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Dear C.F.:

Please be advised that I’ve changed my “Profile” photo as a result of your taunting. Look to the upper-right to see what I’m talking about.

This is as close to a smile as you’re likely to see etched across my aging, emaciated face. You should feel proud. You’ve achieved what many have attempted and all have failed–except for that Armenian fishmonger with the red mullet wedged into his left ear…but that’s another story altogether.

And yes…I AM wearing a pink shirt.

Sincerely,
Sal

My internal aggression tank was approaching “full” this afternoon, and I decided that a three-mile jog was both prudent and necessary. So I donned my Nikes and—despite the 35ºC heat—embarked on a trot around town.

As I jogged along our downtown’s main street, I noticed that it had been closed-off to traffic and was lined with red pylons. There were policemen standing along the sidewalks, and they were looking at me in an odd way.

Further down the street was a group of men wearing red nylon vests. As I approached, one of them began waving his arms at me. The following conversation ensued:

Can you believe it?! The neighboring town of Marchamalo sponsored a marathon this afternoon, the course cut through the center of my town, and I was unknowingly running it…but in the opposite direction!

Between this incident, the cigarette moocher, and the unending stream of lost drivers in need of directions…I must be the Inspector Clouseau of the jogging world.

I’m beginning to understand why people buy treadmills.

I’ve been working as a contracts lawyer in the Legal Department of a Fortune ?00 company for nearly a decade. I’ve done the job on both sides of the Atlantic—three years in the US, and six in Spain.

Yet despite the differences in negotiating contracts against US lawyers versus their European counterparts (i.e., US lawyers tend to be—how shall I say this gently?—bigger pricks), the work itself is always the same. Day after day…year after year…and regardless of the country in which the other party resides—the same contract clauses always lead to the same issues and are ultimately resolved in the same way.

It should therefore surprise nobody that I spend a portion of each workday lost in fantasy. And the fantasy that’s been most frequent and recurring during the past decade involves…Microsoft®!

Working as a contracts lawyer for Microsoft must be a slice of heaven!

Think about it. Microsoft is—in my workday fantasy, at least—a place where all employees are wealthy from stock options and need never worry about downsizings. It’s a corporate utopia—tempered only by the fact that the majority of those same employees would much prefer to use Apple® computers.

But above all, working as a contracts lawyer for Microsoft must be a dream because…because…because…I can’t imagine that Microsoft is willing to negotiate on ANYTHING!

I’ve even gone so far as to create a fantasy Microsoft contract clause. It goes something like this:

That felt good!

Now, the question that you’re probably dying to ask me is the following: Is this just a fantasy, Sal? Or do you intend to act on it?

Well! I am going to tell you something that I’ve never admitted in public. The truth is…I am currently in the process of…

***{MICROSOFT I/O DISK SYSTEM ERROR. REBOOT COMPUTER IMMEDIATELY AND CALL THE MICROSOFT HOTLINE. ALL UNSAVED WORK WILL BE LOST.}***

A drunken young man from Pamplona.
Whose brainpan was filled with bologna.
Thought it might be great fun.
Leading bulls on a run.
He was last seen sailing over Verona.

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.