I don´t like being called African-American

I just don´t. I am so far removed from Africa and it´s culture, languages, religion and heritage. It´s more and more evident as I meet and get to know more and more Africans. I remember someone tried to explain to me that African American respresents our past and our present. It was so much more descriptive than Black. Colored was a respresentation to our many shades but I think the Latinos got tired of being included in this misfortuned group by the Whites. Negro is more like it. That comes from the Latin word for black or dark but it carries a feeling of the transgressions in the past and way to close to that other N word.

So what do we call ourselves if i am shooting down any mane present or from the past...

I just want to be called an American.

trip to the doctor

Today, Wednesday, I had my first appointment with my doctor in Spain. His name is Xavier, a name which I like. When Carme called for me, she asked specifically for a doctor who spoke English. he speaks as much english as Jackie Chan but hey, I need to work on my Spanish anyhow.

Oh quick note, here in Spain, they do not refer to their language as Spanish. I guess it´s like going to China and asking for Chinese food. Here they call it Castellano (Castilian). It´s debated what is truly Castelellon but to me, it´s means Spain´s Spanish as opposed to the South American or Canarian Island Spanish. The difference is the pronunciation of the letter z or c before a vowel i and e. Like the word cita (meeting or date) is pronounced "thee tah" rather than "see tah". So it sounds like i have a lisp or something when I speak it.

Back to the story...

So I went to my doctor with my medical history about my high blood pressure and my prescription. To my suprise I found that I did not need a prescription for my medicines. In America, if it comes over the counter, you need a prescription. But the better note to that is that there are more varieties of medicine you can buy on the shelves of a drug store than you can shake a stick at. When you walk into a pharmacy here, most items are behind the counter in a larger store room. But, to me, it seems easier to get my meds for my blood pressure simply by walking up and asking for them by name. The only meds that are highly controlled are narcotics (for obvious reasons) and antibiotics (obvious reason to some).

The sheer immensity of this trip was the fact that I had to drive to Girona (45 minutes north) which is a much larger city than Tossa and a fourth the size of Barcelona. The old and narrow strrets of old blend seamlessly with the newer streets and cause for some confusing navigating. I have been in Girona a few million tomes but not on solo missions deep into the city. I drove confidently to the outskirt of the city, passing the usual 2 prostitute locations with the same Romanian girls on point. Sad fact but even the Spaniards are too proud to work outdoors when they decide to be call girls. Armed with a cell phone and folding chair, these weekday warriors are always available when I go flying by at 120 km/h.

I make my way into the city but like I stated before, the street signs are just unreadable at anything more than walking speed. So I cross my finger and turn down a one way street in hopes I run tino a underground parking deck. I do find one in no time with 45 minutes to spare. I pull out my makeshift map and follow my instincts to find this hidden medical office. The building all blend together as older offices are revamped into new clothing stores, restaurants and new offices. By the time i found the office, I had pretty much got turned around and walked a full 10 extra blocks. When I finished my appointment, I was so turned around from my initial hunt that I thought I would never find the car. As funny as it sounds, I took a chance and went right. I took another chance at the end of that street and went left. then I stopped. The parking deck was just across the street! 2 blocks instead of the original 10. I will master my way around Girona one day.

Easter in Spain...

Well it has been a pleasant 4 day weekend here in Spain. It all started with Good Friday and a planned trip to France. Our goal was to drive up the coastline on the winding and turning roads of Coasta Brava and take in the beautiful sunshine. Alex was in the backseat with his nose firmly planted in his Nintendo DS while Carme and I enjoyed the new album from Erykah Badu. 3/4 of the way there, alex started complaining of nausea but could not quite describe it to us but I knew that he inherited the worst part of travelling from his father: Motion sickness. We decided to stop off in Platja DÓro and get some air and see if we could not get him to shake some of his ill feelings. We quickly came across a small arcade complete with bumper cars. alex got a kick out of actually driving one of the cars as we were out for blood in our car, hunting Carme in her own car. Soon we were throwing euros in every machine that had bells and whistles.

