Pump your brakes

Surprise surprise, Blogger loves Portugal. About a month ago, last year even, Blogger had the opportunity to grab the last place on one of two buses going to Portugal with some of his closest friends from Barcelona. Not being one to shy away from last-second plans, Blogger jumped at the chance, and signed up for a 12 hour drive. He even volunteered to drive, which was quite an adventure given the necessity to follow our trips leader, native Portuguese Tomas "No Soup for You" Moreno, who drives like a crackhead, on crack.

Despite being a Despot at heart, Tomas was an amazing host, taking the group to some of his favorite spots in Lisboa, up the coast to Sintra (below) and to his home town of Cascais, where Blogger ate one of the best chili dogs of his life. He even brought the group to his Great Uncle's Vinyard in the country for one of the best meals and most relaxing country days Blogger has ever had (sorry, no pictures yet).

A highlight of the trip was our stop at a little restaurant south of Cascais, perched on a cliff over the western most point of the Iberian Peninsula. Blogger ha dto be restrained from jumping over the Atlantic to England, which he could totally do if he wanted to.

There's much more to tell about the trip and the wonderful time Blogger had with his friends, but he's sick of this particular post and wants to get back to his new book, Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. Holy shit it's good.

So here's one last jumping picture, from the outer terrace of the King's vacaction palace in the hills of Sintra, Portugal.

House of Cosbys

Many of Blogger's friends have already seen this little animated jewel, and for that, well, Blogger doesn't apologize at all because Curiosity Cosby is the funniest thing going. This was an independent animation created by a Justin Roiland and a group of other hilarious people, producing 5 episodes. Unfortunately they were halted in their tracks by a group lawyers thrust upon them by the evidently quite litigious Bill Cosby. But thanks to the beauty of the internet, they cannot take from us what has already been given. Foiled Again Cosby! Foiled Again!
For those viewers not familiar with the Cosby Show, or Bill Cosby's mannerisms, well, you'll just think this is weird. Well you know what? That's what Blogger thinks of you. So there.

This is episode one of the House of Cosbys, the first and best. If you are interested in seeing more, check out this link. But as far as this Blogger is concerned, there is no need to go beyond Curiosity Cosby.
Exploration Rudyyyyyyy!

Dgypt en Vivo!

Blogger's buddy Jesse put together an amazing video of their recent exploits in Egypt.
Check it out (audio is a must, especially for the Camel scenes)

Ducati Dreams

Blogger is obsessed with buying a Ducati. Those cynics at IESE invariably say two things when they hear this: a) A typical Investment Banker, spending money he doesn't have on frivolous toys. b) You just want one because of the Competitive Strategy case we did on Ducati , you jackass.
As compelling as those arguments may sound, Blogger's deep seeded obsession with owning a Ducati goes back further than any tangible reality of being an Investment Banker, and most definitely the case study read at IESE business school. Just ask Blogger's girlfriend, Medora, and she will testify to his oogling and fawning over said machine in the lobby of a coffee shop on Northwest 23rd in Portland, OR some three years ago. Granted, Blogger had no idea what a Ducati actually was at that point, let alone how to ride one (the latter still being true), but he knew that he wanted one.
Now that Blogger has reached a level of appropriate indebtedness, in that 7 or 8,000 euros more doesn't really make that much of a difference in how screwed he is, the time has come to realize that dream. He spent the latter half of this morning in the showroom itself, before being kicked out for dry humping a red Monster 695 (see above picture taken from the store's surveillance cameras capturing Blogger's torrid ride). Now he just has to pull the trigger, write the check, and make the dream come true. Oh, and get a license....and, uh, learn how to drive a motorcycle....but let's not get bogged down in details.

Pain de Pie

Blogger's foot hurts, and is thus preventing him from effective blogging.

Lame Duck

One branch of government down, two to go.

Denmark's Full of Shit

No seriously, Denmark has a shitty problem, too much pig poo. According to the Economist and the BBC, pigs outnumber humans in Denmark by 5 to 1. That is 5.4 million Danes compared to between 24 and 26 million pigs, depending on the time of day as an average pig factory kills up to 750 pigs per hour.
Leading Economic indicators suggest that up to 97% of Denmark's economy is directly or indirectly related to pigs.
The garment and textile industry is dedicated solely to pig clothing and pig clothing accessories.
Large mountain pigs are the preferred form of public transportation (thank you Anders for the childhood picture, Blogger owes you buddy).
Denmark is the world's largest exporter of BLT sandwiches.

And of course, Legos. Don't tell Blogger that you didn't know the primary ingredient to the famous Danish toy is pig. In fact, Lego comes from the Danish words "Leg" meaning Play and "Godt" meaning Piggishly.

Having trouble picturing the amount of doo doo produced by 25 million pigs? Let Blogger help you out. Danish pig slurry would fill over 90,000 average sized swimming pools a year. So with all those pigs, what to do with all the excrement? Great Dane Jens Vigh Riis has an answer. Turn it into drinking water!
Vigh Riis company, Funki Manure, essentially distills the liquified manure in the same process used to produce Whiskey or Bourbon, creating an equally dangerous final product: liquid nitrogen , liquid NPK, and of course humus, a high concentrate fertilizer not to be confused with hummus. Oh, and local drinking water. Delicious, piggy poo drinking water.

Leave it to the Danes to turn 90,000 swimming pools of pig crap into liquid gold. And Legos, don't forget about the Legos.

Saddam, We bid you Adieu

Breaking News! Saddam Hussein was sentenced to be hanged (not to be confused with hung, which only God can sentence a man to be) by the Iraqi Tribunal today (full story)

Blogger is seldom shocked, but feels like he just stuck a paper clip in the light socket, again.
It will be quite interesting to see the international response to the US Governor of Texas, George W. Bush, sentencing another dictator to the gallows. Texas is famous for handing out the death penalty to the mentally ill, countless minorities and the occasional teenager not yet old enough to vote. But to Blogger's extensive knowledge, this is the first Head of State on Texas Death Row.
True, it was not really the US doing the sentencing, but there is certainly a general perception, whether right or wrong, that all courts and political bodies in Iraq exist due to the will and guidance of American puppeteers. Its shocking to think that the puppeteers' hands stuck up the bum of another sovereign country's politicians are those of US politicians with their heads stuck up the same orifice.
This should do wonders for the US Brand.
But on the bright side, that's one less Yankees fan out there. And as a Mets fan, Blogger will definitely take a slice of that silver lined pie.

Fit to be Tie

All gumption to leave the house socially is slowly creeping out of Blogger's bones. This would be less appalling if the energy thus not applied to drinking and cavorting resulted in an increase in productive stamina. For instance, more climbing, more studying, more jumping over national treasures. But it hasn't. There is no net benefit, only gross loss.

