The seventeenth installment of my abandoned Granadino memoir, Flawed Abroad: Useless editorializing from an ignorant, close-minded American on his semester overseas.
Domingo, 30 Ene. ’05, 14.15 (Sunday, January 30, 2005, 2:15 pm)
Okay, so I haven’t done anything worth writing about — well, ever, but in the past few days in particular — but I did get in an argument with my señora this afternoon about how much cheese was too much. Her response: It’s impossible to have too much cheese. Now that’s my kind of mujer!
Miscellaneous Anecdote: I walked by a Chinese restaurant today and noticed that they had fried chicken balls on the menu. I thought to myself, “Poor bastards — first their fingers and now this.”
Lunes, 31 Ene. ’05, 12.45 (Monday, January 31, 2005, 12:45 pm)
I’ve decided that it is impossible to determine what, exactly, makes up Granada’s indigenous flora. While walking along the canal today, I passed a palm tree, a towering spruce pine, and an orange tree all within the same 15-foot radius. What in the Yosemite Sam Hill is going on here?
19.45 (7:45 pm)
I had 10 minutes worth of homework tonight and 15 minutes worth the night before. It was one of the longest combined 25-minute spans of my life. My brain still hasn’t come to terms with the fact that my stay in Granada isn’t just one big vacation; I’m actually enrolled in school. I think there’s a better than even chance that, when I return to Bowdoin, my few remaining scholastic brain cells will be so overwhelmed that I’ll fall right off the academic map. Tell me: is actually graduating from college worth the mental anguish derived from more than 30 minutes of homework a night? I submit that it is not. You can have your fancy degrees, my fellow polar bears; just let me watch Family Guy in peace.
Fortunately, I’ve got this surefire bestseller to fall back on. Yup, that and the perpetual availability of various 40-minimum-wage-hours-of-menial-labor-a-week jobs permit me the luxury of acting so blasé toward my future. Diplomas, bah! Who needs ’em? I can’t even keep track of the gift certificates I get for my birthday, and those things are actually worth something.
Jueves, 3 Feb. ’05, 0.00 (Thursday, February 3, 2005, 12:00 am)
I saw two albino chicks on the way to an internet cafe today. I didn’t want to be rude, so I only stared for a couple of minutes and immediately stopped pointing and laughing when they asked me to.
I also saw this movie called La Niña Santa at the local discotheque. Here’s a brief yet entirely thorough summary: some pederast doctor rubs his crotch against some young chick’s ass a couple of different times on a crowded sidewalk; some dude plays the Theremin a lot; the girl whose ass gets rubbed makes out with her friend and then, in an unrelated scene, masturbates under her bed sheets; the pederast doctor makes out with the girl’s mom; a maid at the hospital sprays disinfectant all over the place; both girls go for a synchronized swim in the local pool. End of movie. I guess this explains why you never see any Spanish movies dubbed into English. (That said, I will admit to being inexplicably entertained by the whole impenetrable affair. I guess I’m just a sucker for girls masturbating.)
16.00 (4:00 pm)
Today just became the happiest day of mi vida española. No, I didn’t meet the señorita of my dreams (that I’m aware of, at least). Nor did I win “El Gordo,” the biggest lottery in Spain. However, I did receive a package from my parents a few hours ago, and inside was such sweet American ambrosia that I nearly peed my pants in elated incontinence.
At my behest, they sent me two bags of homemade dried pineapple, one giant bag of homemade beef jerky, and an entire pound of genuine, honest-to-Allah pepperoni. Have I mentioned that there’s no pepperoni to be had in all of Granada? Those salchicha-scarfing scallywags don’t even seem to have a word for it. Now if I could only find some real friggin’ milk, we’d be in business (a rather unsuccessful business, to be sure, as I doubt there is much of a market in Spain for a Pepperoni & Milk store, but a business nonetheless).