Ir al puto grano

            Let’s just ir al grano here. (That’s Iberispeak for “get to the point”. For a more colorful option, you could also say ir al puto grano. I think you can figure it out.)

            I don’t have a good excuse for not updating my blog more often. I could tell you that I’m going to try to do it more often from here on out, but trying is something district courts do, not employees of the Spanish Ministerio de Eduación. I wish, like many defense attorneys in the aforementioned district courts, I could provide you with some piece of exculpatory evidence that would absolve me of my tardiness and vagrancy, but I have none. This glove does indeed fit, and it fits like…a glove. So there will be no sensational acquittals for your dear reporter.

            Like many others (I hope) I sometimes suffer not from writer’s block, but its exact converse. Writer’s overwhelmment. (That is now a word.) I have too many things to write about. My life is too fucking interesting to even handle. Or rather, my brain has too many narrative threads at all times to permit any one of them the privilege of being physically committed to Word processing. They are all too important. It’s like “Sophie’s Choice”, but with less child sacrifice.

            What, then, do I choose to write about? There are too many Sophies to choose from. People tell me I should just “tell my friends and family about my experiences, because no one else will read your stupid blog, asshole”. And then I reply, “That’s not true. Even they don’t read it, and I’m not an asshole – I’m more of an arrogant bastard.”   

            Do I talk about standing at the foot of El Cid’s tomb inside the totally-majestic-and-sweet-cathedral of the ancient city of Burgos? Or do I write about getting my picture tweeted by one of Spain’s most illustrious and lauded hip-hop MCs, as an estadounidense holding a ticket to his Valladolid show? Or do I write about throwing my first Spanish snowball (bola de nieve)?

            The question is, then, in what am I going to verbally self-indulge next? I could tell you that details are coming soon, but details are something crooked auto-body shops do, not English teachers in Spain.