Perhaps the chin up bar craftily installed in the laundry shaft, crammed between a sewage effluent pipe and the outer shower window will increase free time accomplishment, and in so doing, increase forearm width. But even that is doomed as Blogger has to crawl behind the washing machine to get to it.
Sometimes life is so frustrating, but then we remember that it includes pink shirts and thin white ties, so how bad could it be?

Jumping Over Egypt

Blogger recently took a trip to the other side of the Mediterranean tracks, onto the Dark Continent, and into the bosom of the fertile Nile Valley. His oldest friend Jesse and lovely wife Kindra, both employees of two of the top creative advertising agencies in the world, recently moved to the Netherlands. As it would be a shame not to take advantage of the geographical coincidence, Jess convinced Blogger to take a trip while the trippins good.
Blogger arrived in Cairo at around 2am, and as is the custom in most developing countries frequented by tourists, was immediately pounced on by would be taxi drivers and "representatives" from the ministry of tourism. Now Blogger likes to think of himself as a very progressive and worldly individual, who is far above making the type of cultural stereotypes attributed to other, less sophisticated western tourists. But he would be lying if he did not admit to the fact that getting into a taxi by himself in a Muslim country at 2am filled him with thoughts of kidnappings, disappearances and beheadings, the unfortunate repercussions of a televised Global War on Terror gone horribly wrong that has made such occurrences common place in parts of the same region. Fortunately, it only took five minutes talking to the cab driver (going 100 mph incidentally) to realize that any such notions were completely retarded, and that the Egyptian people are some of the kindest and friendliest in the world. By 9am that same morning, Blogger and friend were in a car headed to Giza to see the Pyramids and the Sphinx, which Blogger jumped over.
It is the first time that a monument has actually been bigger than Blogger expected. For instance, the Statue of Liberty, one of the classic icons of American scale and grandeur is absolutely tiny when you see it for the first time in person, at least compared to the impression given by Ghostbusters II.




Unfortunately for the boys from Oregon, the camel drivers had already headed home by the time they reached the desert, so dreams of a shot on a camel in front of the Sphinx went unrealized. By 8pm that evening, the scenery of the Northern Nile Valley was whizzing by as the two headed south to Aswan and a boat that would take them north to Luxor. It was a sleeping car, and a dream come true for Blogger who has always harbored a soft spot for the romantic mode of travel since he first saw White Christmas with Bing Crosby and Danny Kay. Needless to say, the Egyptian Sleeper with Jesse is a bit less romantic than the New York to Vermont Steamer with Rosemary Clooney. It served its purpose, and by 6am the next morning, the two found themselves in the idyllic city of Aswan, where Pharoahs, Kings and Egyptian Soap Opera Stars have come for centuries to enjoy the clear water of the Nile.
After a wild time finding a guide and a boat to sleep on, the frenetic touring was on. The first stop was the Unfinished Obelisk, which Blogger jumped over.






Next on the list was the fulfillment of another life long dream; riding in a camel caravan across the desert to explore anancient temple like Indiana Jones. Here's are the two adventurers on their camels, which Blogger jumped over.











Unfortunately for Jess, bouncing on a camel for about an hour did not bode well for the old butt cheeks, which rebelled against him for the remainder of the trip, making even the smallest movements torture, let alone those of the bowel persuasion.
Next stop on the Aswan tour was the Temple of Isis, built during the rule of Alexander the Great in honor of Isis, the most beautiful of all Egyptian Goddesses, who Blogger jumped over.





The day ended with a relaxing ride up the Nile on the Faluka, the same style of sailing vessel and sail employed by the Ancient Egyptians to transport goods up and down the river 5000 years ago.
Settling into the boat, the HMS Jasmin, Blogger and Jess enjoyed a beautiful sunset on the top deck before hitting the sack for an exciting day upriver.

Here are the highlights of the rest of the journey.
The Temple at Kom Ombo, which Blogger jumped over.

The Temple at Edfu, which Jess jumped over.

The Valley of the Kings, a truly unbelievable place which Blogger recommends highly,
and jumped over.

The Temple of the Female King, Hathsepsut, which Blogger jumped over....

The Temple of Karnak, the largest temple in the world,
which Blogger jumped over....

And finally, the Avenue of the Sphinxes in front of the Temple of Luxor.
And yes, Blogger jumped over it.

Overall, it was a fantastic trip, and overwhelming in its historic significance. Returning to Barcelona, where the lineage of the ancient buildings in El Borne had once inspired awe, Blogger now finds himself nonplussed by anything less than 1000 years old. Egypt truly puts things in perspective, and Blogger thanks its gracious people, as well as his oldest friend Jesse for an amazing 6 days.

Leisure Suicide

Everyone has heard the phrase "career suicide". There are many ways to commit career suicide, such as getting caught sleeping with the boss's husband, or falling over backwards into a stack of boxes while presenting your new product to a key client after staying up all night using recreational drugs, as happened to a friend of Blogger's who will remain nameless.
But what happens when you do something that is fundamental
to the beginning or furthering of your career, such
as signing a contract to work at an Investment Bank, and in
so doing, kiss any and all freetime that you might have counted on during the next
X years goodbye?
Is there such a thing as Leisure Suicide?
If so, Blogger just jumped off the leisure cliff, handed in his leisure suit for
a pin striped Zegna, swapped the golden brown skin of a day on the beach for dark rings under his eyes from a night at the office.
Maybe Blogger is exaggerating, perhaps corporate life ain't so bad.
At the very least, there are 8 more months of leisure to be had before
he hits the ground.
In truth, like any transition to the unknown,
Blogger is strangely excited to see what's waiting on the other side.
And though it is not possible to come back from the dead,
there's a million ways to committ suicide at the office Christmas Party.

Billy's Back Baby!

September 20th, 1986, or as the people of Greater Thailand refer to it, Mauve Wednesday. For on this day in history, one William Michael Albert Broad, known to the world as Billy Idol, or to this Blogger simply as Vital, was carried across the Thai border by military and police escort, strapped to a hospital stretcher. On this day, Vital Idol was banned from Thailand, never to return............
Turn the clock forward 10 years to September 20th, 2006, and a new light shines on the Thai Peninsula. Bright eyes peer through the Mauve Gloom, as General Sonthi Boonyaratglin leads his victorious military faction through the streets of Bangkok, having just toppled the Anti Idol government in a coup d'etat, ending 10 years of what can only be accurately described as pure hell. Off in the distance, the chanting voices of millions can be heard, faintly at first, growing with confidence and hope..... Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy!

