Transition

Well, what to do now? A fellow blogger asked me what I’m going to do with my blog now. Before the election I concentrated a lot on the politics surrounding it and the past 2+ months it has been concentrated on my trip to Spain.
So now what?

I suppose it will end up a bit like Tara’s format: some topical items and some stupid experiences of mine.

So let’s keep it a tad light-hearted. Who is the cartoon character that needs to stop denying his sexuality and come out of the closet? It seems SpongeBob has been outed recently. Is there a character from your childhood cartoons that needs to come out of the closet?

My suggestion is Tweety Bird. I mean, c’mon. Ever see him w/ a female bird? He’s certainly effeminate in manner and speech (since we’re going by stereotypes) and keeps leading on that big brute, Sylvester.

Other suggestions? Maybe the guy from the Wonder Twins on the Justice League of America? Has there ever been a more lame superpower than what those twins had?

BTW, my 2nd bag STILL is not here. And the box of stuff I mailed home 2 weeks ago still hasn’t arrived at ma and pa’s. Nuts. My bag is giving me flashbacks of dating in my late teens and early 20’s. It needed some time apart and then disappears, no doubt finding someone else to hang out with.

I'll be back

Well, when a pretty, intelligent woman requests an update to the blog, I suppose I should oblige.

I’m back in the states and back at work today.

My luggage was left in London for a few extra days. It told me it wanted to spend some time visiting the city and felt we needed some time apart. So it stayed there. Last night, the suitcase arrived but apparently my garment bag wanted to stay a little longer. Not sure when it will arrive.

Spent 2 days in DC visiting my sis and sis-in-law. Truly a blessing. I had a great time with them.

Played in a volleyball tournament yesterday. Volleyball was tied with Chipotle for the non-person item that I missed the most. We played up a level and played pretty well. I’m sore as he** today.

My truck welcomed me home by not starting Friday morning when I had to get an early start to my base to inprocess. Another ~ $200 spent.

It’s good to be in my own bed again.

Have gotten to catch up with most of my close friends since I’ve been back. I really have been blessed with very good friends.

The weather here is crappy.

But I’m home, hanging with my friends and family. And I’m happy.

Forgiveness

Yeah, it's been well over a week since I last posted. No great stories to tell until yesterday. But I'll save that for later.

I've just been laying low and trying to pass the time. I'm working my last shift here and leave in about 36 hours.

I'm ready to come home. Sure, I've only been here 2 months but I'm ready. I desperately need to play some volleyball. I haven't played in 2 months and I think I have a tournament a few days after I get back.

I'll be spending two days in DC visitng my sis and sis-in-law. Turns out I'll be in DC for the inauguration on Thursday. Doubt I'll be able to see it but I'm going to try to see how close I can get, if it isn't too crazy. It's a good opportunity to see something that only happens once every 4 years and it's a big part of our republic (not a democracy).

Score: Ang 8, Sis 7, Joe S 7, Tara 5, Sarah 5, Sis-in-law 5, Pops 3, Carly 3, Heather S 3, Me 2, Chad 1.

Posts will only count until I hit the air Tuesday morning. I won't tell you what time. But it looks like Ang is going to get the t-shirt.

Mail

For those of you with my mailing address, now is a good time to stop mailing things. I'll leave here in just over a week and they won't get here in time. Just a heads up.

For those of you who have sent letters and cards. Thanks. They have been great.

Score: Ang 8, Sis 7, Joe S 7, Tara 5, Sarah 5, Sis-in-law 4, Pops 3, Carly 3, Heather S 3, Me 2, Chad 1.

The Sierra-Nevada Mountains (long)

The 3 of us got up Wednesday morning, cleaned up and hit the road to go skiing. We’d gotten directions from the front desk of the hotel we were at (we paid only 50 Euros when it is normally 140) to a place where we could rent the equipment from.

After taking the scenic route to get there, we finally arrived and got our boots and skis. It wasn’t until I mentioned it that we wondered how we were going to fit the 6 skis into the tiny little Daewoo. But it worked out and they fit just fine.

The owner of the shop informed us that he closed at 4:30 PM for their siesta (most shops here close in the afternoon for a few hours and reopen in the evening) and would reopen at 8:30 PM. Michele had to be at work by 7:30 PM so we knew we would have to make it back before 4:30 to get her back to Moron in time.

We got directions and started heading towards the mountains. It was a great trip up. The sights were great and Michele was going from stressed to very happy. She knew she was limited on how much she could ski since she had to be at work that night so every little delay tended to get her more stressed out (or pinging, which is the term we use).

