(He did perfectly well--being "poor" after college is part of the system)

Has there ever been a glam band called The Gilded Lilies?



Yes we would perform in goldface duh.

Lunes 21,00 horas. La eskalera Karakola
C/ Embajadores 52 . Metro Embajadores, Lavapies & La Latina

Como actividad extra del Brunch de Gurlz, empezamos un grupo de conversacion en ingles, para que las que se animen se acerquen a mejorar su pronunciacion y oido. El grupo lo van a dirigir dos chicas californianas Elvia & Sophia . Cada semana se tratará un tema diferente. El local se abrira a las 20,45h para empezar a las 21,00h en punto. Durará una hora y se pidira una aportacion de 3e . http://www.sindominio.net/karakola


S'right, darlings, this thursday at 9:30pm the women of former occupied house La Eskalera Karakola will have their first English Conversation session, directed by dos chicas californianas, Sophia and (probably) Elvia. Three euros, one hour, tea and English.

The funny thing is, I met my poet. And, and I've told so many of yoo fyoo hoo read this blog this story. I'm absolutely uninterested in writing it all down, though it deserves such treatment. Oh soon.


Last night I accidentally brought Rob to the Spanishest thing in greater Madrid. José's little seedy bar, La Peña, has swanked up a bit. There's a lovely new stage, and they were charging 15 euro for a drink and cheese and ham and Flamenco. José swept us up in squeezy hugs before we had to be embarassing about refusing to pay that sort of buck. I felt guilty eventually, because they kept feeding us thinny cured ham and fabulous manchego. The flamenco was good, lust theater of babyfaced guitarrist playing to the fierce dancer. What hands those people.

At threeish we stepped out into the raining rain. Buses were confusing and Rob and I splitskies, he to La Latina and I to La Zebra Coja, where I had missed seeing Omega Power play, but was fed melon soaked in honey and hierbabuena and probably rum. At half past five I slept---now I run to meet Elvia for brunch at La Eskalera Karakola, kasa okupada de mujeres!

Since graduation I have had these dreams about friends from Bard in which we hug. The hugs are not just visual or narrative dream-hugs, but physically felt. On waking and thinking "What did I just dream about?," I am answered by the physical memory of embrace. It's nice, though sad: a lot of the hugs are goodbye hugs, as if I were seeking closure subconsciously. Others are of reunion, which is sadder.

Graduation is one of those big losses it takes one a year to swallow, I guess.

In other news: I wish I could have photos without having to take photos. Madrid is a stunner, but I'll never sink below her coiffed surface if I'm schlepping bout a camera.