In those Halcyon days of 1986, after weeks of partying the likes of even Bangkok, infamous as a haven for the most depraved cravings had never experienced, Billy Idol was asked to leave the Presidential Suite of his posh Bangkok hotel. Though never officially documented, legend has it that Vital had employed a veritable harem of local talent, and inflicted hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of damage to the suite, having stayed well past his intended departure date. Upon the arrival of another hotel guest who had previously reserved the Presidential Suite, being an actual President of a neighboring country, Billy was again asked to leave. Refusing to vacate his unsanctuary, the local authorities were forced to intervene, subduing Billy in what I like to imagine as one of the epic hand to hand battles of all time. Picture Bruce Lee, on coke, with bleached blond hair, kicking like 80 Thai policemen's asses. Blogger does. Often.
It was only after Billy was shot with no less than 14 Ketamine darts (Ketamine, a Big Cat Tranquilizer is recreationally known as Special K, and considered an appetizer by Vital) that the authorities could subdue Billy, strap him to a stretcher and escort him out of the country. Despite the outcries and demonstrations from very likely every single Thai citizen, as Vital is HUGE in Thailand, the ban was enforced, depriving the Thais of Billy's angry British good looks and quick wit forever.

But sometimes there is a man. A man who's ear is so close to the heartbeat of his people, that the blood pumped to his brain by that heart carries the dreams and desires of an entire nation. That man is General Sonthi Boonyaratglin. That dream? End the dark times. End the Billy Ban!
Now some so called "experts", with "credentials" and who have more than a fourth grade "education" may tell you that the recent coup in Thailand was based on political turmoil and allegations of deeply rooted corruption under outgoing Prime Minister Thakskin Shinawatra.
Well, Blogger pities those people. We know what this coup is all about, and when Vital makes what can only be his imminent return to the land of the Pinching Dragon, takes his place upon the Golden Throne of Debauchery, the truth will not be denied.
The Mauve Curtain lifted, the days of dancing with themselves nothing but a bitter memory.
Billy Idol, Thailand salutes you.

MBA Special Olympics

The MBA Olympics get all the glory, overshadowing the other MBA competitions that feature disadvantaged but equally courageous and skilled competitors. One such event, the MBA Special Olympics, took place this last weekend at Case Western Business School's European Campus in Silly, Belgium (see prior posting for more information about Silly).
IESE won this event for the 6th consecutive year, thanks in no small part to two super athletes pictured below. All around super "little person" athlete (and Blogger's cousin) Blidget, and former professional tennis player Bertrandito, who after a freak Petanque accident underwent emergency surgery to have his lower legs attached directly to his shirt.

Shine on you crazy diamonds! Also competing was IESE Banker Alvaro García, who competed valiently in the 100 meter freestyle. Unfortunately, Alvarito was unable to finish the race due to a severe muscle cramp which resulted in emergency extraction from the pool by competition Lifeguards. Our thoughts and prayers are with you Alvaro.

Fame may be Fleeting.....

...but obscurity is forever.

Ever since the day Blogger read this on the wall of some Columbia dorm, it has been his favorite quote. Mostly because it is attributed to Napoleon, which if put in historical context is pretty damn hilarious. If that is the framework with which you live your life, or invade a country, completely disregarding inevitability of defeat with each new bold and dasterdly move, for the mere fact that whatever fame that it garners is much better than having never been known at all, then Blogger salutes you.
What started this frame of thinking was this weekend's MBA Olympics, where Blogger and his valiant IESE comrades placed 2nd overall, loosing for the first time in the event's 3 year history to arch rivals London Business School. The idea of an Olympics for European MBA students may sound rather silly, but in reality the competition was quite impressive. Oxford, who would beat IESE in the Rugby semi-finals featured players from the most recent Rugby World Cup. IESE's dominant tennis team boasted two former semi-professional players in Jorge and Bertrand, and all around athletics superstar and triathelete, Carolina, aka The Sao Paulo Stunna. IESE's futbol team sported a former pro player from European Champion Barcelona's youth team, and vanquished INSEAD in the final thanks to the cat like reflexes of goalie Pablo Royo (see earlier blog posting PABLO!) in the penalty shootout. And of course the IESE MBA Olympics Superhero, our very own Noelle who dominated in every sport her lovely James Spader bob entered, including futbol, cycling, track and field and Rugby. Here she's pictured competing in the semifinalsls of the Three Man Tickle Fight.


Last but not least Blogger, who more or less single handedly doused IESE's hopes of medalling in basketball, captained the climbing team to 6th place out of 7 teams, and placed fourth out of 30 in the long-jump, which sounds great if not for the fact that a Chinese student from Cambridge came in 3rd, without wearing shoes. Blogger did manage a gold medal in the 4 x 200 relay, thanks largely to the 50 meter lead handed to him
by Wondergirl Faye (below) though it must be said that the lead was increased by the time Blogger passed the baton to Jan-Erik.







And last but not least, IESE's world championship Naked Field Hockey team, captained by the Vietnagerman Madman, Huy Nguyen-Tuong. Here is a rare photo of Huy taking a break from his reckless demolision of the opposition.

Unfortunately, due to a wicked shot to the groin with a hockey stick, this was the last time Huy was able to sit down the entire weekend. It's truly a shame when after months of training an athlete suffers an injury off the field, in this case in Paris' redlight district, for 45 euros. Twice.

Aft Weekend Was Yarr

The MBA life in Europe sometimes seems absolutely ridiculous, especially for someone from a small po-dunk town in Oregon and an Agriculture background. Growing up, Blogger's typical answer to the questioin "What did you do last weekend" was "Well, I drove my truck down to Psycho's Gravel Pit with some friends, drank a six pack of Hamm's, threw some rocks at Old Man' Etzle's shack, set an abandoned car on fire and then eluded the police over the south field with my new kick ass thick tread tires".

This week, if someone asks Blogger what he did, the answer is "Well, Medora and I wandered up to the South of France to rendezvous with Andrew, who's over from Manhattan for a couple of weeks, and then sailed on Julien's new 34 ft. sailboat to Cannes to catch the film festival." Who knew the transition from White Trash to Euro Trash could be so seemless.

Captain J at the helm
Andrew enjoying one of the few moments that he wasn't being accosted by flying rigging. Man those were good times.


In the Harbor at Cannes where Blogger only saw one celebrity on the red carpet: Marilyn Manson, who 's continued relevance Blogger finds very hard to understand. Does he still make music? It seems like Blogger only see's Mr. Manson in teen and fashion magazines (which Blogger loves, so shut the hell up) on red carpets, a far cry from his original cutting edge Goth persona, though he still wears tons of makeup, which is pretty
badass.

First Mate Medora takes the helm while the clearly Homosexual Cabin Boy Blogger poses for the camera.

Sweet Medora admiring the lines of the French Coast while Blogger admires her's.

Sinbad the Chef

Tonight, Blogger had the great pleasure of hosting the internationally renown chef, Sinbad Franscallion. Having stowed away on the Mexican Pirate Ship Captained by Dreaded Ina the Flavor Savor (see previous post for a rare photo of the scoundrel), Sinbad had made his way to Barcelona in order to introduce the West to his Exotic Eastern cuisine.