Realizing the day was slipping away from us, we retreated back to Tossa to spend some family time at home and watch some movies.

Saturday we decided to head up to Girona to the Girona Cathedral. We walked thru the old part of town as Carme was taken back to her youth and remembering every stree tshe partied on. This usually meant she was intoxicated to some point, but obviously not drunk enough as she remembered detail after detail. I gues s put her thru the same silent torture when we lived in Richmond.

The sky threatened rain all day and it finally kept it´s promise as unbrellas began to opn around us. We made our way back to the underground parking deck just in time to avoid the worst of it. Small bits of hail came down ont he car as we exited the parking garage and made our way to El Corted Ingles, a shopping center reminiscent of Thalhimers or Miller & Rhoades from yesteryear. By the time we made our way to another underground parking deck (there is only one way to go if you add parking and that´s underground), we cought a nice glimpse of the increased hail as it poured down around us. Going outside for a quick look, the streets were completely covered in these pebble sized ice balls. It looked like a bean bag exploded over the whole city. Stil alex was too preoccupied with his Mario game to realize what was going on. Back in tossa, the ground was wet from a light rain but they had not experienced the hail we went thru.

Here are some shots of our journey...

On sunday, we headed to Camp Nou to see Barcelona take on Valladolid in a league match. I bought these tickets months ago and was excited to take in a rare and early afternoon game. Most games are played at 7pm and later up until 10pm. Remember the Spaniard party until late. so it is not an issue for a Sunday night game to last unitl almost midnight. but this rare occasion was a 5pm game.

Let´s explain the point system in soccer. Universallt, a win is 3 points, a tie is 1 point (or considered each team recieving a point is lost) and no points if you lose. Barça have not completely been playing up to thier level all season but still they are in a better position than most. Sadly, Barça were sitting in 2nd place before this game and their arch rivals, Real Madrid, were sitting pretty at the top of the league with only a few games to go in the season. Barça, 7 points behind the league leaders and are threatened by another tough team, Villareal who are 2 points behind Barcelona, were sitting pretty during their game against a weaker team and about to win. the pressure of this game was thick. Real Madrid had a later game but they were playing at home and they are near unbeatable there. Carme is one of their biggest critics and I knew i was about to hear it if they lost or tied against a team that was one of the poorest teams this year.

To not bore you with details, Barcelona did win and decisively. Still Carme was ticked off at the ability of the other team to almost score twice. Still I took some pretty good shots of my fovorite players. take a look...



Monday was spent tooling around Tossa...snapped a few photos, too

Mission Accomplished...

I finished my two projects this week. After 5 months of going back and forth with Alfonso, the owner of a local tour busing company, I finally completed his website. Let me add that I am torn by this. He wants me to put my mark on the website but I am torn. I do want to put my mark on the site; it would drum up more business. But I am not at all satisfied with the design and layout. You see from day one I made it clear that Alfonso needed to approve all designs before going forward. I came up with a suitable template and we were on our way. I did it with 3 colors...dk blue, dk grey and white. I knew his buses were more like a Confederate Grey but like I am about to explain: Alfonso was supposed to supply all photos and color scheming. Still it seems that he could not provide anything, let alone in a timely and orderly manner. To keep ahead of myself, I would post updates to a mock website, so Alfonso could, at any time, see how I was coming along and approve as I went along. Well a funny thing happened along the way...after 3 months of stalling and begging him for photos and information...he decided he wanted a redesign.

