Goodbye America

I’m nervous. I can’t lie and say that I am overly confident about my future life in a new country. Packing your bags and moving to another country, combines equal amounts of trepidation, excitement, and nostalgia. However, I have the utmost faith in Robyn Russo. I have the utmost faith in myself, and I have few qualms about what I want in life. So, on August 29th, this little yinzer is crying wee-wee-wee back to his Post-Soviet roots in Hungary. What an adventure it will be.

Being at home has been a real blessing. It was nice to recharge my batteries and spend time with friends and family. I have little doubt that the times where I take a month and live in Beaver County will be rare, and I am content to say that. I can’t imagine my life (well, right now at least) living only in Beaver County. I want to see the world and be absolutely reckless before I settle down…wherever that may be.

I have seen a bunch of friends from high school and it was nice to see everyone. I heard conflicting reports, stemming from: I haven’t changed at all to I’m even more pretentious. It’s weird to see everyone from home though, because they are typically in different stages than me. They are getting married, buying homes, getting engaged, or having children. Shit. I’m not anywhere close to that…and I don’t think that I want to be.

Outside of high school friends, I got to see my Carnegie Mellon friends. I love my Carnegie Mellon friends. They are practically family to me, and know me quite well. It doesn’t seem awkward to catch up. The only problem is that I have to repeat stories a lot. But, much like wine and stinky French cheese, I only get better with time.


Jordan and I


Cristian: Little #2


Gucci: Little #2, Me, Big


SigEp Alumni: Terry, Me, Jorge


The only issue that I have with seeing people from CMU, is that I missed a lot of 21st birthday parties AND I left for Spain whenever I just turned 21. Basically, I still feel underage whenever I go to a bar. I always get worried that my real ID is going to get turned down. Ah, the joys of old age…before actual old age.

Hmm…what else will I miss about America? Ah, yes, the food.


Hemmingways Half, all for me. Also, note the red, white, and blue.



Market District Donuts

Yes, Europe has amazing food. It’s phenomenal, it’s well crafted. But, the issue that I have with it is…it’s not junk. Where is the cheese? Ranch dressing? Pepperoni? Copious amounts of beer for $5? Yinzers may not be able to cure cancer, but as God as our witness we can deep fry something and put ranch dressing on the side. (That’s why I’m leaving America 12 pounds heavier than when I arrived. Glorious.)

The other nice thing about America is that I get the chance to be nice again and not have it feel so strange. The donuts above were a gift to my fraternity because they had a long meeting. It’s nice to be nice. My most recent random act of kindness was in Spain, and I’ll make sure to continue them in Hungary. It’s nice to have somewhat of a grasp on cultural norms though and understand how kindness will be interpreted.

Being in Pittsburgh also affords me the opportunity to make friends a hell of a lot easier. Hi, I’m your fraternity brother. Hi, we both speak English and are at a bar. Hi, we both have above average intelligence and below average attractiveness; want to be BFF until I see someone that I like more?


Matt Peteroy, he could have been little #4. (I'm just that good)

I got to attend a lot of big events: Rob Piston and Casey Novak’s 21st, an annual family trip to Idewild park, and my welcome home/going away/congratulations party. Plus, a big party with alumni that made me feel age appropriate.


Rob Piston’s cake was from the cake boss and was delicious.


It was nice to see everyone for an alumni house party. I had a lot of fun.


I kind of just wanted to show that my tattoo is indeed real and permanent.

It was nice to be home for another reason, I missed people from Spain. I wanted to have dinner with Kristina and Michael, go-go dance with Alyssa, and have a philosophical debate with Pati. I think it was important for me to miss Spain, because it shows that you can develop strong ties to a person/country/city in just a short time and that I will be able to fall in love again with a new country. (Awesome side note: I speak about love affairs with cities, but never people.)

Also, whether it was going to bars legally or not seeing friends who moved on…Pittsburgh changed. It’s not the same with Corey, Jane, and all things Gucci. Basically, I miss my Jersey Shore in Pittsburgh 09 Summer (when this blog first started)

I’m certainly not the same person that I was before I left for Spain. I gained a lot of self-confidence and learned to manage myself as an adult. I have a masters, a control of a foreign language, and an inner strength that comes from starting to know yourself. I’ve been really surprised at how I have been able to behave; dancing at Greek life block parties, getting tattoos, drinking with family, and telling people to fuck off. That’s not something that I would have always had the self confidence to do.

I’m becoming a grown up, and more importantly, I like the person that I am. Weird.

Volver: my first tattoo

Volver (v): to return to a place or condition.