Famous for his eclectic combinations of ruffage and ground meat, with the masterful blend of Far Eastern spices brought straight from the Orient in mysterious prepackaged delight. On tonight's menu, CURRY!

At one point, Blogger attempted to sneak a peak of his secret ingredients. Bad Move. In a flash, Sinbad turned on Blogger like so much curdled milk. If not for some quick talking, and of course the tennis ball trick, Sinbad would have been adding another slab of meat to the night's dish. And that meat was named pork.

Aaarrgggg, I'll Cut Ye! Cut Ye Gooood!

Queen's Day in the Mind's Eye

Never heard of Queen's Day? Well Blogger hadn't either until a few months ago when his Rutch (Russian Dutch) roommate and a group of fun loving Dutch second year students convinced him, and close to 100 other students to sign their lives away for a funfilled three day weekend.

Funfilled indeed, so much so that Blogger had to leave the country two days early in order to guarantee that he would be only slightly retarded when he returned. The jury is still out on whether his plan succeeded in avoiding the, let's say unique frame of mind associated with most Dutch people (sorry Lena, but you're all a bit off kilter), but he did manage to bring home some interesting pictures.

Blogger's first night in Amsterdam was lovely, especially the canals which snake through the streets like...well, a snake.


Franchise and Lamberto particularly appreciate the ability to purchase hot mystery meat sandwiches out of the coin operated vending windows......



....though Blogger still prefers the quality personal service of
Dutch high school dropouts wearing silly hats, ie McDonalds.
(just for the record, Blogger has not eaten at a McDonalds, Dutch or otherwise, for
several years, except breakfast which doesn't count)

The next morning, Amsterdam had morphed into its evil Orange twin Damnamster, and it was clear that Queen's Day would be a very, very orange Dutchstravaganza. Who knew just how orange it would be.


It was impossible not to see the entire city through Orange Colored glasses, though Blogger has a sneaking suspicion that the fellow with the giant orange whistle
had no idea it was Queen's day and dresses like this on a regular basis.

Canals, which the night before had been quiet, picturesque visions of Dutch serenity
had become raucous, overflowing cesspools of Dutch insanity.

Gustavo couldn't hide his excitement about finally finding an occasion to wear his orange feather boa. That is, the first time in public and with clothes on.

By mid day, and after a few dozen beers on a canal (or carnal) barge, Blogger's friend's began morphing into English versions of giant Umpa Lumpa's, ala Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Italian Version....

Rutch version...



Even Blogger couldn't escape the Queen's Day Orange Virus.

The most exciting point on the boat was when we were boarded by a group of Mexican pirates.
This is their Captain, Ina.

How can someone wearing a Miss Dutchiverse sash look so mean?
Cheer up Grumpster, its Queen's Day!

These girls got into the Dutch spirit of selling things on the side of the street by playing musical instruments. (Many illicit jokes could follow about Dutch women selling things on the side of the road, but even Blogger has his standards)

Blogger got caught by this boot wearer's boyfriend taking pictures of said boots. His attempt to explain the artistic value of the shot didn't work, so he pretended to throw a tennis ball
in the opposite direction, temporarily distracting the would be assailant before running
away.

God bless you macro settings.

And God Bless you too Herr Herring.
You are especially delicious with pickles.

Early the next morning, the pure Orange delight of Queen's Day had begun to fade from our rosey cheeks. Lamberto could not be wooed by the solicitations of the Dutch female, no matter how hard she tried.


Blogger and Franchise Lewis tried their best to revitalize the missing Dutch magic through imbibing mysterious Orange potions.

But even that had its limits, as by 7:30 am Franchise was slowly devolving into a homeless Dutch vagabond, collecting miscellaneous articles of clothing along the side of the road........

...and the glorious Orange Dutch Glow that had emanated from Blogger just hours before....

.....was now just a reflection in his burnt out mind.

Downward Spiral

The results are in! Web surfing preverts (that's no spelling mistake, Blogger meant to write preverts, which is pronounced pre-verts) love Blogger's last posting. By simply typing the names of some of the most common sexual positions and devious acts, and including a soft-porn image of a bunny (see previous entry for a full run down) Blogger successfully bolstered his readership by approximately six times. SIX TIMES!

You could take Blogger's word for it, but instead, why not take a gander at the lovely bar graph created by Blogger's kick ass stat-counter. And if there is one thing Blogger has learnt during his MBA, it's that Bar Graphs Don't Lie!

As Blogger has no intention of chasing the cheap numbers of soft porn readership, despite the scintillating temptation, he has chosen to take the high ground and return to the classy, intellectually provocative subject matter that his devoted, though small group of loyal readers have come to expect, if not worship candidly.
In staying with the theme of deviant Bunnies, Blogger has decided to end what can only be described as a wildly successful social experiment with one more piece of Rabbit Multimedia, provided for your, the readers', pleasure.

Note: Video contains no sexual content, rabbit or otherwise, but does include various scenes of a Bunny kicking some serious ass. No bunnies were harmed in the filming of this video, but most Bunny victims are assumed to have been seriously injured, crippled or possibly killed.

Ratings Boost

Blogger has been a bit disappointed by the number of hits on Catalonic as of late. He shudders to think that it is because of the relatively wholesome subject matter that has recently dominated his subject lines and photo essays. Rock Climbing, Easter with his family and the purity of a new born nephew are all beautiful and compelling in their own special way, but they don't seem to be drawing the mass appeal that Blogger so desperately craves in his daily and metaphysical blogging life.
As a result, Blogger has decided to run a bit of test. Call it a self contained Nielsen rating if you will. A porn Nielsen rating.
As most search engine and blog search spiders (the little programs and logarithmic doodads that go out and search web content for Google, etc.) look for key words in the text and meta data of a webpage, and because most people are very perverted and type things such as 'naked Italians eating sausage' or 'fetish shoes diapers and salamanders' in their search fields, Blogger has decided to test his theory that Sex Sells by filling this blog entry with a plethora of what he feels should be the most common pornish words in attempt to bolster his extremely sad number of independent hits registered by his kick ass statcounter. As he is not an attractive teenage girl (and every attempt to pretend has ended in disaster), Blogger must resort to the power of the written word to attract those wandering, and often lustful spiders.
Here goes:
Harvey Wallbanger, dominatrix, wrap around, Hot Carl, Hot Karl, Docking, Drilling for Oil, NASCAR, The Perfumed Garden, Donkey Kong, Donkey Punch, Dirty Sanchez, Italian Chandelier, Tribadism, Back Handspring Meets Fellatio, The Canary Chasm Delight, The Dancing Dolphin, The Stranger, The Reverse Stranger, Lucky Pierre (this is actually a sexual term, sorry Pierre)

That's about it.....no wait, Fettucini Alfredo. Blogger almost forgot Fettucini Alfredo, how embarrassing.
If this doesn't boost the ratings, then screw blogging (preferably with a Donkey Punch)

Uncle Blogger

Nephew Fritz, at just two weeks is already a fan of the blog

And Uncle Blogger is of course a huge fan of Nephew Fritz

Oregon Gone

There are few places in the world that make leaving Oregon palpable for Blogger, though he often forgets this. Luckily, Blogger is currently headed to two of those places: Manhattan, where Medora resides, and Barcelona which claims the remaining third of his heart.
The last stint of five days in Oregon, albeit short, reminded Blogger just how amazing the Beaver State is, and will continue to be due to the never changing landscapes and ever evolving progressive tendencies.