After about 100 turns while curving up the road to the top, we made it. It looked great. We parked the car started our walk. First, we had to buy the lift tickets. We found the line for that. We had hoped to get just a half day ticket but unfortunately were unable to communicate that or they didn’t have them. We ended up paying 38 Euro for the lift ticket (over $50).

Next Michele and I wanted to get some disposable cameras. She didn’t bring her camera and I didn’t want to take mine up because it was a bit bulky and I knew I’d be falling a lot and didn’t want to destroy it. So I found a shop with disposable cameras and got in line. A short line in length but a LONG one in time. It was amazing. The girl checking people out had no sense of urgency whatsoever. Then the gal in front of us buys something and the checkout girl proceeds to spend 10 minutes wrapping the damn thing. And now Michele is pinging again because she wants to ski! Heck, I was pinging at this point.

We got the stupid cameras and got on the lift to go up to the slopes near the top of the mountain. I’ve been skiing once and Z had never been. Michele was the expert of the group so she was going to work with us just a bit. We got up to the easy hill and she took us down the first time. And we were skiing! Now, by skiing I mean we had skis on and were moving in a downhill direction. That’s about the only way to describe it. But Michele was helpful in telling different things to try.

We got to the bottom of the easy hill and Michele asked if it was ok if she went on to a hill that wasn't dominated with invalids, children and moving hazards. We told her we were fine. We’d get it. It took some convincing but we finally got her to go. We knew she wasn’t going to enjoy herself by babysitting us all day. We agreed to meet again at 3 PM.

Z and I got better pretty quickly. In fact, I’m surprised at how quickly we were improving. About the 3rd time down, I wasn’t falling at all. On about my 3rd run down, I was near the bottom of the hill where the slope is very gradual, celebrating in my mind my wonderful accomplishment when God decided it was time to humble me a bit by taking my skis and putting them on a death course with two English gals who were sitting nearby. I had plant my bottom on the ground to miss them and barely missed them.

But I got up again and we went back up the mountain to ski some more. On about the 4th trip up, Z and I got on the lift with a mom and her 10 year old son (just guessing on his age). My ski poles had nylon straps on them that I could put around my wrists to keep from losing them (this was handy on some of my wipeouts). I had them both hanging on my left wrist as we got on the lift. Well, the bottom of the poles got stuck underneath the lift, dragging in the snow, as we were sitting down on it. The kid next to me decides to pull down the gate from above us, pinning my wrist so I can’t move it. Now the lift is pulling the poles and on the verge of snapping my left wrist. I’m yelling on him to let go of the gate but he’s not. The lift was actually stopped because the poles weren’t giving and my wrist hadn’t given yet. Finally, the lift just pushed through and we were moving again. I was pissed and my wrist hurt like hell.

Z had tried to help while we were stuck but there was nothing he could do. On the ride up I was cursing this kid to myself and to Z. I wanted to push him off the lift, the brat. Well, we get to the top where we hop off the lift but the kid hops off too soon and the lift pushes him onto the ground and plows right over him. I’m looking back at him partially to make sure it isn’t going to hurt him and partially because it’s funny as hell. The kid is planted, chest down, on the ground and not even trying to get up. As I’m secretly enjoying this, I realize the lift I’m on is still moving and my feet are four feet off the ground.

I quickly jumped off and looked back in time to see the kid run over my the next lift-chair. He wasn’t getting hurt by it so I was able to enjoy it all the more. I looked at Z and said “That’s that you get you little punk! Don’t mess with Texas!”

That wasn’t really supposed to mean a whole lot since I’m not from Texas. But it’s a cool state and I knew no one there would know what the hell I was talking about anyway. I was tempted to yell "I'm Rick James, b*tch," but that's been about beaten to death by now.

We made a couple more runs down the easy slope and I was turning with no problems, weaving in-between people and stopping when I wanted (and not because I was falling down). I felt I had a pretty good grasp of the basics and my confidence was pretty high.

We met Michele around 3 and decided we were going to ski the rest of the way down the hill to the bottom, where our car was. There was a run that went all the way down.

BIG $^#@$ MISTAKE!!!

We started down and I did ok at first. I fell hard the first time but, hey, it happens. I got back up and kept going. Then I fell again. And again and again and again and again. It was terrible. My confidence was completely shot and I was completely worthless on the skis. You could have strapped Stephen Hawking on to some skis and gave him a push and he would have zoomed past me calling me a wuss. Well, he couldn’t have *said* it but he could have skid past me and typed it with his mouth and still done better than I was doing.

