Midnight Races

AOG, Madrid

Last week I went with some friends to Madrid’s Zarzuela racecourse for the midnight races. It was quite extravagant, as well as exotic and exciting, that we could attend at that time of the day -or rather, night.

The hippodrome was filled with well-to-do people, and then some. Whilst the age average must have been about 22, there were the odd older punters about, though not that many. It was mostly an affair for young people, younger than us, that is.

When we arrived, I suggested that we have a look around, but no. A race was about to start, and we had to do something about it.

We decided to do a bet on what is called a “Gemela”, a twin. You choose two horses and they have to come in 1^st or 2^nd. Ours came in 1^st and 5^th. No win. But the race itself was thrilling.

I did have a "Doolittle" moment as we approached the track, but my friends had no clue what I was talking about.

The racetrack in itself is quite interesting. I had read a bit about it, and was quite interested in seeing it, which now I have. And I liked it.

The Zarzuela racecourse is a successor of Madrid’s old racetrack by the Castellana Boulevard built in the XIX century. It was relocated to the outskirts of Madrid in the Summer of 1934 and given the name Zarzuela given its proximity to the Royal Palace nearby (though at the time, Spain was a republic and King Alfonso XIII lived in exile in Rome).

The architect in charge of building the grounds etc. was the Arniches & Dominguez bureau in conjunction with the engineer Eduardo Torroja.

I mention this because the building, when it opened in 1941 (work had to stop in 1936 when the Civil War started) won a few architectural awards.

Given the age of most people around us (honestly, they were kids. Children driving their father's car mostly), I was surprised that the whole place was not turned into a disco.

Little did I know what was coming.

After the last race, the grounds indeed turned into an outdoor disco. Very classy with dance music being played but not too loudly. Not that there are any neighbors nearby as it is well outside the city, but it was loud enough that you could dance, or instead, talk to your friends.

Not much Bling*

Of course, not only children were in tow. Many wannabes were present, as well as middle and low class prostitutes, wannabe millionaires in all their shady glory, real millionaires who looked like drug dealers (if you’ve seen Al Pacino’s Scarface then you know the type), small town drug dealers, businessmen types, tourists, Americans who looked very at home, French people who looked very savvy throughout, and, most surprisingly of all, working class people from the outskirts of Madrid- minus the attitude and the aggressiveness.

What in the UK is known as Chavs and here, well, I think the closest thing is "curritos" which translates loosely as slang for "small jobs".

Hair gel and gold earrings, chains and bracelets. Tracksuit bottoms (sweatpants in the US) and A&F t-shirts. Tight skirts and worn heels. Perms, and artistically shaved heads.

It also translated unto the parking lot: BMWs and Audis next to Opel Astra's and some Nissans and the like. Many 4x4s ans SUVs, however.

I suppose that given Spain’s socialist credentials, this is the way it should be. However, people are people, and although there was a lot of mingling going on, especially around the bar stands and the outdoor barbecue area (odd that they should have one in a place where horses are raced), the classes did not mix much.

And yes, there was a lot of picking up going on. Single boys and girls everywhere. And single adults too.

We left around 2 AM after one of us had a “domestic” over the phone with her boyfriend. Had it been up to me, I would have stayed longer. I really liked what I saw. I liked the atmosphere. And the fact that there were sofas on the lawns.

No, not Ascot.

But somehow nicer.

Ugly Betty

AOG, Madrid

Television in Spain is quite bad. There are reasons why this is, but I won't go into them right now. Lets just say that 'the cheaper the better' goes a long way here. Why invest in quality programming when they'll buy whatever you make on the cheap?

Local programming extends mostly to what is known as "prensa del corazón" (literally, press of the heart - meaning A, B, C, D and E- list celebrities, their lives and loves and those of their maids, cooks, body guards &c.) or "prensa rosa" (pink press, and no, no gay connotations), and some Spanish-produced sitcoms and tv series of various degrees of quality.

Oh, yes, and game-shows which tend to give out good prices and usually loads of money.

Cultural programs in Spain, something everyone I know wishes there were more of- are ubiquitous because of their almost complete absence, though , of course, there are exceptions. Children's programs are also quite good though Saturday mornings are not wall-to-wall cartoons and zany contests.

Serious news programs à la 20/20 or similar, however, are top-notch. A very good example of this is Informe Semanal. Very very good. But not very many of them as a whole.

I find it odd that this country can produce such good informative shows and at the same time it feeds its housewives (for they are the main audience for the 'press of the heart') absolute drivel.

