For My Brother

I was pretty useless this weekend except I went to see Valencia CF v. Barça Sunday evening across from my piso. The first half was uneventful but the second half saw Valencia score twice between the 50 and 55 minute mark, then there were some yellow and red cards because of two near-brawls, and then Barça scored late in the second half. So Valencia won which is awesome. Rooting for Barça when you live in Valencia is like rooting for the Yankees. Period.

All this sleeping and the Spanish lazy lifestyle caught up with me. I slept until about two or three every day for a week, because I just don’t have class after Wednesday, and not on Monday until five. Then on Tuesday, when I have to be at class at nine – which means I have to be in the shower no later than eight – I slept about two hours because of “too much” sleep. I guess my body needs it because definitely since the middle of December and probably long, long before that I have been way overworked, between preparing for WSC as an OC member and preparing for Mexico SDL as a faci, and actually being there and getting about three hours of sleep in a week, then having to wake up for class in Gandia for two weeks. Now I suppose is the time to get in gear and go all out for whatever I should go all out for.

A female friend from Barcelona told me a bad tale. She is on an Erasmus exchange in Maastricht, the Netherlands (birthplace of the EU) and there they have the best Carneval celebrations in the Netherlands. She was out with her friend from the US (another female), and according to the Barcelonan, the US girl was dressed “like a hippie” so like everyone else, indistinguishable. Some revelers asked her, “Where are you from?” and she replied “The US.” Then they said “AMERICAN WHORE,” and such, and began to push and shove her, and eventually kick her. The Barcelonan tried to intervene and became caught up in the same mess. Someone who took pictures of the attackers had their camera smashed on the ground by them. Then when they went, bruised and crying, to the nearest Dutch police car, they rolled their windows up and drove off. The next morning at the police station, the police said did not care again. Why does this happen? Sure we’re “the US” and all of that, but why would these people just attack her like that (especially Western Europeans?) and then the police not care at all? That’s a question that’s been with me since I heard it.

Anyway, I woke up too early on Tuesday having gotten so little sleep, and then there was no first class. How does this happen. It happened again this morning – my first class again. That doesn’t make me happy.

Tonight I saw The Long Winters with Vidar. Thanks to my musical and Alabamian comrade Matt Wurtele for heartily endorsing them one hour before the show because they were very good, and in an intimate setting. I wonder how many of the Spaniards there could understand the lyrics, because Spaniards as a rule probably don’t know much if any English.

I will post pictures from these events next time. I meant to write more but I’m tired. Looks like no Paris / Decemberists for me, maybe Madrid this weekend.

By Preston

Agent of Change, Former of Entropy, Seeker of a Stateless World.

One reply on “For My Brother”

That Dutch anecdote angers and disturbs me. Isn’t the Netherlands supposed to be the shining beacon of acceptance and tolerance for the western world?

Bleh 🙁

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