alps, we were heading to our decent into the small industrial town of Weeze, Germany. We landed and it was cold. Check online conversions because i still can´t do it in my head...but we went from 20 degrees C to 4 degrees in one flight. Luckily I brought my gloves, hat and heavy coat.

All my life I have heard of the audobon. A highway where you can drive just as fast as you want. So i turned to Johnnie and his infinite knowledge of Germany and ask him where the audobon is. He laughed and said, right here...and there...and pointed to the map at 500 other ones. You see, I never took the time to look up the audobon on wikipedia. If i did i would know it was spelled autobahn, ha ha. I found out that the autobahn is a collective system of highways across Germany, Switzerland and Austria. There are posted "recommended" speed limits but you can go as fast as you damn well. Johnny decided to to go about 160km/h (99 miles per hour). woo hoo! Unfortunately the drive to the border was all of 5 minutes long at the rate, and we were forced back down to the standard 120 km/h (74 mph). Then it seemed like eternity to get to Johnnie´s parent´s home.

So back to these sleeping arrangements. Well Carme and I slept at Johnnie´s parents house. His mother, Hattie, is from Indonesia, but she speaks English and Dutch also. Johnnie´s father, who just survived major lung surgery, also speaks English so we had a nice little conversation while we waited for Johnnie´s brother to arrive.

Johnnie´s brother is also half Dutch and Indonesian. he married a lady from Thailand name King and they have two kids, guy and Natasha. It´s really quite amazing when we all sit to eat or talk. it´s like the United Nations. at anytime, there are 3 or 4 languages going around and of course my American tongue can only do so much damage. Still this is one of the reasons I am here in Europe.

More later...

my european tour starts with...

I am going to the Netherlands tomorrow. I am excited and kinda dreading it due tot he fact that is it probably -5 Celsius...if you don´t know how that that is...well it´s below freezing. Carme, Alex and I are going with her sister, Natalia, Noelia, her niece and Johnny, Nata´s husband. Johnny is from Holland so we are visiting and staying with his brother and his wife and kids. Alex should have a good time playing with the other kids. They may speak a little English but kids seem to work it out.

What are we going to do while we are there? Well lots of ideas are flying around but we are flying into Germany, then renting a car and driving to Holland from there. I am sure i will catch a windmill or two in the countryside. Maybe even a dyke (artificial made kind that is). But I am going to explore 3 of my favorite sides and I am sure you can all guess.

One...I intend on spending some relaxing time in the coffee shops (if you have not heard about the coffee shops in Amsterdam well think of Cheech and Chong opening up a retail store...think of Rick James´ ¨Mary Jane" blaring over the sound system and Willie Nelson sitting in the VIP box).

Two---I intend on walking thru, very slowly...the red light district. And I intend on snapping quite a few pictures so prepare for the carnage! Look but no touch of course.

Three...I intend on eating lots of pancakes. I hear they have the best pancakes in the world. Well I intend on busting a gut in some way since i am not in the states to enjoy Thanksgiving.

Anyhow, stay tuned boys and girls, pictures and stories to follow---

the comforts of home...

There was another important aspect of living in Spain I had to learn to circumvent, bring the comforts of home here. What I mean by this is that with the age of the Internet, who is to stop me from looking at my favorite television shows or listen to my favorite radio stations. Well the answer is Copyright lawyers.


You see here in Spain, there is a block on content from the US to Spain. Why? Well Spain is not so worried about copyright laws as they are about the war on terror (Madrid train bombing), rebuilding from having a dictatorship up until 1975 (my cousin Ray-Ray is still recovering from some bad weed from 1975) and some internal conflicts with some ethnic groups wanting to be separated from mother Spain (Basque, Catalans, etc.).


So my splash of cold water awakened me to this travesty when I thought I would go to abc.com to check out the newest shows for the fall season...well, specifically, they said to me "since your busted a*s is in Spain, you get´s no play, shorty!" I was taken aback. I mean I have worked in computers and the Internet for years and never thought they could do such a thing to such a frequent flyer! So I tried nbc.com. i like NBC better anyhow...


Well NBC spanked me like a newborn and waited for me to cry to spank me again! I was deflated and devastated. No reason to even go to CBS.


So the next morning I decide to look for my favorite morning show and see if I can get it streamed to me. Usually I am never up early enough to catch him tarting at 6am and I would work the late morning shift or the too early to comprehend shift and miss his show entirely. So now I can catch him at 12 noon and enjoy him for a full 4 hours. But again, I was dropped short of my dream when the reality of the Internet hit me.