When I moved to Madrid, I installed a Digital Television decoder. Here too Spanish television often lets me down.

Some channels show Mexican and Latin American programming (mostly soaps) and others show sport. I also watch Sony television, which emits in dual-band.

This means I can switch (something I never do) between English and dubbed-into-Spanish dialogue. It shows old sitcoms like 'Mad about you', 'Will and Grace' and things like 'Providence', which I don't watch.

Unfortunately most of these channels are very dependent on the most God-awful info-mertial and 'quick-buck' endless shows. The kind where you play hangman and people call in continuously until all possible options are exhausted. Call and win! they say. I don't know if people win, I never tune in for that long.

This means two things, one, I buy a lot of DVDs: comedy shows, series and movies, mostly US and British stuff. And two, whenever Spanish television shows an American show, I am glued to the screen. Just like in back in the UK, another country with bad television- though to their credit, not as bad.

Yes, great comedy, yes. The British do great comedy. But guess what? they also produce a lot of bad and uninspiring stuff. And I remember watching mostly Channel 4 there because it showed mostly US-made programs.

But back to Spain.
Since last year I've been hooked on Medium, Nip/Tuck and Desperate Housewives. I have not been able to get into House (mostly because it is only broadcast dubbed into Spanish), Queer as Folk US version (ditto on the reasons why not), or Lost, wich I find exasperating. Sorry fans.

The newest addition? Ugly Betty.

Watch this clip if interested-



It is a sort of toned down Ab Fab meets You can't do that on television. Too much fantasy stuff goes on to compare it to the Colombian original (though much better than Spain's version of that soap). It is glamorous, and also innocent.

However, although it portrays very obviously gay characters homosexuality seems to be taboo. In a fash-mag. Can you believe it?

It also stars, unfortunately, this Australian actor who starred in the ozzy soap Neighbours for ages. as Mr. Mead, owner of the magazine.

He only has one emotion, and one look. He does have, however, a deep voice and provided he does not speak for long, or not at all, can be believable as a multimillionaire magazine owner who's just lost his lover (...or has he?).

It also stars Vanessa Williams who is really the best actress in the show. She aims for comedy, but is in fact much too good a serious actress to let herself go. And you have to love her for it.

And Salma Hayek, who somehow manages to play herself (as well as produce the show) all through the show. I have to say though, she, like Julia Roberts, is very good at being herself, so no harm done.

So, with Betty in tow, I start this Summer 2008.

Dubai and the gay

AOG, Madrid

This past weekend Madrid celebrated Gay Pride 2008. It was meant to be held last week, in conjunction with Barcelona's Gay Pride, but organisers thought it best to avoid it clashing with 1- the Eurocup, which Spain won, and 2- Rock in Rio Madrid, which, strangely enough was held over two weekends, with the heavy guns reserved for the last weekend of the two (like Amy Winehouse who stumbled both on and off the stage, the drunk drug addict that she seems to be).

The positive thing is that this year, should you have so wished, you could have visited three of Spain's Pride celebrations one week after another for three weeks since Valencia holds its celebrations a week before Madrid and Barcelona. So this 2008, one could have done Valencia, Barcelona and then Madrid.

Personally, I think it is a great idea and should be kept as such for next year. But it probably won't be.

During the celebrations, we met with a couple of friends of ours (who happen to be a couple in real life) who moved from Barcelona to Dubai two years ago.

I of course had a lot of questions regarding their new home. Sadly, their answers made me never want to visit that country.

They said that, well, gay life is very limited, even though the country is bereft of homosexual men.

"It is all very underground", one of them said, "which is quite funny since Arabic men are always very physical with each other".

But what saddened me most was this bit of information: every now and then, and increasingly so lately, the police are rounding up gay men and throwing them in prison. See this article on Dubai's police.

And the best part, once there, they get injected with male hormones. Not Western men, only the locals and the foreign workers from Asia and Africa.

I was aghast when I heard this. Also, disappointed. Here I thought that the smaller Gulf states were ever more liberal (considering their history and religion) and were getting acquainted with Western ways of thinking.

They certainly like Western property investors if their thirst for impressive skyscrapers and island developments is anything to go by. I typed "Dubai" on Google images, and page after page showed only skyscrapers and property developments such as this image on the left.

When I was last in London I remember reading an ad for property opportunities in Dubai; not as expensive as you might think (though pricey when you consider you are living close to one of the planet's most explosive hot spots and it is, basically, a city built on a desert next to the sea).

I thought to myself that maybe one day I could invest there. It would be interesting, it certainly "looks" increasingly so from an architectural point of view.

