Winning the lottery...sort of

AOG, Madrid

Once again Christmas rears its ugly head. Different countries tend to celebrate in different ways, all living out their version of the modern invention of Christmas as invented by Germany in the XIX century. 

In the case of Spain, this means the National Lottery, the largest of its kind on Earth. As befits a country obsessed with luck and money (much like this other country I know on the other side of the pond), in these times of economic hardship, many people are spending what little they have on the lottery. And the lottery is big business. 

They have just spent who knows how many millions on their latest television commercial, where you see loads of little kids leaving a private boarding school at night (in Spain, it is students from the San Ildefonso school who call out the winning numbers as they come out of the wheel and they have been doing so since the XVIII century)  and watching and catching from afar people's lottery numbers and dreams. 

They then go back to, I'm guessing, lottery central, and deposit their catch in a Burtonesque machine which drops each one into a gigantic ball. All very dream like and, obviously, pulling at the heart strings. The soundtrack is straight from Edward Scissorhands. Fantasy and escapism. 

Although according to the latest statistics, takings have lowered recently, many in Spain like to play the lottery, or lotteries which pepper the country from North to South and East to West. And on the internet. 

In fact, if you log on to the Spanish National Lottery website, it can show you where the number you would like to play is being sold. 

Yes, in case you were wondering, in Spain it is traditional for many people to play one single number year after year. 

Or perhaps they think a particular number will be lucky and they go all over the place looking for it, asking friends and family to look out for it where they live. Well, no more. Now technology comes to their aid.

At almost every office in the country, including mine, it is quite common for the entire office to pitch in and buy an entire lottery number series. 

Yes, you guessed it, the lottery in Spain is not about just winning a number, but about winning this number from that series. Furthermore, the entire series is divided up into  fracttions and theses into individual tickets called 'décimos', literally 'tenths'.

 What this means is that if you one of the 'décimos' you get a percentage of the winning number. And if you bought the entire series, you win the whole lot. 

Most people in Spain only buy one or two 'décimos' for themselves since a whole series would be too expensive for most people.

However, given that most families have more than working member (the ones with jobs) it is often the case that people are buying and swapping tickets from various lottery series, and thus, increasing their chances.

Well, lo and behold, I too am expected to participate in this age old tradition. It started on Saturday. My partner and I went for breakfast at a café near home. As we were paying, the waiter asked if we'd like to buy a lottery ticket from them. 

It seems that the number in question is quite "lucky" because it was the number a recently deceased customer of theirs had been playing continuously for the past 52 years and never once did it come up. 

"This year it is bound to come up!" the waiter told us. My partner, being an ace at mathematics, made a quick mental calculation of the amount of times that number had been played per year, times 52, and compared them to the chances of winning average. The result? "You need a further three life times at that rate for that number to come up". So no, we didn't buy a lottery ticket from them. 

But it doesn't stop there.

People at my office have started talking about buying an entire series, or half of one, or a fraction of a fraction. Or whatever. 

We went down for a coffee this morning and, too sad to talk about last night's electoral results, the big story was the national lottery. 

Only one other person is thinking of not participating, and our colleagues looked at us in dismay, but secretly hoping that we don't participate. Why? 

Well, in the past, many of these office lottery tickets tend to win big. And it happens in every office that someone did not buy a ticket. In a way, to my colleagues, if we don't buy a ticket, their chances of winning are increased. 

I already lived through this a couple of years ago. Back then it was the same scene, same dialogue, but with different characters. I didn't fall into it, but I did feel a little anxious about it. 

I mean, what if they did win and I was the only idiot in the office who didn't participate? That is a lot of pressure. Nevertheless, I think this year will be much the same as last time. 

"No thank you, I will not participate in this ritual". Silly really, since my partner will no doubt buy one for me and give it to me as a gift. 

But that is an altogether different story...

Rome Sucks

AOG, Sitges

Word of advice number one: when you next go on vacation, never wear new shoes on the flight. 

Why? well, it could be that the airline looses your luggage and you are doomed to wear the same pair of new shoes for days on end.

Word of advice number two: Never, ever, go to Rome in August. Our friends had warned us against this. 

"Don't go, it is too hot!", they said.

"Never in August. You'll die from the heat!", they warned. 

Did we listen? Well, of course not. 

Our logic? 

"Well, we always say we won't go in August and we'll go some other time, but then we never go", said my partner. 

I agreed. My partner was right. We always say we'll go some time, but then we never do. 

So this year, we decided to go to Rome and check out the Eternal City. Eternal mistake on our part!

After paying Vueling Airlines (a low cost airline) for 2 pieces of luggage, we arrived at Rome's Fiumicino Airport with a slight delay, but no suitcases. We only discovered this after waiting for our bags for over an hour at belt #9.