Now don´t get me wrong, I am resourceful. I can find ways around anything. Well most anything. that´s half of the fun of modding things or finding new and resourceful ways of getting around. What did we ever do before computers?

So with much persistence, I can now download every episode of ¨Heroes" (I collected comic books so what did you expect?), "My name is Earl" (love rednecks) and Weeds (no comment). Also, I now get my Steve Harvey at noon and listen into the afternoon and don´t miss a beat 106.5 the beat to be exact).

learning the laws...

One thing about moving to a new country, find someone local with some sense to explain or catch you doing something illegal. I am not talking about like buying drugs or prostitution, common sense takes over in those categories. I am talking about little things that we take for granted or abuse in America.
Last Sunday I was driving thru the town on the way to have lunch with a school buddy of Carme´s and her family. Now the town is but so big but for some reason, Carme wanted me to call her brother in law, Johnnie, to ask him about satellite service...you see here in Spain, television is not the favorite past time. The programming is boring, even for me who can´t understand a word, but I can tell that they spend a lot of time talking about celebrities and athletes.


So I am driving down main street, about to enter one of the rondas (circular ways used to change direction or U-turn back down the street you came...this is opposed to installing traffic lights where there is little traffic) when I had the right of way and this other car decided to jet out in front of me. Playing the defensive driver I halted. The car stopped in front of me (envision me coming into the circle from the 6 o´clock position and the other car coming in from the 3 o´clock position...here, there is no right of way but left of way...ha ha). when i decided to edge forward, so did he and both of us stopped again and he and I just made eye contact. Then I told Johnnie to hold on, as I could not concentrate on her unselfish attempts to speak with me in English (I mean he is Dutch, they all speak English from the womb) and i dropped the phone into my lap and stared this knucklehead down in front of my car. By some chance my chance glance into the car alarmed me that he was in fact a local police officer. As to what seemed to be a lifetime, he finally signalled to me that I should not be talking on the phone and driving at the same time.


OK here is my issue, why not give me a freaking ticket rather than risk life and limb at 10 miles per hour while playing chicken in a rondas? I mean if I break the law, give me a ticket and I am sure to learn my lesson. I am all for paying debt to society (sans death penalty). I am sure I will get the message quick. Still this moron accelerates to cut me off rather than burning a calorie to flick on his flashing blue light. I guess he was too bothered to do the paperwork. But at the rate they do paper work in this country (for example my residency) I will forget I even got a ticket months later.

oh the horror

I am sorry I just have to quickly comment on one aspect of pain that can drive the Pope to commit homicide...the freaking flies here in Spain!

The common house fly here is Spain is a different breed than that of the American house fly. Despite their tiny little accents (el buzzzzzzzo), they look and act just like the american housefly, but they are mutations above those in Virginia. They fly around slowly, almost lazily, taunting you. They fly so slow you can see them actually flicking you off with thier middle mandibles. Don´t don´t make much of a sound to be quite honest. but when they land on you, they seem to tap dance while they are there. What i mean is sometimes a fly can land on your bare skin and you never know it. These bad boys can leave a bruise.

And since they fly around so slowly, your naked eye can focus on them and tell whether it is a boy or a girl. You swing at them with the false notion you can actually hit one of them. But it´s something out of the matrix I swear. You swing and you swing and your arm goes into instant slow motion as they fly rings around you. I see how the giant got caught in Gulliver´s Travels.

When you do hit them, make sure you have a sweatband and bowler´s wrist brace on. You might kill one after 3 tries. At that point I think they are laughing so hard at you that they drop their guard and allow themselves to be hit. The first swing was dead on, yet he flew around my head and I heard the faintests of laughs as he buzzed by my ear. Then the second try was with more effort and frustration. You know the type of swing where you rush it, when you knew you should have had it the first swing, but you miss, and as your brain realizes as you start your downward swing onto the location of where you thought the fly was resting in plain site, your brain now realizes the fly has flown away but it´s too late to stop the swing and that is a bit of energy you will not ever get back as now you have a hernia from the thrusting and possibly a dislocated shoulder. Just then your brain also realizes that that vision in your sight is the fly coming for you, so you think you have the charm and reflexes of a ninja warrior and try to divert your swing, which still has not made it to the first location, and use the inertia spent before to swing in an upward motion as you have your heat sinking missles locked on this newly acquired target. Well instead, if only someone was filming, you would truly see yourself for the ridiculous fool you are as you swing and swipe in circular motions about your head and neck trying to catch a fly only to realize that you are out of breath and dizzy from the experience.

