O-bam-a

Way to go USA!

And thanks to all of you who braved long lines to vote. Regardless of who you raised your voice for.

D’s close shave

Yes, my boys are becoming men. And a farther proof of this was D first experience shaving. And as a father, it was a great thrill for me to teach him this activity which he now loves but will soon grow to hate as all of who have been doing it for a while do. One more rite of passage down. Actually one of many the last week. D is also now working his first job (in my friend Michael’s office in Tampa) and learning the US banking system.  But I’ll leave you all to read the specifics on his blog. Suffice it to say that soon he’ll be ready for me to completely unleash into the world. Watch out world!

life lessons

A few days ago I had one of those opportunities to teach my kid a valuable life skill. It was sadly foiled, however. We had gone to the Rastro–the big Sunday street flea market–and I was looking for a light spring jacket for myself. We wandered into the area that is less touristy and more yard sale loving called ‘The Gypsy Department Store’ by the hawkers. I saw a little black number that I loved even though I’m not generally a fan of leather. But, alas, it was a tad to small–for me anyway, perfect for D. As I had already spent a lot on him that day I was not particularly disposed to the idea of buy this jacket–that should be mine-for him. But I asked the price: €10. Not at all unreasonable, but by far the most expensive thing at that stand where the next highest price item was €3. So I passed.
We walked around for a while, all the while D lamenting this jacket purchase that could have been. Finally, I realized this presented an opportunity. The Rastro vendors, and particularly the ‘Gypsy Dept. Store’ ones, have been know to haggle. And as D is loves to talk but is rather deficient in the said bargaining department I thought this could be a chance to help him hone this valuable skill that will be required throughout life. After all, life is negotiation is it not? So I told him that I would pay as much as €7 euros if he could get the vendor to agree. Not a big discount really, but one must start somewhere. He was a bit reluctant , so I gave him so basic bargaining strategies and tips and we returned to the stall to get down to some bidness.
D hesitated a while looking over the jacket. I nudged him on and just as he was about to commence haggling, the vendor, seeing the desire in his eyes and taking pity I suppose, tells him he can have any jacket there for five euros. While I’m quietly cursing the vendor, D takes the deal and goes. Maybe I underestimated him. Lesson for Dad this time.

just a thought

Sometimes I just have to rant about some little thing that has caught on a hook somewhere in my mind. This is such a time.
Today, I was on the metro when a young lady sitted across the aisle from me started breast-feeding her crying child. Of course a few others allowed faint groans and moans to escape them and I witness a few eyes being rolled. What gives? I can’t think of too many things which are more natural, nurturing and caring than breast feeding. So why is it so taboo to the general public? Granted I don’t really have much of a vested interest in the matter. And as a gay man, I sure as hell don’t relish seeing woman’s brest. Yet for a culture so comfortable exhibiting negative and hurtful actions in any situation, perhaps witnessing more such loving acts–public or otherwise–is just want we need.

meeting the friends

Over the past few months, my weekends have been more or less dedicated to lunch parties at Jesus’ house in an attempt to meet all of his friends a few at a time. And with him being an absolute social animal who has lived in Madrid for 10 years, he has a ton of them. Plus all the ones from various other locales throughout Spain and Europe who use his house as a hotel. Hostel Jesus, he says.
Well this past Sunday, he convinced me to attend the latest function although I had been down with the flu. Mistake. I’m sure these friends think I’m some brain-dead neanderthal. Its hard enough to keep up a conversation in Spanish over a few hours without going numb above the neck as it is, but add in a seasonal illness and ….. And if you haven’t had the special privilege of witnessing a conversation between Spaniards, let me tell you: they all speak very loudly and all at the same time. I’ve learned to pick a face and concentrate on what’s coming out of it and ignore the others. But that was a bit hard this time as well. But hey, I survived.

Auuuugh! No internet

Sorry for being so incommunicado everyone. I haven’t had home internet service for a few weeks. I generally could pick up a wi-fi connection from one of my neighbors, but they must have moved. Dont cha just hate that?

Lonely Valentine’s

Hope you are all have a lovely St. Valentine’s Day. But yet again, I find myself without a special love on this day of romance. Oh well. It’s really just another means for Hallmark, Godiva and rose growers to make some extra dough. I’m content not to fatten their pockets any more.

These shoes were made for walking

Occasionally I write a post that will not hold much interest for anyone other than myself. Just thinking aloud with a worldwide audience listening in as it were. This is one of those. Consider yourselves warned.

As I briefly mentioned in another post, I have been quite actively looking for a pair of shoes. You wouldn’t think it would be that hard in Spain, one of the world’s leading manufacturers of footwear. But the quest is proving to be rather daunting.

Some background. I currently own a pair of simple black loafers. I have had them for about 5 years and they are on their last legs and probably not really repairable. These simple little loafers are by far the most comfortable things I have ever had on my feet. If you’ve seen me, you’ve seen them. I wear them all the time because walking in them is like walking on a cloud. At least what I image walking on a cloud would be like if the water vapor in it didn’t get your feet all wet and without the constant realization that gravity will pull you down trough it at any moment. But I digress.

So back to the hunt. For those of you out of the loop, in Spain all the stores adhere to two sales periods during the year. Mid-January to the end of February is one of them. I want to buy my shoes during this time of deep discounts. But there are deep discounts because most of the offerings are the unsold items from the Christmas/Three Kings holidays. And wearing the most common size, 43, not much that fits me went unsold.

But the biggest obstacle results from my own unique anatomy. Being more than a tad bowlegged, I tend to walk on the outside edge of my feet and so my shoes wear very unevenly. To counter this, I need rubber or soft-soles. And in a country that prides itself on its fine leather footwear, it’s hard to find soft-soled shoes that don’t look like something your podiatrist prescribed.

And so I’m hastening the destruction of the ones I have by walking all over the city looking for their replacements. Thank God they’re so damn comfortable!

Another year, another birthday

Thanks to all of you who sent me birthday wishes yesterday. Number thirty-eight was pretty good. Although I am feeling everyone of those years and then some.

The day started off very cold, foggy and misty — just the kind of weather you pray for on your b-day, right — so I thought the tone had been set. But things improved quite a bit.

I did have to work, at least my morning and afternoon classes. I switched days for my evening class so that I could celebrate a little. And in between classes I did some shopping for shoes. Didn’t buy any but looked a lot. (This looking for shoe thing is turning into quite the saga itself).

In the evening I was treated to dinner by friends Metty and Angel and my kids at one of my favorite Cuban restaurants. And they regaled me with wonderful gifts.

And perhaps with turning older in the back of my mind, I did something out of the ordinary the previous week. For probably only the forth or fifth time since I was 14, I am without a mustache. No there are no pictures. Not sure what possessed me as I absolutely hate the way I look without one. And my kids reminded me, it makes me look like Kermit the Frog. I think I was just wanted a change and it was that or cut off the dreadlocks. So I chose the simpler most easily reversible route. But I have promised myself that I will go a least a month without it to see if it grows on me, so to speak.