For the past few months, I have had the idea to get a tattoo. I'm not a tattoo person. If you have ever been a tattoo parlor AND you have ever seen me, you know that the two are not similar at all. But, I wanted something to remember Spain, and I wanted something that MEANT something to me. Plus, I wanted to appear more badass.

So, I sacked up, I got some support from my friends and I went to the Flying Monkey Tattoo Shop.





it bled a little bit, but it looks better now.

....so I'm a badass now, right?

Badass Must Run in the Family

I am in America, which may mark the reason that my blog has exponentially suffered. I don’t have wifi or the Internet at home. The rare chances that I get to go on the Internet I am sitting at a Panera Bread, and scrutinizing the conversation around me.

To be honest, I am not really a fan of being able to understand everything around me. Having the capability to block out conversation is literally a privilege that I can’t describe. Everyone (myself included) has inane conversations, about topics that can drive me mad. You have little idea how little I want to hear about a pair of shoes.

Visiting with family has been interesting and caused me to have a lot of reflection. I made a really cool PowerPoint that I attempted to convert into a movie, but it was kind of an epic fail. The PowerPoint has cool music that was popular in Spain and relevant to the photos; however, I had to go with a classical song that only kinda-sorta relates to the photos. It’s okay; I can figure it out for next year, but you can feel free to watch it (some of you may even be in it; most of you will not).



Nevertheless, when I was not showing my family my slideshow, I was actually enjoying conversation with them. I am not sure if absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it was actually nice to have two overwhelmingly large family get-togethers. I got to see everyone that I won’t see for 4 months and that I haven’t seen in 8 months. Plus, I got a pretty relevant Costco cake. (Ahh, Costco, I almost forgot about you.)



I think it’s really funny that my family wants to see me drunk/tipsy. I made sangria for my family (mom's side), legitimately 2.5 liters of it. I was the only person to drink it and enjoy it. Everyone wanted to drink beer, particularly Miller Lite. I think this can mark one of the differences between myself and my family, as I legitimately make fun of Miller Lite. (Oh, going to a “yuppy school.”)

Family, sober or tipsy, was really nice. It was especially nice to see my niece again. Sadly, I have seen her less than 5 times. She is a cute little girl with a ton of personality, and I wish that I could get to know her better. Luckily, I have this current time with her, and I know that I'll get to see her soon.





Because of all of the conversations, I found out that my family has done some pretty badass shit. I have an aunt and uncle that student taught in Dublin, Ireland and studied abroad in Korea. (Plus, my aunt is a pretty good speechwriter; maybe I'll be the magna cum lade speaker someday too.) My sister studied abroad in Madrid, Spain and then Costa Rica. Plus, my grandma did some pretty badass shit, even without ever leaving the country. I hope that one day I have grandchildren that realize I am a badass, 22 years into their lives. I also think that my desire for traveling, isn't nearly as abnormal as I had first thought.

Life in America has been great. My family has been better than expected, and I appreciate them a lot more now. America, you have some tricks up your sleeve just yet.

Madrid, Te Quiero.

Al fin y al cabo, pasé once meses de mi vida (casi como un año) en un país muy raro: España. La verdad es que, al principio, odié Madrid y todos los aspectos de la cultura aquí en España. Yo creí (a veces falsamente y a veces no) que todo la gente aquí fueren pesadas y vagas. Pensé que no pudiera vivir por 10 meses aquí, y por ¿el fin de mi vida? Joder, eso vaya imposible, seguramente.

Pero, como ellos dicen en España, gota a gota el mar se agota. Poca a poca, me alegría tantos cosas sobre el país: fútbol, dos besos, jamón iberico, y la capacidad para hablar en dos idiomas. Después de un año, yo puedo vivir y hablar con tanto gente en español. A veces, tengo errores. Y por todo mi vida, voy a faltar palabras ó decir cosas un poco raro. Pero, yo puedo hablar. Yo puedo vivir. Yo puedo hacer todas los cosas necesarios en esa idioma, ¿sabes?

Ahora, estoy en el aeropuerto de Washington D.C. Me alegro mucho que estoy en este país, pero al mismo vez…estoy nervioso. Y ¿por qué no? Yo soy estadoünidense por generaciones y generaciones. Pero, yo creo que estoy un poco más. La verdad es que, no puedo imaginar mi vida como mis amigos desde universidad. No puedo trabajar desde 9:00 hasta las 17:00. No quiero niños de mío. No quiero cansar a nadie ni quiero comprar un casa.