So let´s give up and walk away...yea right. You spend all day, not allowing your windows to open in case he flies out (because darnit, you are going to avenge your "home videos funniest" moment, and you are too tired to deal with any of his other buddies looking for a laugh at your expense. So you spend all day creeping around the house. making sure there is always something in reach suitable for smacking the crap out of that fly. By midday you have even named the fly something like Jose...to make it more personal, all the while not realizing you have passed over that lost remote you could not find 6 months ago. But you are too focused on your mission to realize. You won´t leave the house nor invite anyone else over to save yourself from the embarrassment and pain. And just when you have given up and realized you lost a day of your life to this obsession...there he is. sitting pretty. resting comfortably. You wonder to yourself, had he been there for the past 13 hours and you just overlooked him.

Oh no, you let your guard down and you can find anything suitable to smack the living daylights out of it. You sweat and panic. It´s like high noon and you are facing the fastest gunner in the west without your gun. You search and search, and looking back at that perfect spot this housefly had taken up residency. Finally you see a magazine, you have yet to read but hey, when a sniper gets a perfect shot, they don´t pass it up. You slowly march back to your original position. THERE HE IS!!! You are so giddy with excitement you can hardly contain yourself. Should you get closer or strike. One will never know until you strike like the cobra you are. And as soon as it begins...it ends.

As the dust settles from your magnificent blow to the dusty table you refused to clean while you sat home all day salivating over the chance to kill this fly, you honor your slain foe as only you see fit to a worthy adversary:with full honors and a 21 gun slaute...well 21 cans of soda is all you have so ...so be it...

As you bury his carcass into the trashcan, you feel a familiar whisp of air and barely hear the audible laughters of his cousin who just entered your home thru the window you opened to rejoice in a well deserved smoke!

I feel like it's 1984...

So Carme decided to get a better deal on our internet connection at our apartment. Living in Tossa is like living in Dinwiddie county and trying to get fiber optics to your trailer. There are a few companies battling it our for the new territory of home internet users but due to treacherous terrain, it's kind of difficult to run the cabling, but it's here none the less. To me, Tossa is like when you watch a movie of travelers walking thru the jungle and finally when all hope is lost and all the water is run out, and just thru the last palm tree, you see paradise on the other end.

So we switched from one provider to another on Monday. Like in America, when you change long distance providers (if you haven't done so once in your life, you are missing something special), you initiate your call with the company you want to change to, they take all your info and then pass you over to a neutral 3rd party who asks you 10 different ways if you are sure you want to change internet providers. So we went thru this process but the internet is in my name, not Carme's. therefore, it is I who has to do all this confirming and such. Ok some thins I don't have to explain to you but Carme said all I have to do is say is "Si". So I sat there listening to this woman on the other end asking me questions and praying she wasn't asking me to sign over my first born. So I listened...and she spoke at the speed of light (I guess the speed of sound would not make sense). I , by the grace of god, recognized my name in a sea of other indistinguishable words (funny how 'indistinguishable' would be it's namesake to any non-English speaking person) and then hear a pause...I respond with 'si'. Easy enough, right? The second questions comes and I am thinking I am getting the hang of this. Around the 4th question I was swimming in conjugations and reflexive pronouns. My mind started to wander but I was still in tune to her pauses. "Si". I start thinking about what I should have for lunch...pause "si". Hmmmm I am wear mixed matched socks...pause..."si". And before I know it...the torture is over. Spanish is easy!

So anyhow, no one took the time to tell us that there is a law here in Spain where the company you are leaving has 15 days to disconnect their service. The new company has 35 days to connect your service. Well in a perfect world, you are looking at no loss in service. In the spanish world you are looking at 20 days without service. In the real world I am looking at no service! But my new company came to the rescue and gave me a dial up account! Yee Haw!!!!

So my home is full of the familiar sounds of a 56K modem squelching and struggling for a connection to some remote server for a connection to a pipeline the size of a straw. Not one of those normal sized straws but one of those stirring straws you get with your mixed drinks. You know the ones you are never sure if you should suck thru or not in fear you might get a ruptured brain vessel from while trying to suck down your tequila sunrise.

So in essence...IT FEELS LIKE 1984!