I went to the Baggage handling company in charge of our flight (turns out there's more than one. Blessed capitalism!) and they told us they had no record of our bags on their system. 

Yes, having been to the country in the past, in fact, as recently as last June, my first thought was "typical Italian efficiency", but I was wrong to think that. 

The problem was not typical Italian efficiency, it was typical Spanish negligence. As we would find out the next day, the bags had never left Barcelona. 

The Italian handler made us fill a form, put the details into the computer, and sent us off on our less than merry way with a reference number which, we  would later discover, was incorrect. Although no consolation at all, we were not the only people without luggage on our flight, there was, at least, one other.

So there we were, in Rome, with a driver waiting for us to take us into the city for 50 Euros, which we thought would be a good idea since we didn't know the city and we wanted not to worry about the bags. 

He was very nice, and if he was upset at having to wait for over an hour, he didn't let on. So we got into his Ford Focus and off we went to the Città Eterna. 

I have to say that the drive went pretty well, and that it is not exactly very pretty. It was, all in all, a bit odd. First we were on a highway, then, after a while, we were in what can only be describe as 'leafy suburbs'. 

He didn't take any major roads and, instead, we were driving on one-way roads with large, tall, walls, behind which I can only imagine private villas. This took a while before we approached something which resembled the outskirts of a large city.

Once there, it was the usual dim urban landscape, typical of any major European city post 1950. Large, square, brick and concrete buildings, with many stores along the way selling mostly urban goods: fast food, urban clothing, ugly furniture, and the odd newspaper stand. 

Still, we were a little excited to be in Rome. 

Then, suddenly, something which would happen again and again, though we didn't know it at the time, occurred: when we least expected it, and just before we entered a tunnel, out of the corner of our left eyes, we caught a glimpse of St. Peter's, in The Vatican. 

This was unexpected because we had thought that we would view that particular monument going up the Via Della Concilliazione and into St. Peter's Square, like almost everyone else. But it was not to be. 

We quickly crossed the Tiber and drove down the Corso Vittorio Emanuelle II and into our hotel near the Campo de Fiori.

We paid our driver, plus a tip, then checked in. The hotel was ok. We had asked for a room with a balcony, and they gave us that, which was nice. But I soon discovered that the a/c was, well, less than able. It made a lot of noise,  but gave out little cold air. But I would only realize this later in the day. 

We were starving by now and wanted to a) see Rome and b) get some clothes. We had nothing to wear.

We left our hotel, which was, it seemed, used to situations such as ours -"you'll get your bags tomorrow", said the receptionist/owner, and off we went to eat.

We found a small restaurant about 3 minutes away and sat down. We ordered one pizza for both of us and something to drink. It was the best pizza we would have during the whole trip. It was that good. 

The service, however, was pretty bad. I wouldn't say it went downhill from there, but rather that the service in Rome was consistently bad, day in day out. 

Our waiters over the next few days, it would seem, would find new and creative ways in which to outdo their colleague's 'performance' throughout our stay. And no, we hardly spent a penny on tips while in Rome.

So, after having lunch and stopping off at the local grocery shop where we got basic eating and drinking supplies, as well as some toiletries,  it was back to the hotel, quick shower, and out before the stores closed. 

We really only had the clothes on our backs to wear and, as the lunch experience had proven, Rome was baking under the sun, and us with it.

Out we went into the Corso Vittorio Emanuele II and started walking East, with no particular place to go. 

We were really torn between wanting to see the sights, and our clothing needs, so we tried to concentrate very little on what we saw, hard to do since, if you've never been to Rome, everything is new to you, even when nine or ten centuries old. Or more.

Eventually, we got to Via del Corso, but not before we stumbled on the Piazza Venezia and the enormous monument to our right: the monument to King Vittorio Emanuele II, first King of Italy. 

This is one of the monuments on my list which I would not really arrive at the way I had expected. 

When I say we stumbled, I mean it. It is gigantic, but it is not exactly by a major road, it is on a major square, but off to the right, so if you happen to be on the street and not turn right, you might not exactly see it. But then, once you do, you can't see anything else. 

I wanted to go to it (yes, its array of classical columns was calling me) and bask in its classical 'interpretative' colossal beauty, but it was not to be on that first day. We turned into the Via del Corso, and forgot about it. 

Via del Corso is one of those major shopping streets in central Rome. Many of the major brands, and others not so major, are there. Although Rome's high class shopping strip is the Via Condotti.

On the corner, just as you go into Corso, there is the Doria-Pamphilj Palace. Serene and decorated in a wedding cake style, I was immediately drawn to it. But didn't go, and would, unfortunately, not get to go during the trip. And pretty much sums up the entire trip. I didn't get to see many things.

