little by little; Bit by bit. This seems to be my mantra for developing life in Spain.
It's really time to update about life here... which is slowly but surely coming into focus.
wednesday I move into a real flat. Thank god for that, what I've been living in for the past month is a shade under hellish nightmare. from the serface it looks like quite a decent place, but after all of the scandal, murder and intrigue... it has to end.
What I'm staying in now is what's known as "self accomodating short-term apartment" which, basically, is a cross between an apartment and a hostel.
Everday there are maids and handymen that come in to fix the place up, so on the positive: it's always clean. And the negatives...well the negatives are abundant. I have no privacy, all my shit is constantly moved around. anything I leave outside of my tent are thrown back onto my bed, half the time, so is my bicycle.
There are also people constantly in and out. two days ago after a night of heavy drinking on the onset of a cold, I woke up and was dying was death. I poked my head outside my curtain because I swore I heard a jabberwocky gyring and gimbling in the wabe, though nay, it was a family of Japanese! Mimsy were not the borogoves! it was breakfast time.
I felt like a zoo animal, as all of them stared at me like I was a dread wizard from planet Zebes. False, I say FALSE! I'm sure I did look a touch frightening... A half drunk american who pops his head head into your breakfast isn't an everyday occurance in the life of the Japónesa, I would guess anyway. That though is no reason to stare, it was them that were intruding into my campsite with their breakfast. I don't come and eat sushi on their sleeping mats do I? NO!
The Japanese are not the only interlopers into my sacred hunting grounds, also there be transvestites! One morning around 4:30 or 5:00 I was startled awake by someone something shaking my foot. As I managed to open my eyes, I noticed A MAN IN A DRESS AND MAKEUP STANDING OVER TOP OF ME! This devil uttered it's incatations in the ancient language of magic (or spanish--couldn't tell I was asleep) and I was dumbstruck by the evil curse. All I was able to reply was "no se, no entido, lo siento...yo duermo" [I don't know, I don't understand. I'm sorry I'm sleep] I don't know much spanish, but I've been in barcelona long enough to know how to cast away a transvestite. There are a few of thoes, mostly west african. Quite a bit of the..."vibrant street fixtures" are african emigrants. The west Africans usual settle as two different breeds. The men, as sellers of knock off purses and sunglasses. These men travel in packs and lay there wares on blankets with reigns attached. when the fuzz drives by, it quite a spectacle to see the stampede of black santas take off like olympic runners. The west African women come in the form of prostitutes. also, in packs. What I've learned: never make eye contact with a west African hooker. Just trust me on this one. The North Africans are mostly venders of "cervezaBEER Cocoa-Cola HASHISH". Now don't paint me a racist, they can't all be that way. But it's the case of a square is always a rectangle, but a rectangle not always a square.
further more about the flat, because of the constant influx of people within the flat the ownership--more on that further down-- has stated that we are no longer allowed to keep the dishes in the kitchen because someone, at sometime may not wash them. In their infinite wisdom have all bestowed upon us boxes of the finest plastic in which we are also gifted one of each of the following: plate,bowl, cutlery set, coffe cup, glas, wine glass, champange glass. After seeing this, I summarily put all of it back into the kitchen, and day after day it is placed back by my bed; more wizardry! This game of give and take continued until they just stop giving me my dishes back. After a week or so of this, the other "lifers" in the flat and I had a pow-wow: this could not continue. We drafted a letter and things reverted back to normal. By normal, I really mean that nothing changed. That was two weeks ago. Also, the management turns out is either loons or a con artists, who uses three different names. And won't let any of the hired help use their real names either. As tenants we aren't allowed to use the washer either, we have to have the cleaning ladies do our laundry.
On to something better: I hate bitch-fests.
Spanish class is excellent, and my teacher is a brilliant beautiful lady. I will marry her one day of that I'm sure. It makes it much easier to play spaniard when you have that kind of motivation.
Work is excellent as well. In addition to the internly duties such as organizing and running errands I've been working with the website writing CSS code for some of our social networking sites, and playing on facebook making pages for all of our channels that run from here as well as working with XML, making a podcast for the same website and channels. EXCELLENT. I am an internet wizard.
--Edit: Just finished the XML script and added to Itunes. that's right, I have a published podcast, almost.
Act 1: Innocence For thoes of you unfamiliar, this is a the transcript of a story that happened almost three years ago to the day... It's quite amazing how I am still alive after some of the things I've put myself through...
