Spring Strike

 On March 29th there will be a general strike to protest labor reform measures that are in keeping with the EU's austerity demands. Critics complain, among other things, that the reforms will make it cheaper to fire people. As of now, and even after the reforms (probably) pass, the employment benefits that are enjoyed by folks in this area, some of which are enshrined in the constitution, would make your average American all purply green with envy. Which is not to say that your average worker rakes it in-on the contrary-but the social benefits of working are largely very good. I read recently that the U.S. last had a general strike in 1946. I'll let you know what it's like over here since most of you weren't around for that one. In the meantime, spring is quickly passing, with an embarrassment of blooms all over. Magnolias, violets, hellibore, daffodil, camellia...quite delightful. And an update on my sporadic segment Weird Stuff I Got Out of Vending Machines: the Vidal Mega Jelly Mix. Inexplicably  (maybe there's a cartoon I've missed?) contains gummies shaped like dog bones, like fingers (yellow, with red nails, very appetizing) and strawberries of the exact smell and taste (don't ask) of the erasers we used to get in third grade for completing extra reading. Delicious, when you're just that hungry.

Shamanic House Calls

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Thanks to Maestro Hadi, this blog has received 1000 views. Many thanks to all my buds for visiting, and the odd Russian visitor, at least according to Blogger.

Auto Sufficiency

It's not abnormal to see people parked on the sidewalk. Or, like this lady on the right, right up IN the bus stop. The Ertzaintza usually just let it go-probably because they have to park their squad car on the sidewalk, too. Towns in Europe were generally not designed with the automobile, or its need to chillax somewhere, in mind. Which makes for a much more pleasant society overall than say, the diesel extravaganza of California's inland empire, or the parking availability in L.A. that causes it to sprawl into the size of Delaware. But the parking situation is bananas, which is not helped by the fact that virtually all vehicles have stick shifts, requiring mad skills. I wouldn't be at all surprised to see a natty green Citroӫn parked up a tree, teetering on a branch in the breeze.

Which brings us to F's hoopty, Jimi, Le (Petit) Peugeot. Jimi is a 1992 model that lacks power steering. When F turns Jimi, it's like he's opening the cover to the sewers of Hell, and he actually has to rest for a minute afterwards. Jimi makes Eeyore, the 95 Ford Taurus I drove for 10 years, look like a Coupe DeVille. When last I saw Eeyore, I was jumping up and down and waving as it was driven away, at mile 244,205, by a pair of friendly if also seriously down-on-their luck gentlemen from the Bay Area while I pocketed a treacherous stack of cash that was half of what I had originally hoped for. Eeyore had previously been rejected by the Santa Cruzan parent of a teenager, who had the gall to look horrified when, in response to his question of  'and what is this on the door,' I said, 'duct tape.' 

 

What Jimi lacks in accoutrements he makes up in panache. He has his very own Arbre Magique to freshen the interior. He gives off dark black smoke upon starting, and we're thinking about making him the star of a t.v. show. It would be a cartoon or possibly a claymation series about Jimi's adventures that plays at around 5 a.m. on Saturdays and would be watched mostly by insomniac adults who would happen upon it and be all like, what the hey? Où est Jimi? would be the way every show would start out, and we have a theme song already, it goes without saying. We are grateful for trains. They allow Jimi to hang out in peace, up in the mists of the canopy, or wherever else we can find a parking spot. Which is all to say-we could stand some adventure up in here, or a Saint's Day of some sort. We shall return when that happens.