But this information really makes me never to want to live or visit that part of the world.

It is outrageous if it is true.

Never did Spain look so forward thinking as in that minute when they told me this. How sad for us all.

Humanity I mean.

Bush

AOG, Madrid

Before I forget, from today, only 199 days to go until President George Bush is out of office for good.

Just thought I should mention it.

I wonder if he'll invade someone else between now and then....

Must confess to having repressed my urges to deface and vandalize his photograph.

I am trying to be an adult about this.

And then there's this:

From Doug Brinkley's Reagan Diaries, published by Harper Collins:

"A moment I've been dreading. George brought his n'er-do-well son around this morning and asked me to find the kid a job. Not the political one who lives in Florida; the one who hangs around here all the time looking shiftless. This so-called kid is already almost 40 and has never had a real job. Maybe I'll call Kinsley over at The New Republic and see if they'll hire him as a contributing editor or something. That looks like easy work."
As they say, If only we'd known then what we know now...

A non ex in Madrid

AOG, Madrid

Many years ago, perhaps 10, I met someone in London who appeared to be semi interested in me.

Nothing ever happened between us, since we met at a friend's place, and then all of us went out to dinner together but I noticed during the bus ride that I was being watched. However, my self esteem being what it was, I never gave this much thought. Neither one of us acted on it.

Then time passed, and I didn't see this person again. I forgot about them. Relationships came and went.

Then a few years later, I visited Madrid, and there was this person again, smiling. I didn't know they were no longer in London.

I was surprised.

Thinking we could have been friends I went over. We spoke.

This person confessed some sort of feelings back then (much more than what I expected) and did so just as we were leaving the locale. Other plans, other commitments that night, ensured we got nowhere fast and our conversation ended slightly abruptly.

All I heard was a "Don't you see what effect you have on me?" and that was it. Until then I had not seen that "effect". Intuited, yes.

We said we'd catch up the next day. Same neighborhood, common interests... But no. I was there, half hoping to see them again. But they did not show up.

I left the next day for London.

Then more time went by, and I moved to Madrid.

Last week I saw this person in a bar. No longer attractive. Older. Undesirable in "that" way. And yet I wonder if I should have said hi. Hello. How are you?

But I didn't.

It was a case of me seeing this person, and this person not seeing me back.

I'm not upset, or anything like that, far from it. I just hoped I wouldn't be so shy and could just say hi to people now and again.

What does protocol dictate about speaking to non-exes?

So different

AOG, Madrid

I've come across a website called PostSecret and I really like it.

Its basic premise works around the idea that it will publish your postcard and that in said postcard, you will confess to something, or you will divulge something.

For whatever reason, I feel ironic tonight, and when I came across this post card, I felt odd.

My first impulse is to want to slap this person for being racist (which they are not being at all).

I am surprised to see -yet not really since I know human nature as what it is only too well,-that the first and only thing which comes to mind about someone who helps you, is the fact that they were Chinese.

In fact, I wonder.

Where they Chinese? Were they Japanese? Korean? Vietnamese?

It matters to me because some (most?) white people are so quick to classify everyone by ethnic (not long ago I would have said "race" until someone told me how biologically we are all one race, regardless of skin color and pigmentation) group and place them in a neat little pigeonhole. "It helps us to understand each other better" I've been told many times. I don't fully agree.

Am I so warped that I need to dissolve this man's thank you card and his gratitude because I find it ethno-centric?

Do I know what I would have written? No. What if this poor soul is still convalescing?

I do worry about the most useless things sometimes.

The chain letter

AOG, Madrid

Like many other people these days, I've grown accustomed, tolerate, smirk at, and even sometimes read over... slightly miffed, the numerous chain -letter emails I get throughout the year from my friends.

These are often only a form of spam with a cute picture, or some sort of Christian propaganda designed to tug at your heart strings. You know the type, "Someone who loves you (but can't be bothered to pick up the phone and call you) sent you this". Read it and pass it on, send it back. I often choose to press the delete button on Hotmail.

And feel happy my friend came across my email address when going through a list. At least he/she thought of me for a milisecond. In this day and age, what else can we expect our friends to do? Honestly, the more technology we have, the less human we become in a way.

My dear friend Freddie, now deceased, used to send me this type of email all the time. Full of love and good wishes and needing a reply. It was her way. And it used to drive me insane.

I remember years ago when I got the first of these cyber-epistles. I remember reading it and forwarding it to at least 10 people, or else. A silly form of threatening good luck

Today, however, I got one which really surprised me. It was sent by a friend from Venezuela who hardly ever writes full emails, and today's was quite surprising.

