Home

My window is open, and the blinds are drawn. Piano music floats into my bedroom as I try to doze off for a late afternoon siesta. I don't know where the music comes from. I've tried to find it before. I can hear it so clearly from my window - it's beautiful. Maybe some things are better left unfound. This pianist is very good. His notes are crisp and his tunes are deliberate - I wonder if it's a man or a woman? I should very much like to know what this pianist looks like. Hearing the sounds of the piano make me remember how desperately I wish i could play. I wish that a piano was being played outside my window at all times of every day. Perhaps that might become tiresome, but I still wish it - I can always shut my window.

I almost got my hands on a grand piano once. From a man named Bob - he was the owner of Bob's Piano Movers. There was an ad on the internet for a grand piano, and I was in a curious mood so I gave the number a call. It turned out to be Bob's number, and he knew the piano I was talking about. I asked him how much he wanted for it - "It's free," he told me. The piano came from an elementary school that no longer needed it. All I had to do was pay Bob $100 for the move - one c-note for a grand piano?...sounded like a bargain to me. Lucky for my neighbors, Bob was all talk - he never came through. I thought I had finally gotten a grand piano...but, then again, I did start this story with the word "almost".

You can (meaning you) start a party centered around a grand piano at any time of any day. Pianos are great to have in general, whether you can play or not.

I thought the pianist would stop playing after two hours, but the concert is still going on. I'm still enjoying it.

The player never stops playing. He only for allows for one applause break during the concert, and really it cannot even be considered a break. Once applause is heard the concert ends, and the Piano player probably retires to his small apartment to have a smoke and drink a whiskey.

I have not written anything in english for a while, so it feels good to write. I've been reading a children's book in spanish, and writing compositions about my childhood and favorite movie - elementary stuff like that.

I should write about my trip to Portugal, but I don't really want to - i'm not sure why. I'll tell you about it, though. It was a wonderful trip, and I was able to surf for two days. The water was warm, and the sun was out. The trip was incredibly fluid and easy because we had a surf-stoked tour guide named, Diogo.

Diogo drove us around in his car showing us his city. I hope he comes out to California so I can return the favor. Trestles is his favorite wave in the world (he told me countless times), but he's never surfed it. He's never even left Europe. I'll provide you with some pictures of my Portugal trip...it wasn't crazy, just a really relaxing and good vacation.

When cooked right the meat should slide right off the bone. Too much time on the grill and it turns hard and tough. Not enough time over the fire, and it's chewy and ill-considered. I'm not sure what my trip to Oktoberfest was, but I can assure you one thing - the meat definitely did not slide right off the bone.

The trip was difficult, exhausting, bone-chilling & completely worth it. I stayed in a tent, a small tent, and I had a roommate for one night. He was an Australian and he seemed like a nice guy, but he wasn't too keen on me - for good reason. The bier is served in giant Muggets, and it's nothing like Spanish bier. It's flavorful, strong, and it gets you real drunk. The men wear liederhosens to show off their powerful calves, while the women wear dresses designed to enhance their bust - it works.

Two steins deep and i'm buzzed as I peruse the Oktoberfest fairgrounds. Rain suffocates the night sky, and the bier keeps me warm enough to not want an umbrella. After we had enough time at the fest for the first night we hopped on a bus back to the campgrounds. Either all public transportation in Germany is free, or I'm some kind of royalty and don't have to pay. That's neither here nor there, all that matters is that I always got to where I wanted to go. Back at the campsite we went to the bar - yes, the campsite did have it's own bar. Well, it really wasn't a bar. It was more of a bunch of picnic tables, an awning, and four vending machines filled with Lowenbrau (a local brew). I spoke in Spanish to Englishmen, Aussies, and Germans from all over the world - what's the point in speaking in english? Anyone can do that. My travel companions retired much earlier in the night than I. The bloody english and their damned drinking habits kept me out. When I finally returned to the tent I collapsed on my inflatable pool toy provided for me by the nice (sick) people at TopDeck (the camping co.).

It must have been a dream because the tent was way too small for my 6'2 1/2 frame to stand fully erect (not that type of erect Matthew Helfrich), but there I was, standing upright in what seemed to be a substantial and sizable tent. Beltless and pantless. St. Augustiner bier rained down from the sky as I took a piss into what seemed to be the biggest porcelain urinal I had ever seen installed inside of a tent...and I had seen a few before. But as the bier continued to thunder down the fireflies inside the tent slowly burned out one by one and the shiny, white porcelain urinal slowly morphed into a stone, cold face. An angry face. An angry Australian face - it was my tent mate. Curse words and australian colloquials danced around my head like flower pedals in the wind. The urinal yelled and yelled at me, and all I could do was apologize, but apologies don’t do much in dreams. The freezing night air chilled me to my core and there were no clouds to keep me warm, so I spent the night in the Jacuzzi located in the west wing of our tent. When I woke in the morning the tent had been ransacked, my clothes were everywhere, and my Australian roommate and all his stuff were gone. It was a weird night – I mean dream.

The next day I went to the festival with a group of 6 Australians – my friends had already left me when I woke up in the morning, no matter. We posted up inside the Lowenbrau tent and got pissed playing cards, singing German chants, and dancing on the tables. Beautiful, blonde babes carried 5 steins to a hand, while the 10-piece band played German tunes in the middle– they kept playing a song that sounded like Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes….oooooooohhhh ah ooh oh oooooooohhh.

I rode the bus back at around 8 pm and met a rowdy group of Englishmen led by a man called Keyborn. He was the drunkest of the batch and particularly bold and particularly happy – he kept kissing everyone and yelling and then kissing them again. His hit move was to pull down his pants, chug an entire bier, and then put the stein upside down on his head – the funny part was that most of the time when he did this he didn’t chug the whole bier so as he tilted it upside down over his head the last 20% would soak him. “Ah, come on Keybornnnnnn!” those bloody englsihmen would say as they laughed. I partied with them late into the night – I stayed until Keyborn wanted to take a 30 minute metro ride into town to find strippers and cocaine…there was no way I was getting on a 30 minute metro at that hour.

We concluded the weekend at the Haufbrau Hous. I drank 3 steins and ate bratwurst and sourcrout. I love the Haufbrau Hous, it brings back memories of when I traveled through Europe with Wes, Tay, and Mike. Our flight wasn’t until 7 pm so we enjoyed the day at the Hous until it was time to head HOME.

HOME – one of my favorite things to think about. Home is always changing. Of course, the real home is the place where I grew up with my family. Home is where your family is, but home can change. Home can change when you have a difficult, freezing cold, bier-induced weekend in a foreign country where you don’t know the culture, language, or people. After a weekend like that, home becomes Madrid. That was my favorite part about Oktoberfest. It really made me feel like Madrid was now my home – I was so elated to be back in Spain where I knew the language, the lay of the land and I had a warm bed. I love Spain. I love Madrid. It’s home, now.

At home,

C.M. Stassel

-sorry for not posting in a while. it's been a busy couple weeks. I'm back on my grind tho. Here are some fotos.

The first picture is from Germany...and the rest are from Lisbon, Portugal.