Not So Deep Thoughts

Welp, my bags are all packed because today Mr. Gladis goes on his first business trip!

At approximately 5:30 (GMT +01:00) I will be transported to the north of Spain to a quaint little town called Ponferrada. Once there, I will go directly to the hotel where I will stay in luxurious hotel room that my academy has so graciously paid for.  Early the next morning, I will begin the first of three daily seminars that I will be giving until Wednesday.  In the off hours, I will have plenty of time to go sightseeing around town and use my per diem to enjoy the fine local cuisine.  Maybe afterwards I’ll finish off each night with a nice glass of red wine and a book while sitting on some terrace overlooking the countryside during sunset.

Ok, so that’s the version I’m telling all my friends.  Let’s try it again, but this time wearing our Detect-O-Bullshit Glasses:

At approximately 5:30 (GMT +01:00) I will be transported (on a bus for 5 ½ hours) to the north of Spain to a quaint little town called Ponferrada. (Where?) Once there, I will go directly (walk 2 km) to the hotel where I will stay in luxurious hotel room (“modern facilities” = 4 TV channels) that my academy has so graciously paid for. (That is actually pretty cool.)  Early the next morning (buttcrack of dawn), I will begin the first of three daily seminars that I will be giving until Wednesday. (Apparently, if you give an English class for 6 hours in a row, it becomes a ‘seminar’.  Some other people might call it ‘Hell’.)  In the off hours, I will have plenty of time to go sightseeing around town (where?) and use my per diem to enjoy the fine local cuisine (cow intestines.)  Maybe afterwards I’ll finish off each night with a nice glass of red wine and a book while sitting on some terrace overlooking the countryside during sunset.  (There is no sun in Ponferrada.)

So, there you have it folks.  Paul’s Very First Bidniz Trip.  Time to wipe the dust off those old ties and see how respectable I can pretend to be!

Unfortunately, there is no internet in the North of Spain yet (I’m not brining my laptop), so I won’t see you guys till next Thursday.

PEACE!

9 out of 10 people seen driving with a person who owns a sportscar that costs over 75,000 euros is more attractive than the average person who takes the metro to go to work at 7:30AM.

That gives me a 10% chance… noooooooot baaaaaad, if I say so myself.

Well, now that I have a moment to reflect on the weekend and that I can actually breathe through my nose long enough for me to concentrate on something else, it’s starting to hit me that this past weekend was the weekend of goodbyes.

First to go was Allen (the one in the middle), Jacki’s old roomie; an entrepreneur who started up a juice bar (not that kind) chain in Madrid and an all around swell guy. May San Diego be good to him.

Next to go was Ze Frank. Although I had only just recently discovered his vlog thanks to my brother Chris, watching him anchorman / wax philosophically / be a goober for 3 minutes became one of the highlights of my day. He started this daily web show as part of his internship for the League of Awesomeness. If that doesn’t make you wanna watch, I don’t know what else will. Unfortunately, the yearlong internship ended this past Saturday, so for those of you who missed the bus on this one, you can always start at the beginning.

Last but not least, there’s our Kelly. My first roomie and one of the first friends I made in Madrid. She’s a good egg. She’s now being paid to travel and live around the world working for an advertising company, starting in Cairo. I hope that she finds happiness in doing it and that she makes buckets of money to fly all of us poor folk out to visit her.

Her going away marks the leaving of one of the longest and most important friends I’ve made here in Madrid. But even though there was a pang in my chest as she walked out that door, I couldn’t help but smile as she dropped down into the seat of that car, and drove off out of sight. I immediately thought about the next time I would see her, and all the things we’ll have to tell each other about our lives between that last meeting and the next.

As Richard Bachman said, “Don’t be dismayed at goodbyes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetime, is certain for those who are friends.”

Kelly, I’m looking forward to our next ‘Hello’, whenever that may be. May the paths that separate us and that will one day converge again treat us well and kindly.

Now, let’s start doing some stuff so we have something to tell each other the next time we see each other!

P.S. Not only was this a weekend of Goodbyes, but of Hellos. One in particular:

Everyone, this is Zas. Zas, this is Everyone.

****Warning: Cuteness Overload may occur****

In all my years of hanging clothes out to dry on the line, I’d never a once let a soldier fall to the icy depths of the patio looming 40 feet (32 kilos) below; a steady hand and a sure heart, they used to say… until this morning.

It all started around 8:45AM, minutes after I woke up from a dream about being Chinese. I threw on my towel, and dragged my bare feet over the parquet floor, rubbing the blurry sleepiness from my eyes. To my dismay, the shower was occupied and rather than fall back to my room and sit tight until the bathroom became vacant, I decided to linger in the kitchen and put on some coffee.

While the trusty, although thoroughly worn kettle sat perched over the flames that licked up its sides, I leaned myself up against the counter, crossed my arms and feet watching and waiting for the black gold to percolate up into the reservoir.