My first reaction was to charge him all over again but Carme calmed me and told me just to go forward with it. It was not too much work but I just was getting more and more frustrated with his delayed emails and changing of his mind. What started as 5 pages of just HTML blew up to 13 pages, 1 PHP form, 2 flash photo galleries, and a flash title bar...in 3 different languages...which meant a lot of translating...for free. So after 5 months, he finally bucked...and paid me in full to post his site in a week...unfinished. We still have no photos of his employees in one of those flash galleries. Sigh. Also he wanted the whole site in one color...his confederate grey. And each page seems to have a different font, which he requested. Still I am entitled to do the gallery. I have a sinking feeling he will ask me to replace it or remove it. Oh I am going to charge the heck out of him if he wants it removed.

The other site only took two weeks. That I am pretty proud of. I did not design it, but neither did the original web master. When I was tooling around the web for the site owner one day (her name is Andrea and she is from England) we found that he used an $89 template from a popular website and charged her €3000 (about 4600 dollars). She wanted some changes and I made it happen. Now I am her web master so I have some future money coming. Go check it out (auntyandreasstags.com).

I have a meeting this week with another group of people who are interested in having someone look after their site. They are currently using the local boys here, Info G, and they are not happy with their service and timing. Maybe I can win them over indeed. Wish me luck.

father´s day...

Here in Spain, March 19 is Father´s Day. Much like the American holiday in June, it’s a day meant to celebrate the fathers all across Spain by their families. I was quite not mentally prepared for this day as I am used to having the day a week or so before my birthday so I can double up on the gifts and attention. I was awakened to my wife and son bringing me handmade cards. Alex decided he did not want any help spelling the words he wanted to say which made this budding first grader´s effort more special to me. I will scan and post a copy of this card for all to see next week. Carme also decided to make her own card (seeing as I might not get all the humor in a ´Hallmark´ printed card in Spanish). I worked from home in peace that day but at lunch, Carme and Alex brought me a gift...a new backpack for my laptop which is better for my back and shoulders. The strap goes over my shoulder and across my chest and to my opposing hip with the back pack perfectly centered on my back. I was a proud and beaming father.

The reason March 19 is father´s day is for a peculiar and not so surprising reason. You see, every day is a different Saint´s day (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saints_day). There is a published list of all of the saints and martyrs that populate this calendar. Well depending on your typical catholic name, the day of the saint that bears the same name that you were born with, calls for a small, yet recognized effort to wish one a happy name´s day. By the way, Carme´s is July 16, Santa Carmen (Spain) and Santa Carme (Cataluña).

Getting back to the reason why March 19 is and always will be Father´s Day...Well that day is also Saint Joseph´s day. You remember Joseph, father, protector and early teacher of Jesus Christ as well as husband to the Virgin Mary. Pretty deep huh? Ok not really...

Does this mean that On Santa Maria day, it would be Mother´s day...

Ha ha...nope.

it is what it is (eso si que es)...

A few weeks ago, before we made our trip back to America, the older men of the soccer club which I coach for, AE Tossa invited me to come play a "veteran´s game". This is a game consisting of older, retired players of all ages to play a pickup game. The ages ranged from 30ish to their 60´s. I was nervous to think I would go out and play with these men as I don´t seem to play as well as I once did when I was 16 years old. Years of being sitting on the couch and not keeping with a regular workout regimen have taken its toll on my waistline and the connection between my mind and body. I know what I want to do when I play...but my body just doesn´t respond as quickly. Still I was determined to put on my boots and stir up a rousing and competitive game of soccer.

The warm up started pretty well as I had to be attentive to a torn hamstring that never quite healed properly 4 years earlier. With no visible or obvious pangs in my right leg, I was growing in confidence. You see a lot was at stake here. This was my moment to bond with the elders of the club and to find my niche here amongst men who have been playing this sport since there were in the womb. Soccer is a test of your manhood here and I could not punk out. Still I was not the youngest, but I probably was the one in the worst shape. That became more evident as I was given my jersey.