So back to the Via del Corso, and our shopping. We had nothing to wear the next day, and clothes were urgently needed. So we spent the best part of the afternoon traipsing from store to store, looking for garments, and missing out on Rome altogether. I must point out that by now, my partner and I were wondering how the people of Italy reproduced since, it was very obvious, all men in that country were gay.

Our main hope turned out to be H&M, but, once we got there, almost at the end of the Corso, we discovered, much to our dismay, that there was no Men's section there. Can you believe it? We had walked the entire length of the Corso in the hope of finding a place which might have something overpriced. Fat chance.


Since at that point we were only about two blocks from the Piazza del Popolo, we decided to go there. I have to say, at this point in the day, I was ready to be impressed, or something, and impressed I was. 

I had long wanted to see the twin churches of Santa Maria in Montesanto  (1662-75) and Santa Maria dei Miracoli (built 1675-79). 

And there they were, in all their Baroque beauty. I think this is the one time Rome got interesting that day. I would say it made the whole thing worthwhile, but it isn't true. 

The day had sucked all day long from the minute our luggage went missing. But that minute, when we walked into that space, covered in fatigue and sweat, the city seemed beautiful, the tourists a mere nuisance, the heat (and it was around 8:30 PM) almost tolerable. 

We stopped at the obelisk in the middle of the Piazza, an original comission of of Sety I (later erected by Rameses II) from Heliopolis which  stands in the centre of the Piazza, inside a fountain, and is the second oldest and one of the tallest obelisks in Rome (some 24 m high, or 36 m including its plinth). 

It was brought to Rome in 10 BC by order of Augustus and originally set up in the Circus Maximus. 

Once there, a tourist girl asked her friend if she could drink from the fountain. My partner overheard her and told her that he'd read that you could drink from any fountain in Rome, unless it specifically said not to. She was happy about this, and we spoke with her for a couple more minutes. She was from Spain, and was there on holiday with a couple more friends from school. She must have been in her very early 20s. And she was lovely. 

It was starting to get dark, and we decided to get back to the hotel. We couldn't decide between a bus, the subway, or walking. So we walked back along the dark and not too busy streets of, as it turns out, downtown Rome. 

Soon we were back at the hotel, where there was no news about our luggage. The hotel's concierge really couldn't care less, so we went to our room, had a shower and went out to have dinner, not too sure about where to do this.

We decided to follow the incoming crowd down one of the streets, and ended up at the Campo dei Fiori. It was teeming with life: children playing, musicians, flower vendors, Indian or Pakistani trinket salesmen. In short, Touristland right there in front of us. The only Italians being the waiters at the Campo's many restaurants. 

So in we walked, and decided that the one on the right, on the other side of La Carbonara Restaurant, where we should have dined, just as you walked in, would do. Mistake.

The food, although ok once we got it, did not surpass the bad service of a place which doubled as a drinks bar and dance club after 11PM. We kept getting food meant for other tables, everything arrived at odd intervals, drinks had to be ordered more than twice. In short, a mess. But given the day's big story, it really paled in comparison. We didn't mind much that the service was so bad. I think we were relieved it was over more than anything else!

Afterwards, we went for a walk on the Tiber, and saw that, at night, it really came alive. It seems like the good citizens of Rome have allowed for bars and stands to be set up alongside the banks of the river. I was immediately drawn by the music and the bright, intermitent, lights of the marquees. 

We crossed the bridge, and went down to the bank. We saw a couple of small stands which were a sort of Godsend since they had one of the items we needed most: a phone charger! Yes, ours were safely (we hoped) stored inside our suitcases. 

We then decided to go to one of the "bars". A rugby-themed bar by the side of the Tiber showing New Zealand's Rugby matches. Yes, slightly surreal, but then Rome is slightly surreal. 


We would have stayed longer, but we were beat. We had had a long day and were yearning for sleep. 


So after a couple of drinks, we headed back to the hotel. The room was not exactly cool, although the imitation a/c had been on all afternoon, so we agreed to sleep with the balcony window open.


So our first day in Rome ended.

Summer reading

AOG, Madrid

Summer vacation is just around the corner and I've lately been a bit preoccupied with my Summer reading list. 

Every year I take a small army of books with me to whichever place I happen to be visiting, and every year I return home with 98 percent of the pages intact. 

I read on the plane, but I'm not a beach reader. Nature gets too in the way for that to happen. I don't get up early enough to read either, so I spend most of the day doing things and not reading, but glancing now and again at the untouched stack of books by my night table. 

I wish this weren't the way things happen, but it is.

This year, this little literary ritual will probably continue, untouched. But I have to say it started a bit early, insofar as the sourcing of the material was concerned. 

Two weeks ago I met with two friends by Madrid's 'Cuesta de Moyano' street. 

This is a place, behind the beautiful Ministry of Agriculture and next to the Botanical gardens which goes from the Prado Boulevard upwards (it is on a slope) towards Retiro Park. 