<--begin transmission from livejournal--> In a time of innocence there were two:
well now...this is all INSANITY [01 Mar 2005|08:34pm] [ mood | pensive ] [ music | Nick Drake - Pink Moon ]
Holy crap what a story to tell...and its still not finished...i'm sure ill have quite another long update when i get back..and after i tell my parents *dies at the tough*
I'll give it to you in summary if you dont wanna read the whole f it...though you should..its pretty entertaining In whole, i went to Sewannee, Tn to visit my best friend corwin without tellin my parents. I left friday, with plans on coming back sunday night. It's Tuesday night...annnddd im still here...only now im 86 all my money, a car, some dignity, and probably an entire semesters worth of school...FUCK! 1)My car broke down a)correction: my car raped itself b) $2500 dollars worth of damage later... c)i'm $185.17 richer d)Geico is my bitch 2)Was stuck in BFG (butt fucking georgia) for 2 days before i was rescued a)Jasper, GA (yikes) b)The Flying J home of: Truckers, Drifters, Digital horse Derby Addicts, and Ethyl the strange cashier with a spot of a beard 3)Nick Bastani is my hero a)WTF who else decides to take a completly spontaneous trip to Tennessee on the same weekend as i do, and decides to stop in Georgia for basically no reason about an hour from my breakdown spot. b)*double take* looks at 'a' 4) And so...my parents still dont know about anything a)...what a converation that's gonna be... b)Good thing i dont have a car to drive home to have the conversation 5) currently at Sewanee, University of the South: Sewannee, Tn a)missing a mid term b)missing a whole week of school c)not missing UCF ok..1...2...3...and we're off on a whirlwind adventure of a story:
It's 3:45 on friday, december 25th. I had just gotten out of my speech class a few minutes early; the day had started off well enough...hadnt made it to my first two classes, a late start. It's more than acceptable that i missed my classes because i shook the magic stick and canceled them, and ontop of that, there is the fact that later that night i would be in the company of some of my best childhood friends. I walk out of the communications building jump on the shuttle and make my way back to CVI. At CVI, i head straight into my room and immediately dump out the contents of my badass ebay backpack. Oh yes, necissary tangent...i bought a BADASS Ebay sling backpack... At any rate, I stuff a couple shirts, a pair of boxer-briefs (the best way to go support-wise), some deoderant, and a couple books in my notebook's place. Take note: i didn't pack any pants...I was wearing (FRESHLY WASHED mind you) jeans, which can go for days. after the junk rodeo in my room was over i immediately headed downstairs to my friend, and travel companion, Chuck's room. "Chuck! what the hell...aren't you ready to go yet! what the shit!" "Shut up asshole! it will take me two minutes to pack my bullshit!" "WHAT Bullshit!" so on and so on...just more of the same ol' same ol' vulgar banter that usually goes on between the two of us, and his room mate scot. After 15 minutes and 4 trips back up to my room (keys, wallet, CDs, driving hat (most important item)) we finally head out onto the road. The tool roads in florida are bullshit, plain and simple. ESPECIALLY the florida turnpike....2.50 at one toll; i would rather drop the soap than go through that...it amounts to the same thing...after about 8.00 in tolls, we finally make it to I-75, the interstate that runs damn near all the way up the US and way past our destiation...so thats all that matters. Things are in pristine order: the music is good (Modest Mouse at the time), we're making GREAT time...seeing as how im averaging about 98 miles an hour..., and i still have over a quarter tank of gas. Right about the time the trip counter roll into the 295 mile, and about 2/3 of a mile from the Fl/Ga border, we hear my engine make the strangest change in pitch; for some odd reason it seems that my motor is under a GREAt amount of stress. taking note i ease my foot off of the gas, and the re-accelerate to see if i can force my automatic trans. to change gears. When i do this, the last thing i expected happened. i hear "CLUG CLUG CLUG GRIND GRIND SNAP BANG" or omething to that effect...you know...it's very similar to she sound of the shit hitting the fan. I pull to the side of the road, and turn off my car. My knuckles are almost as white as my blood drained face; i am in complete shock. in a flash of an instant, all of te details of my trip flash before my eyes: I'm halfway to Tn, I have no money to spend because car insurance is due four days from our present time in the story, and we are stranded in the middle of ass nowhere on the side of a ginormous interstate. and to top it all off: MY PARENTS HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE ABOUT ANY OF IT! when all of this runs its course through the "OH SHIT!!!" web of neurons in my brain, and im brought back to reality by Chuck's "SHIT!!" I begin to