Thursday, June 21, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
GI Joe (1st one not safe for work)
GI Joe the cartoon used to run a 30 second PSA after every episode, warning its impressionable young audience of the potential pratfalls and hazards lurking behind each corner.
These are three parodies of the aforementioned PSA's that had me giggling like a little girl.
These are three parodies of the aforementioned PSA's that had me giggling like a little girl.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Not Safe For Work
Courtesey of B. Finn.
The Justice Leage dubbed with a scene from Coming to America. (again probably not safe for work)
The Justice Leage dubbed with a scene from Coming to America. (again probably not safe for work)
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Grunge Goes Green
I wrote this piece over a year ago as a fictitious news article. At the time I had just heard about a collection of "What If" stories that had been published (I don't remember the title), I had also been reading Philip Roth who had written an historical fiction of American history if Charles Lindberg had defeated FDR for the presidency. I had decided to take a lighter approach and hit it from a music angle,which was, what if Kurt Cobain hadn't committed suicide. This was supposed to be an exercise in a literary group that I was starting with two other local Irish fellows to bring together the disjointed English writer community in Valencia (it might be a myth). Things didn't quite pan out, as often things don't. It's been written, so I suppose it should be read. There are some random characters in here for you to test your 90's rock star knowledge.
*************************************************************************************
Grunge Goes Green
March 23, 2006
Seattle (AP) --- What ever became of Grunge? Its eleven year absence could have been described as a cooling period, but as of last Monday morning at the 9:00 bell of the NYSE it became official. Grunge is dead.
Grunge was born in Seattle sometime in the late 80’s and the rest of the world was introduced on a cold January night in 1992 when life was breathed into it via a sound stage on Saturday Night Live in New York City and fittingly it was put to rest in NYC as well by the very same man, former 90’s grunge pioneer Kurt Cobain. Cobain has since gone from the mouthpiece of disenfranchised youth, thriving on the pathos that life is misery, to corporate executive by taking his image makeover company Doll Parts, Inc public. Stocks are currently being sold at $68 per share making Doll Parts, Inc (DPTI) instantly worth millions.
Doll Parts began in 1995, in the wake of Nirvana’s last and most successful album to date, the concept double album Clement of Alexandria based on the teachings of the 2nd century moralist and ethicist. Immediately after its release the band inexplicably broke up. Upon seizing all rights and property of Nirvana Cobain began his first venture with the image makeover firm by co-producing the multi-platinum 1996 art rock masterpiece Saffron, reintroducing the 70’s musical super group REO Speedwagon back to the top of the musical charts.
Former Alice In Chains lead singer Layne Staley, and current Starbucks franchise owner of 8 stores around the Seattle area and 6 stores in Billings, Montana, said that he wasn’t at all surprised by Cobain’s move into the corporate world, “Kurt has always had that sixth sense for what to hold onto and when to let it go. Having that inherent perception is the key to success when buying, selling or marketing a product. I mean look at their album Nevermind, which turned the world up on its ears and then four years later to put out something like Clement, that was no accident. He knew what he was doing. People will forever be asking about the Nirvana reunion. No matter what he does from here on out, he will always have that to fall back on.”
Interviews with former music associates, partners and fans have turned up the same lack of surprise at Cobain’s newest business venture.
“He created a sense of hope in this town that anybody could be successful as long as you were true. I came here to be inspired and I was. Look at me now I have a full time job in the center of the coolest place on Earth. I have people that work for me and I have people that respect me. Kurt created this for me and for a lot of other people.” said Gavin Rossdale, night manager of Staley’s Westlake Ave store in downtown Seattle. (Editor’s note: Rossdale has since been deported back to his home country of England for unlawfully working while on an expired visa.)
Stone Gossard, guitarist for the sole remaining successful Grunge era band Pearl Jam, “It’s not enough to have invented the wheel, you’ve got to keep reinventing it in order to survive. Had we not finally parted ways with the record companies and began selling our music exclusively at shows and online, I know that we wouldn’t have lasted as we have. Kurt has always had a sense for that; he has always been able to read the pulse of what was going on around him. Look at what he did for REO Speedwagon. There you have a band that for all intents and purposes should have been dead in the water, but now nine years after he gets his hands on them you can’t turn around without hearing their songs or seeing them in some media format.”
Krist Noveslic, former Nirvana bass player and current United States Congressman for Washington State’s 1st District. “Kurt has created a marketing economy here that easily rivals the tech and software economy. Doll Parts has given a new face to old dogs such as General Electric, Ford Motor Company and Boeing. The jobs created from Ford and GE moving their bases of operations here alone has been tremendous. This doesn’t take into consideration the boost in economy that we have received from the relocation of the Twins from Minnesota and then for the Vikings to immediately follow suit. For the last three years both World Series baseball teams have been from Seattle and last year we saw the first ever Superbowl to be played not only by two teams from the same city, but to be coincidentally hosted in that very city. The energy here has been amazing and that was Kurt, he salvaged the Twins and Vikings, he convinced the public to replace KeyArena with Berthe Knight Landes Field.”
“I frankly don’t know what the hell Grunge is, so I’m certainly not going to say that Kurt killed it. If anything he dispelled the morose image of slacker whininess that somehow got pinned on us. Who’s your slacker now? The son of a bitch is responsible for the continued success of nearly every Fortune 500 west of the Mississippi.” said Dave Grohl, former Nirvana drummer and current front man/songwriter of the multi platinum and Grammy winning band The Foo Fighters.
Spokespeople from Doll Parts, Inc have said that the continued success of the former Nirvana members outside of the band has insured that there will not be a new album or reunion anytime soon.
“Dave has been very successful with The (Foo) Fighters and Krist has launched a successful, and we hope, a long political career. Neither of them is in a position to get back together with Nirvana, nor is either one of them being accused of killing grunge. Kurt is just doing what they are doing and is moving on, he is not responsible for the death of anything.” said Doll Parts stockholder Albert Jorgenson.
Cobain’s company which had initially started out in the music business has announced plans to establish a subsidiary company within the next year that will focus solely on managing the Nirvana catalog as well as recording and producing upcoming releases by REO Speedwagon, The Strokes and Fat, Gristly Beef.
*************************************************************************************
Grunge Goes Green
March 23, 2006
Seattle (AP) --- What ever became of Grunge? Its eleven year absence could have been described as a cooling period, but as of last Monday morning at the 9:00 bell of the NYSE it became official. Grunge is dead.
Grunge was born in Seattle sometime in the late 80’s and the rest of the world was introduced on a cold January night in 1992 when life was breathed into it via a sound stage on Saturday Night Live in New York City and fittingly it was put to rest in NYC as well by the very same man, former 90’s grunge pioneer Kurt Cobain. Cobain has since gone from the mouthpiece of disenfranchised youth, thriving on the pathos that life is misery, to corporate executive by taking his image makeover company Doll Parts, Inc public. Stocks are currently being sold at $68 per share making Doll Parts, Inc (DPTI) instantly worth millions.
Doll Parts began in 1995, in the wake of Nirvana’s last and most successful album to date, the concept double album Clement of Alexandria based on the teachings of the 2nd century moralist and ethicist. Immediately after its release the band inexplicably broke up. Upon seizing all rights and property of Nirvana Cobain began his first venture with the image makeover firm by co-producing the multi-platinum 1996 art rock masterpiece Saffron, reintroducing the 70’s musical super group REO Speedwagon back to the top of the musical charts.