What is nice about this place is that there are about 20 bookstalls all along one side of the street which sell anything from second hand books, to newly printed books, magazines and literary collections from mid XX century to now.

There are, of course, books from the XIX century and before, but those are slightly out of my price range at present.

I like that here, of all places, all sorts of books can be found. And two weeks ago, I came across 4 strange magazines which immediately caught my eye.

On the first stall I chanced upon there were four copies of the Spanish-language version of "Soviet Literature", printed as they were in Mexico City in 1979 (three of them) and 1978 (the other one). I wasn't sure what to make of them at first, but I guess I was in a Russian writer kind of mood, and I snapped all four for a mere 2 Euros after having a quick perusal.

Now, of course, I am in somewhat of a conundrum. You see, in one of the issues, there is an excerpt of Irina Grekova's novel 'The Faculty' (Kafedra in Russian). 

I've been reading it these past few days and, Soviet overt propaganda aside, it is very well written. I am really enjoying it. 

And, given my ignorance of Soviet writers, I was surprised, pleasantly surprised, to discover how much I was enjoying the excerpt.

Of course, the problem is that this is one novel I'll never be able to finish. I have combed the Internet and discovered that Irina Grekova happens to be one of the greatest Russian women writers of the XX century. 

I have also discovered that that particular novel is nowhere to be found in English, or Spanish, 0r French. 

I can't find it anywhere. There are some of her other novels available, so, since I do like her style very much, I'll have to "settle" for one of those instead.

And on a Soviet-Russia related moment, last weekend in London, I came across Alexander Solzhenitsyn's 'One day in the life of Ivan Denisovich'. An edition from 1979. 

I picked it up because, strangely enough, it was around 1979 when this writer came into my radar as a kid. 

I remember the media circus around him back then, and how all the adults were talking about this book. 

I thought at the time that I would have to read it eventually, but I came across 'The Gulag Archipelago' first about 10 years ago. So I thought it was fitting that I should read this now, so many years later. 

Will I read it over the Summer? Well, certainly it will come with me on vacation, but, as per usual, it will have to fight Nature and its never-ending distractions. 

This is all very interesting because this year, I was planning on reading Roberto Bolaño's '2666'. 

That may have to wait until 2012 now.

The moment I felt most American

AOG, Madrid

On election day 1988 my mother, my sister and I were on a Jumbo Jet heading for Europe. 

We arrived in Madrid and within less than an hour we were on a train heading for the region of Extremadura, on the border with Portugal. 

My thoughts on that long journey (it was about an 8 hour train journey then to add to the transatlantic flight) centered around what our new lives would be like in this continent. I remember being told at the time that Spain only had 2 television channels. 

This might seem ridiculous to you, but I had grown up with cable, and two channels seemed insufficient to me. And third-world like. And I wasn't happy about it.

I remember stepping off the train and looking over the tracks to my right. A beautiful hill and forest scene with sheep peacefully standing there, hardly moving. To my left, the future. 

We had gone to Extremadura because one of my mother’s great aunts lived there with her Italian husband, who came to pick us up at the train station. My parents were separated now and would divorce a few years later, and this was the only close family we had at the time. 

The car which picked us up at the station was a white Ford Escort. I remember thinking then “ok, I know this model, everything is going to be ok”. 

View of the city of Caceres

 A couple of days later, my sister and I went into town on our own. I clearly recall my thoughts when I saw this very modern looking parking meter with a digital screen right next to a XVII century Baroque palace with medieval elements attached to it.

I immediately thought back to the meters in Houston where you had to stick a quarter and roll a handle to watch a little flag pop up telling you how much time you had left. 

 At that moment, America didn’t seem modern at all, especially when compared to this country which could allow things like Baroque palaces and modern digital machines to co-exist side by side. It was, I think, my first eye-opener.

A year after landing in Spain, we landed in London. Life was moving on.

I have to say that from the moment I set foot in Europe in 1988 I have felt American on a daily-basis. It is hard to explain, but it must be related to not really knowing what the deal is most of the time. To making a faux pas here and there, that you are not even aware that you are making. 

To looking at things and thinking, “my God what are they on about with this?”. 

To reacting to some situations in a manner different from expected by my friends and colleagues.

To not settling for tripe when tripe is being served (although I think this is more about me than about me being American; many Americans settle for tripe too easily).

I know I am different from most of the people who surround me and my life. I think differently.  I act differently. I react differently. I want different results. Better things in general.

And I'm glad I do. Just as I am glad that they think differently from me.

I have experienced hundreds of examples of this  cultural disparity since election day 1988.

But back to the original question.

In 1995 I went back to the US and stayed with a friend in Alabama. it was my first trip back since 1988.

Although everything was familiar I could see small cultural cracks here and there. I was no longer the same person who’d left the country 7 years before.