We wore the throwback jerseys from years ago when Tossa was split between two very different clubs. Julian, one of the clubs officers, jokes with me as I reached for the red home jersey of one club, calling me a communist. I am sure that joke, at one time was more of a healthy jest with a little more meat on it the farther back in history you go. I am sure those sentiments faded in time as the two clubs merged just last year. I only wore that jersey so I could be sided with my friend Jesús. As I slipped the jersey over my head, I instantly knew that this was not going to be flattering. I am not sure what the average height and weight is here for the Spaniards, but I would be considered severely overweight, I am sure. I hover a full foot over the average male here and about twice as thick as them. Sure my girth is a mixture of some muscled neatly and not so neatly tucked under a warm layer of fat from years of thinking I could eat like a teenager. Here´s to you, McDonald´s drive thru! The shirt wrapped around my belly like the finest of plastic wraps signaling I am overdue for a few thousand sit ups. The arms of the jersey were tight and probably increased my blood pressure in my hands 3 times over! Still I had something to prove so I hit the field ready to play.

To make a short story long...

I started the game a bit nervous but determined to make my mark. Within the first few minutes I had my first attempt as showing off my foot skills...sadly it was against the president who was teasing closely to the age of 60 or so. I will take it. A few more minutes in, I was striking on goal. Nothing too fancy or strong as I was still tedious about testing out my hamstring. Still it was a threat and the opposition was leery of me, trying to not give me a chance to get hot and overconfident. More time passed and I was threatening the goal again, but this time I slyly passed off the ball and my teammate easily slipped it past the keeper. Minutes passed and I did not seem to be much of a threat until I was in the right place at the right time, a ball fell close to me and I artfully dodged one defender, then two, then I was striking on goal. The ball floated past the keeper and deep in the goal...I have arrived! Halftime was coming to a close and a rebound from a teammate´s strike fell back to me and I controlled the ball and struck again. It was not a strong strike but was well placed and I had beaten the keeper. Now I was public enemy number one as my team had taken a 3-0 lead. After halftime, I was looking for my hat trick but it was frustrating as the other team´s intention was to double up on me. I finally got another touch on the ball but the defenders came in fast and strong. I dodged one instinctively and I heard the oohs and ahhs from the crowd as the American seemed to have a firm handle on this sport and I was proving it easily. Still the elusive third goal was not to come but I served up many threatening passes and corner kicks. Still I was a distraction to the other team allowing my team to fight to keep their lead despite 4 unanswered goals from them. Finally I dropped deep in the field and allowed my teammates to make runs which helped us finally raise our hands and heads in victory at the final whistle, 5-4.

Well this Saturday, we had another game. I again donned my tight red jersey and anticipated a similar exhibition of my talent. Let´s just say the shirt felt a bit tighter after 4 weeks between my first display of my flair and this embarrassing performance from the American. I scored nothing, I passed awfully and I was not a factor. This time some of my players from the team I coach even came to watch and got more of a laugh than anything else. What was intended to be a clinic for the boys to watch turned out to be something of a train wreck for me and my team. In the end, we lost 7-3. Well maybe next month I might have something more entertaining to talk about.

bringing a bad taste...

ok so if you read before, i was intending on bring a little bit of America to this area of Spain. The field was clear for a breezy and bright sunday afternoon and I was racing to make my date with the many kids promised to show up to the event....

One one showed up...

end of story.

bringing a little taste of America to Spain

Before I left for America, a friend of mine (funny I cannot remember his name but he is the father of one of Alex's teammates) asked me if I could bring back a football. Now not to confuse you, I mean an American football. You know, Peyton Manning signed kinda football. I am not talking about some soccer ball. So one of my first objectives, I think before seeing my own grandmother, was to go to a sporting goods store and pick up the old pigskin.