I think it took me 45 minutes to get down a hill that it would take most experienced people about 15. Shoot, even Z, who I was skiing much better than on the easy hill didn’t have near as much trouble as I did. It was definitely a low point.

We got to the bottom and I didn’t want to let that taint my entire two day experience in Granada. So I focused on the positive. But it was a bit hard because it was now near 4:15 and we had 15 minutes to make a 1 hour trip down the mountain. Michele was worried that she wasn’t going to get there in time. And she had reason to be. There was no way we’d make it.

We loaded up the car and got on the road. We had Z call the shop and try to get them to stay open a bit later for us. That didn’t work so well due to the language barrier. We kept going.

I don’t know how to explain it other than act of God because we were stuck behind some slow, plodding cars on the way down the mountain but it took us less than 45 minutes to get the shop when it took us an hour to get up the mountain. And we were driving faster going up the mountain!

We weren’t quite sure which exit to take on the way down and we stumbled upon a shortcut somehow. Now, by the phrase “stumbled upon a shortcut somehow” I mean God had put us on the right track. We got to the shop late, around 5 PM but they were still open (that act of God thing, I'd like to believe). We dropped off our equipment and hit the road.

A bit earlier we noticed it but I could really feel it now. The bottom half of my face had gotten a lot of sun and windburn. I was pretty pink. So was Michele. Z, being Mexican, was a tad redder than when he’d started but it was nothing.

The time we spent on that mountain, aside from the last 45 minutes, was the best time I’ve had in Spain. I had such a great time skiing and the view was incredible. And the word incredible doesn’t seem to do it justice.

The day was a reminder, and maybe this is why I haven’t dwelt on that last 45 minutes, of how truly blessed I am. I was skiing on one of the best slopes in the world, with an incredible view and beautiful weather.

There are now some photos here (pics 99-117) from Z’s digital camera. Some are also from the Alhambra. When I get mine developed, I’ll add them as well.

Rental car and gas: $40
Hotel: $18
Food: $20
Lift Ticket: $50
Ski Equip: $22
Memories: you know how it goes.

Score: Ang 8, Sis 7, Joe S 6, Tara 5, Sarah 5, Sis-in-law 4, Pops 3, Carly 3, Heather S 2, Me 2, Chad 1.

The Alhambra

The Alhambra

We’d been told in advance and I’d read on Viritualtourist.com that it was best to buy tickets to get into the Alhambra in advance. They only take a certain number of visitors per day and once they reach it, they stop selling the tickets.

Before we hit the road, I’d checked into buying them online but I could only buy them for the next day. So, we figured we’d just take our chances.

Once we got there and parked, we wandered up to the ticket windows and started waiting in line. It was probably about 3:30 now.

Michele has this thing about eating these little tuna packets when she wants a snack. And she does it without a fork or spoon. It’s weird. She opens the top, rips the packet down the sides so the can open it further and proceeds to stick her nose and mouth into and starts chomping like a horse.

OK, I made that up. But she does do it without a fork or spoon. She takes the top of the packet she ripped off to open and tries to spoon it out with that. Oh yeah. Tuna smells. Bad. But we all know that.

So we’re standing in line smelling like fisherman who have just spent the day out on the ocean casting nets for dolphin when Michele wipes the tuna off her nose and says “Man, wouldn’t it be bad if we got up there and they just ran out of tickets.” Grabbing a napkin and wiping tuna off her chin I responded that I could see the window just closing and we’re left standing there by ourselves.

Wasn’t more than a minute or two later, one of the English-speaking employees walks down the line and says “There are only 12 more tickets to the Alhambra. The rest can buy tickets only for the gardens outside.”

The 3 of us just kinda half-smiled at each other. There were only about 6 people in front of us so we felt we’d be ok. And we were. We got our 3 tickets.

In a lot of these attractions in Spain, you can rent a little hand-device that tells you in your chosen language what you are looking at. It has a set of numbers on it and you press in the number and a voice tells you that this big wall of rocks was built in the 12th century by a philandering monarch to try to win back his wife the queen after he fathered 40 kids out of wedlock in a 3 week span.

I like getting these so I have an actual idea of why I’m even visiting the place. So I walked over to get one. Z and Michele stayed near the gate and started up a conversation with two Australian guys. I got my “I’m a stupid tourist and I’m paying for crap” hand-speaker-doomsday device and walked over and met the two guys. Both their names were Andy.