And the questions began to flood in. Some positive, some negative.

Why do people drive everywhere? Why don't they make more sidewalks? Why do they all eat so much processed food? Why are things national and not local? Why are there so many people who allow religion to rule their lives? Why all this racism and hate? Why are women's fashion and hair stuck in the 1980s?

I was feeling very much the European throughout. But then something happened.

 Shortly before I left, I went out one night in Birmingham and I met this guy who was very friendly.

I remember talking with him about things, his life and his future, and mine. He was about my age and had achieved quite a lot. He told me about his up and coming projects, dreams, and achievable goals. There it was once again. American positive thinking. Everything was possible.

I remember thinking during that conversation that I needed to get my butt in gear and be like my right-there-in-front-of-me peer.

I needed to complete my education, just like him, and start aiming for a good job, just like him, and aim for a better life, just like him.

He was talking to me in a language I completely understood. The cultural references were identical. The outlook was familiar and well trodden. The goals achievable. The future was bright, and it had an American glow about it.

I felt very American just then. That instant catapulted me back to the person I used to be just before that Pan Am flight touched down at Madrid Barajas Airport in 1988. The feeling stayed with me for a long time afterwards.

I returned to London.

Yes, the minute I got back to my flat in central London the questions started flowing, but in reverse.

Why is everything so expensive? Why is everyone so poor? Is this a police state? Why doesn’t anyone smile? What am I doing here?

It was a few years before I realized what I was doing there and before I could answer my  own questions.

I confess that these days, I am one of those people who feel very American in Europe, and very European whenever I go to the US. I can't help that. In fact, I rather like it. 

Modern Neighbors

AOG, Madrid

The cool thing about growing up in America is that most of us (not all) live in homes large enough to house a small third world village in the backyard. It is one of the perks of living in a large country and of growing up in a place where most people rather live in a house than in an apartment or a flat. Of course, places like New York, or Chicago do tend to combine high-rise living with houses or town-houses.

However, this was not the case with me growing up in Texas. My home had a front-yard and a backyard. And my bedroom alone was larger than my entire ‘modern euro-studio’ in central Madrid. And no, I’m not exaggerating.

I have to say that ever since I moved to Europe, I’ve missed space. Not outer space. Living space. I miss walking around my home and not knocking into tables or armrests. Not hitting my shoulder on the doorsill. Having a backyard to look at (like I said, Texas, where the heat stops you from setting foot outside for anything over 1 minute). Stretching my arms out and not touching the corridor’s walls. Space.

My studio flat is very similar to this image, though smaller.

I also miss playing music loudly in the knowledge that the neighbors are too far away to hear it. Here, I can hear the couple next door make love. Which means they can probably hear me talking on the phone and everything else.

And I know they do because just the other day, a note was slipped through the door asking me to please not do any washing after 10PM. Guess what time I normally do the washing when I get home?

Yes, they did have a point, and yes, I was in the wrong, and yes, I should have known better. Yes.

So, once I cursed the day they were born (because I’m only human and I can't help being defensive at first) I decided I would be a good little Southern gentleman and post a note apologizing for my actions.

The next day, just as I was leaving for work, I noticed that the note I wrote on a small Turkish card I had leftover from my trip to Istanbul last year was on the floor, unread. Well, I only discovered that after I picked it up and noticed it was unopened. Yes, I was, again, in the defensive thinking “how dare they!!”. But they hadn’t dared, they just hadn’t noticed it.

So, again, I left it wedged in between the door and the doorframe. When I came home that night, it was gone. Had they read it, I hoped so. But had no clue.

One month later, or last Tuesday, this guy walked in when I was checking my mailbox downstairs.

“Are you our neighbor?”

I answered “Yes” expecting the worse.

We both got into the elevator.

“Oh, its great to meet you. We loved your card!”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I…”

“We thought ‘how wonderful to have a neighbor like you’, you know? People are so rude these days.”

“Thank you. But I was the rude one.”

“Oh, we were so pleased when we read your note. We couldn’t believe it! Nobody does that anymore. People are so selfish.”

“It’s very kind of you to say so, I feel really bad that I made so much noise, but you see...”

“Honestly, please feel free to count on us for anything you need. Anything at all.”

“I didn’t realize there were two of you.”

“Yes, my partner and I. We’ve been there for about a year now. But I travel a lot.” 

By now the elevator had reached our floor.

We said our goodbyes in the friendliest manner possible and I was feeling both good, for having had the kind of upbringing that would make note-writing to people you have bothered a necessity, and bad for having had the kind of life experience with humanity which makes you curse your neighbors for leaving you a note asking you not to do your washing late in the evening, and you thinking that that is the only time you have to do it but, alas, you will concede.