scream "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!" each FUCK punctuated by a pound on the--at this point--useless steering wheel. in almost comical desperation i try turning my key; a cacaphony of grinding sounds, a symphony of broken engine pieces--the death rattle of a felled war beast. She was a valiant steed in her day; the old girl will be missed. I slowly reach for my door handle, and push my door open with extreme caution, halfway expecting my car to fall into complete dissassembly loony toons style. I swing my legs over the door frame, and drop my head into my hand. this simply CAN'T be happening, I mean..I got my tire changed...that means my car is still invincible for a while. ...right? not exaclty. I begin to pray in vain "God, Please Please Please, let my car not be fucked. I promise i was just kidding when i said i wanted to have an adventure to find myself on, a wilderness (proverbial or not) to explore, and to feel the ecitement of not knowing what the next day brings. Really, if our plans were executed flawlessly, that would actually be great. ...just let me get through this alive..." I stand up and survey our surroundings. It's dark, it being about 10:30 i would hope so..where do you think we are, alaska? the only other lights apart from my interior around are MY headlights and the headlighst zooming past me at basically super-sonic speeds. FUCK! flashlight...flashlight...YES! the flashlight out of the POS "Breakdown kit" i got for christmas the year i got my car. god forbid we have to use the rest of it --first aid kit, ponchos, emergency blankets (you know the drill). i sift around the junk heap thats in my trunk: a 5-foot sign reading "PARKER FOR SHERIFF", a flat spare tire, books i never read from AP English 12, my photo portfolio with my entire *cough* umm...catalouge melted together from the blazing hell that is the florida sun, empty Bawls bottles, travel coffe mugs, an umbrella hat, scratched to hell unlabled mix CDs with no cases, a jack, a lug wrentch, and this really strange tubular thing with metal bristles inside of it **mental note** do NOT masturbate with unknown metal object, WILL result in mid-shaft gash (lesson learned from Jackass). anyway..i find the flashlight, which is about as bright as i feel at this particular moment in time, and make my way to the front of corpse. First things first, i check underneath. What i see drops my heart from the bottom of my chest, straight out my rectum. All my car's precious life-blood is leaking out onto the interstate shoulder. My car is lying in a pool of her own blood. i spring up, pretending i didnt see what i just indeed saw. I pop open her hood, and suddenly its as if i had lit her funeral pyre; an utterly ridiculous amount of smoke--yes smoke, not steam-- billows out. I go into Bullshit mode-- i know everything, including the complete mechanical schematics of a 1996 nissan sentra like the back of my hand. After a few minutes of inane poking, prodding, and pulling that any man worth his salt would do, i pronounce my car dead at 10:45 on friday, February 25th in the year of our lord two thousand and five at a mileage of 123,061. I call AAA, they "prioritize" me, and tell me at 10:50 that help should be on its way, at 12:30 the tow-truck rambles up; that hour and some change was spent in some intense phone time on both mine, and chuck's part trying to find a way back to orlando...no real luck there. Doug the tow truck guy, straight outta Jasper, stumbles out of his truck, trying desperatly to light the Marlboro Red "cowboy killer" he's fumbling in his mouth. sleepily (or drunkenly, not sure which) he swaggers over to where Chuck and I are standing infront of my car. "We'boys, whats'r damage?" he says from behind his smoldering cigarette. "she's fucked" i blankly reply. "oh, well..closes' garge is abut a fi min' trip up't road, but'chee'on bea-ble t'gt'hr looked at til mornin'" i'm not even kiddign you thats what came out of his mouth. Great...so much for Tennessee "kay, do we ride in the cab?" "yep, hop up 'ere whi' Hoo'er'up" i think he said.
I wish to gd i was joking...their acents were so thick in Jasper it was like we were in Eastern Europe. He drops us off at the Lake Park Inn across the interstate from the garage hwere we determine best plan is to wait till morning to make any rash decisions. Stressed out, and wracking my brain for ideas that DON'T include telling my parents or wasting 56 dollars on a cheap motel, i begon to pace in the bitter cold outside the motel. OUTSIDE because the old hag at the window won't let us in out of the cold unless we check-in. Being about 45 minutes outside of Tallahassee i decide to call my Good buddy Nick. "EL PARKINO!!! Dawg what are you doing?" "NICKY! guess where i am!" "where?" "Georgia! right outside tally! what are you up to tonight?" "No way, im not in tally, I'm in georgia too, Rhianna and I are on our way up to Tennessee to visit some family of hers" "...no fucking way...us too..We're going to tennessee too!"