The 5 of us walked and they said that they were back-packing across parts of Europe before they had back to school; Andy1 to finish law school and Andy2 to finish a degree in Sports Medicine. We walked through the first few parts together and I would listen to my space radio and tell them what it said we were looking at.

We wandered into a garden and in the back of it was a large pit, about 15 feet in diameter and deep enough and dark enough that we couldn’t see the bottom. And it actually had a sign that said “Do not jump in.” The sign was only written in English. Think about that.

I decided to have fun and held my magic talking box up like I was listening to it and said “Oh, it says this is where the kings would sacrifice their blonde virgins in order to please the God they worshipped. They’d strip her down and chase her until she fell into the pit.” We all got a chuckle from it. Then a German guy walks over and asks me to repeat what it was because he wanted to know.

The 5 of us continued through the different parts of the Alhambra which is actually more like a fortress with many different things inside, like gardens, a palace or two and some large towers. The views from the towers were great and we took a lot of pictures.

Before I get into Michele and the Australians, I want to explain why Michele gets mentioned so much. Michele is entertainment all by herself. Tons of energy and a bright personality (that’s not me avoiding saying she’s ugly or anything. She’s anything but). Z and I had joked at one point that we could have just stayed in Moron and kept buying her coffee and it would have been great entertainment and far cheaper.

I could tell right away when I first walked over to Michele and Z talking to the Aussies that Michele was a bit taken by Andy1. And why not? He was tall, dark and handsome. He also had that accent which chicks just dig.

Now, trust me. Michele isn’t the kind of girl who must be the center of attention or anything like that. But watching her talk to Andy1, was just amusing in and of itself. I’m not sure she remembers anything about the first 2/3 of the Alhambra when the Aussies were hanging out with us.

We parted ways with the Aussies a bit later (the truth is they disappeared. It had to be the fact that we smelled like we’d been on a fishing trawler and instead of listening, I was starting to talk into my teleportation/information device).

The last part of the Alhambra was the palace. About 2/3 of it was built by the sultans when the Muslims ruled this part of Europe. The last 1/3 was built by Charles (the 5th, I think). It was amazing the difference between the two parts in style. The Muslim side was a lot of plaster and ceramic and very beautiful. The Christian side was also beautiful but dominated by wood; the ceilings, the walls etc.

I’ll have pictures within a week, I hope.

And tomorrow, it’ll be me tumbling down the slopes, a bratty kid getting what he deserves and sunburn.

Score: Ang 7, Joe S 6, Sis, 6, Sis-in-law 4, Tara 4, Sarah 4, Pops 3, Carly 3, Heather S 2, Me 2, Chad 1.

Granada

Just took a two day trip to Granada with Sergio (Z) and Michele. There’s a lot to tell. Some fun stories I’ll be passing on. But I’ll have to do it in installments for a couple reasons:

This would be an 8 page post probably. My next few days promise to be boring so it will give me something to pass on.

Also, I ran through about 4 rolls of film there. I hope to have them developed by Monday.

I’d run into Michele a couple times since I’ve been here. She’s a practicing Christian gal (different from a Christian gal. Michele lives it). Last week she mentioned she was going to Granada with some others and asked if I wanted to go. Of course I said yes.

First, some background on Granada. Everyone since I got here has been telling me to make sure I made it there. It has some of the best skiing in the world because it is at the base of the Sierra-Nevada mountain range. In fact, Michele told me that the Spanish were among the top skiers frequently at the Olympics and they train at the slopes in the Sierra-Nevada range.

We ended up leaving Moron at a little after noon on Tuesday and Granada is a 2 ½ hour drive. On the way, Z and I learned a lot more about Michele. That’s because once you get her going, she can talk and talk and talk and talk. At least it is interesting, though.

She’s a pilot for NW in the real world and had a bunch of funny stories about what different flight crews will do to each other for practical jokes.

So that filled up about 2 hours of that time. I fit in a couple of my own stories, too, when she stopped to breathe.

Once we got into Granada, we wanted to go see the Alhambra. It was supposed to be *the* place to see in Granada. It is an old fort/palace/castle originally built around the 12th century. Don’t worry, I have plenty of pictures of this place.

I’m going to cut this story right here because I’m really tired and I want to leave a bit of a teaser for tomorrow.

By Wednesday, we ended up skiing up in the Sierra-Nevada mountains and it was great. And I have a couple of really funny stories from there.