The thing is, right, that one of them had never been particularly friendly towards me ever. He’d seen me on the street, seen me leave home a couple of times, we’d even avoided taking the elevator going down once or twice.

And then he (or so I thought) left me a note saying the washing machine bothered him. A very polite note, I have to say. But by then I figured he really didn’t like me at all. 

So this turn of events towards the friendly and nice side of the Force really threw me. Of course now I wonder which of the two is the one that I didn’t think liked me much. In any case, it might be that he likes me a bit more now. Or not.

In my defense, I will say that when I first moved into the studio flat I call home, my neighbor at the time, this girl, knocked on my door at four in the afternoon one day because the music bothered her.

She was wearing a bathrobe, her hair was a mess, and she was really upset that I had dared to play music at …four in the afternoon, thus waking her up from her effing siesta du jour.

Evil, but ...

I was shocked at her request, but, of course, complied. For the next few months I was tempted to leave a note on her door asking her to climax a) less loudly or b) muzzled. 

Yes, for the next year and a half I could hear her orgasms at all hours of the day and night. And yes I was very tempted to say something about it…but never did. I honestly thought she might have been a hooker or something. 

But I think she was doing the same guy, who was probably married, which would explain the “all hours of the day” part of the equation.

So forgive me for thinking all neighbors are evil and must be destroyed. And yes, after our little elevator trip, I had to mentally recant all my previous curses.

I wonder if I need to fill out a form or something?

What's the deal with Weiner?

AOG, Madrid

Ok, I confess, before all the media attention surrounding "penisgate" I hadn't much heard about Congressman Anthony Weiner. 

I mean, I live on the other side of the Atlantic, and I have the local European politician crew to keep me entertained (or not, as the case may be), so why should I have heard of him before now.

However, I must tell you that my European friends are, once again, appalled at the way American politics works. They really don't see what the big deal is with this guy and they find his resignation rather strange for what they think is a no-crime. 

Especially when they read things about him on the New York Times that say he was: "a once-promising politician whose Brooklyn roots and scrappy style made him a leading candidate to be the next mayor of New York". 

Well, yes I think he made a mistake or two along the way but...I mean, where exactly does America think it is doing its shopping for politicians? And, why do we think that our politicians should not be allowed to be human and make mistakes?

Personally, I think the whole affair has gone a little out of proportion. He is still a brilliant politician, that hasn't gone away. Ok, so his behavior was "lewd" to quote NYT. But...I'm sorry is the only politician on Capitol Hill who has ever made a mistake such as this? Is he to be ostracised for the rest of his life because of one error? Or even two? And in fact, which is the bigger error, his actions or his attempt to deny them?

Yes I know, he sent "lewd" pictures of himself to women on facebook and Twitter. Ok so, after apologizing to the women in question, is his resignation really necessary? If he were not a politician, his actions would more than likely be brushed aside as "typical male behavior" or perhaps the behavior of someone who needs help, not public outcry. 

I cannot say I know all the particulars, but if I got a "lewd" picture of the type seen online these days from a work colleague I would think the man needs help, but little else. I would not ask for his resignation, I would ask the powers that be to talk to him and get him some counseling. Especially if he/she is an esteemed colleague. 

If it is someone I despise, then yes, I would probably want his/her head on a silver platter. I am only human. 

But my wanting revenge, or at least leverage, would still not obscure the fact that my colleague was actually good at his/her job. Which is what makes my Euro friends think we are not putting this entire Weiner thing into perspective. 

And yes, they quickly say things like "Why are Americans so offended by nudity?" or "Why are Americans so puritanical?" I don't think they see a connection since the country is perceived as being slightly manic. 

On the one hand, we give money to the poor, and on the other, we invade poor countries which are weak (because, god forgive, we should invade North Korea who does have nuclear weapons, or Iran or China) and within our sphere of national interest as defined not by public opinion but rather by the -I'm hoping- learned opinion of our political leaders. 

It is hard for them to be on our side (but we knew this even before 9-11), and when scandals such as this one pop up, Europeans look the other way and wondering why the double standard and why are his own party so quick to condemn? 

Well, the reason is probably because they are in a state of panic over the next presidential election and they want absolutely no whiff of a scandal anywhere near them. But is this really necessary? 

Do they think that by not supporting this Congressman in a time of need they really look good in the public eye? That public condemnation from his own party looks good for so small a non-crime?

Yes, of course, I assure you that European politicians and European political life is filled with irony and hypocrisy too. There is nothing new under the sun anymore. But back to Washington.

 Am I supposed to believe that the rest of his fellow politicians never made mistakes? That's a tall order. If anything, I'd concede that they have made mistakes which no one has heard about, but mistakes, believe me, they have made. We all have. 