Here are some photographic samplings:

Mt. Jefferson

The newest portion of Mt. Jefferson Farms

Smith Rock: A Climber's Paradise

The left Dihaderals at Smith Rock, providing Blogger's First Succesful Lead Climb, which he had no business attempting....

..........especially wearing hot pants and a flat top.

Fresh and thick Stumptown Coffee in a French Press (or Italian Press to the French....any Italians are encouraged to set the record straight as the French are less than reliable )



And last but not least, Blogger's Grandma and a Fat Easter Ham

PABLO!

Social Climber

After putzing around on a local bouldering wall, three or four times a week for the last 3 months, Blogger finally had the chance to do some real climbing this week. Sadly, it was so enjoyable that the gym's bouldering wall is no longer an attractive alternative given the superiority of having his hands on solid, geologically pure rock. This, coupled with the amazing weather that has eveloped Barcelona, and the proximitiy of Montjuic...

<--(seen here by night)




and the fantastic climbing walls, both natural and man made that lie within its perimeter

(seen here by day)
make it very likely that Blogger's days at Can Carrellu are over, except for the occasional lunch time workout.

The first climb was extremely difficult, a 6B-6C for those who care. The initial problem was daunting; three consecutive holds with absolutely no footing, in other words one arm pullups. In retrospect, this was the easiest part of the climb as the holds were massive, and Blogger has practiced climbing with only arms for the past month.

The middle section of the route, Blogger's first crack climbing experience (not counting Ecuador) presented a bit more of a challenge, but was still quite managable given the severity and width of the crack. Unfortunately, beyond this point the "holds" became nothing more than slivers wide enough to squeeze two or three finger tips, each one smaller than the next. Blogger made a valid effort, reaching 3/4 of the way to the top before his arms turned to jelly, and he was forced to rappel down.
Luckily, the next climb was much easier, and Blogger made it to the top without much trouble, solidifying his obsession with climbing each and every weekend until his departure for London in June. Hopefully, he will be lead climbing in a few short weeks, opening the door for more independent activity, and the inclusion of friends who want to throw their hats into the ring.

More than Words

After four full days of Section C life, Blogger has amassed enough information to make a clear judgment of his new environment. Despite an extensive vocabulary, even including some words that don't technically exist, such as firmcastled, or Blogger's translation of the widely used English word cheesy into Spanish, quesoso (which comes in very handy in Spain, trust Blogger), there are no adequate words to express just what Section C is all about.
So being a man of varied tastes, Blogger ventured into the world of interpretive figurine dancing in order to express what his words could not.

The following video fully captures the sights, sounds, and emotion that is Section C.
Enjoy, Blogger does.

C Sectioned

A partir de hoy, El Blogger debe escribir en español debido a su cambio de secciones.
Debe.
But if Blogger did everything he was supposed to, he would be studying linear regressions right now instead of Blogging, so why break what ain't fixed.

It is too soon to make any comment about Seccion C, other than to say that it is a different world entirely. So, instead of making any premature reactions known, he will instead post this picture which is the Google Images Search result for Section C
(The Google title was: Top Six for Section 6.
I can only imagine that the selection criteria involved prunes.

Tochos in the Sun

Tomorrow is Blogger's last day as a group of Team B8, or Tochos as we like to call ourselves.
It has been an amazing journey over the last.....holy shit, did Blogger just write that? An amazing journey.
Blogger now officially hates himself.

What Blogger meant to say is that Team Tocho kicks ass, and that he is extremely sad to be leaving such an eclectic group of IESE phenoms.

* Alexia's ability to function at full capacity on 2 hours sleep.
* Onno's slow decent into insanity due to an inability to get even 2 hours of sleep.
* Santi's fantastico time management skills, which have in no way rubbed off on Blogger.
* Alvaro, the banking monkey, constantly bending over to show us where he's going to take it during the Accounting Exam.
* Miquel consistently being ignored by professors when he tells them he can't see the chalk board, and secretly working on a patent to make people's heads' explode simply by looking at them.
* Blaithin's impossible to pronounce name, which thankfully is joining me in Section C to provide endless hours of pleasure as Spanish professor's fumble all over it.
* Luis....................................................hey, has anyone seen Luis?
* And Little Roy, I shall miss your anti-union, crush the weak and punch the socialist anti-capitalist commies in the head comments most of all.

So tonight Blogger sheds a tear, not only for the Managerial Accounting and M&M exams that he has not been able to study for, but for the greatest group of IESE students ever assembled.
Cheers Tochos!

Procrastinating on the Edge: Part 2

Part 2: Mr. History's Story

After the ill-fated journey to the bar, Blogger's one pint of beer looked fantastically delicious, as he downed it with the gusto reserved for ill-advised procrastinating alcholic beverages.
Not being completely irresponsible, Blogger limited himself to just one, and left promptly at around 1:15 am.
It had started to rain earlier in the evening, and after weeks of beautiful dry weather, coupled with the accumulation of Springy pollen, every surface had a slick gleam to it. Blogger had seen Scooters slide out of control on slick surfaces before , but as he was new to rainy scootering, he had yet to experience the leverage point at which a Moto decides to lay down.
Cruising down the hill, Blogger decided to take a right at the last second, and just by thinking to himself "I will now turn right", the Scooter flipped over on its side and slid across the intersection with Blogger dancing on top of it. Luckily, Blogger is quite limber and escaped without major injury, other than the humiliation associated with any scooter related calamity. More importantly, he now knows how much it takes to lay down a scooter in the rain, and its not very much. Just look at how easy it was for this Fatso to face plant on perfectly dry pavement. Nice work Fatso.

Procrastinating on the Edge: Part 1

Last night, after a long day of studying including two review sessions with professors after class, Blogger decided to go out and have a beer. A feeling of doom hung in the air, as it was clear that getting a beer at 12:30 am on the night before the night before finals was not the best move, but Blogger threw caution to the wind and left anyway.

The evil of the night manifested itself in two epsidoes, equal in their initial startling panic, and eventual hillarity.


Part 1: ¿Porque Estás Nervioso?