Having been awhile since last making a good-morning coffee, I’d forgotten just how long it took for the little coffee gnomes that live inside to do their magic and produce my wakeful elixir. So I glanced around looking for a distraction and was pleased to find my recently dried clothes hanging in single file outside the kitchen widow, awaiting their master’s gentle hands that would bring them back to their dark, yet o’ so familiar square-shaped home.

So I shuffled over to the kitchen windows, swung them open and reached my hand out to liberate the first of many clothespins. It was on the second one when The Snag happened. I pulled my hand sharply to get it off, but neglected to hold onto that which it was holding snugly to the line.

Then, The Plunge. I watched as it fell, I reached down arm outstretched, hand opened in vain, seeing its wide open, scared eyes looking up at me as it plummeted.

But it seems fate would not separate us that day.

On the line below it fell, and there, holding fast, was my pair of old, gray, holey underwear. You ladies might not understand this, and I’m sure most of you guys will nod your heads in agreement: there is a bond that forms between a man and a pair of underwear over time, one that cannot be replaced by a 3×2 special-sale-pack of new ones. This wear and tear is a testament to this relationship. One might say to ‘let it go, man.’, and I would ask them if they would say the same were it their mother clinging to that line for love of life.

I ran back to my room looking for a rescue team. Using some dental floss and a paper clip, I fashioned a makeshift line and hook. Once back in the kitchen, using only love for bait, I went fishing for an old friend.

The neighbors may have stared, and I probably should have remembered to wear more than a towel, maybe even combed my hair, but those things could have waited. Concentrating on steadying my arm, and squinting as hard as I could in hopes it would make my attempt seem that much more dire, I finally scored a winning hook. Being careful not to get too excited reeling it in, I slowly raised the line, fist over fist, and brought the fallen soldier back home.

Upon succeeding, I looked around, half expecting someone to burst out into applause, but none was to be heard. So, I turned around and headed towards my room embracing my private silent victory.

After finally managing to get into the shower some time later, back in my room I began picking out clothes to wear for the day. Following routine, I reached into the drawer, and picked out a pair of unmatched socks and a rather nice pair of striped boxer-briefs.

As I stood there with them in my hands, I saw my old gray friend lying alone on the edge of the bed. I knew what had to be done. It was his special day, and no pair of new, flashy looking briefs would take it from him.

And that’s the story of how I got dressed today.

Here’s to the wind remaining long. Cheers.

And to me getting professional help. ::clink!::

Just got off the phone with an old friend in the US. It was nice to speak to him. He’s good. I’m good. He says he doesn’t read my blog. He says my blog entries are too… long winded. This one’s for him:

Week: good

Classes: good

Work: good

Current State: I feel like poop, I think I’ve got the flu.

Wii Injury: Recovering

Trivia: A snail can sleep for 3 years
A ‘jiffy’ is an actual unit of time for 1/100th of a second

There you go… the last 168 hours of my life… All read in under 20 seconds. And you even learned something really cool that you’re going to forget by tomorrow morning!!!
Don’t miss next week’s exciting continuation!!

Now, off to sleep for some unknown amount of time between a jiffy and a snail’s night’s rest…

Peas

Seems I had quite the active weekend.  It’s obvious to me after-the-fact that I haven’t had such a workout in a long time because it’s two days later and my muscles are still killing me.

I met up on Saturday with Nathan at first to play a few friendly sets of tennis; which I kicked his ass in.  After that, we threw the ol´ ball around for a few innings of baseball. Good fun, but it was then that I noticed my swinging arm felt a bit overexerted, yet I continued on like a champ. Nathan bested me (cheater) at that round, but once we hit the front nine holes of golf, he wasn’t laughing so hard; especially not at his triple bogey on one hole.  Things turned pretty ugly as futile discussions about the other’s atrocious swing heated up, so we decided to settle it like real men: with boxing gloves.  As I mentioned before, my arm was already beginning to ache, so I couldn’t punch very well and that’s how that David took down this Goliath.

Our friend Jacki stepped in for the challenge after I was schooled by Nate, and proceed to rip Nate a new a-hole in the boxing ring - TWICE. Of course, I took her to the tennis court as Nate convalesced and gave her an old school ass whooping, even with the bad arm. To end off the day, we headed to the bowling alley for 10 frames. Nate and I tried to get fancy with our ball throwing, and knocked down our fair share of pins; but it was Jacki’s slow and steady straight balls that won it. With a hundred n’ something something points, Jacki took home the day’s last trophy.

All of that swinging, running, jumping, yelling, catching, diving, kicking, spitting, cursing and hissy-fitting all took place in the comfort of Nate’s living room… thanks to the new Nintendo Wii. And as far as my ailing arm goes, it seems I’m not the only one. One of my student’s physical therapist brother-in-law is already treating patients for playing too hard with their Wii. And of course, now no home is safe from the Wii remote and the morons that don’t know how to hold onto the damn thing.