I explain to him the situation, and about the Golf ball-sized hole Doug spotted under my car in my motor. and he says to me that they will be there bright and early in the afternoon. incredible. inconcivable. a miracle...can you believe that God was working through the self-proclaimed "king of the potheads"? can I get an Amen.
"Nicky, i'm gona give you the biggest hug you've ever seen tomorrow" "Parker! i'm never gonna let go" "You know that if you let go first you care less, Nicky" "PARKER, i love you man"
That tore it, we would stay at the Lake park inn that night. we check in and make our way over to our room, number 124 first floor backside. we decide to trek over to the Flying J travel center to stock up on supplies to get us through the night and the remaining leg of the trip to Tennessee. wow...the Convient store/arcade/all you can eat buffet/trucker shower lounge/weigh station/ souivener store defies words. all i can say is eye <3 teh Flying J. not much happened here...i met Ethyl, and some dirty truckers waiting for showers. Chuck and i decided we were gonna drop out of school and become truckers, our handles being "The Great Volcano" and "The Flying JK" respectivly. That night i couldnt sleep at all, the excitement was murdering me, all of my "getting easy" friends two states wide were gonna be in the same place at the same time...exciting, but terrifying at the same time...my past nipping at my heels.
Bright and early at 8:00am my cell phone alarm clock goes off just in time for me to pick it up and throw it across the room. So, i get up at 9:30 instead, and head over to the Lake park garae and storgae. this last bit of the name scared me a little...if they have the capacity to store my vehichle, they have a means to charge me for it...F that. Throwing on my best good ol' boy demeanor i walk up to the head mechanic Bob. when bob identifies me as the owner of the 96' nissan POS he laughs and tells me that i need a new motor, and its going to be--labor not included-- $2500 to fix. my jaw drops, but thats mostly for show, i knew it would be upwards of that...but i had to atleast act suprised to not dissapoint him. So, i'm left with 2 options a)kick bobs dumb ass and steal his car and run as fast and as far as i possibly can or b)Junk my car. yes, that is as awful as it sounds. $35 later, the Lake park Garage is the proud owner of my car with the hole on the motor. yes THIRTY FIVE DOLLARS! 35, XXXV, 30 AND 5 right that econd i call Geico and cancel my policy, this goes well...they refund me 150.14 buckaroos, yes, they are my bitch. all of this money plus some magic math equals 185.14 yesssssss! its basically like i found a huge bag of money *fecsious cowl* Well, Nick arrived after getting lost and driving the entire bredth of Georgia, adding an extra hour onto his trip to get me, but its all gravy because by 12:00 we were all packed up and on our way. All of my personal belonging out of my car, and in the back seat of rhianna's SUV, we're headed to tennessee. the four of us rape Georgia in a matter of hours, and we are finally in Tennessee. I call Corwin and Lanny, the friends who i am coming up to visit, and they tell us that theyare at a party in Chatanooga, and to meet the downtown. So we do, and we follow them up Lookout mountain to this crazy mountain party...
hmmm..so yeah, this crazy mountain party turns out to be a wake oddly enough..dont know why we are here, where we spend several hours...Lanny seems to be the only one to know anyone else at the party, and they are dumping this guys ashes in the lake....overall a very very very strange and awkward night...that was saturday
from that point until now, we have just een hanging out at Sewannee...which is an amazing school. not only does it look like a castle, but its in my home state..which beeing in makes me almost want to cry. It akes me truly realize that i am in the WRONG environment at UCF. They really and truly take their studying seriousy here, where as at UCF no one ever studies, and there is something to get into 24/7. As my favorite Molly i am sure can identify with, when there is something other than what you need to be doing going on, you're sure as hell doing that instead.
but yeah...uts 3 am i started this at 11 *yikes*
Nick should be here at noon tomorrow, taking us back to FSU atleast we'll be back in FL *sigh* ill update again prolly from there
...wish me luck!