Not having spent much time in the football section of Sports Authority, I was not well versed in selecting the perfect football. The aisle seemed to glow a strange bright light as my eyes widened at the selection. I think I may have drooled a bit but I was not worried as the floor was carpeted and no worries of a "wet floor" sign being needed. I groped and felt over the coverings as my mind raced back to day of my youth. I remember playing "street football" on Breckinridge Court, perpendicular to my own cul-de-sac. Many days were spent plotting out the perfect stretch of road as we had to negotiate the frequency of passing and parked cars. I reveled in the memory of being one of the fastest of all the neighborhood kids, which did well by me as street ball was a game of speed, agility and catching abilities over brute force and tackling ability. Many times, in moments of desperation for the quick score, I could dust anyone on the block, as long as I had a decent quarterback. And if things got worse, I was the go to quarterback with the strong shoulder and precision passing. I could thread a needle with a football from 40 yards away. Broken were the fingers that decided not to catch the ball properly when I put a little funk on the pass. That meant when I had to put it on a dime to whoever called for the pass. Still I always thought those high paid woozy could learn a thing or two about playing with limited field width and the occasional avoidance of hitting a windshield.
Then my memories took me the not so good times. After a few years of playing high school soccer, I finally decided to try out for the Bethel High football squad. Figuring it could be a good way for me to gain some popularity points (and finally get Tara Gentry to notice me outside of copying my math homework). Well Coach Koz knew me to be a soccer player and took extra care as to watch me punt the ball. Now I can loft, bend, shoot, place and make a soccer ball jump up and do the "hootchie coochie" but kicking an elongated, egg shaped ball is a wee bit different. Sadly, he only gave me one shot and I had to do it on queue. Sadly, I never went back to finish tryouts. Quitters are 100% losers indeed. But I guess that confidence problem I had in high school was the reason why Tara looked right thru me and onto my homework paper.
After snapping out of my daze, I finally had to settle on a decision and it all came down to the most important factors. Which of these marvelous displays of gridiron goddesses ...was cheapest and of some decent quality. Who in Spain would know...really!!

So I made my way back to Spain, smuggling this sacrilegious contraband into the European Union. One the first day of practice, I brought the ball to my nameless friend. I asked him if he would not mind if I borrowed it because I had an idea. I decided to try to bring American football to the kids of Tossa de mar. Now Barcelona had a professional football team called the Barcelona Dragons so the concept is not exactly...and for lack of a better word...foreign. Still, I did say they "had" a football team, seems that like those little suction cup tipped arrows, they just didn´t stick.

So I put out the word. After getting with the "powers that be" about using our home field for a rousing game of "futbol americano" on Sunday at 3 pm, I put the word out for all those interested from my team and the next age group down, that if they wanted to come out and play, I will be here. It seems like a few will show up. They all flocked to me to take a look at the golden egg I brought back from the states, all begging like hungry newborn birds waiting for a parent to stuff a worm in their mouths. Far from the street football of my youth, there is no chance in hell I would play in these narrow streets which are wide enough for one car or some Roman chariot of yesteryear.

As I threw passes to each of the begging youths, I had to go easy on the little tykes as they were unfamiliar with how to catch the torpedoes I tried not to throw. But still, going easy on them is not going to make men out of them. I was less concerned the more I thought about it. So what if they soccer players broke a finger catching my Brett Farve type of passes? They are soccer players...they barely need their hands!!!

What do I think I will accomplish with this effort. Well this is part of my one year plan to leave some type of imprint on Tossa. More and more I think I am becoming accepted with my increase in language, customs and soccer. But most of all, the reason I am taking on this project is to step out of my comfort zone. Mind you I have to explain the rules in SPANISH!!!! From 4 downs to how to pass the ball. I found it comical how they had no idea how to throw the ball. From early on, most American males are taught how to throw a football, throw a curve ball or shoot a basketball. I was marveled in how they struggled to emulate my honed and deeply engraved skills I still possessed after not touching a football for at least 10 years. Still what did I expect as I think most kids here in Spain can make a soccer ball dance a jig from age 5? Still I think it will be interesting to see just how many boys show up for a pickup game of the pigskin. I think in some way that will show me the level of voice I have in the soccer club. Also, with my stepping out on a limb to try to explain the rules and make it work.

I will let you know how it goes...hopefully with pictures.