Month: July 2005

Purely for comic relief (and also because today is Friday), I’ve decided to introduce this photo into the public domain.

That jive-turkey mafioso on the left is—or shall I say, was—me in 1986.

It was taken during my sophomore year at Northern Illinois University (GO HUSKIES!) during a Friday night off-campus party. I’ll keep the names of my two companions under wraps, so that they don’t sue me for intentional infliction of public humiliation. But THEY know who they are.

I believe this photo is notable as much for the vast quantity of hair on my head, as for the embarrassing lack thereof on my chest. My-oh-my, how the tables have turned twenty years later.

BTW…the curls weren’t natural. But you’ve probably already figured that out.

Comedy aside, there is an eerie element of foreshadowing in this photo. Isn’t it inevitable that a guy who looked like a flamenco singer in 1986 should be living in Spain in 2005?

Tomorrow begins Pamplona’s annual Festival of San Fermín. And that means…the Running of the Bulls!

Go to the Expatica Spain website and check out my essay on this annual testament to man’s idiocy.

I once had a coffee table picture-book about gargoyles. Its Foreword was written by Stephen King, and contained a great line: “You don’t see them, but they see you.”

Since then, I’ve made a conscious effort to look up whenever walking past old churches and buildings. Quite often, a grotesque beast carved from stone is looking back at me.

Today was no exception. I was walking past the Banco Español de Credito (Spanish Bank of Credit) in downtown Madrid this afternoon and, of course, looked up. Looking back at me was one of the coolest gargoyles I’ve seen in a long time. He is pictured above.

It’s either an elephant, or the Hindu god Ganesh. I suspect the former. Not only because Spain is a predominantly Catholic country, but also because Ganesh would likely refuse to live in a city with so few descent Indian grocery stores.

Then again, it might be Al Molinaro.

If you are driving lost through a town with which you are not familiar, ask directions from one of the 3,000 retired guys sitting on benches doing nothing. Don’t ask the one young guy who is wearing a Sony Walkman and appears to be jogging. If he wanted to stand around and chat, he would’ve stayed home and called his mother.

* * * * * * * * *