Former Alice In Chains lead singer Layne Staley, and current Starbucks franchise owner of 8 stores around the Seattle area and 6 stores in Billings, Montana, said that he wasn’t at all surprised by Cobain’s move into the corporate world, “Kurt has always had that sixth sense for what to hold onto and when to let it go. Having that inherent perception is the key to success when buying, selling or marketing a product. I mean look at their album Nevermind, which turned the world up on its ears and then four years later to put out something like Clement, that was no accident. He knew what he was doing. People will forever be asking about the Nirvana reunion. No matter what he does from here on out, he will always have that to fall back on.”
Interviews with former music associates, partners and fans have turned up the same lack of surprise at Cobain’s newest business venture.
“He created a sense of hope in this town that anybody could be successful as long as you were true. I came here to be inspired and I was. Look at me now I have a full time job in the center of the coolest place on Earth. I have people that work for me and I have people that respect me. Kurt created this for me and for a lot of other people.” said Gavin Rossdale, night manager of Staley’s Westlake Ave store in downtown Seattle. (Editor’s note: Rossdale has since been deported back to his home country of England for unlawfully working while on an expired visa.)
Stone Gossard, guitarist for the sole remaining successful Grunge era band Pearl Jam, “It’s not enough to have invented the wheel, you’ve got to keep reinventing it in order to survive. Had we not finally parted ways with the record companies and began selling our music exclusively at shows and online, I know that we wouldn’t have lasted as we have. Kurt has always had a sense for that; he has always been able to read the pulse of what was going on around him. Look at what he did for REO Speedwagon. There you have a band that for all intents and purposes should have been dead in the water, but now nine years after he gets his hands on them you can’t turn around without hearing their songs or seeing them in some media format.”
Krist Noveslic, former Nirvana bass player and current United States Congressman for Washington State’s 1st District. “Kurt has created a marketing economy here that easily rivals the tech and software economy. Doll Parts has given a new face to old dogs such as General Electric, Ford Motor Company and Boeing. The jobs created from Ford and GE moving their bases of operations here alone has been tremendous. This doesn’t take into consideration the boost in economy that we have received from the relocation of the Twins from Minnesota and then for the Vikings to immediately follow suit. For the last three years both World Series baseball teams have been from Seattle and last year we saw the first ever Superbowl to be played not only by two teams from the same city, but to be coincidentally hosted in that very city. The energy here has been amazing and that was Kurt, he salvaged the Twins and Vikings, he convinced the public to replace KeyArena with Berthe Knight Landes Field.”
“I frankly don’t know what the hell Grunge is, so I’m certainly not going to say that Kurt killed it. If anything he dispelled the morose image of slacker whininess that somehow got pinned on us. Who’s your slacker now? The son of a bitch is responsible for the continued success of nearly every Fortune 500 west of the Mississippi.” said Dave Grohl, former Nirvana drummer and current front man/songwriter of the multi platinum and Grammy winning band The Foo Fighters.
Spokespeople from Doll Parts, Inc have said that the continued success of the former Nirvana members outside of the band has insured that there will not be a new album or reunion anytime soon.
“Dave has been very successful with The (Foo) Fighters and Krist has launched a successful, and we hope, a long political career. Neither of them is in a position to get back together with Nirvana, nor is either one of them being accused of killing grunge. Kurt is just doing what they are doing and is moving on, he is not responsible for the death of anything.” said Doll Parts stockholder Albert Jorgenson.
Cobain’s company which had initially started out in the music business has announced plans to establish a subsidiary company within the next year that will focus solely on managing the Nirvana catalog as well as recording and producing upcoming releases by REO Speedwagon, The Strokes and Fat, Gristly Beef.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Why Jogging Is Stupid (Part 3: Jogging...and kickboxing and oreo cookies and two old guys who talk in front of my building)
So now I jog. I’m not a jogger per se. Calling myself a jogger would suggest I take it seriously. I don’t know if I take anything seriously enough that I am capable of using a verb to describe myself. In terms of jogging I can quit at any given moment and let’s be realistic, I probably will. (I am a bit of a quitter, which totally discounts my previous statement.) I jog purely for aesthetic purposes. Essentially I jog to stay pretty.
Somewhere along the way I went from the tall, lanky, deathly skinny kid to the tall, lanky kid with the beer belly. It was a style that wasn’t working for me. I had picked up a pretty steady smoking habit somewhere between humiliating myself in the sports arena and waking up in the mornings at the age of 24 and hacking like an old man. I separated myself from cigarettes (one area where I wasn’t a good quitter) by the substitution of Oreo cookies. Whenever I had a craving for a cigarette I would grab a handful of cookies. For the most part it worked, my lungs were getting so healthy that my pants stopped fitting me. I humored my new space consuming lungs for a while and bought new pants and baggy shirts. It was all breathing room for my new lungs.
When I could no longer deny the fact that I was getting fat, I joined a gym. I became a “gym guy”. I tried kickboxing classes. I remember standing around with all of these guys and their greased back ponytails. They were a crossbreed between the Dungeons and Dragons types that were into that role-playing-dragon-fighting nonsense and the hardcore ninja types that have Bruce Lee posters on their dorm room doors. I remember having to partner up for punching and kicking routines. I picked one of the little Dungeon and Dragon elf fellas. He was a little guy with greased back blonde hair, sans the ponytail. He struck me as one of those that was destined to meet his future wife in some on-line fantasy video game.
He introduced himself and seemed friendly enough. I think his name was GorgonBlaster_16, or something along those lines. Gorgon took up the punching bag mitts first in order to properly illustrate where and how the targets were to be held. I started throwing hands like a champ. I was crossing around punching my left into his right and then sending my left into his left. I was keeping him on his toes, letting him know what was going on. He smiled very politely at me throughout the whole ordeal. At one point I began to hear these horrifying wheezing noises. I began to feel sorry for the lad, I sympathized with his fearful hyper ventilation at the raw brutality that was raining down on his padded little hands. It wasn’t until tunnel vision began to set in and my legs and arms began to go wobbly, that I realized I was the one making all the damn noise. Shortly after realization set in, I did something that I’m not proud of and I’m not entirely sure it had ever been accomplished before, but I managed to KO myself. I had been the one throwing all the punches and yet somehow there I was, flat on my back. Amidst the disembodied questions floating around such as, “Dude, did you hit him?”, “What happened?”, and “I didn’t touch him he was the one doing all of the punching.” I quit kickboxing.
On my way out the door I noticed the folks jiggling about on the treadmills. They were all wearing headphones and either listening to music or watching television. I looked beyond them to the sea of stationary bicycles, where people were pedaling like mad to get nowhere in particular. Some of them were reading magazines. I’ll be damned, I could read and exercise. But, after a while my gym-phobia set in and I quit that too.
In the end I was able to keep up consistent cardio workouts, either by jogging outside or just simply walking everywhere I went, especially after moving to Spain where I don’t have a car. The other thing that seemed to have helped was that here you can’t buy Oreo Cookies in those big bags, they give you little rationed packages of four. Apparently, they saw me coming.