Upon finding the first bar closed in a small residential neighborhood in San Gervasi, Blogger started walking down the street towards the next watering hole. Glancing over his shoulder, Blogger noticed a police car coming down the street, and strangley, a policeman running along side it; both coming right at him.
Knowing he had done nothing wrong, Blogger continued to walk, only to glance over his shoulder ten paces later and find the policeman still running straight at him. Not being a minority, and hence not used to police attacking him for absolutely no reason, Blogger was understandably a bit startlted.
Imagine then how suprising it was when the policeman, now standing 2 inches in front of Blogger's face, reaached out and placed his fingers on Blogger's neck, felt his pulse, and then asked in a threatening manner...... '¿Porque estás nervioso?.
Smartass Hindsight being 20/20, the answer should have been 'Because a policeman just ran straight at me and started touching my neck you jackass'.
Instead, Blogger just stammered something in a dumbfounded mumble.
Policeman then asked Blogger for his identification, and proceeded to accuse him of taking part in some robbery up the street. Policeman was sure that he had seen Blogger running from the scene, though this sleuthing genius did not seem to find it strange that Blogger would now be walking calmly, even with a policeman running down the street behind him.
Thankfully, the good samaritan who had called the police seconds earlier (this is a nice Barcelona neighborhood, so the police show up immediately) walked out of his apartment and yelled "No es él", so Blogger was remanded to the custody of his procrastinating beer.

Lost and Found

Blogger has somehow lost his ability to function within the case study method, including the capacity to apply basic concepts from class, and avoid becoming unbelievably annoyed by small and seemingly insignificant things.
If anyone finds an psychological and emotional profile fitting this description, please respond with a time and place to rendezvous and make a trade.
Although, given Blogger's current state of being, he will most likely forget about the appointment, fall asleep around 4pm, wake up and eat half a 72% cacao dark chocolate bar, and then mill around for several hours trying to finish his cases but failing woefully to do so.

Here is a picture of a curious donkey:

The return of the Mac

Blogger's computer has been out of commission for the last few weeks, and though life sucked not having a computer, life has also somehow sucked. That's right, borrowing other people's computers to send email or look at sexy pictures of ducks, or God forgive, using a public computer has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Period (.)
Granted I was at times more productive, as technology inevitably ends up taking more of our time than providing through speed and efficiency. But everything that is good in my life, with the possible exception of Medora (though I somehow relate that as well), I owe to my shiny 12" Powerbook G4 of love. Taking night classes in Multimedia, which led to a foray into programming, which directly contributed to both my decision to apply and inevitable acceptance to IESE, thus facilitating my snazzy summer position which shall remain nameless...and many little things in the middle, such as that wild night with the Dutch midgets and the pomegranate in Fresno.
So now I've got TreverWhatever back, and he's got a new brain, which has been washed clean before being indoctrinated with his old memories and personality. Some things have been lost along the way, such as a fair amount of music and a few specialty programs. But overall, Trever's faster, happier and somehow more mature after the entire journey. As for Blogger, he's just the same ol guy, trying to make sense of the world and make as many people laugh as he does cry, or at least scratch their head with a slightly uncomfortable bewilderment.

Coming soon......Blogger's List of Things not Invited Back to 2006

Insatiable Insanity

We've all heard the often quoted definition of insanity: repeating the same action and expecting different results. How many of us have seen this come to fruition in our own actions? I bet the percentage who must answer in the affirmative has grown considerbly over the past few days.
What am I talking about? Eating yourself stupid over and over again, that's what.
Blogger's mother decided to torture her guests by dry aging an amaizing piece of prime rib for 6 days before the feast. This subtle temptation to eat myself into a mumbling stupor, coupled with double stuffed baked potatos, creamed green beans with crispy onions, and no knead doughy buttery pan rolls, worked like a charm. Blogger was forced to waddle downstairs and lay down for an hour, muttering to himself that he would never make the mistake of going back for thirds ever again.....at least not for 12 hours.
After going for a run on Christmas morning (a run that lasted all of 20 minutes due to my prime ribbed body) I finally felt as if I was starting to recover from the previous night's debacle. Then my Uncle showed up with 2 freshly caught Silver Salmon directly from the Puget Sound that would be prepared for Brunch.
Brunch, as in Breakfastlunch, as in morning time! Knowing that I was already fucked, I started stuffing myself with cheese, scones, spinach dip and eggs. Why the hell not.
By the time dinner arrived, and with it the lamb that I had helped to prepare and marinate that morning between lascivous gorging and lamentful lazing on the sofa, I had already given up on the idea of not repeating the same mistake as the night before. Hence the confirmation of insanity.
Blogger won't make this mistake again, unless by some odd twist of fate Christmas rears it's ugly meaty head this time next year. Then all bets, and belts, are off.

Finn-ally Over

After months of tireless work, the wait is finally over. According to Blogger's kick ass stat counter, Catalonic has finally lured its first Finnish reader to the Blog. That means only 73 more Finn's needed before Blooger has captured the entire Finnish population with access to the internet (according to 2005 BMIP* statistics).
As Blogger holds his non-German readers in fairly low esteem, his exhaustive and extensive knowledge of Finland has been condensed into the following list:

Fantastically Fun Facts For Finland

1. Finn's hate corruption, love Reindeer.

According to transparency international, Finland has the second lowest level of corruption out of all countries surveyed in 2005. Finland is also the worlds largest producer of Reindeer droppings. Low on corruption, high on droppings.












2. The Paper Clip was almost invented by a Fin.

Contrary to popular belief, the paper clip was not invented by a Fin, but instead by Johan Vaaler, a Norwegian inventor with a degree in electronics, science and mathematics in March, 1899. Finnish lore has it that native son Jukka-Pekka Pulkkinen, having spent his entire adult life working on how to smoke the rest of a joint when it gets really really small and starts to burn your fingers, was on the verge of a breakthrough before his mysterious dissapearance in February of 1899. Months later, Vaaler announced his ingenious paper clip (roach clip) to the world, a design eerily similar to Pulkkinen's final sketches. The resulting suspicion and bitter jealousy served to fuel the fire of a centuries old feud between the two nations dating back to the Laplander Wars of the 12th Century, and the great Reindeer Fraud of 1723.

3. Public Enemy #1: Donald Duck

Finland banned Donald Duck due to his lack of fictional Duck Trousers, and bizarre lack of Duck Genitals. To Blogger's (extensive) knowledge, this is the only country to have banned an animated animal for indecent exposure, not counting Iran and the whole fattwah thing with Salman Rushdie, who based on Midnight's Children is most likely a cartoon.




4. If you Want to Drink GIN, Hire a Fin!
(quote by Ron Dennis)

Hard Alcohol consumed by Finns per year 27,551,000 litres
Beer consumed by Finns per year 404,193,000 litres
Squirrels killed by Finns per year 3,620

Coincidence? I leave it for you to decide.

