That's right, I speak American. You like that, don't ya?

Day 33

Desperation is a wonder drug. Its effects on the mind include the bending of rules of logic and rationality, misconstruence of reality, and often ill-thought out actions that really are more closely related to reactions than anything. In my case, I happened to be the benefactor of another’s desperation. I had gotten an interview with an English language program in Malaga to be a teacher at their school and for private clients. I get sick satisfaction from having something Spain wants and can’t have unless I give it- English. For as bad as it treats me, I get such pleasure from discussing my availability and preferred clientele, as if I were selecting those who would be given a place on Noah’s Arc. Who should I bestow my generosity on? But more importantly, who do I get to turn away? The interview was such fun, the man speaking English with an Australian accent (Spaniards reveal where they learned English in the first 5 seconds with their accent- British lingo or Australian lingo, with the occasional Irish brogue). What is even more delightful about those desperate to add a Native tongue to their ranks is their willingness to go with out a ‘contract’ they eagerly look the other way if you say you are a foreigner. Visa shmisa. You say you speak English; it’s your mother tongue. WE WANT YOU. But the desire for teachers comes to butt heads with the economy of Spain that refuses to recessutate itself. So sadly, while I’m wanted, no one can muster the monies to pay for my services. But it was a bold step to further employment. Even though most days I’d rather go grill hamburgers than review the parts of a sentence for 45 minutes straight.

I would like to speak now specifically to all college students. I would like to congratulate you for finding the worst tasting beer to enjoy weekly. Yes, Natty light is the world’s worst beer. I thought for a minute that Spain’s cheap brew, “Cruz campo’ might be worse, but after tasting it again this weekend I can assuredly confirm that American college students drink the worse tasting shit made. Cruz campo is reminiscent of drinking cardboard. But Natty Light is like drinking rusted aluminum. So, at least I can say that it could always be worse while I’m in Spain. Ha.

And lastly I’d like to close with a meditation on the Spanish style of running. I often wonder how they actually move anywhere with the way their bodies move. If you’ve never watched Friends and have never seen Phoebe run, do yourself the favor and Google it. It’s worth the stitch you’ll have in your side from laughing so hard. Well, Spain has taken its own approach to the phoebe-esque run. American has claimed the jog as its own, so Spain seems to have taken the cue and is trying to find a new way of moving that is faster than walking and is arguably called ‘running’. When I see the men in their spandex doing what some call running I wonder, have you just dismounted from your horse ride that must have lasted 20 years, or do you have a terrible rash of the inner thigh or do you have to pee terribly bad, that’s way you run knock kneed or are your shoes made of concrete, can you pick them up, or are you trying on purpose to damage your knees, the leg should not go out at an angle like that. But really I think, Spain, you are not so cool that you can re-invent the run. Fashion forward you may be, but for as close as you live to Africa, the homeland of endurance runners, you have the grace of a newly born 3 legged foal.

And they stare at me when I go for a run.

Oh Spain :)

I love you all and miss you dearly. Another day spent evading free time and the lonely feeling that plagues those quiet moments.

But I now have a Spanish debit card. Sometimes fate smiles upon me, and ooooo it feels so good.

Peace & love, woosita