So, why is jogging stupid? It occurred to me one day when I went out for a run and two old men were outside my building having a conversation. I got out there in my little shorts, my t-shirt, my sneakers with the little sports socks poking out over the top and I started to run in no particular direction. When I got to my non-destination I turned around to go home. On the way home I got to the train tracks and had to wait for a passing train. I stood in one place doing that ridiculous little running in place motion that I learned from Scooby-Doo cartoons. I watched the people watching me as the train went by and I found myself wondering what they were thinking. The train was going pretty fast, so maybe they didn’t realize that I was running in place and thought that I was running smack into the train. I imagined them trying to press their faces against the windows as they passed to see if I was really stupid enough to run smack into a speeding train. I became self-conscious and I stopped running in place and just stood there watching the train go by as I deeply gulped in its exhaust desperately searching for oxygen.
After the train passed, I had become comfortable in my sedentary motion and slowly trudged across the tracks. Feeling guilty I tried to find my rhythm, but it was gone. I did sort of a run for a bit, walk for a bit thing the rest of the way home. When I finally made it back the two old men were still in their conversation. Twenty-five minutes ago they watched me come out and dash off in one direction, now they watched as I dragged myself back to the door soaking wet and gasping for air. They stopped long enough to enjoy the spectacle. I had managed to end up exactly where I had started. I didn’t really go anywhere. Essentially I just ran home, but considering I was already there I took the really long way to do it and I had witnesses to this insanity.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
The Spongemonkeys - "We Like the Moon"
Part 3 of my epic trilogy will be available soon (after I get done grading all of these damn essay that I keep assigning). In the meantime enjoy this classic from The Spongemonkeys.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Why Jogging is Stupid (Part 2: Organized Sports)
I am not a team player. I’m not a team player necessarily because I’m a glory hound. I’m not a team player because more often than not, the team would rather not have me as a player. I don’t think it was part of the natural order of things for someone to be as athletically uncoordinated as I am. I can shoot a basketball with the best of them, I just can’t actually get it to go through the hoop. I’m a champion bat swinger, unless I’ve actually got to hit something and as far as catching a pop fly, I will root myself down underneath the shadow of that son of a bitch and it will bounce off my glove. The ball can be falling down on me in slow motion and I will still manage to close my glove moments before it lands. I wasn’t bad at playing football if you discount my magical fumbling techniques. Croquet pisses me off, ping pong wouldn’t be so bad if the damn ball would just stay on the table, golf is dumb regardless of how many watermills and clown heads you give me to hit through.
I was pretty good at volleyball, I had a wicked serve, but boys aren’t supposed to be good at volleyball so I had gender issues about that one. Not to mention here in Spain it is legal to volley with your feet. What in the hell is it with this country and kicking shit? The other day I was standing on the street corner reading while waiting for my bus and a group of 15 year olds came and started kicking me around back and forth between themselves. It wasn’t until I spoke up that the part of the brain that involuntary makes their legs swat anything not bolted down relaxed and they set me up right again putting me back where they had found me.
I don’t enjoy soccer. I have tried and I will continue to try for the time that I am living here. I don’t like the fact that I can turn around to ask the bartender for another beer and have missed the only interesting thing that will happen in the whole 90 minutes. Soccer is huge amongst Spaniards and I think it is even bigger in the British expat scene.
Here’s a riddle for you:
Q = What did the American say to the group of British guys at the pub?
A = He didn’t say shit because he knows fuck-all about soccer.
It’s not a very good riddle, it’s sort of a work in progress.
I do know an American who can bullshit about soccer. I’ve heard him, he can go on for a while before they find him out and beat on him for being a “wanker”. The Canadian expat scene seems to be open-minded towards soccer, but in the end it’s all about hockey. I’m okay with hockey for the reason that those bastards can take a punch. For as masculine a sport that soccer pretends they spend an awful lot of time rolling around on the field holding onto various parts of themselves. I think I’ve even see some of them cry. They then usually run to a referee who immediately reprimands the “bad player” by showing him some red and yellow construction paper. This is apparently to remind the player not only will he have to sit down from the game, but he won’t be allowed to partake in arts and crafts after the match. In hockey when someone wrongs another player, it’s going to result in an ass-whoopin. Nobody runs to the referee, he just shows up because everyone knows it’s not easy to scrub blood out of ice. The offending hockey player is then thrown in a glass encircled cage until his lust for blood has calmed and he is deemed worthy of re-entering society, but nobody cries.
The one European sport I enjoy is rugby. There’s no rolling around here. If a rugby player were to start pulling that melodramatic nonsense, the referee would run over and start kicking him too. These guys can take a hit, they’ll walk off the field with someone else’s teeth in their mouth.
Valencia has a sport that is specific to the region. It’s called pilota valenciana. This sport involves two teams of two hitting a ball against a wall. It functions similar to handball in that sense. I don’t know what the ball is made of, but it is smaller and harder. The players have to wear special gloves so as not to mangle their “thwacking hands”. The interesting thing about this sport though, is that the players appear to be safer than the audience. The players are at least armed with some sort of protective device, the spectators however, not so much. The audience is seated all along three sides of the court. They are seated along the left hand side, which is probably fairly safe, except for a few stray shots that wander off into their direction. They are also seated behind the players, this can get hairy because the ricochet or a missed ball goes firing into their lot. It’s the unmentioned third group that has me concerned. This group is sitting above the wall that the players are smacking the ball at. The two other groups of spectators are at risk of a sound thumping, but from a ball traveling at a diminished momentum (albeit still pretty damn fast). This group above the wall however, they’re looking at a direct shot from the ball at its maximum velocity. I have not attended one of these in person, so I can’t say for sure, but I’m curious to know how one ends up in these seats. Are the “flincher” seats the same price as the others? Do they have their own versions of the gloves that they bring with them to the matches like fans at a baseball game?
I believe that the root of my cynicism towards organized sports comes from the clichéd excuse of always being picked last in gym class. The teams would generally flip a coin between me and the girl that had to wear the corrective back brace. In an attempt to retain my dignity I would often try to cheer up my reluctant team members by reminding them that when I fell down I didn’t need someone else to roll me over off my back. This last attempt at dignity was generally shredded as she was coming down from her 10th rebound and I was still trying to figure out which hoop I was supposed to be running towards.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Why Jogging is Stupid (Part 1: The Gym)
I’ve started jogging again; we’ll see how long it lasts. I do this every now and then, I get on a fitness kick and pay attention to the calories I’m eating and go to bed with visions of my dancing biceps and monster abs. In reality I don’t have the patience for dancing biceps, monster abs, rock hard gluts or any of that extreme anatomy nonsense. Essentially I just want to continue my beer drinking, ice cream and pizza eating lifestyle and not have it reflect physically. In order for me to do that I have to either: join a gym, play some sort of organized sport or jog.
I joined a gym last year. This gym had a special fitness instructor that would personally design the workout plan best suited to your body type and your desired end results. The gym was air-conditioned (always a plus when exerting yourself during the Spanish summer), they had a free juice machine, free video rental, and foxy Spanish ladies working at the front desk. I was sold. I signed the dotted lines and tried to understand Miguel Angel, my personal trainer, who knowledgeable of my foreign lifestyle tried to explain things to me through a series of grunts and gestures and didn’t understand that I came from across the Atlantic and not the Middle Paleolithic. It didn’t matter, after a few demonstrations of how to plant corn, start a fire and the brief introduction to the wheel I was off and going. My workout started with a run on the treadmill. I enjoyed the treadmill, I enjoyed the fact that I could watch television and it was still considered working out. I enjoyed stepping off the treadmill and onto the sides and making it go really fast while I looked on wondering what would happen if I stepped back on it at that moment. I never did. But I did do several faceplants as my flailing arms would occasionally catch the emergency kill cord bringing everything to a confusing and starling halt. From the treadmill I would move on to my assigned workouts at each assigned machine.