EDIT:Later that evening i had intercourse with four (4) gentlemen in a barn. Afterwards, i had intercouse with a mule. That was a learning experience, as one should note a mule will kick when anally raped -- From Corwin
<--end transmission-->
Act II:
Further Charles: innoncence and ignorance. These two children don't necissarily walk hand in hand. To me, IMHO, innoncence implies a lack of (or a lack of application of) experience. and Ignorance is a lack of Knowledge (that might come from experience). The two are related, and for them to be connotative of one another would be incest, and as we all know incest is illegal. To me the two are like twin brothers, one good and one evil. One purveying hope and beauty, and the other death and destruction. If I had to name their parents, I believe they would be the father(teacher, law-bringer, example) Experience(or a lack thereof) and the mother(passion, empathizer, and theory) Intention. The determining factor/ fine line between innocence and ignorance would definantly have to be intention. Thoes labled innocent usually have nothing but the best intention, and are seen as wholly good and childlike while at the other end of the spectrum comments seen as ignorant usual are sent from pointed tounge. At any rate... Some (Lao Tzu for instance) would argue that retaining innocence and staying childlike in face of experience, is the path to enlightenment. I prefer to think of enlightenmet not as a final destination but as a path carved to happiness by innovation and flexibility. And these are the traits I believe that technology is really having on this and subsequent generations. The Ability and the resource to learn faster through self motivated means. Not only do we have the information readily available, because of it, we are taught by experience that if there is something we do not know, but would like to, all we have to do is find it (and usually do easily). The younger and Younger are Faster yes, but powerful no. Potentially so..and potential though, the potential is the key.
With an increased rate of gaining knowledge, future generations have greater potentials for thought, innovation and invention. Information and interconnectedness (the real key in this argument) are readily more and more accessible. and as these increse intellegence increase. Though I think your argument that the locus of power will somehow shift to the younger and younger, approaching infinity, where thoes yet concieved will rule the world is flawed. Power is weilded not by thoes with the most intelligence (sadly) rather than thoes with the most influence. Influence is gained either through demogogy, is purchased, or through being well connected to the world at large through other mysterious means. Which brings me to the core of my agrument: The power held by this (and future) generation(s) doesn't come from how much money we have, or because we'll be infiltrating Executive boards of big business or coming into loads of money to weild at our most whimsical desire, it comes from being so closely interconnected, and having the ability to communicate so quickly, and share information to keep each other educated and informed. Even thoes other things may happen (such as infiltration and instantaneous wealth), They are not our true sorce of power. These yonger generations using laptops, iphones and phaser beams in school open a wholly different set of circumstances and up the ante educationally.
Charles: one day when you are a mega research doctor you should hop on board with our revolution and study the long term developmental implications imposed by the introduction and exponential evolution of technology in the classroom.
food for thought though:
As Well as a Reading List * Lawrence Lessig, Code and Other Laws of Cyberspace and Code: Version 2.0 * William Fisher, Promises to Keep: Technology, Law, and the Future of Entertainment * Lawrence Lessig, The Future of Ideas: The Fate of the Commons in a Connected World * Lawrence Lessig, Free Culture: The Nature and Future of Creativity * Yochai Benkler, The Wealth of Networks: How Social Production Transforms Markets and Freedom * Ron Deibert, John Palfrey, Rafal Rohozinski, Jonathan Zittrain, eds., Access Denied: The Practice and Policy of Global Internet Filtering * Jonathan Zittrain, The Future of the Internet - And How to Stop It
I've not read all (or any of this, but I found it here) and it's next on the list.
Now if anyone is still with me, I must apologize. I have absolutely no idea what i'm talking about. It can be quite embarassing most of the time. In fact, I'm relatively emptyheaded. It's a shame for me to go on waxing philosophically like I'm the foremost proust scholar in the world... That being said respond: continue a thought if it strikes you or tell me I'm wrong and show me I'm bat shit crazy. That's the point of all of this... well not entirely actually...The whole point of this thing is to talk about my expericences here in Spain... but it's turning into a nice conversation between friends. I don't have anything to prove about my intellect or my dignity. Thoes things I could do without. I really just want to have a conversation. At any rate: concerning spain, I'll have an update soon: some interesting stories and pictures to come, this stuff was just at the forefront of my brain. Thoes of you that I see regularly know my habits and I'm sure you could use your imagination to peice together what exactly I've been doing in a city such as Barcelona... Which is not only one of the most polluted cities in Europe, it's a thriving international bohemian (another word for drunkards and drug addicts that play music and do art) city. So patience: I have to pull myself together enough to remember the stories.
