Foo Fighters - Times Like These

I can't stop listening to this song, so I wanted to share it with you all. The acoustic version is so powerful.

I am a one way motorway
I'm the one that drives away
then follows you back home
I am a street light shining
I'm a wild light blinding bright
burning off alone

It's times like these you learn to live again
It's times like these you give and give again
It's times like these you learn to love again
It's times like these time and time again

I am a new day rising
I'm a brand new sky
to hang the stars upon tonight
I am a little divided
do I stay or run away
and leave it all behind?

It's times like these you learn to live again
It's times like these you give and give again
It's times like these you learn to love again
It's times like these time and time again

Gravity

Check out this guitar solo starting at about 8 minutes. Wow.

John knows how to get down.

Moroccan Adventure

Tomorrow at 10:20 AM I'm going to be on a different planet, I mean different continent. Friends, I'm headed to Morocco, Africa for two weeks. And I have no idea what to expect.

I hear that you have to bargain for EVERYTHING. I'm picturing myself standing in line at the grocery store, bargaining with the cashier, trying to get my peanuts and crackers for 15 cents less. I look forward to this. I also hear that the desert, although hot during the day, gets really really cold at night. This is news to me. I think I'll bring a sweatshirt. That's about all I know of Morocco. Oh, and that they have really high unemployment rates so everyone just kind of hangs out all day. This sounds nothing like America. And I like it.

We found a Moroccan girl on Couchsurfing.com that we'll be traveling with during our stay. She seems really nice and really bored, a perfect combination for showing us around. She has a car so we'll be able to see much more than by public transport. I think we'll be staying with her family and friends she has there. Now I know what you're thinking, "She's actually a creepy old man that's going to sell us for a goat and camel". I can assure you that Couchsurfing.com is safe and this won't happen. Besides he could probably get an elephant thrown in the deal too.

All I know is that I'm riding one of these babies. And if he spits on me.... I'm spittin' back!

Foot Better...Voice Not

My foot is almost completely healed, just a little tender in some places. I finally have toe movement. This is fortunate, because I will be doing some hiking in the coming days.

About the time that my foot was feeling better, I lost my voice. This is unfortunate. I've been practically mute for the past 3 days, with the exception of some squeaks. I even resorted to pen and paper for what I wanted to say. My voice is starting to come back, but I now sound like a 13 year-old boy just starting puberty. That's fantastic.

Let's just say I'm hoarse.

You can do it, work a little harder.

I had two separate conversations last week that revealed the same Truth. The first was with my flatmate, a girl from Colombia, whose parents moved to Miami. She now lives in France but visits her parents occasionally in Miami. The second was with a girl from Berlin who spent some time in Atlanta, studying and living with a host family.

When telling me about their experience in the US, it was incredible, their observations were almost the exact same. They both had a lot of positive things to say about their experience in the US and would love to visit again. What struck me though was both of them commented on the insane number of hours that most Americans work. Their host family or parents of American friends… 50, 60, 70+ hours every week. Sound familiar? And for what? To them, it seemed like a competition for Americans, who can work the most hours? And then feel proud because you worked 80 hours and your colleague fell short at only 70. That’s it; I’ll work a little harder next week to get that promotion. SICK.

France just fought for a law to keep their work-week at 35 hours per week. I expect our standard week will rise to 45 hours soon. And they take the 7 weeks time-off that they’re entitled to every year. For many of them, life isn’t all about working or how much is in their bank account. They rather spend their free time pursuing things they enjoy, not working away their lives, things like: art, literature, and photography, building relationships, wine and cheese, trimming their moustache, whatever it may be.

Let me add, I don't write this post to criticize the United States and raise the roof for France. We all know that the French are a bunch of pansies anyway. No really, I’m pointing out that in our culture, people are more susceptible to becoming workaholics and driven by Greed (with a capital G). I've been guilty of this. These conversations made me reflect on how I want to live my life. Does it matter if my neighbor’s car is bigger and has more buttons than mine? Do I really want to work 80 hours per week so I can move to that certain neighborhood where I’ll be seen by everyone? Or so I can tell everyone I got promoted to Super Senior Executive Vice President of Large Multinational Corporation? Nah, I rather pursue things that really matter in life, and I don’t mean that big bonus or MVP for working the most hours or prestigious titles.





Okay, I'm off my high horse now. You can get back to work :)

Bus Trip to Madrid

Two of my Dutch amigos and I took a 7-hour night bus to Madrid a few weekends ago. We left at 1 AM and arrived at 8 AM. I remember waking briefly on the way there and seeing the sun rising over the mountains along the Spanish countryside. AMAZING! I love gifts like that. Then I fell right back to sleep.

I loved Madrid. We stayed with some Spanish friends and saw a lot of the city by car. There are beautiful parks, museums, monuments and girls. We took a day trip to El Escorial, a small town outside the city with a huge monastery and beautiful views. I really like the Spanish countryside; I wish I could get away from the city more often to enjoy it.


Is that not postcard quality?

Even though Madrid is the largest city in Spain, and very international, it felt much more “Spanish” than Barcelona. The architecture, people, food, and language. Barcelona is a great city but doesn’t really have that "Spanish" feel, probably because it’s Catalan (a territory that wishes it was independent from Spain). Barcelona is a very international city, not only with tourists, but with people moving here to live and work. It’s touted as “the place to live in Europe”. Because of this, it feels more European than it does Spanish.