Regardless of the explanation given me by my silverback instructor, he was of no use to me anymore. He had pretty Spanish receptionists to be flirting with. His job description was to give me a quick once over and apparently we were done. I can’t help but imagine that he had to have seen me over there, if not only out of the corner of his eye, snapping my tibia from my femur while trying to wrap it around the big padded dealie. I know he saw me sprawled upside down while attempting to achieve my pull up on the machine with all of the chains and ropes (whatever happened to the bar bolted to the wall, I could figure that out). At no point did he even express interest in helping. It finally took a 78 year old lady in her track suit to explain to me that I was supposed to be sitting down and facing the machine as opposed to my impressive feat of having thrown one leg over the top of the machine while having wrapped my other leg around the column of weight plates.
After a while I noticed that everyone had been given the same weight plan. I noticed this as 8 of us stood in line to use one machine while the others remained untouched. I had time to look at their training plan cards. None of these people looked anything like me, one was fat, one was old, one was already in good shape and it had dawned on me that that 78 year lady had been trailing me pretty closely as well. I was beginning to think that our trainer Miguel Angel wasn’t really giving his all to his chosen profession, especially considering that by this point he had stepped outside for a smoke with the foxy receptionist.
It didn’t take me long to remember that I don’t like gyms. This was the fourth gym that I had graced with my presence and it had all immediately come back to me as to why I had left the others. I don’t have the patience and I don’t really like gym people. By gym people I mean people who go to gyms, people who work in them and even people that walk by gyms on their way from somewhere to somewhere else. It seems harsh, but by proximity they’re gym people too. They have a discipline that I will never have and in all fairness that is reason enough for me to not like them.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
May 2007 - Book Read
Books Read
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll
As I Lay Dying – William Faulkner
The Chocolate War – Robert Cormier
Their Eyes Were Watching God – Zora Neale Hurston
City of Glass (part 1 of New York Trilogy) – Paul Auster
Ghosts (Part 2 of New York Trilogy) – Paul Auster
The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil – George Saunders
I went through literary burnout at the beginning of the month. I read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland which I had never read before. In all honesty I hadn’t enjoyed it as much as I thought I would. The book that I was reading also had Through the Looking Glass within the same binding. My intentions were to read both, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had started reading Looking Glass and found that I was coming up with other things to do to get away from reading it. Considering that most of my reading time is in the mornings while waiting for and riding the bus, as well as riding the buses and metro in the afternoons, my other option was to play solitaire on my cell phone. That was a good inclination that it was time to put Lewis Carroll away.
I had tried to read The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner two summers ago. I was too easily distracted by other things that were going on, so I had to set it down. I haven’t yet picked it back up, but I will eventually. Instead I went for As I Lay Dying. I liked the idea behind the novel, it is about a woman who dies in the first few chapters. She is to be buried in family plot in a different town. The progress of the story is narrated through the perspective of different characters who are carting her over to the burial plot amidst the only bridge being washed out by a flood and the inevitable rotting of the corpse. The body herself even makes an appearance or two to let us know what is going on. I didn’t do this book the justice that it needed. From what I can figure Faulkner books need to be written in. I needed to make notes to keep characters straight as well as subtle characterization clues that were thrown in. However, being a library book and riding while reading with some 20 odd screaming teenagers and toddlers didn’t serve this book in the way that it deserved. I should probably toss this one onto the re-read pile.
I am trying to catch up on my young adolescent reading. I’ll be teaching 7th grade again next year and I’ve got plans for them to do quite a bit of reading beyond the specific assigned texts. I’ve found that the best way to battle the resistance and complaints is to have prepared a handful of books to recommend. Regardless of whether I’m in Spain or the States, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series is always a safe bet, with boys especially (Nat turned me on to the series when I was in sixth grade). This book The Chocolate War did a good job of not being predictable like most other young adolescent books are. The ending of this book might be one of the more bad-ass endings I’ve read. The main character gets his ass handed to him in a fight. He is beat senseless. Yet, there is no retribution or forgiveness, the main character doesn’t fight back or win, he essentially lays there bloody and knocked out as the book ends and that’s it. Seriously, that’s bad ass.
Their Eyes Were Watching God saved me from my burnout. This was a fantastic book that I couldn’t put down. This was one of those where I found myself turning in early so that I could read it before falling asleep. The story is told through flashback as a character is telling the story of her absence upon returning to her hometown. She tells her story in three main parts that coincides with the three men in her life.
I like Paul Auster, but I’m finding that I like his later books over his earlier works. I really like Brooklyn Follies and Oracle Night. Leviathan was alright and I had a hard time staying focused on City of Glass, Ghosts was better. City of Glass and Ghosts are parts 1 and 2 of the New York Trilogy. Eventually I’ll go back and read The Locked Room (part 3), but more out of obligation to finishing the trilogy than out of interest.
The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil was another fantastic book. It is only 130 pages and I finished it in an afternoon. The narration is satirical, innocent and almost child-like. The story focuses on a fictitious nation of robots and assorted aliens who see Phil, the local bartender’s, rapid tyrannical rise to power and genocide of a neighboring nation which eventually ends in a mass smiting. I don’t suppose the story in and of itself is innocent or child-like, but that’s where the satire comes in. If that doesn't do it for you then you should at least pick it up and look at the pictures.
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll
As I Lay Dying – William Faulkner
The Chocolate War – Robert Cormier
Their Eyes Were Watching God – Zora Neale Hurston
City of Glass (part 1 of New York Trilogy) – Paul Auster
Ghosts (Part 2 of New York Trilogy) – Paul Auster
The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil – George Saunders
I went through literary burnout at the beginning of the month. I read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland which I had never read before. In all honesty I hadn’t enjoyed it as much as I thought I would. The book that I was reading also had Through the Looking Glass within the same binding. My intentions were to read both, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had started reading Looking Glass and found that I was coming up with other things to do to get away from reading it. Considering that most of my reading time is in the mornings while waiting for and riding the bus, as well as riding the buses and metro in the afternoons, my other option was to play solitaire on my cell phone. That was a good inclination that it was time to put Lewis Carroll away.
I had tried to read The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner two summers ago. I was too easily distracted by other things that were going on, so I had to set it down. I haven’t yet picked it back up, but I will eventually. Instead I went for As I Lay Dying. I liked the idea behind the novel, it is about a woman who dies in the first few chapters. She is to be buried in family plot in a different town. The progress of the story is narrated through the perspective of different characters who are carting her over to the burial plot amidst the only bridge being washed out by a flood and the inevitable rotting of the corpse. The body herself even makes an appearance or two to let us know what is going on. I didn’t do this book the justice that it needed. From what I can figure Faulkner books need to be written in. I needed to make notes to keep characters straight as well as subtle characterization clues that were thrown in. However, being a library book and riding while reading with some 20 odd screaming teenagers and toddlers didn’t serve this book in the way that it deserved. I should probably toss this one onto the re-read pile.
I am trying to catch up on my young adolescent reading. I’ll be teaching 7th grade again next year and I’ve got plans for them to do quite a bit of reading beyond the specific assigned texts. I’ve found that the best way to battle the resistance and complaints is to have prepared a handful of books to recommend. Regardless of whether I’m in Spain or the States, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series is always a safe bet, with boys especially (Nat turned me on to the series when I was in sixth grade). This book The Chocolate War did a good job of not being predictable like most other young adolescent books are. The ending of this book might be one of the more bad-ass endings I’ve read. The main character gets his ass handed to him in a fight. He is beat senseless. Yet, there is no retribution or forgiveness, the main character doesn’t fight back or win, he essentially lays there bloody and knocked out as the book ends and that’s it. Seriously, that’s bad ass.