En el año siguiente, ¿cómo va a hacer? Estaré en Budapest, un ciudad que he elegido. Un ciudad que Robyn me ha dicho es lo mejor. Pero, ella no conoce Madrid como yo. Todo el mundo me dice que ellos van a visitarme en Budapest y “¡Que suerte tienes!” Pero, ahora no pienso que yo tengo mucho suerte. Ahora, tengo dudas de toda. Como siempre, tengo dudas de mi vida, tengo dudas de mi trabajo. Joder, tengo dudas en cuál país quiero vivir.

Vale, pues…nada. Este mes, pasaré muy genial, y yo sé eso es la verdad. Voy a salir de marchas, voy a bailar, beber, y contar mucho gente con mis cuentos nuevos. Pero, no lo sé. No puedo hacer lo en castellano. No puedo pensar en castellano ni mirar la tele, ni las cosas que me encantan hacer. La mierda es que, todo esto año, trabajé duro para aprender más. Y ahora, tengo miedo que me voy a perder todos mis capacidades en español.

No solo quiero ser un hombre desde los EEUU. Haré algo más. Vale ya. Puedo hablar, pensar, y escribir en español y no voy a perder este capacidad en año, especialmente porque yo tengo un montón de amigos que hablan conmigo en español. En Budapest, me voy a enseñar y adivinar si quiero ser un profe de universidad en verdad.

Al fin y al cabo, Madrid va ser un capítulo en mi libro, pero un capítulo de tan importancia. Este año ha demostrado que yo puedo cambiar mi vida, divertirme, y ganar mucho mas que había perdido.

Joder. Estoy llorando en el aeropuerto de Washington. No pasaré nada. Todo bien, chico, todo bien.

Madrid, te echaré un montón. Tu idioma. Retiro. La Latina. Club Joy. Los reinas de drag. Botelleones. Universidad de Alcalá. Mis alumnos. Tu incapacidad para hacer nada efectivamente (pues efectivamente para un anglosajon). Dos besos. Jamón. Paella. Vino. Tinto de verano. Euros. Y los tantos cosas que ahora no puedo pensar. Eres mi cielo, y el sitio en que yo cambié a un adulto real.

Gracias Madrid, y hasta prontito. Estoy seguro.

The Kindness of Strangers

I have said before that I rely on the kindness of strangers, but I´m not really sure if I believed it at the time. Sure, I like to think of myself as a kind person, and as someone who can be friendly to others that they don’t know. However, my kindness surely has some limitations, as does everyone’s...right?

This summer my notions of acceptable levels of kindness and humanity have been completely debunked. While working, a fellow teacher saw that I was reading Los hombres que no amaban las mujeres and offered me the 2nd and 3rd book. This fellow teacher is everything that I am not: she is short, loud (from Queens loud), tattooed, Communist, and firm in her beliefs. While I let people know that I don’t like them, I do it in the polite WASP way of spreading malicious rumours about them, or not inviting them to dinner parties.

Today, two weeks later, she gave me the 2nd and 3rd books. She didn’t want anything in return, just to let her know if I liked them or not. (Each book is about 25 euros too.) How sweet is that?

Later, as I was coming home from my lunch with her, my phone buzzed. It was Amanda, my current hostess. Amanda and her roommate Lucia have been absolutely amazing hostesses, to the extent that I feel guilty about having abused their kindness. I arrived a day earlier than I said, and they opened their doors to me. They left me keys, let me do my own thing, but invited me out to spend the night with them. Clearly, they rock as hostesses and were much better than I was and probably ever will be.

After staying in their house for the second day, Amanda boarded Lucia’s car and then….well, that’s where it gets interesting. Amanda didn’t get on her plane. In fact, Amanda volunteered to leave the plane for 2 days (don’t feel bad for the girl, she earned $800 in flight credit for each day). On her second night in the city, Amanda hatched a really elaborate plan to get me to the airport for free.

Amanda made friends with several of the fellow people who were spending the night in the five star hotel. As their new friend, she got one of them to give me one of their spare beds for the night (a really nice guy named Santiago). Further, she got another girl to give me her meal for the night (AMAZING BUFFET: full of delicious cheeses, savory meats, fresh fruit, and bottles of wine)…the meal was worth 25 euros (around $35-$40). Al fin y al cabo, she even got her roommate to come, pick me up, at their flat, and transport all of my luggage to the airport hotel so that I could take the free shuttle in the morning (saving me a 50 Euro cab ride).

So, for those of you who keep track of how much Amanda saved me, let’s do some quick math:

Room for 3 nights in hostel (her piso): 60 euros
Room for 1 night in 5 star hotel: 120 euros
Buffet Dinner: 25 Euros
Taxi Ride: 50 Euros
Total: 255 euros.

Holy shit. Amanda rocks.