It featured an image of the virgin of Guadalupe, and the inscription:

Before anything else, I want to tell you that the virgin of Guadalupe is miraculous, she goes with you wherever you go. This letter's purpose is to go round the world and continue...

And then there came the warnings:

The president of Argentina received a letter and called it "trash", and 8 days later his son was dead. A man received the letter and sent it off again and his surprise was that he won the lottery.

Alberto Martinez received the letter and asked his secretary to copy it, but they forgot to send them off: she lost her job and he his family.

This letter is miraculous and sacred, don't forget to re-send it before 13 days pass. You must send it to more than 20 people in 13 days. Don't forget. You will receive a great surprise surprise!!

The banality of the whole composition and its warnings really irked me.

Here I was meant to believe that through some cosmic junction between the virgin of Guadalupe, cyberspace, the internet and an anonymously written email there stood the possibility of blessings or damnation. Really? How odd.

So the same virgin who will bless me and all that will also be the same one to make sure my son dies 8 days after receiving it (and before the 13 days are up) and not sending it off? So the virgin will be really upset with me and take it out on my kin if I don't forward some retarded email? Quite.

I am no virgin expert but if this is how she behaves, perhaps we should reconsider the whole adoration thing.

So I asked my friend to please not send me anymore damming emails.

I don't like malefices or damnation. Never have.

Especially now that Spain have won the 2008 European Soccer Championship, aka the Eurocup, for the first time since 1964 and Franco roamed the land.

How do I know? I asked what it was Spain had just won about an hour after watching the match against Germany.

Open Top Madrid

AOG, Madrid

Today I had a good day. Good second day at work. Still learning the ropes. Still excited. Then a good afternoon, friendly and comfortable.

First I met my writing-buddy David near Plaza de España. We had Starbucks coffee and chatted about Spanish politics. A lot.

He came on Monday to see me perform in the theater but didn't say a word about it today (I am obviously very needy). Grr.

Then we both got on the Metro (subway-underground) to meet some other friends of mine for dinner in Madrid's AZCA neighborhood- known as 'little Manhattan' since it is where Madrid's tallest skyscraper lives, Torre Picasso; 43 floors high.

The restaurant, Italian, had been chosen because it purportedly served wholemeal pasta. Turned out they didn't. And I'm on a diet.

They also ran out of meat. So I had salad for dinner. I don't mind that. But I did have my heart set on something else.

During the meal, one of our friends told us about his more-than-probable-move-back-to-Argentina in the Fall because of work. He'd be making more money in a country where a European salary will buy you an extremely comfortable and luxurious life.

Another one of us colluded with me regarding the concurrent paramour of one of our friends, not present at the dinner table. I find the paramour in question to be a complete parasite, and have thought so from the day I first met this person.

My opinion has not changed yet, though I have often said that I may be mistaken and I am willing to be corrected.

It does not look like it is going to happen. And now my friends are beginning to see what I meant, and they are starting to think the man in question is an idiot.

And then, the icing on the cake.

Mr. "I'm going back to Buenos Aires" informed us that he had brought his new car, an old 1970s Citroën Méhari.

I was anxious to see it, after it was drawn for me on the back of a napkin a month or so before. I had no clue what the car in question was (the drawing was accurate, but odd) and no one could rememeber what it was called.

It was a gem.

Topless, and bright orange/yellow, it is a wonderful blast from the past.

My friend offered to drive me back home. We drove topless all over Castellana boulevard. I loved that new perspective on Madrid at night.

It was a great experience driving in Spain inside something that old. I've been inside older cars (hello, I've been to Havana!) but not in Spain. For whatever reason, old cars in Spain are conspicuous for their absence.

Most cars in Spain are new. Not necessarily expensive -I've yet to visit a city which can outdo London on automotive luxury-but new, ish. And here is this thing which is so ugly it is beautiful, so odd it is futuristic. So pedestrian and spartan it is a luxury item on wheels.

And I was the lucky passenger chosen to ride it that night. I felt very special all the way home. A cool breeze blew over the windshield and over our heads. Madrid slowly showing us a new perspective of itself, mostly unseen from inside a hardtop. Convertible drivers are lucky, I've always thought.

The car's owner told me he had bought it for two thousand Euros, and that he had passed the word that he might have to sell it should he get back to Argentina.

"I've been offered six thousand euros, and all I've done to this car is fill its tank with petrol and drive it a bit".

Worth every penny.