Anyone got some ice?

This coffee sucks…

How cool! My visitor tracker just informed me that someone in Sweden is reading my blog… Awesome. Whoever you are; Döm ej allt du ser, Tro ej allt du hör, Gör ej allt du kan, Säg ej allt du vet, Förtär ej allt du har, Låt ingen veta vad du har i hjärtat eller pungen.

OK! It’s Friday (edit: Monday), and it seems I hit the ground running the moment I got back from Belgium this past (edit: last) Monday. So let me take the chance to recount my adventures up north before the details become fuzzy.

Hung up the phone after my last phone-class on Friday (edit: before last) and skedaddled (edit: possibly ‘scampered’) to the airport to catch my plane. Ryan Air has a cool ‘no-assigned-seat’ policy which basically means you get in line at the gate as soon as you get there and hope you don’t get stuck in the back. I ended up talking to a nice young couple, John and Maria, which turned out to be a conversation that went from, “Hello my name is _______” to “Why are we here and what is it all about?” in less than 5 minutes. Awesomeness. I love strangers. Thankfully, they made the 2+ hour flight a breeze.

And then I was. Was in Belgium. And it was cloudy. Much like I remembered it, but with a much more beautiful woman waiting for me at the gate. I think there was a rather good looking lady at the gate the last time I flew to Belgium, but I don’t believe she was waiting for me.

It was a pip to see Annelies again in the flesh; instant messages, SMSs and phones aren’t very huggable. They skies opened up to let the blue skies through and a sunbeam showed us the way to the train station; either that or a old Walloon bus driver that picked us up at the airport, I don’t remember. But I do remember the weather actually being nice for a change. I guess some of that Spanish sun followed the plane over.

Chatting our way from train to train, we made our way past the awful city of Brussels and landed in GHENT. Lovely, lovely Ghent. And what sight is there waiting to greet me as I leave the station but an assload of bicycles. And when I say assload, I mean assload. Seriously folks, I was dumbfounded. I had never seen so many bikes in one place in my life. I was snapping photos left and right, and there poor Annelies held her head in her hands, wondering exactly why she invited me in the first place.

30,000 photos and a cattle-prod later, Annelies got me to finish the trip to her apartment. And it was there I entered the life of a Belgian. Beautiful little apartment just outside the city centre, right down the block from a park, the butcher across the street and the bread maker a few doors down. Along the way picking up the typical Belgian dinner: Belgian Fries, Fried Hamburger and Fried Sausage with a side of Meat Sauce. (And they make fun of us for our eating habits, BAH!) Oh, and two bottles of Leffe – seriously folks, I know I’m biased, but you gotta try some decent Belgian beer, it’s good stuff.

From there on out, I followed the footsteps of a real live Flemish and not that Tourist Flemish crap. I went to her favourite bars, met her friends, watched a lunar eclipse, I EVEN GOT TO RIDE A BIKE!!! It had been years since I’d last been on one of those things, but I have to say, the expression is right, it was like riding a bike. The only part of me that didn’t remember how to ride was my butt, and it complained for days.

We did manage to make a tour around the city centre for some tourist things, and it was nice to have an upright citizen like Annelies to give me the biased version of their history. Although, I must say, Belgian history is a bit like reading MAD Magazine. You’re not sure what is serious and what is not. Completely unpretentious. Half of the stories Annelies told me about their history made the Belgian people and leaders out to something between unambitious fools and really good natured, rebellious yet goofy kinda people that you’d like to have a drink with.

All in all, a great little weekend getaway. I’ll be heading back in April for Semana Santa, and this time we’ll actually hop in a car and check out what the rest of Belgium has to offer.

Check out the pics if you have a minute. Hope you enjoy!

Peace!

It’s almost Friday! And I got back from Belgium over 3 frackin’ days ago! And do I see any posts about it? Photos even? Noooooo…

Naughty Paul…

I threw up (ew…) some of the photos on my Gallery page… They’re uploading right now, and I’ll be out the door moments after they’re done, so quirky comments that no one reads will have to wait ’til tomorrow.

Peas…

While sitting in the middle of a bustling plaza waiting for my next class, I flashed a friendly smile to a transsexual as she walked by and she flashed me her boobs in return…

Do unto others…

They were actually pretty nice; hooray for plastic surgery…

Tomorrow I’m heading up to Belgium to pay Ms. Annelies a visit. Should be a nice little weekend getaway. Not looking forward to actually experiencing what a REAL winter feels like, but the company should be great. Here’s to giving Belgium a second chance. Pretty much the only cool thing I saw there was the Manneken Pis (take a wild guess what that is… )

Here’s also to me finally learning to clean my room so I come back to a comfortable sanctuary rather than a pig sty…

‘Til Monday!