Here's an interesting story to hold you over though (Act III): I've disgusted Europeans left and right with my wine taste, which is apparently distinctly American. It's not so much that I have bad taste, rather just a tight fist. Though I think Dionysus may have punished me for trying to buy three bottles of the Cheapest wine I could find (€0.55, yes 55 cents). Even witht he terrible exchange rate being what it is, That is still dirt cheap, and less than an American dollar. So what could I do, I had to... I could feel the pressure of the great market forces working against my wallet, my brain and my liver simultaneously. It might not of been Dionysus punishing me, because I was bying in excess it might be God punishing me for my stupidity. That particular Market, El Conceptio, is three blocks away from my Flat. On two stories, the first is a giant open market where one can by whole rabbits, A slew of fish that I can't identify (dead, also whole) fresh fruit, vegtables bread and Flat Screen TVs, The bottom is like a regular grocery store. Pretty damn convenient. As I was walking up the stairs to pay for my armfulls of wine (totaling less than 2€) I pulled a classic Parker move, tripping up the stairs. Before I knew it I was lying in a pool of my own blood (okay okay a little over dramatic, but It was red, I do drink too much (so you couldsay that It was my blood on the ground % wise) and I was bleeding just a little), and broken glass. Subsequently I went back down stairs, got three more and this time with a basket safely made the journey. The spaniards though were on a Siesta, and I believe the mess is still there.
ALright, you may say that it is a biological impossibility for Penn to physically be my grandmother. Though Nay, I say to you, Nay. If you look right into the eyes of the dragon, you will see her.
They may not be one in the same, but they look damn close.
Thoes of us born with mouse and keyboard in hand aren't so unfamiliar with organic growth. I know you meant nature-based organic nonsense (you vegan hippie commie pinko stoner :P) but the revolution and renaissance is wholly digitally organic. Ideas are planted and grow into the community electronically. Ideas on the great interweb are digital organisms that live and die by the blogosphere and popular opinion. 'viral' is a new media buzzword that has come into existance recently with people getting wildly famous from personally publish content on Youtube or the 'blogosphere' or what have you, but it is absolutely organic. It's hard to visualize though because it is entirely metaphysical.
I'm world famously interested in this phenomenon of the wired-generation...and I don't think I'm alone in the way I think. You should read Al Gore's book The Assault On Reason. It is there he talks about Digital democracy and the coming changes ahead when our supremely interconnected generation get's into business politics and media. There will be a world of difference then. The internet allows us a truly democratic forum to debate and carry on what he calls the 'conversation of democracy' with the government.
This is what I am most interested, the intersection of law, democracy, politics and technology.
Concerning Web 2.0 Dr. Ball, recently following the sex scandel of Elliot Spitzer workers in the sex industry (i.e. dirty hookers--all read this article) through the use of twitter, flickr, myspace and mobile internet effectivly controlled the information that was reported into the media. coordinated interviews, and tailored the information to further their own agendas and open a legitamate debate about the abuse of sex workers. Because of the lack of control on the industry because of it's illegal nature. The content is intresting (and super sexy) but the overall impact of how it was done... is one of the most resounding things I've ever heard. I read this article slack-jawed to be honest. This tell's me that not only is there interconectedness in our generation, but there be power. The power to control the world around you, most literally. The control of information in our society is the most powerful wepon that anyone can posess. and to have it so readily available?? and for so little cost? what the fuck. We will rule the world one day. mark my words.
There is so much power you hold in your hand with an Iphone, a flickr account, a facebook account,a few RSS feeds and a decent wifi connection that it practically is a modern-day samurai sowrd. except 100 feet long The American Government should be shaking in their boots. Because not only are we an educated ,open-minded, and an extremly interconnected Generation. But we are filled with piss and vinegar. (or at least I am, not to mention whisky)
If a bunch of hookers can control Fox News, then imagine what some Nerd-core Internet Pirates could do to the music industry..or better yet Sons of Digital Liberty (A new name for propriators of freedom of information and Digital democracy) tot he american Government.
We are able to mobilze, intellectually speaking anyway, on a dime and we are constantly aware of their almost every move. The combination of The American Housing Crisis, The Credit Crisis, The 'blogosphere' the dissent of internet pirates, The War in Iraq, and the growing seperation between the American government with logic,freedom, and popular american opinion spells out to me: Revolution.
Obama may represent change but we, my friends, all thoes with a decent internet connection, an opinion, and the very neccissary knowledge to be able to utilize the two, we are the change.
wow...talk a bout a rant.
This started off as a response to Ballister and Angela but I'm a little passionate about the subject...and I had to get that all out into the world. food for thought I guess. So the next time You are bullshitting on Facebook or checking Google reader, reading CNN on your Iphone, downloading anything from a torrent file.. just stop and think about the vast potential that is connected to your fingertips. Think about it all, and don't take it for granted.