I had a chance to practice a lot of Spanish while in Madrid because less people there knew English. Madrid felt more like a livable city to me, whereas Barcelona as a place to visit for the summer, which is what I'm doing. I hear Madrid gets really hot in the summer because it's wedged between mountains with no air. I enjoy the breeze of Barcelona. I’d like to visit Madrid again if I have time, and I can’t wait to see southern Spain.


Parc Retiro with 2 huge lakes in it! Picturesque.


From shortest to tallest: Christian (Dutch/Hungarian/Jewish), Derek (Blatently American), Jordi (Dutch), Jésus (AKA Chuchi, Spanish, and a great host).


Another one of these?? Didn't see that one coming.

*To see an absurdly large view of any of these pictures, just click one*

I fell off a ladder and slept 17 hours.

A post of two unrelated events that happened this past weekend:

Saturday I started painting the ceiling of one of the apartments my company owns. Right now, it’s a dark, uninviting blue. So, I’m painting it a stark, inviting white. We’re in the process of opening another office in this apartment, where tourists can access free wireless internet, store their luggage for the day, and come to find a hostel. A tourist information type-of-place. It’s quite an undertaking.

Anyway, I’m in there painting away, music turned up, getting ready to go to lunch. I have the ladder leaned up against the wall and I’m almost at the top (the ceiling’s about 12 feet), when suddenly this thing starts sliding down the wall. I remember thinking “Uh-oh. Not good. Not good!” Before I knew it the ladder crashed to the floor, me and the paint with it. I panicked for a second, thinking I surely broke something falling from that high. Thankfully though, my only injury came from the ladder landing on my right foot. I was unfortuantely painting in flip-flops that day. To give you some idea of the impact, the ladder fell hard enough to bend one of the pegs you step on. Mom, don’t worry I’m alright. It’s been a little sore to walk on, but I’ve been icing it and staying off it.

My battle wound:





On another note, I slept 17 hours on Sunday. I think I got out of bed two or three times to eat or use the bathroom. In case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t hit my head when I fell off the ladder. Is this normal, at all? I didn’t think it was possible to sleep that much in one day. I know painting can be tiring, but come on! …a strange weekend.

A Little Clarity

I've had the opportunity to do some pleasure reading in my free time, something I rarely seem to have time for back home. So far I've read Blue Like Jazz and Wild at Heart (both for the second time), The Adventures of Huck Finn (an absolute classic), and I'm finishing Way of the Wild Heart (for the second time).

The Way of the Wild Heart is speaking to me right now. It's a fantastic book about the different stages a man experiences throughout his life. The truth is that most of these stages are interrupted or wounded in some way. It can happen in a variety of ways, anything from verbal/physical abuse to being bullied on the playground as a child to having a father who is checked out. A man carries these wounds with him throughout life, and it affects every decision he makes. Why do you think there are so many men out there striving and working endless hours trying to overachieve? Or how many men do you know who try to use a girl to make themselves feel more like a man? There's a part of the soul that remains immature and boyish.

There was a paragraph that just jumped out at me as I read it. This couldn't be more true in my life right now...

"Life is hard. While he is the Beloved Son, a boy is largely shielded from this reality. But a young man needs to know that life is hard, that it won't come to you like Mom used to make it come to you, all soft and warm and to your liking, with icing. It comes to you more the way Dad made it come to you - with testing, as on a long hike or trying to get an exhaust manifold replaced. Until a man learns to deal with the fact that life is hard, he will spend his day chasing the wrong thing, using all his energies trying to make life comfortable, soft, nice, and that is no way for any man to spend his life."

Life isn't icing on the cake for me right now. I am continually being tested and challenged. I think that's part of the reason I'm here. The majority of my internship is dealing with customer complaints and solving problems other people created. There have been many times I've wanted to quit. Then there is the language barrier of course. I don't say any of this in a bitter way at all. I accept that life is hard and with it comes challenges. It's a daily struggle for me to try not to merely seek comfort and pleasure. I'll be the first to admit that I quite often fail at this. But I'm slowly learning (emphasis on slowly). More importantly though, I'm open to learning.

I'm having a blast here though. Don't think that I'm miserable or stressed out... that's only at work :) I'm learning so much about myself, other people and different cultures. I wouldn't trade this experience for anything.

I wanna go fast.

This past weekend there was a Formula 1 race and a soccer (football) match in Barcelona. The city turned into a zoo. People were everywhere with their Ferrari, BMW, Mercedes apparel on or their FC Barcelona jerseys.

I don’t really follow soccer, or F1 racing for that matter, but I would have liked to gone to the race if tickets weren’t 150 euros (about $200). Instead, I went down to the free BMW expo at the sea port and looked at all the new models. They were alright, nothing too exciting.

Then I went over to a little make-shift track they had set up for one of the F1 cars. The driver of the car was there signing autographs, shaking hands, kissing babies, the usual. He then climbed into the car, fired it up, and revved it down the little track, doing doughnuts at the end. Wow! Now that’s exciting.

This gave me goosebumps, and I immediately wanted to be a racecar driver again. I don’t know what it is about the smell of gasoline, burnt rubber, loud engines, and going fast… but I like it. There’s something in my soul that comes alive. It’s so much more than the car itself or the publicity or any of the crap that goes along with it. I’m talking raw racing. I couldn’t imagine flying around the track at the speeds they do, hugging the turns, feeling the power of the car, knowing you’re in control.