For more fun Facts about Finland, click here


* BMIP (Blogger Made It Up) is an internationally recoginzed body for the dissmenation of facts and figure. For more information about this international body, see previous posts including 1-2-3 Speedo and Germans's Love Blog.

Finals

So you think shutting down access to the world of internet that
exists outside of IESE can stop Blogger?
HA!
Blogger cannot be stopped, nor can you hope to contain Blogger. With
email posting capabilities, Blogger is invincible.
INVINCIBLE, DO YOU HEAR ME? (laughing maniacally in library. People
don't seem to notice. Finals.)

Financial Accounting Final in 15 minutes. Should be studying. Must
rationalize blogging with accounting jargon.

Dr. Accrued Procrastination (A+) 60 minutes
Cr. Long-term remorse (OE+) 60 minutes

This message has been scanned for viruses by TRENDMICRO,
an IESE technology affiliate company and global leader in antivirus and content security software.

Auf Wiedersehen

It's time to say goodbye to German centric posts. Not because Blogger has run out of material, which flows in his mind like the mighty Rhine, but because (according to my kick ass stat counter) quasi German humor attracts Dutch readers like posts about Decision Analysis Professor Franz Heukamp attracts Germans. This means something has gone terribly, terribly wrong. Horribly wrong. Tragically wrong.

That being said, I would like to offer a reward for anyone who can translate the following phrase:

ti che te tachet i tac, tacum i tac. mi tacà i tac a ti? tacasi ti i to tac!

The reward has yet to be determined, but may consist of one or several of the following:

1. Signed and personalized picture of Blogger in Speedo on Spanish coast.
2. 2005 tax returns prepared by Blogger (GATT standards only).
3. Candlelight dinner with Gorgeous George Ottathycal at a Barcelona restaurant of his choosing.
4. A decision analyzed by Decision Analysis Professor Franz Heukamp.

All entries are subject to independent verification.
In case of a tie, names will be placed in a hat, which will then be doused with gasoline, set on fire, and placed on Blogger's flatmate Francis Lewis' head while he is sleeping. Rules and regulations apply.
Not available in Holland or the Netherlands.

Merkeled!

Blogger's stomach is a bit off kilter thanks to gratuitous helpings of Gluehwein, a warm spiced red wine beverage enjoyed by Germans during the holiday season. My German beverage anthropology may not be up to snuff, but it seems to me that this is definitely of Bavarian origin, as warm spiced wine is a little soft to hale from the Prussian side of the German leather vest. The only thing warm and red a true Prussian drinks is the flowing blood of his freshly vanquished adversary.


Happy Merkel Everybody!

The Velvet Fog Does Christmas

I find it very ironic that many of the best known Christmas carols of American origin were written by Jews. Anyone who knows blogger can tell you that this is in no way a negative commentary as many of his best friends are Jews and depending on the time and place, he claims to be one. It is simply a point of comic irony, as Jews don't celebrate Christmas, and killed Jesus.
Here are some of my favourite Christmas songs, written by some of my favourite Jews:

* "White Christmas" by Irving Berlin
* "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" by Johnny Marks
* "Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow" by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne
* "Silver Bells" by Livingston and Evans
* "The Christmas Song" (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire) by Mel Torme

What does this all mean? I have no idea, as I can never remember a time when Christmas had any religious meaning to me, other than facilitating my capitalist worship of toy consumption. But I'm pretty sure Jesus is somewhere shaking his head in disappointment, most likely Texas.

Germans Love Blog

The results are in: Germans love this blog.
According to my kickass stat counter, German's can't get enough of this blog, and who can blame them? A quick scan through the most recent posts sheds some light on why nearly 45% of all visitors of this blog over the past 48 hours have been from Germany. A sampling of possible reasons: derisive comments about Belgium ; a close up shot of blogger in a Speedo on the Spanish coastline; Decision Analysis professor Fanz Heukamp.
Ask yourself, what says 'I'm German' more than a Speedo on a Spanish beach. Given the lack of creativity I associate with all of my non-German readers, I have decided to answer this seemingly non-rhetorical question with some suggestions of my own.

5 Things German's Love More than Speedos on the Spanish Coast:


5.David Hasselhoff


















4. The Hoff And Puppies!















3. ChristmasHoff ! (I'm pretty sure that's actually a German word)





















2. Naturally, The Hoff in a black Nightrider Speedo




















1. Finally, the 1 Thing Germans Love More than Speedos and Spanish Beaches..........


David Hasselhoff in a Speedo on the Spanish Beach with Blogger and Decision Analysis Professor Franz Heukamp.

Dangerous Ground

Blogger's world has just been turned upside down with the discovery of the "Mail to blogger" function. If this works as planned, blogger will have ability to blog with unprecedented facility. Blogger about to hit send. The outcome will greatly influence blogger's already paltry level of productivity and propensity for procrastination. The question is, in the words of Fernando Peñalva, does blogger's jackass equity increase or decrease (note thumb and index finger imitating the Peñalva wiggly pinch motion).

Blog is tearing Blogger apart

How much time spent blogging is too much? Those of you who answer 'any amount of time' are just jealous and will soon have blogs.
With finals beginning next week, blogger should be studying the Critical Fractal, or at least the Equity Method. Instead, blogger has just spent 1 full hour superimposing his face on that of a women in order to add a little character to a post that no one will ever read save himself and possibly a few friends also procrastinating.
But what is truly more valuable in the long run? The supply side decision making tools that may help me impress during an interview, or possibly save millions of dollars for some multi-national corporation selling endocrine disrupting plastic pacifiers to former Soviet-bloc countries? Or is it the fifteen minutes of sheer pleasure derived from perfecting the hairline on a 3x3 image? Fuck, it’s the supply side option, isn't it?

Back to work I guess (and by work, I mean adding witticisms to my blog).

Silly, Belgium

This post was originally intended to pay homage to the victims of the Ghislenghien gas explosion, and those of us who have endured three months of excruciating role-play as the managers of Fluxys. Blogger felt that, as the Crisis Communication Manager, it was his duty to address the closure of this important chapter. Instead blogger came across the quote attached below on the BBC website, and has decided to change the topic of the post to: Belgian Jackasses and the Overuse of the Exclamation Point.
I can only imagine that living in a town with a name like Silly, Belgium would result in a never ending stream of negative stereotypes, such as being a slaphappy pederast. Ms. Maddie Fross, an UK ex-pat living in Silly, was given the chance to put an end to these negative misperceptions on the world stage that is the BBC website, but decided instead to exacerbate the slander free-for-all by writing seven exclamation points in a paragraph consisting of only three sentences. Seven.
Further, Maddie implores the readers to recognize 'how difficult it must have been for a British citizen living in Belgium to understand the extent of the disaster'. Excuse me? How does being a Brit in Belgium have anything to do with understanding a huge ball of flames taking the place of the building that used to be across from your Silly house? For example, my unsuspecting flatmate Francis Lewis (a Brit living in Barcelona) has no problem realizing the extent of the disaster when I light his hair on fire at night. He immediately begins screaming in pain, douses his head in the shower and goes back to bed. Point being, Ms. Maddie Fross is a fucking retard, and not in the socially acceptable and not at all funny Down Syndrome way, but the fucking annoying shouldn't be allowed to reproduce Silly, Belgium way.
Now I have never been to Belgium, and I know several perfectly acceptable Belgians, so please don't think that I have anything against that wonderful (though largely irrelevant) country. But when a member of your population, ex-pat or otherwise, uses seven exclamation points in three sentences, a line has been crossed. Next time Maddie, save the BBC readers some time and just write: 'Boom! Noise! Scared! Please shoot me, I'm a Silly retard!'