Their Eyes Were Watching God saved me from my burnout. This was a fantastic book that I couldn’t put down. This was one of those where I found myself turning in early so that I could read it before falling asleep. The story is told through flashback as a character is telling the story of her absence upon returning to her hometown. She tells her story in three main parts that coincides with the three men in her life.
I like Paul Auster, but I’m finding that I like his later books over his earlier works. I really like Brooklyn Follies and Oracle Night. Leviathan was alright and I had a hard time staying focused on City of Glass, Ghosts was better. City of Glass and Ghosts are parts 1 and 2 of the New York Trilogy. Eventually I’ll go back and read The Locked Room (part 3), but more out of obligation to finishing the trilogy than out of interest.
The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil was another fantastic book. It is only 130 pages and I finished it in an afternoon. The narration is satirical, innocent and almost child-like. The story focuses on a fictitious nation of robots and assorted aliens who see Phil, the local bartender’s, rapid tyrannical rise to power and genocide of a neighboring nation which eventually ends in a mass smiting. I don’t suppose the story in and of itself is innocent or child-like, but that’s where the satire comes in. If that doesn't do it for you then you should at least pick it up and look at the pictures.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Friday, June 01, 2007
Tarta de Palomitas Dulces
http://www.geocities.com/endymion87/33936691.JPG
Cazuela preferiblemente alta. Cuchara de Madera y un vaso. Carton redando con orificio en el centro. Un vaso lleno de palomitas, un vaso de azucar, medio vaso de aceite y ralladura de limon.
Echar todos los ingredientes en una cazuela al fuego vivo tapandola con un carton al que se le hara un orificio en el centro metiendo a traves de el una cuchara de madera ya que hay que estar moviendo continuamente las palomita. (sobretodo cuando empiezan a abrirse) teniendo cuidado de que el azucar no se queme por estar todo demasiado tiempo al fuego, ya que si no sabria amargo.
Cuando las palomitas han abierto se vuelcan sobre un recipiente redondo, y se aprietan con fuerza para darles forma, actuando el azucar quemado como pegamento entre ellas.
Una vez frias, se vuelcan sobre un plato quedandose la forma del recipiente seleccionado.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Confessions of a Reformed Serial Blogger
When I had started this blog I had nothing to say. More than anything I was curious as to what I could do with it and what I would do with it. I began by posting pictures and brief synopsis of my life in Spain. However, within a few months my life here had gone from noteworthy to normal. When I had first moved here everything was worth noting and sharing with other people, as time went on these things either stopped happening to me or have since gone unnoticed. My guess is that they have been going unnoticed. In no way am I suggesting that Spain has become boring or that I have somehow figured it all out, but with time my attention has been drawn to other things. I suppose it is all a part of the acclimation process.
As I progressed with the blog I realized that as much as I had wanted to share my experiences with people, I wanted to know what was going on stateside as well. After every posting I would constantly check back to see if there were any replies. I needed to know that someone was reading what I was posting and I wanted the communication of such. I had signed up for a counter service several months back. Every week they would send me a log of how many people were checking my blog. From November to January things were rockin’. Shortly before Christmas I had gotten 100 hits in one week. I didn’t know who was checking my blog (might have only been one or two people), but I had an audience nonetheless and it was time to let my voice be heard.
But, I still had nothing to say. So I began writing less and less. I didn’t want to bore my (two-man?) fanbase with nonsense, so I decided if I couldn’t give them quality then I wouldn’t give them anything. By February the numbers had dropped down to zero hits per week. I tried to kick start it in March with my Fallas entries and I saw a bit of a boost as a result (15 hits that week). The Fallas entries provided a bit of unfulfilled disappointment on my behalf. I had been determined to somehow summarize the experience in words and pictures. I wanted to capture the feeling, the moment and the energy, but I felt as if it all fell flat.
As it stands I still have nothing to say, but now there is less pressure because you’ve all gone. I can’t say that I blame you, considering I left as well. I couldn’t be sure if anyone really cared about what books I was reading or what music I was listening to. I’ve come to realize though, that in a way I was doing it all for me. It is an interactive opportunity for my to post my writing, which all I really wanted in the first place was somewhere to hang my words. I’m not comfortable putting my stories up here, if you’ll look to your right you will find a friend of mine who does just that and he does it well. He gets the feedback that he is looking for and he has developed an audience. Maybe someday I’ll do that as well, but for now I’ll just continue putting words together as they come to me so that I can go back through the archives later and reflect on which words came to me on which dates.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
Vader Sessions (Best of Edit)
For the last week or so I've been bouncing back here trying to think of something to post. I still can't think of anything, so enjoy this.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Sweep the Leg Johnny
Last night I watched The Karate Kid for the first time in years. At first I was just glancing at it while grading essays. After a little bit came the moment where Mr. Miyagi saves Daniel from a skeleton style ass whipping (shown in the opening of this video). I was hooked and it didn't matter that I was watching it in Spanish.
This video was directed by William Zebka (Johnny) and he gathered the original cast to reprise their character roles some 20 years later. While Johnny is trying to gather his glory days the rest of the guys are in a trailer saying their dialogue to the move. I thought it was kind of funny and should be shared.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
La Crema in Plaza de la Merced March 19, 2007
This was filmed by Enrico. It's about 10 minutes long, but he captures it all in that 10 minutes. The signal of la crema is the brief fireworks display to call everyone to the falla. After the fireworks they set off the traca (string of firecrackers)the traca (with the help of strategically placed bags of kerosene) ignites the falla.
You can see the firemen spraying down the buildings and anything else nearby that is not supposed to burn.
You'll also notice the anticipation before the big pieces fall. Plummeting balls of inferno always get a big reaction here.
You can see the firemen spraying down the buildings and anything else nearby that is not supposed to burn.
You'll also notice the anticipation before the big pieces fall. Plummeting balls of inferno always get a big reaction here.
Mascleta - Valencia, 2007
From March 1 to March 15 the Plaza Ayuntamiento plays host to the Mascleta.
The video camera's microphone doesn't pick up the sound or the vibrations to do it proper justice, but you get the idea.
In the end you'll notice as everyone rushes the pyrotechnician to congratulate him.
The video camera's microphone doesn't pick up the sound or the vibrations to do it proper justice, but you get the idea.
In the end you'll notice as everyone rushes the pyrotechnician to congratulate him.
Diary of an Honorary Fallero (self proclaimed) [abridged]
Part II
Sunday March 18, 2007
The one thing that can be said about Las Fallas, is that while they appear all inclusive, they’re really not. Fallas is a celebration for and by the falleros and falleras who make up fallereiens. These are groups of falleros from the same neighborhood or street that make up a sort of fallero gang. Many of the falleros are born into fallereien, but through marriages and conflicts they can split up and join with other groups. Traditionally falleros are members of the same groups as their parents, grandparents etc. These groups work all year long to get the money to pay for the Falla sculptures which can cost from 10’s of thousands of euros to 100’s of thousands of euros depending on how much money is raised. Now keep in mind they are also paying for their clothing, which for the women can cost hundreds to thousands of euros a piece. The clothing needs to be available for at least 15 days intermittently and 5 days straight, so they are looking at about 3 outfits per fallero y fallera. One way that they have discovered to making some of this money (outside assorted fundraisers, donations and as of recently corporate sponsorship) is to host verbenas or casals. These are parties hosted by each fallereien in honor of themselves and their work over the last year. Verbenas are giant street parties held outside with either a live band or a DJ. Casals are similar functions, but held within a garage or the falla base of operations (big reception type places). They make their money from these by setting up a bar and charging for drinks. Anyone and everyone is invited to the parties, but you’ll be buying your own drinks and they’re not cheap, unless you are invited.