And bottom line is, he hasn't killed anyone or embezzled millions of dollars from anyone, he sent pictures of his penis to adult women on the internet. No, he shouldn't have. Of course not. And he should not have lied about it. But I think we should get some perspective here.

Everyone who lives on this planet has made mistakes at one time or another, though perhaps we are not all as gracious as he has been:

"I am here today to again apologize for the personal mistakes I have made and the embarrassment I have caused", as NYT writes.

Will the world be a better place if Anthony Weiner, a seven-term Democrat is not working in politics? Probably not. It will be a little bit worse off, of that I'm sure it will be.

As a sort of personal consolation, which Mr. Weiner will probably never know about because he will never read this blog, is that on facebook, among my gay friends, both American and European, the fact that he did all this made them all like him even more. 

Yes, probably for "lewd" reasons, but...isn't voting for a politician because he is good looking or handsome, or she is attractive, just as lewd? 

Do we vote for ugly people very often? Am I mistaken in thinking that it is usually the attractive candidate who wins? Not not always, but often enough? 

Mr. Weiner, I'm sorry you could not behave better, but I'm also sorry that his has been blown out of all proportion. If you need help, I hope you get it.

Royal Wedding 2011

AOG, London

I just spent the better part of my weekend traipsing all over London. I would like to say that you can't help but notice that there is a Royal Wedding in our midst….but I’d be lying.

Regent Street

London’s West End was, for once, not at all interested in Royalness. 

This may, and probably will, change by Friday. 

But if you walked around Oxford street, you’d be forgiven for thinking the wedding had been and gone. 

Until you turn into Regent Street that is. Once there, you do get a feeling of, not Royalness, but Britishness. Why? 

Only because they have Union Jacks flying from one side of the street to the other all the way from Oxford Circus to Picadilly Circus. But that’s about it. 

Here and there, some stores had either a union jack “motif” on their window, or something alluding to the happy couple. But little else.

Further afield the West End, for example on the train back to the airport, you could see some towns had one street with bunting and union jacks. But not much else.

However, this is not to say that the wedding is not having an impact on sales. Many shops (Ted Baker, Paperchase) have some sort of Union Jack/Royal regalia object or product for sale to commemorate the event.

As do the tourist stands which pepper all of the West End. You know, those places which entice you to purchase a mug with the portrait of the Queen or Prince Philip, or a postcard with some royal plastered on it, or any other "royal" kitsch paraphernalia.

 Or the ubiquitous Union Jack with a portrait of Kate and William. These are bestsellers they told me.

To be fair, most of the people I spoke with are happy they are getting married but not so happy about the financial state of their country. The wedding is reputed to be on the Queen’s bank account. That is to say, the British “people” are not paying for it. 

Except that not many people believe that and, of course, no one will even know the true cost of the affair.

However, officially, her majesty is paying as are Miss Middleton’s family –who, by the way, are millionaires (you didn’t think he was going to marry somebody poor did you?). 

Certainly the Royal family is paying for the dress and the receptions at Buckingham palace (where some food will be served but not as much as you think!*).

But what I think they are not paying for is the cost of policing the event, and the clean up afterwards.

As it is, London Police are inspecting manhole covers, drains, traffic lights, and lamp posts along the parade route. Overall, the security operation is expected to cost £20 million ($32.6 million).

However, it is worth saying that many people can’t help to look back to that other royal wedding, the fairy-tale one, when the heir to the British throne married a certain Lady Diana Spencer, mother of this year’s groom.

If you need your daily Royalty fix, look no further than this blog by the BBC.  

*A few years ago, the Palace uncovered an alarming statistic about guests attending the Queen's annual garden parties. Rather than just nibbling on one or two snacks, they were consuming, on average, 14 sandwiches, cakes, ice creams and scones (I mean, how dare they those plebs!). The palace has come up with an ingenious solution — they  have reduced the size of the treats on offer!

Lay Spain 2011

AOG, Madrid

Spain these days likes to present the World its best non-religious face. Its Prime Minister, Mr. Zapatero, is a well known atheist who, nevertheless, attended a religious service when it visited the US in the company of the Obamas. 

And that is probably the best example of how this country tries to do away with religion in its institutions, while kow-towing to religion time and time again. Something which many people in Spain wish did not happen.

The best example of this is the recent controversy an atheist group has presented Madrid’s (Socialist) Government Representative in the city. A group known as AMAL - Asociación Madrileña de Ateos y Librepensadores (Madrid association of atheists and freethinkers)-, requested permission from the Town Hall to stage a public demonstration in favor of atheism on Maudy Thursday. And this hot potato has gone from the Conservative ruled Town Hall straight to the (Socialist) Government representative in Madrid, with the media in tow all along the way.

The problem is that on that very day, Madrid, and most of Spain, is deep in the midst of Easter Week, with daily processions of religious figures, Saints, Virgins and crucified images of Christ, which the faithful congregate on the streets to see. 

