Jello's jigglin

Gabriela is gone. Gloria is paid. The floors are swept. Sheets folded. Dust dusted. Shades are drawn and the sun has set...it's time to leave Madrid. Qué triste.

I knew this day would eventually come. I knew my time here wouldn't last forever, but the end arrives so suddenly, and when it does it's hard to comprehend. The end creates questions of doubt in our minds...like when I am going to come back? How's my spanish? Are you dense? Do most people really use peanut butter as bug repellant? does that work?

I thought i would have a better grasp on life and the world when my trip was all done...but to tell you the truth i'm more confused and torn up than ever before. HOwever, i'm completely REJUVENATED...a well-deserved break from the USA...and now that it's time to return, i couldn't be happier. Sad to leave Madrid, ecstatic to be back in the warm embrace of my home, my country, my family, my friends (sunsovbitches).

I spent last night at my favorite blues bar in Madrid. La Coquette. The thick waiter, with a full beard and wide eyes raced around the bar with his chest puffed out, agile feet, and a questioning, goofy smile...he is the Spanish version of Jack Black. I laugh every time i see him. He laughs too. "Estás listo?"...he responds in funny spanish english as Jack Black would if he did not speak english, "Ohhhh! I am ready."

Neither of us know what the other one is talking about...i randomly asked a waiter who i've only met a handful of times if he was ready...and without skipping a beat he responds in a different language. Both of us talking about nothing in our second languages. He is Jack Black...or en realidad, Juan Negro.

The harmonica player was a magician...he made sounds come out of that harmonica that i've never heard before...and the lead guitarist with shiny gray hair and a soul patch killed it....he knew his guitar like the backside of his hand. These guys dueled it out all night, giving us an incredible show.

Sitting in the crowd sipping on my cold Mahou, occasionally smoking a borrowed cigarette, completely surrounded by Spaniards, while spanish blues blast in the background - couldn't think of a better way to go out.

One last dish of Bravas and a croquetta to go. I'm gone.

Actually i have one more night and a shitload of money - just got my deposit back. What should i do? I can think of a few things. I'm going to go out with a bang. My bags are packed. All i have to do is grab them and hop on the metro. I've completely eliminated the idea of sleep from my mind, and reality is starting to sound Spanish.

Hasta luego Madrid, mi amor. Hasta pronto USA.

Qué triste/feliz & for the last time,

C.M. Stassel

Rentals

What time is it?

I'm not sure because the blinds are shut.

I can see light out so it must not be night.

Yeah, that's probably a good guess, but what I'm more concerned about is finding a nude model to draw for my art class.

You should rent a hooker on Gran Via and draw her.

That's a great idea. I'll bring my basketball, and maybe afterwards we can play one on one.

I just ate an entire chicken with a side of french fries and a salad. A coke to drink. One of the final meals I will eat here in Madrid. The countdown has begun and the days are flying by. I'll be home in 8 days.

Last night was fun. We went to a bar and I roamed around asking Spaniards about their opinions on bullfighting. I could say that I always do that, but that's not the truth. The truth is i'm doing an investigation on Las Ventas y Las Corridas de Toros for my spanish class.

A tall, bald black man licks his fingers and asks me if i'm looking for some "lamb lamb". He's a sleazy looking guy wearing a black pea-coat (or is it p-coat?), with a huge diamond in his ear. Probably fake. When he says lamb lamb he's referring to chicas. girls. women. babes. I haven't the slightest clue why he calls them lambs, but i'll allow it. It's funny. Courtesy of Mr. Lamb Lamb the drinks were plentiful.

As I leave the bar I see a man getting the living hell beat out of him, and as he lays there in the street I walk up to him to see if he's alive. Just as i'm almost directly standing over him, i look up to see an angry Spaniard run up and kick this man right in the face. Blood flies everywhere. The man then sets his sights on me. I put a hand up to let the guy know that i'm not part of this. Had he charged me it wouldn't have been much of a fight. He was no taller than 5'5 and very drunk. A foot to his chest would have sufficed - i wouldn't want to get my hands dirty with that little, little man. The guy begins to slowly walk away, admiring his work as he yells and cheers. I drag the bloody man out of the middle of the street and lean him up against the building. I got blood all over my hand. I washed the blood off with paper towels and beer. Don't know why I almost found myself in the middle of a spanish battle royale or with a hand full of blood. I didn't really want to stop the fight, i didn't even know why they were fighting - for all i knew the guy deserved to get beat up, but not kicked in the face while he's already lying almost lifeless in the street. I merely wanted to drag the guy out of the street so he didn't get run over or gang beat to death. Go ahead, fight. I don't care, but i wasn't about to see a guy get run over - it's my last 8 days in Madrid. I don't want to see someone die. I've seen a few bulls die, but no humans. Fingers crossed that I arrive to the airport in 8 days with this truth still intact.

Now i'm going to curl up in my bed, read a spanish book and then probably draw a picture for my art class. Dinner is up in the air, but I think I know a place.

Whoa,

CM Stassel

p.s. Don't worry Mom it's too rainy and cold to go rent a hooker on Gran Via.