The internet is what took me to Spain, and what allows me to interact with everyone I know like I would sitting on my lazy ass at home.
Ballzer:Web 2.0 is no digression it is amazing. And the Future it holds is more than just tech change. shiiit.
Other than all that: the absithe I used a fork instead of a slotted spoon. That is some strong shit, sir. Though tasty. It'll put you on your ass though for sure... though it'S the good kind of on your ass: such as what the hell, where am I! who are these naked girls!
sadly I can't say that with experience, but I have a hell of an imagination.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
THe first few are where I'm living plus the view from my balcony. the rest is how I've been living
As is stands I´ve been in this ´flat´for two weeks now. Ridiculous. the entirity of my stay here. Luckily though it´s a pay as you go flat for travelers in a nice part of town. I walk out my front door and I see a beautiful building built by Antonio Gaúdi who is the architect credited for making barcelona the city it is today. as well as in sucessesion a gucci sotre, a lacoste store, and the landmark I use to find my street (I call Booberry) but it´s called something completely different... not sure of the actual name. If that gives you any idea if the area, and it should... it should come to no suprise that I pay 400€ a month(about 600$) to live in a fort in the living room.
By fort, I mean a double bed surrounded by a ´privacy curtain´which is a giant drapery around my living quarters. For the most part privacy has not been too big of an issue. the only other teneant in the flat is a woman from the bosque region of Spain who is, to put it lightly, a raging nut bag. She rarely ventures out of her room, so no real problem there either. The few times I have communicated with her it has been about intruders in her bathroom. The day I arrived here I was...exploring...the flat and happened to go into her private bathroom, and upon exit was accosted and verbally assaulted for my intrustion. The second run in I had with her, she told me that she had noticed ´certain traits´there within her bath, and that another woman had been using it. she is very protective of her bathing area, to say the least.
That though is the least of the problems here. On Thursday of last week, I decided to be adventurous. I went to try the spanish national dish: Paella. The previous evenign I met an American Girl travelling alone in an Irish pub, which are, odly enough, all over Barcelona. 27, gorgeous Graduate of NYU and a Masters from Columbia. You meet the most interesting people here, She told me her first hand account of the events of 9/11 (her apartment at the time was 2 blocks from ground zero). In order to get the most native experience, we went to the smallest shittiest run seafood place I could find to get...¨the best¨..seafood in BCN. Hardly. Moving on.. Afterwards we went to an Absinthe bar (establish in 1789) and I had my fair share of that magical substance....from that point on I can´t continue the narritive of the rest of that evening seeing as how I can´t recall the specific events.
THOUGH: the morning. I awoke the following morning in the bathroom of my flat in a panic. I had absolutely no idea where I was, who I was or what had happened to put me in the shower of a bathroom I had ´never seen before´. What had jarred me awake though was the smell of cigarette smoke and the clanging of dishes in the kitchen.
I´ll take this time to explain the amenities that come complimentary with the rental of this flat: laundry service: my gym shorts have been hanign on the closeline outside for two days with birdshit all over them.
cleaning service: dofferent maid everyday, and they wont stop moving my things around, I´ve lost a few accessories to my computer, a pair of blue jeans, a cloth belt that was lent to me by a Sea Captain, a power outlet converter for fucking stupid spanish outlets, as well as my spanish-english dictionary.
Kitchen ware: to be explained below
wireless internet: I´ve fucked my laptop. American voltage standard is 110v, Europe is 220v Ther einlies the problem. useless to me now
Cable TV: All american programing with TERRIBLE TERRIBLE TERRIBLE spanish dubbing..though I rather like Me Llamo Earl.
Dish explination: the morning I awoke from what I vaugly remember to be a night of absinth haze/food poisoning by the smell of cigarrtetes and the clanging of dishes, my landlords decided it was in the best interest of thisflat for them to remove all of the cooking ware and dishware from our kitchen. leaving us with 1 plate and one glass in a plastic container they decided to place on my bed. No matter how many times I return this container to the kitchen, each morning it returns to the foot of my bed. Unfortunately, I can get no clear explination for why this keeps happening. None of the maids, or my landlords speak a word of English.
Enough bitching about the flat. It´s an adventure to be sure. none of these things actually concern me too terribly. I´me fine here, and and more than thankful I don´t have to sleep in the streets. Apart fromt he general weirdness of the operation of this establishment. Things have been spectacualr.