Madrid’s Easter processions are relatively low key compared to the religious pomp and circumstance of cities like Valladolid and the über Catholic processions of Seville, in the South of the country but nevertheless as a popular religious expression.

It is fair to say that the Catholic Church is allowed to take over the streets of Spain at this time, and that the whole country sort of shuts down for the duration.

Of course, Spain 2011 is not the same as Spain 1911. These days, many people, even many religious people, are not entirely sure that the Church should be given such a free hand when it comes to public spaces, and Easter, or Holy Week as it is known, can certainly be a nuisance for many people since it entails increased levels of noise, public crowds, traffic cuts and delays, etc.

But that is not exactly the point of the demonstration. It had more to do with an incipient, yet eternal, movement towards atheism.

The Government’s regional representative argued up to 11 reasons for which it denied the demonstration which it quickly called “an atheist procession”, alluding to an anti-religious sentiment and the intention of AMAL to promote its “atheist ideology”. AMAL, as well as the local organisation La Playa de Lavapies however, never called it a procession and insisted it was a public demonstration.

It is worth noting that AMAL is a group from the neighborhood of Lavapies, which is a small melting pot of different nationalities in Madrid. 

In fact, it would be fair to say that about half the population of Lavapies is not of Christian origin, coming as many of them do from places like North Africa or the Indian subcontinent, although no religious group asked for this demonstration, quite the opposite. 

Unfortunately, the controversy was served as soon as the Town Hall started to pass the buck. 

Many other atheist groups in Madrid and in Spain have joined AMAL and it has the right of appeal before Madrid’s Superior Justice Tribunal since the demonstration’s denial is seen as a violation of the fundamental right of public demonstration and assembly, enshrined in Spain’s legal system.

However, it seems like they had no time to do this since they are being sued by 10 citizens -7 of them lawyers- on the grounds of "religious derision". 

The fact that "religious derision" can be counted as a punishable crime in Spain has many people in the country up in arms.

Furthermore, they are also being sued by a Christian Lawyers Association for “extolling terrorism” and an NGO (HazteOir.org ) for “genocide” –it seems AMAL allegedly used pre civil war arguments for their demonstration and maybe “justified” their actions by so doing, and thus allegedly broke a law on Spain’s Penal Code, (unfortunately, a lot of priests and nuns were killed before the Spanish Civil War of 1936-39 and it is against the law to justify or deny their deaths) which forbids “The diffusion by any means of ideas or doctrines which deny or justify the crimes of genocide… or pretend the rehabilitation of regimes or institutions which shelter any practises which generate said crimes”.

It seems like the people who wanted to carry out the demonstration never thought it would all end up like this and they still want to carry out their demonstration, although it does not look like they will.

Mr. Luis Vega, president of AMAL, has stated that prohibiting this demonstration is a “worrying” fact and one that “means a withdrawal of the country’s liberties” since the city’s Administration uses the same arguments as those used by religious authorities to forbid the public demonstration. 

This is one of the few public declarations they have made since they went public with their request given the fact that they have, allegedly, been “threatened” ever since. “We were trying to criticise the Church as an institution, not any religious belief. We meant it to be like a neighborhood band type of thing”.

Madrid’s Government Representative has denied the petition on these grounds:

- The procession’s (sic) route “curiously” presents names related to catholic symbology

- The chosen date: Maudy Thursday

- The chosen time coincides with that of various Catholic processions

- The denominations of the participating “brotherhoods” (AMAL never said there would be any “brotherhoods”, but it seems that other atheist groups slightly hijacked their initiative and announced there would be brotherhoods akin to those found on Catholic processions with names such as the Pope’s Brotherhood of the Holy Larceny or the Brotherhood of the Holy Paedophile)

- It takes place in a zone with various parish churches

- The content of the group’s posters and public declarations

- It coincides with the route taken by Catholic processions “well-known for years”

- The presence of radical and antagonistic groups

- Massive public affluence and the need to protect Madrid’s touristic image

- Enclave of a very high artistic and historical value

-The Police, Town Hall, the Public Defender’s Office, and the Government’s representative coincide in that it should not take place

Of course, part of the problem lies in the fact that it was the Government’s representative that denied the petition. 

The Government is ruled at present by the Socialist Party, a political organisation which continuously tries to present its lay credentials but which often falls short in the eyes of many.

For its part, AMAL and La Playa de Lavapies have issued statements whereby they declare that they abide the Government's ruling and will not carry out any public demonstration on said date. 

However, it remains to be seen if nothing beyond the religious processions will take place. 

Many in Spain see this as another example of their non-denominational Government bowing to religious pressure and as a victory for the Catholic Church, an institution which in Spain, surprisingly, has of late been playing the victim continuously, especially since the Socialists came into power in 2004.