happy february

Note: I'm having trouble forming coherent thoughts today, so the following entry is a bit random.

Living with a doctor (Ana) has some advantages.  I know exactly what medicine to ask for in the pharmacy (avoiding an embarrassing situation akin to the one I experienced when my parents were visiting last December and I accidentally told the pharmacist that my Dad was having menstrual cramps); I have someone with whom I can watch Providence, a really bad medical show from the mid-90s which, along with Married with Children and old episodes of Will and Grace seems to be the only thing that airs on Sony Entertainment Television; and I also have someone who has inspired me to eat more vegetables and drink more water.  I've joined a gym, which, beyond being good for me gives me something to do on weekdays that isn't napping, watching TV online, or reading. I have even cut down my Diet Coke consumption to one per week, a feat which promises to be my greatest accomplishment of 2009.  

I was really proud of myself for joining a gym and even working out in it (I'm realizing how nice the gym at UR was now that I have to pay for a membership), but after I went to the gym my stomach started hurting and I was on the couch for much of the next few days.  The stomach pain didn't go away after more than a week until we ("we" meaning "Ana") finally figured out the culprit--our tap water.  I had been filling up my water bottle twice a day with unfiltered tap water--reasoning that Spain is a developed country and its drinking water should be relatively safe--but apparently that's not such a good idea in the rainy season.  I'm now taking anti-parasite medicine and drinking only bottled water and the situation seems to be improving.  Apparently, after talking to my friend Karen, I'm also the only person who has drank unfiltered tap water in Santiago...

I spend a few hours of every day reading propaganda from the Civil War (and after the Civil War), so I guess the subject is on my mind.  I was wandering home from the gym the other day and was pretty shocked to discover the below plaque on an apartment building.  Granted, people have drawn graffiti and thrown things at the sign, but the fascist emblems are still very visible--plus, it's a plaque, so it shouldn't be too hard to remove.  Nearly all of the physical reminders of Franco's regime have been torn down around Spain, but, every once in a while, you come across a statue or some town that hasn't removed their "Rua de Franco." 

I don't have much to report--the weather has been rainy (as usual), students are taking their final exams, and research is the only activity I have scheduled into my day.  In 6 days, however, I will be going to Barcelona and then to Morocco with a friend from Richmond who is teaching English in Nantes this year.  We will be going to Marrakech and Casablanca for a total of 6 days, so I'm pretty excited for my first trip outside of the US/Mexico/Continental Europe (does England count as part of Continental Europe?).  Anyways, although my life is Welcome to Dullsville, Population:1 at the moment, maybe I'll have a fun story when I get back from my travels.  

Oh, but before I go, one last Sally story.  Ana was waiting for her visa papers to arrive and thought that they may have been sent to Sally's apartment, so she e-mailed Sally and very nicely asked her if she had received the papers.  She also included some pleasantries about hoping that Sally was finding the new year a good one and that maybe they could meet for coffee or something one day (all the while praying that Sally wouldn't agree).  Ana's response was subject-headed: "papers YES but coffee NO" and the haiku-style e-mail said that, no, Ana's papers hadn't arrived but that Sally didn't want to see Ana again because she had put her in a tough financial situation (Sally is still convinced that Ana moved in and convinced Steffi and I to move out even though we were happy with the apartment).  The current asking price for a room has been lowered to 75 euros a month. 

Below is a picture from the "Super Bowl" party hosted at the one bar in town that showed the Super Bowl.  Sadly, there were no commercials, not even in Spanish, but they did have Spanish Cheetos, which taste the same but aren't coated with orange powder.  [sidenote: this was the first time I've ever watched a whole Super Bowl game, a fact which brings into question my Americanness, though I recently learned that at least one of my brothers has never watched a game].  All told, nearly 20 Americans showed up, though few watched the game in its entirety (it didn't end until 4 a.m. local time).  I did, however, meet the Santiago study abroad contingent from a small liberal-arts school in Iowa.  They got pretty drunk and Karen and I enjoyed listening to the musings of one student with a thick Midwestern accent: "Well, ya know, my host mom, I wouldn't say she's a MILF, but, ya know, if I were about 40 I'd say she's pretty attractive." 

(L-R) Chad, Karen, Antonio (Jill's husband), Jill, and I.

Happy February/Happy Birthday Eliza!