We were invited to two verbenas in Carcaixent, one invitation from good friends in the Canovas group and the other from the St. Jaume 1er (St. James 1st). The Canovas verbena was huge and took up an entire city block. The live band of about 9 was rocking their thing pretty fierce. They played a mix of traditional Spanish and Valencian music, classic Spanish tunes from the 50’s and 60’s as well as contemporary jams. One of the four singers spoke English, so they got in some English tunes as well. The four singers, while maybe seemed like overkill, as it turned out were necessary. When one of these groups is hired to play a verbena, they are expected to perform from midnight until 4 in the morning every night from March 15 to March 19, that’s a hell of a set list and a hell of strain on a person’s voice. I’ve also been told that these guys make good money during this time (a career move I hadn’t before considered).
The party was kicking as old and young alike were partaking. The real little ones were dancing away in the hands of their mothers and fathers. The 5-12 year olds were away from the crowd blowing shit up. The early teenage girls were sulking in gender specific circles while secretly eyeballing the early teenage boys who were laughing hysterically every time one of them threw a firecracker in the vicinity of the girls. Those in the late teens to not quite retirement age were out on the dance floor (street) with drinks in hand and tearing it up. The post-retirees were either scolding their great-grandchildren for being pansies and not holding the firecracker longer before throwing it or scolding their grandchildren for being pansies and not getting that firecracker into the circle of girls and shaking things up a bit (On several occasions I have actually seen old ladies teaching young 5-10 years olds how to light and throw firecrackers…the bit about the taunting I just made up).
After the Canovas verbena we made our way to the St. Jaume verbena. This party was slightly more subdued than the other. The Canovas group had recently been awarded 1st place for their falla in the competition and was partying off their elation. The St. Jaume group didn’t seem terribly thrilled with the outcome of their falla sculpture, but they saw fit to proceed with the celebration. Where the Canovas crowd’s party was situated just off the main street, the St. Jaume verbena was tucked back a few blocks from the main plaza. Where the Canovas verbena had all ages involved, St. Jaume’s verbena was split by a Joven Casal nearby (young people’s casal…essentially an abandoned auto garage that was hosting a rave…well a Carcaixent rave anyway). The Canovas verbena had a tight live band that was giving everything they had to offer and the St. Jaume verbena had an early 30 something duo rocking out tunes on electronic drums and synthesizers (this isn’t to say that the St. Jaume wasn’t making the most of what they had available with their insistence that the well-endowed young blonde female portion of the duo, “unleash the beasts”. She never obliged, but seemed genuinely flattered by the persistent requests and did slip off her coat to prove it). By the end of the night however, St. Jaume did have one thing that Canovas did not…me. I was given a pin and named an honorary member (self-proclaimed) of the Fallareien Jaume 1er de Carcaixent. The pin says that exactly (except for the self-proclaimed bit) along the outside and on the inside is a blue sky with a gold dragon. Beneath the dragon is the shield and quiver of Carcaixent (the town’s symbol, Carcaixent literally means people of the quiver…quiver being the little pack that bow and arrow hunters would hold their arrows in…they were hunters apparently…or just fond of little packs that hold arrows in them. It was a long time ago). Surrounding the shield is fire or the “Honorary Fallero (self-proclaimed) Bad-Ass Rockin’ Flames of Hell” as I have lovingly dubbed it.
Monday March 19, 2007
Today is “La Nit de Foc” which translates from Valencian to “The Night of Fire”. Each pueblo or town usually has several fallas on display around town. On the night of March 19 starting usually between midnight and 12:30 they start burning them down (la crema) one by one in descending order of rank. It works out so that the 1st prize is the last one to burn. In order to signify which falla is burning and when, they are signaled by a 20 minute firework display. In smaller towns such as Carcaixent or Benimamet this 20 minutes gives you the time you need to start hoofing across town from falla to falla. In Benimamet where we are surrounded by Valencia, Paterna and Burjossot it is absolutely insane as I counted 9 fireworks displays going off at the same time in different parts of the night sky (Valencia being a bigger city and impossible to see them all so they do it by city sections). Each falla is made to burn and it is made to burn fast, so there are generally 20 – 30 minute intervals between each colorful explosion to where you can see giant balls of fire and smoke consuming various parts of each city to the faint or blaring (depending on where you are located) sounds of traditional Valencian anthems, until it dies down and 7-8 more fireworks displays ignite in different parts of the sky.
Benimamet’s crema will last an hour and a half or so, while Carcaixent’s will likely go until 3 in the morning. From Benimamet we don’t actually get to see the big fallas from the city burn, but we have the advantage of being up on our roof (which overlooks the horizon of Valencia to our east and the aforementioned cities on our north, west and south). There is one falla about a block behind our house. It has taken last place for the last two years (last year’s was an homage to Jules Verne and this year was an homage to the aging baby boomers). The beauty of this is that we can go down and watch it burn. When it burns down we can go up to our roof and watch everything else go simultaneously.
I have been trying to come up with how to describe Las Fallas since seeing it for the first time last year. I took loads of pictures only to be disappointed at how little they captured. The depth, the noise, the atmosphere, the colors, the smells…none of it was there. The notion of being so close to a fireworks display that you can smell the sulfur long after it’s over; The idea of being dwarfed by a night of fire and being able to see your shadow as it is snatched from roof top to roof top as the world erupts around you in celebration; None of these things can be captured with my little PowerShot digital camera. When having a few drinks with a Canadian couple on Thursday who were visiting Valencia for fallas (two of the 1,000,000) someone had asked them how they would describe this to their friends and family back home. His response was, “I’m not. I’m just going to tell them they have to see it for themselves.” I’ve been thinking a lot about that as I have been taking notes and writing all of this down. No matter how descriptive or eloquently I can try to put it, in reality I can’t. You’ll just have to be one of 1,000,000 next year and feel free to look me up, I’ve got an extra bed.
Sunday March 18, 2007
The one thing that can be said about Las Fallas, is that while they appear all inclusive, they’re really not. Fallas is a celebration for and by the falleros and falleras who make up fallereiens. These are groups of falleros from the same neighborhood or street that make up a sort of fallero gang. Many of the falleros are born into fallereien, but through marriages and conflicts they can split up and join with other groups. Traditionally falleros are members of the same groups as their parents, grandparents etc. These groups work all year long to get the money to pay for the Falla sculptures which can cost from 10’s of thousands of euros to 100’s of thousands of euros depending on how much money is raised. Now keep in mind they are also paying for their clothing, which for the women can cost hundreds to thousands of euros a piece. The clothing needs to be available for at least 15 days intermittently and 5 days straight, so they are looking at about 3 outfits per fallero y fallera. One way that they have discovered to making some of this money (outside assorted fundraisers, donations and as of recently corporate sponsorship) is to host verbenas or casals. These are parties hosted by each fallereien in honor of themselves and their work over the last year. Verbenas are giant street parties held outside with either a live band or a DJ. Casals are similar functions, but held within a garage or the falla base of operations (big reception type places). They make their money from these by setting up a bar and charging for drinks. Anyone and everyone is invited to the parties, but you’ll be buying your own drinks and they’re not cheap, unless you are invited.