The five us had a really nice time. After a few glasses of wine, we decided to travel to Alcalá and show everyone where Amanda and I went to university. Lucia drove, which in hindsight, probably wasn’t the safest move. In Alcalá, we had the best sangria that I have ever had…as well, as my last few slices of jamón iberico. (Jamón, te echaré de menos más de todas las otras partes de España). After that, we came back; drunk from wine, sangria, and the excitement of new people. We jumped in our beds, added each other on Facebook, and talked about becoming scam artists in Vegas.



I don’t think I’ll see any of them ever again.

Accountability and Professionalism

I am not a Teach for America teacher. I was going to be, I had every desire to go and dedicate at least two years of my life to solving what I truly believe to be the nation's greatest injustice. However, just as the third round interview was coming up, I e-mailed and told them that I quit.

Why exactly did I quit whenever I wanted to do Teach for America since literally my first day at Carnegie Mellon? Well...it wasn't for me.

Teaching for me is an art. You have to blend content material with games, accountability, and content material. Everything needs to flow and digest and amalgamate into the really strange process of learning. That's why, it seems impossible for me to teach to a standardized test, as does it feel equally as strange to have a TFA master teacher watch me intently for two hours looking for ways to continually improve my teaching.

TFA wasn't for me, but it was for several of my friends. I am so happy that they are doing something that I didn't have the courage to do and are actually going about to help America. I took a more global route, and I'm pleased with the outcome thus far....even though, I have no idea where it is leading me.

Anyway, I went on a whole TFA schpeel, because my summer camp had high expectations and had a (rather large) teacher assessment and teacher quality report (weekly student surveys). All of the teachers had access to our reports, and I was surprised by my results:

87.4% liked my class
94.2% liked classroom activities
93% were proud of their work
94% thought that their capacity to listen in English has improved
94.1% liked me
74% thought that I was friendly
94.1% thought that I explained things very well.

Woah. I am a good teacher, but super strict. Frankly, that's what I was going for. I don't want to be friendly or nice in the classroom. It's not needed. Yes, I want you to like me, but more so, I want you to do your work. I think too often teachers (young and old) want students to be their friends. But, honestly, who wants a 14 year old friend? Really? Thinking back on how I acted between the ages of 12-20, I can honestly say that I am surprised that anyone wanted to speak to me.

For some reason, I feel validated by this survey as doing a profession that I do well.

What is one area of teaching that I need to work on?
Professionalism.
Well, let me be more specific: Professionalism in social situations.
Actually, let me be even more specific: Professionalism in social situations involving free alcohol.


So, here's the issue: I have a mouth on me. I say inappropriate things. I stand up for what I believe in, and if I don't like someone or something...I let it be known. This is literally what every single person has told me my entire life. "Pound sand" is the oh, so clever phrase that my parents told me to tell every teacher, faculty member, and administrator that I had ever dealt with.

I am extremely professional in all situations where I am working, in fact: borderline too professional. I really just think that social and working worlds should be separate, because...well...let me illustrate:

The night of our going away dinner, my end of the table got schwasty-faced. Not drunk. Hella drunk. Was it just me? No, in fact one girl got so drunk she threw up all over the fancy terrace. A second girl then walked her home and HITCHHIKED TO THE WRONG RESTAURANT BECAUSE SHE WAS TOO DRUNK TO REMEMBER. (So, clearly, I wasn't all by myself.) The 6 teachers at the end of the table were loud, drunk, and a lot of fun. At the same time though, we were connected to a larger table with people who were uhm...not so loquacious and liberated. So, whenever we played a game of never ever have I ever and one of the older teachers didn't know what to say, I may have accused her of "fucking a Nazi." She's neither German, nor old enough to have been alive during World War II, but honestly...who cares about such trivial things?

Later, as the night progressed, we had to give the presents to our bosses. Mind you, I had spent the ENTIRE day looking up and down La Coruña to get these presents. No one else had suggested buying the directors anything AND I predominantly paid for them. (All fine, I liked both of them.) So, whenever it came time to give the second present to the Assistant Director, I decided to give a religious sermon.

Hold up, 3 facts you should know:
1.) She is a non-practing Jew.
2.) I am an ordained (online) Minister
3.) Her present was this:



So, I gave my speech...and oh, my speech was rambunctious. I kind of gave a black preacher sermon, and had everyone screaming Hallejuah! and AMEN! PRAISE JAMES! etc. So, it was a lot of fun...and whenever she opened the wrapping, she really thought that it was a Bible. Later, she cracked up laughing whenever I told her to read to me from the book of James and she saw the flask.

Professional? No, not really. Funny? Yes. Drunkity-Drunk drunk? Absolutely.

