missing: self

Yes, I've lost myself. And, like the cliché that I may be becoming, I apparently believe that it's in Europe, waiting to be found. Because selves just lounge around in foreign cities, waiting for you to show up. Mostly in Europe. Some go to Asia, more and more are being found in South America, but traditionally, most can be found at some café in Paris, or at a terrace in Rome, or even in a beer garden in Berlin. I have no statistics on which to base my assumptions, but I would wildly guess that there are thousands of Americans wandering around Europe, trying to discover their real "selves." Personally, the purpose of "finding yourself" is not why I came to Spain, and it's not why I may choose to stay. I know perfectly well that I'm dragging my heels on the way to adulthood, and Spain is as good as Neverland. People are relaxed, and the men really do seem to never grow up. I haven't spotted any pirates or crocodiles, but I'm sure they're closer to the ocean. I am working, so it's not like I'm lounging around, but still. And really, I know myself well enough that I will never "find myself" in Spain. My "self" is neither relaxed nor loud, and it does not enjoy staying up all night. No, I'm sure my "self" will be waiting for me when I get back. Sometimes you need to play hide and seek with yourself, to keep things interesting.

traveling with the parents

We stayed in a hotel room, without bunk beds! We ate at expensive (ok, moderately-priced) restaurants without guilt! We shopped and actually bought things! We went to bed relatively sober at a reasonable hour! We got up early without moaning! That's right, it's...vacation with the parents! I spent a week with my parents, European-style. Specifically, British-style. First stop: London. A half-way point between Continental Europe and the US, a wading pool, if you will. Everything's old, like Europe, but people drink out of American-sized To-Go cups. There's also a New York-like theater (I mean, theatre) district, and large portion sizes. People speak English, but it sounds a bit funny. I may have said London is America Lite. Am I being an arrogant, pretentious American? Probably, yes. But, back to the main "theme" of this entry: parents, traveling. The last time my parents and I hung out on the "Old World" continent, we were in Madrid, and things were a bit stressful. I was the designated translator, but I was at school most of the time, so things were a little hairy for my parents. But in the UK, everybody speaks English! So, that was one problem solved. And since no one was familiar with London or Edinburgh, we could all get lost together. We didn't feel strange about whipping out a giant map, or asking strangers for directions. I did feel slightly self-conscious about my American accent, which sounded like a drawl compared to the prim and proper British one. So we explored London, walked a lot, ate way too much food (much of it fried), and that was vacation. There weren't any late nights, but there were plenty of early mornings. Next stop: Edinburgh. Way beautiful. Gigantic castle on the hill. A lot of bagpipes. There was also a tower that reminded me of Mordor. And Scotch, with particularly "peaty" aftertaste. We didn't try any haggis, but again, we walked and ate a lot. That was the main theme of the trip. We also watched Quantum of Solace (I really had to take advantage of movies being in English), and relaxed. Because that's what vacation with the parents is all about. Relaxing, and traveling in style.

understanding soccer by understanding baseball

Europeans are crazy about soccer. I mean, football. Soccer is an American word. Europeans love football. I think their blood may be the color of the field. Or pitch. Whatever. Green as grass. Things stop when their teams are playing. Spanish people, being Europeans, are no exceptions. Since winning Eurocup (which was insanity), Spaniards everywhere have moved on to the national league. In this blog, I will not attempt to explain the inner-workings of the Spanish league. It would be too long, and too boring, and really, I don't understand it either. All I know is that in Madrid, there are only three teams that matter. Real Madrid, Madrid Atletica (Atleti), and Barcelona. If you live in Madrid, you are either for Real Madrid or Atleti, and you hate Barcelona. There are exceptions to the rule, but they are rare and frowned upon. If someone insults your team, you must insult theirs. If you support Real Madrid, you say that Atleti are a bunch of chokers who can't seal the deal. If you're for Atleti, you call Real Madrid a bunch of spoiled, overpaid crybabies, with no heart or teamspirit. But really, you join together in your overwhelming hate for Barça. At first, I didn't know what team to support. I went with Real Madrid because NYU's campus is right next to Santiago Bernabeu, their stadium. Then, I started thinking about baseball. New York has two teams. The Yankees and the Mets. The Mets have spunk, spirit. But, every September, with enormous leads and truly epic meltdowns, they turn out to be a bunch of chokers who can't seal the deal. And the Yankees, although they have a storied history, lack that camraderie and could very well be described as spoiled, overpaid crybabies. And everybody hates Boston. Perhaps the Mets hate the Yankees more, but they're not part of Red Sox Nation, by any means. Through my new understanding of soccer, ehm, football, I have had a revelation. I hate the Yankees, therefore I can't support Real Madrid. And I don't live in Barcelona, so I can't support Barça. That leaves me with Atleti, the Mets. And I don't hate the Mets, so I'm a proud support of a bunch of chokers who can't seal the deal. Thank you, baseball, for helping me come to terms with my new life.