On a more positice note: my job is fucking phemonenal. I do two things predominantly: screen ¨new content¨ that my company can potentially buy the rights to sell and distribute and give my two cents about the website we just launched: http://loko.tv
basically what I do is watch Short films all day long, and play on facebook. I do have some other tasks assigned to me such as redesigning the content catalog for the content my company owns the rights to distribute, and play Techno Wizard from planet Zebes (there is my new title charles).
I¨ve noticed quite an interesting phenomenon about the Generation I belong to... for posterity we´ll call in the intrinsi-tech generation. For me, using a computer is like using my fucking eyeballs. In the modern working wnvironment, alot of older peopel struggle. Using Word, Excel, The interweb...all of these simple tasks I´ve come to realize are not so simple for anyone older than lets say...27. In general that is, not to say that all old fogies don´t know how to operate a computer... they just weren´t bred to do it. For me, I was born with a mouse and keyboard in hand, and in the professional setting I´m a commodity because I can reset the wireless router when it oges down, or restart the computer when there is a tiny error...things that are I believe to be completely simple, completly mistify some older generations. realize what you have, and take advantage. for shizz my nizzes. We, thoguh, as a gneration are more connected to the outside world, less sheltered, more intelligent, and readily able to solve any propblem that comes our way via google, wikipedia, flicker, facebook, RSS, ect. ect.
we are the revolution. we are renaissance. And we will change the world.
okay, I´ll get off the soap box now.
at any rate... Ballister: I´ll upload some more pictures tomorrow or later this week at work. depending on what this spanihs bullshit internet allows me to do.
Things have calmed here for the time being. Though... Calm and boring are never to be confused.
Several events have unfolded since my last digital purge.
For one, I have me the spanish love of my life, her name is Byci. She just like myself loves stealing, and scaring pidgeons. She also loves to be ridden at both a fast and a medium pace.
I knew she was the one meant for me when I rode out of the Decathalon store where I bought her and all of her accessories were on the recipt, but she had managed to slip beneath the radar of the cashier/front gaurdsman.
Though, a trifle scary it was when I returned home to find that although I had gotten away with my beautiful steed... I had paid with dignity instead of credit.
I had left my wallet at the cash register. What a fucking Idiot.
Though when I rode my prison sentance back into the store to retrieve my wallet, she craftily again slipped under the radar like a thif in the night.
I might have stolen her, but she stole my heart. There is no one I'd rather tour Barcelona from on top of.
Biking in Europe is the only way to see a big city.
The average mode of transportation for a European city dweller is a Vespa scooter, which apparently, don't really have to follow any traffic laws.
not though that the traffic laws in Spain are that strict in the first place. Let's take a normal intersection for instance: Not only are there the main lanes of traffic, but two adjacent lanes on either side of that as well meant for Bikes, Taxis, and busses. These lanes are seperated by pedestrian walk ways with parking for the "motos".
At any given time, a moto or a car or whatever sort of vehichle for that matter will switch into one of these adjacent lanes at any available opening, and if large enough, will make it's own. The traffic lights at the interstections stand for the following: Green - Universal Go Yellow - Also, Go just faster than you normally would when the light is green Red - Again, also go unless you feel like stopping, it would be pretty nice of you if you did.
This Should Give you some Idea:
The police, can't be bothered with traffic violations. They are too busy doing nothing, and driving around in their strange tiny cars, stopping tourist to ask meaningless questions and then send them on their way..
Also:
Another issue that has arisen for me: Mayonnaise.
I'm not completely sure if its just Spain or the entirety of Europe that has an out and open love affair with Mayonnaise.
Though when my sandwhich comes with a side order of nachos... I neither expect or desire the spanish perversion of this Mex-american classic: Tortilla chips with mayo squirted on top. Also Patatas Bravas, be warned: mayo all over thoes sons of a bitches.
Someone needs toinform the Spanish Juntamente that mayonnaise infact does not belong on everything edible. I believe it's fact that they also use it for sun screen.
The west Africans usual settle as two different breeds. The men, as sellers of knock off purses and sunglasses. These men travel in packs and lay there wares on blankets with reigns attached. when the fuzz drives by, it quite a spectacle to see the stampede of black santas take off like olympic runners. The west African women come in the form of prostitutes. also, in packs. What I've learned: never make eye contact with a west African hooker. Just trust me on this one.