Later, we all went out as group, and continuing to be the horrible professional teacher that I am, I ripped my pants down the ass....then continued to dance with them until the hole literally reached its way to my crouch and then started to form two smaller holes going down the legs. Yep, that's how I danced the night away, showing my boxers full view (American style, not European...thankfully). No need to pull an I-see-London, I see-France bit, my ruined pants are embarrassment enough.

Sadly, I haven't got any photos of me with or sans pants from that night. My camera died and I am now depending on the kindness of strangers (Facebook). Well, I'm off for the next adventure.

When I grow up, I want to be a pilgrim.

Forenex has given me an absolutely amazing summer. I know that this is going to sound like a shitty commercial, but I haven't ever enjoyed a summer as the one that I have spent teaching in La Coruña. (Well, my summer before I left for Spain was also pretty awesome.) Maybe I just have low expectations about what to expect from teaching gigs in Spain. Sometimes life is grand, and other times...not so much. Since ending my employment on a sour note, I had a bit of a bitter taste in my mouth regarding teaching in Spain.

One of the (many) reasons why I am so in love with Forenex is because they paid for me to take a day trip to Santiago. Santiago is a tiny pueblito, very close to my summer camp. The big thing that it is known for is that it is the end of the Camino de Santiago. The Camino de Santiago is a religious trek where people walk hundreds of kilometers on a real life pilgrimage to end in Santiago. That's right, there are pilgrims in real life. Only they don't look like Pilgrims (please note the oh-so-important capitalization between Pilgrims and pilgrims).




I walked around the city and spoke with a few of the pilgrims on their quest. Not everyone was religious, a lot of people just did it because it is badass to do. It was really cool to see all of the people and what they were doing. The teachers were all given food for lunch (once again, holla for Forenex), and so I decided to give it to some pilgrims who looked down and out. To be honest, I'm not sure if I could walk 780 km; and if I did, I would certainly want someone to give me a ham sandwich whenever I arrived at my destination.

This year was exceptionally important because it was Xacobeo (pronounced Sha-ko-bay-o). Basically, what this means is that St. James Day (the patron saint of Santiago) falls on a Sunday. So the whole Camino de Santiago, takes on an added level of religious fervor and importance during this time.



Left to Right: Jesus, me, Cat, St. James (Santiago) This was also the first time that I have EVER paid to take a photo with a street performer.

I went with all of the other English teachers and it was nice to have a change of setting with them, where we weren't surrounded by the immediate pressures of having to make lesson plans, write comments to students, attend meetings, etc.



We all had a lot of fun, day-drinking, enjoying the scenery, and seeing the subtleties of the small city. I also kind of love the fact that the smallest teacher (Lauren) was able to give the largest boy (me) an epic 10 minute piggie-back ride. She carried me up and down the rows of students and I screamed the entire time, "YOUR TEACHERS ARE AS COOL AS ENGLISH!" Clearly, this works on both ends of the spectrum.



I felt like these tintos de veranos looked more badass than they really were.


The piggyback ride scarred into several students' minds.

The highlight of Santiago were two-fold: the Church and the local craftsmen. It's large and impressive and really is beautiful. I stepped into a Mass, but then felt too awkward to stay in. Normally, as a Catholic, I have no qualms with walking into my Church and hearing a Mass, regardless of the language. That is, until, I walked into a room full of pilgrims...people who had bled, sweated, and cried to get to that Church. For some reason, I felt like too much of a charlatan to be hearing the same mass as everyone else. So, the minute that we walked in...I walked back out. I returned later to see everything and was truly amazed by it, but I knew that seeing the Mass wasn't something that was in my cards for this excursion.


artsy shot of Santiago Church (gracias a Cat Gaa)



Mandatory shot of me in front of something historical.


In regards to the local craftsmen, it was really cool to see actual Spaniards working with things that we think of actual Spaniards doing. The locals had amazing cheese and amazing leather. I bought a hunk of cheese that was amazing (more on this below) and two leather goods (presents for friends in USA).


This cheese was so amazing.

Let me further describe my passion for this cheese: this cheese only cost 7 Euros, for a kilo. So, it was deliciously priced. Second, I bought it with someone who promised to later pay me 3 euros for half of the cheese. After I tasted it, I avoided this girl, until I had eaten a significant portion...so that it "wouldn't be fair" to make her pay for it. I ate the entire kilo within a week, by myself. Further, I make such a big fuss about this cheese, that whenever the teachers would hang out in each other's rooms they would ask if they could try it. I would lie about it and say that it was gone...when really I was just hoarding it in my room like a fatty.

So my dearest, Santiago, I will return to you. Your cheese and religious pilgrimage are too much of a temptation.