Tomorrow will be about the Alhambra and how Michele was example 67823 that women love men with accents, especially Australian accents.

Don’t miss it!

Feliz Ano Nuevo

First the Good News. Yes, that is with caps. My friend Paul has located his brother-in-law and he will be coming back to the US soon. Thanks to everyone for the prayers.

Now, New Year’s Eve. Before I got here, I’d hope I’d be able to spend New Year’s in Barcelona. But, alas, Barcelona is out of the driving radius (we’re only allowed 5 hours away). Most of my friends had left to go back to the States this past week so I was looking for someone to hit a local town with. I was talking to someone else I knew, Joe, and he wanted to out on the town, too. There was a get together on base but I can celebrate like an American any other year. I wanted to be out in Spain for it.

So we took a cab into town a little bit after 11 PM. As we were driving downtown, we noticed the town looked like a graveyard. No one was out. We got out of the cab and walked around a bit and everything was closed.

So we walked into a small bar/restaurant. It was the only place we could find that was open. We sat down and the guy working there came over, speaking good English, asked us if we wanted to eat. I hadn’t eaten in about 20 hours so we did. I ordered a grilled chicken breast and it was great. Covered in butter and garlic, too. We were in this bar when it hit midnight and celebrated with the folks there.

It’s a Spanish custom to eat 12 grapes at midnight. On TV they show some clock/bell tower and each time it rings, they eat a grape. The guy had brought each of us out a cup of 12 grapes. So when in Rome…

Something to keep in mind that I’d never given much thought to. The grapes we eat in the states are seedless. Here, they have seeds and when you are not used to them, it catches you a bit off-guard. Plus, they were really bad grapes. I ate about 3 and said to heck with the Spanish way and just finished my beer.

We stuck around until about 12:30 and then went out and now the people were starting to show up downtown. What we were told later on in the evening is that the Spanish tend to celebrate New Year’s at home with the family, doing the grape thing, and afterwards they go out and party.

By 1 AM it was pretty crowded. Now, there are two areas of town where people can go to the bars/clubs. On of the areas is down a side street and it is where most of the younger crowd hangs out. By younger, I mean 16 to about 22. That’s where we started (Joe’s call). The other is over by the bull-fighting ring.

Joe was eager to get out and wanted to dance with as many Spanish gals as possible. So we went into the first club and it was filling up. I stood around holding my beer while Joe experienced, first hand, Eric’s High School Dating Experience (TM). *Every* girl he asked to dance turned him down. Some of them even gave him dirty looks and some just looked away.

There’s nothing wrong with Joe and he’s a good dancer (the American girls say). He couldn’t figure it out. We hung out there a bit longer but I told him I was by far the oldest normal guy in the place (there were a few 40+ dirty and crazy looking guys hanging out by the bar staring at the barely clothed girls). So we ventured up by the ring.

I felt much more at ease here. The first bar we walked into I ran into Frank from the first time we went out in Moron.

I walked up to him and said hi and Feliz Ano Nuevo. He was surprised to see me and greeted us back. Then he proceeded to speak about 150 MPH (241 KMH). What part I did understand was that Michael was working next door and we went over to see him. After saying hi to Michael and getting our pictures taken with him and Frank (I brought my camera this time), Joe and I ventured around to the other bars. We ran into about half the people that work at our hotel.

At another bar around the bull-fighting ring we ran into Rosa. Rosa is an attractive woman who works on base at the chow hall. I’ve talked to her a couple times before. We went over and said hi and basically spent the rest of the night with her and her friends and sister.

Long story short (I’m tired), we ended up walking back to our hotel at about 7 AM. And the Spanish were still partying when we left.

It was a great time and I’m so much happier having spent New Years with the Spanish rather than on base.

Oh yeah, and we figured out why Joe was going through the Eric Moyer High School Experience (TM) with the ladies. Rosa and her sister told us that Spanish women won't follow a guy out to a "dance floor." They dance where they are and we're welcome to dance in those spots near them. But don't ask them to go anywhere to dance. So Joe doesn't have to worry. There was a good reason he was being treated like a scrawny, unattractive nerd! And it wasn't that he was a scrawny, unattractive nerd.

Regarding the score below. Joe S should have read closer. Ang only got one point for her two part posting. So Joe gets penalized by not having his comments on Dec 30th are not counted.

Current score:
Ang 7, Joe S 6, Sis 5, Sis-in-law 3, Tara 3, Sarah 3, Pops 2, Heather S 2, Carly 2, Chad 1, Me 1.