We were invited to two verbenas in Carcaixent, one invitation from good friends in the Canovas group and the other from the St. Jaume 1er (St. James 1st). The Canovas verbena was huge and took up an entire city block. The live band of about 9 was rocking their thing pretty fierce. They played a mix of traditional Spanish and Valencian music, classic Spanish tunes from the 50’s and 60’s as well as contemporary jams. One of the four singers spoke English, so they got in some English tunes as well. The four singers, while maybe seemed like overkill, as it turned out were necessary. When one of these groups is hired to play a verbena, they are expected to perform from midnight until 4 in the morning every night from March 15 to March 19, that’s a hell of a set list and a hell of strain on a person’s voice. I’ve also been told that these guys make good money during this time (a career move I hadn’t before considered).
The party was kicking as old and young alike were partaking. The real little ones were dancing away in the hands of their mothers and fathers. The 5-12 year olds were away from the crowd blowing shit up. The early teenage girls were sulking in gender specific circles while secretly eyeballing the early teenage boys who were laughing hysterically every time one of them threw a firecracker in the vicinity of the girls. Those in the late teens to not quite retirement age were out on the dance floor (street) with drinks in hand and tearing it up. The post-retirees were either scolding their great-grandchildren for being pansies and not holding the firecracker longer before throwing it or scolding their grandchildren for being pansies and not getting that firecracker into the circle of girls and shaking things up a bit (On several occasions I have actually seen old ladies teaching young 5-10 years olds how to light and throw firecrackers…the bit about the taunting I just made up).
After the Canovas verbena we made our way to the St. Jaume verbena. This party was slightly more subdued than the other. The Canovas group had recently been awarded 1st place for their falla in the competition and was partying off their elation. The St. Jaume group didn’t seem terribly thrilled with the outcome of their falla sculpture, but they saw fit to proceed with the celebration. Where the Canovas crowd’s party was situated just off the main street, the St. Jaume verbena was tucked back a few blocks from the main plaza. Where the Canovas verbena had all ages involved, St. Jaume’s verbena was split by a Joven Casal nearby (young people’s casal…essentially an abandoned auto garage that was hosting a rave…well a Carcaixent rave anyway). The Canovas verbena had a tight live band that was giving everything they had to offer and the St. Jaume verbena had an early 30 something duo rocking out tunes on electronic drums and synthesizers (this isn’t to say that the St. Jaume wasn’t making the most of what they had available with their insistence that the well-endowed young blonde female portion of the duo, “unleash the beasts”. She never obliged, but seemed genuinely flattered by the persistent requests and did slip off her coat to prove it). By the end of the night however, St. Jaume did have one thing that Canovas did not…me. I was given a pin and named an honorary member (self-proclaimed) of the Fallareien Jaume 1er de Carcaixent. The pin says that exactly (except for the self-proclaimed bit) along the outside and on the inside is a blue sky with a gold dragon. Beneath the dragon is the shield and quiver of Carcaixent (the town’s symbol, Carcaixent literally means people of the quiver…quiver being the little pack that bow and arrow hunters would hold their arrows in…they were hunters apparently…or just fond of little packs that hold arrows in them. It was a long time ago). Surrounding the shield is fire or the “Honorary Fallero (self-proclaimed) Bad-Ass Rockin’ Flames of Hell” as I have lovingly dubbed it.
Monday March 19, 2007
Today is “La Nit de Foc” which translates from Valencian to “The Night of Fire”. Each pueblo or town usually has several fallas on display around town. On the night of March 19 starting usually between midnight and 12:30 they start burning them down (la crema) one by one in descending order of rank. It works out so that the 1st prize is the last one to burn. In order to signify which falla is burning and when, they are signaled by a 20 minute firework display. In smaller towns such as Carcaixent or Benimamet this 20 minutes gives you the time you need to start hoofing across town from falla to falla. In Benimamet where we are surrounded by Valencia, Paterna and Burjossot it is absolutely insane as I counted 9 fireworks displays going off at the same time in different parts of the night sky (Valencia being a bigger city and impossible to see them all so they do it by city sections). Each falla is made to burn and it is made to burn fast, so there are generally 20 – 30 minute intervals between each colorful explosion to where you can see giant balls of fire and smoke consuming various parts of each city to the faint or blaring (depending on where you are located) sounds of traditional Valencian anthems, until it dies down and 7-8 more fireworks displays ignite in different parts of the sky.
Benimamet’s crema will last an hour and a half or so, while Carcaixent’s will likely go until 3 in the morning. From Benimamet we don’t actually get to see the big fallas from the city burn, but we have the advantage of being up on our roof (which overlooks the horizon of Valencia to our east and the aforementioned cities on our north, west and south). There is one falla about a block behind our house. It has taken last place for the last two years (last year’s was an homage to Jules Verne and this year was an homage to the aging baby boomers). The beauty of this is that we can go down and watch it burn. When it burns down we can go up to our roof and watch everything else go simultaneously.
I have been trying to come up with how to describe Las Fallas since seeing it for the first time last year. I took loads of pictures only to be disappointed at how little they captured. The depth, the noise, the atmosphere, the colors, the smells…none of it was there. The notion of being so close to a fireworks display that you can smell the sulfur long after it’s over; The idea of being dwarfed by a night of fire and being able to see your shadow as it is snatched from roof top to roof top as the world erupts around you in celebration; None of these things can be captured with my little PowerShot digital camera. When having a few drinks with a Canadian couple on Thursday who were visiting Valencia for fallas (two of the 1,000,000) someone had asked them how they would describe this to their friends and family back home. His response was, “I’m not. I’m just going to tell them they have to see it for themselves.” I’ve been thinking a lot about that as I have been taking notes and writing all of this down. No matter how descriptive or eloquently I can try to put it, in reality I can’t. You’ll just have to be one of 1,000,000 next year and feel free to look me up, I’ve got an extra bed.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Diary of an Honorary Fallero (self proclaimed) [abridged]
Part I
Thursday March 15, 2007
While the firecrackers and mascleta have been going on since March 1, the official beginning to fallas was Thursday. The first of los castillos (the fireworks display) was held down in the riverbed. The fascinating thing about el castillo is that every night is a different pyrotechnician who will try to outdo what had been done previously. The first one to go on March 15 is the one who sets the bar as each successor will try to one up him and then the next guy and so forth.
Thursday night’s castillo relied heavily on masclets, these are sometimes called dry fireworks. This simply means that they are giant firecrackers that make a flashing pop, but don’t release a colorful display. This guy would send masclets up with the fireworks so that there was a mixture of noise and color.
We had located ourselves directly on the other side of the riverbed from where they were being fired off. It was amazing to watch as the night sky exploded right overhead. I could look directly up and watch as they showered down above me. It got a little unnerving when one cinder didn’t burn out on its way down and landed a few yards away from where we were standing. Marta at this point had the foresight to seek shelter underneath a nearby overhanging balcony, I was too caught up in the moment to have paid any attention. The display ended with an eruption of masclets that left my ears ringing and my stomach lurching.
The show lasted roughly 20 minutes. By 12.30 a group of us got comfortable in the corner of a little Irish pub in the neighborhood and commenced to the next few hours of drinking…so it began.
Friday March 16, 2007
I was startled awake at 8.00 in the morning by a loud explosion outside on the street below. Before I had time to put my head together another came from the other side of the house. These large explosions were followed by smaller ones and were soon layered upon with the sounds of horns blasting and drums beating, accompanying the chants and singing of a crowd moving through the streets. Below the foreground noise I could hear and feel a constant rumble. It was if I was sitting on volcano that was about to go off. The rumbling continued after the more localized noise had moved farther up the street and began to fade into the distance. The rumbling did not, it remained. I later realized that the foreground noise was the falleros of Benimamet as they moved through the town’s streets. The continuous rumbling that I felt below me, was the larger and more populated falleros of Valencia, Paterna and Burjossot surrounding me from every other direction. It took me too long to put all of this together. Justifiably, I had only been working on 3 hours of sleep, nor had the beverages from the night before properly worked their way through my system.
By the time we had been able to track down a cab that previous night we got home around 4.30 Friday morning. I was asleep by 5 and up again by 8. La Desperta had begun. “The Wake-up call” as it is translated, is exactly that. The falleros and falleras have a responsibility to wake everyone up on their way home at 8 in the morning. Depending on how many groups of falleros and falleras are in the area depends on how long La Desperta continues outside your bedroom window. Benimamet, thankfully, only has a half hour’s worth.
It is said that this tradition had was started by Franco. Valencia was a stronghold of Republican support, (the opposition to Franco) so during and after the Spanish Civil War, fallas, for obvious reasons, were not held. It wasn’t until several years later as Franco was trying to reunify the country that the festivities were being encouraged. However, Franco was also weary of any activity that seemed to promote Communitat over Country. Fallas belonging to Valencia and only Valencia was one such activity. His agreement to allow the celebration to go on was that everyone was expected to get up and go to work the next morning. No matter how late they had been out the night before, shops and businesses were to be open and ready the next morning. This is said to be the beginning of La Desperta.
Saturday March 17, 2007
I was woken again by La Desperta, this time on 3 ½ hour of sleep (getting older). This time however, I was only awake long enough to realize that it was happening and went right back to sleep.
To bring you up to date, I had mentioned in a previous post from February that I had been told to expect 1,000,000 more people in Valencia on top of the 800,000 that already live here. The grand total of 1,800,000 people in a city built for much less than half of that was a close proximate. According to recent numbers it was 1,000,000 foreigners that came to Valencia for fallas. That is 1,800,000 people made up of Valencianos and people who have flown in from other countries. This figure does not include the people that come from other parts of Spain: Madrid, Cataluna, Basque Country, Andalucia, Alicante, Castellon, etc. As stated earlier Valencia is the only part of Spain that has fallas. This year Castellon’s annual Magdelena festival happened to be on the same weekend, so that might have kept a few hundred people at bay, but not enough for any relief to the city. From Friday night onwards the city of Valencia was filled beyond any possible explanation.
photos taken from: http://www.levante-emv.co
Thursday March 15, 2007
While the firecrackers and mascleta have been going on since March 1, the official beginning to fallas was Thursday. The first of los castillos (the fireworks display) was held down in the riverbed. The fascinating thing about el castillo is that every night is a different pyrotechnician who will try to outdo what had been done previously. The first one to go on March 15 is the one who sets the bar as each successor will try to one up him and then the next guy and so forth.
Thursday night’s castillo relied heavily on masclets, these are sometimes called dry fireworks. This simply means that they are giant firecrackers that make a flashing pop, but don’t release a colorful display. This guy would send masclets up with the fireworks so that there was a mixture of noise and color.
We had located ourselves directly on the other side of the riverbed from where they were being fired off. It was amazing to watch as the night sky exploded right overhead. I could look directly up and watch as they showered down above me. It got a little unnerving when one cinder didn’t burn out on its way down and landed a few yards away from where we were standing. Marta at this point had the foresight to seek shelter underneath a nearby overhanging balcony, I was too caught up in the moment to have paid any attention. The display ended with an eruption of masclets that left my ears ringing and my stomach lurching.
The show lasted roughly 20 minutes. By 12.30 a group of us got comfortable in the corner of a little Irish pub in the neighborhood and commenced to the next few hours of drinking…so it began.
Friday March 16, 2007
I was startled awake at 8.00 in the morning by a loud explosion outside on the street below. Before I had time to put my head together another came from the other side of the house. These large explosions were followed by smaller ones and were soon layered upon with the sounds of horns blasting and drums beating, accompanying the chants and singing of a crowd moving through the streets. Below the foreground noise I could hear and feel a constant rumble. It was if I was sitting on volcano that was about to go off. The rumbling continued after the more localized noise had moved farther up the street and began to fade into the distance. The rumbling did not, it remained. I later realized that the foreground noise was the falleros of Benimamet as they moved through the town’s streets. The continuous rumbling that I felt below me, was the larger and more populated falleros of Valencia, Paterna and Burjossot surrounding me from every other direction. It took me too long to put all of this together. Justifiably, I had only been working on 3 hours of sleep, nor had the beverages from the night before properly worked their way through my system.
By the time we had been able to track down a cab that previous night we got home around 4.30 Friday morning. I was asleep by 5 and up again by 8. La Desperta had begun. “The Wake-up call” as it is translated, is exactly that. The falleros and falleras have a responsibility to wake everyone up on their way home at 8 in the morning. Depending on how many groups of falleros and falleras are in the area depends on how long La Desperta continues outside your bedroom window. Benimamet, thankfully, only has a half hour’s worth.
It is said that this tradition had was started by Franco. Valencia was a stronghold of Republican support, (the opposition to Franco) so during and after the Spanish Civil War, fallas, for obvious reasons, were not held. It wasn’t until several years later as Franco was trying to reunify the country that the festivities were being encouraged. However, Franco was also weary of any activity that seemed to promote Communitat over Country. Fallas belonging to Valencia and only Valencia was one such activity. His agreement to allow the celebration to go on was that everyone was expected to get up and go to work the next morning. No matter how late they had been out the night before, shops and businesses were to be open and ready the next morning. This is said to be the beginning of La Desperta.
Saturday March 17, 2007
I was woken again by La Desperta, this time on 3 ½ hour of sleep (getting older). This time however, I was only awake long enough to realize that it was happening and went right back to sleep.
To bring you up to date, I had mentioned in a previous post from February that I had been told to expect 1,000,000 more people in Valencia on top of the 800,000 that already live here. The grand total of 1,800,000 people in a city built for much less than half of that was a close proximate. According to recent numbers it was 1,000,000 foreigners that came to Valencia for fallas. That is 1,800,000 people made up of Valencianos and people who have flown in from other countries. This figure does not include the people that come from other parts of Spain: Madrid, Cataluna, Basque Country, Andalucia, Alicante, Castellon, etc. As stated earlier Valencia is the only part of Spain that has fallas. This year Castellon’s annual Magdelena festival happened to be on the same weekend, so that might have kept a few hundred people at bay, but not enough for any relief to the city. From Friday night onwards the city of Valencia was filled beyond any possible explanation.
photos taken from: http://www.levante-emv.co
Monday, March 12, 2007
Cafe Infinito
Congratulations to Frankie who, after years of slaving it away for the man, became his own boss and opened Cafe Infinito on Sunday March 11, 2007.
Cafe Infinito
calle poeta Mas y Ros 35 bajo,
Valencia 4602,
España
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