I was awoken early this morning by what I thought must have been a plane crash, the noise was extremely loud and unnerving!! The house was shaking to it's very foundations, I went outside to see what had happened and all I could see was this huge cloud of black smoke, and flames shooting high into the air!! Being a British citizen living in Belgium it took me a while to understand the extent of this disaster, I knew it was bad though, as all I could hear were ambulances and fire-engines going past my house every couple of minutes!!!
Maddie Fros, Silly, Belgium

Wanted: Fragile Social Scene

Whatever loose grasp I had on contemporary music has been relinquished (save the 14 year old girl genres favored by a certain flatmat) for an equally loose grasp of Financial Accounting, Marketing and whatever the fuck Observational Behaviour pretends to be. That being said, I have found a new group that I like very much and will now share with you: Broken Social Scene and their new self-titled album. For a taste of the goodness that is BSS click here, made available thanks to the tech wizardry of one Francis Lewis and my new online media archive on Ourmedia.com.
Strangely enough, the suggestion did not originate with the languishingly hip John Motley, who has in the past been my source of new, bleeding edge music, most including most recently Wolf Parade, Black Mountain, and Xiu Xiu who makes me feel confused. This is usually buttressed by a healthy dose of pitchforkmedia.com (adjacently linked). Ironically, I became familiar with BSS after reading an email from the very clever Bitter Investment Banker featured on Gawker. The link has been pasted below for your pleasure. Though the email is impossibly long, it is well written and quite sadistically enjoyable for those of us hoping to go into IB and those who know and pitty us.
Link: the-bitter-investment-banker-email

Cheerupguito

Blogger's throat hurts and laments his first class tomorrow.
Blogger will find solace in his fictional blogging world with picture and song:

Biker Bitch

Strange that my second time ever on a motorcycle (thanks to Sir Ian)
was my first time as a passenger. I'm sure there are very few people who can make that boast, fewer who would ever boast about something so stupid, and even less that had this first experience tearing down the straight’n lonesome roads of rural North Dakota.
<----(Actual Picture) Is it really necessary to say rural North Dakota, or is that implied? Regardless, there is no doubt that my first motorcycle experience elevated me to the rare air of Rough Rider Badass of the North Dakota Badlands, whereas my second experience, huddled behind a Colombian Marine on the back of his new 650cc Honda bike firmly established me in the category of bitch.
I won't say which designation I find more appealing, but there is no denying the pleasure I experienced cruising through the Barcelona streets, eaking through impossibly narrow spaces between cars, and feeling the snot of freedom flow from my liberated nose. My desire to buy a Moto for myself received a healthy injection of urgency, though it would be pointless to do so before Christmas break.
Thanks Ian, you're my favorite Colombian Marine at IESE.

Día De Gracias

Thanksgiving was wonderful, despite being away from the fam. We (Abe and I) invited all of the American students to Francesc Carbonell, encouraging that each person bring a family dish of their choice. We ended up with more than 30 people, including Franz Heukamp our Decision Analysis professor. Lovely Medora was here, and spent the entire day cooking three Turkeys that I had purchased the night before, and Francis brined in our luandry room sink over night. Some of the highlings were Ian Tomson's pumpkin soup, Fabrice's wife Teresa's apple pie, and Lyndsey's...well, everything.

Who Are You Franz Heukamp?

Who is Franz Heukamp, and what is the value of this information? Some say German, and others Dutch. Some even say Hollish, buy only Americans who don't know that Holland and the Netherlands are the same country. Is it really true that the last bad decision he made was in January of 1991 and involved neon green spandex shorts? Will he ever stop teasing us before he draws the next branch on those insane trees, pursing his lips with an over the shoulder glance "Shall I put it, Shall I"? Are the rumors of he being raised by a troupe of travelling Romanian Gypsies who forced the young Franz to perform dangerous statistical equations while ridng a half blind she goat named Purcy until eventually being saved by the parents of one Vlad Costache whom Franz would come to think of as a brother and pass down his unparrelled robot like analytical skills? Did the first decision tree he ever drew really involve the expected value of of planting beets in the cold Romanian soil, given a 45% probability of frost and a 55% probability of Vlad's head exploding from beet juice anticipation. Is the answer still 7?
These questions may never be answered, but one thing remains 100% certain: I'm not risk averse to beets. In fact, there's no tuber for which I'm even risk neutral.

Returns

So much has happened over the last three months. I feel like 90 % of the journal entries I have ever written have started with some variation of that line, which speaks to the infrequency with which I have written in a journal.
Hopefully the blog will provide a more accommodating environment for consistency, though I won't hold my breath.
The first term at IESE is nearing its end, which is quite shocking. Though it feels as if I have been in Barcelona, with my current group of friends, daily schedule and set of motivations for years, I can't help but dread that time is speeding by with a complete disregard for those beholden to it. I can already feel the sadness of next year’s graduation, though it is pointless to dwell on the inevitable nostalgia for experiences that have yet to come. The most important being the summer internship, preparation for which has consumed as much of my time as studying, and far more than socializing. As I have said to countless friends and family, I am 100% sure that I want a Summer Associate position with one of the large Investment Banks. I have my preferences, though I would be happy with any position I could get for the summer. Ideally I will be in the Corporate/Project Finance division with some exposure to Natural Resources, Power and Energy that due to market conditions translates to oil and gas. Though this is far from my area of expertise (as if I have one) it would be a perfect platform from which to dive into Renewables, Sustainable Industries and my long-term goal of Venture Capital for new, sustainable technologies and projects.
I find that I love the long hours, the routine and the workload of my studies. I hope this means I will be well suited for the hours and stress of Investment Banking but one never knows until they try, which is why I am so keen on a summer position. Moreover, IB is not something we (IESE students) can decide on during the second year without having made the right steps and connections during our first. This is of course primarily relevant for those of use making career changes and without a background in finance, which is the vast majority.

Francophiled

Blogger just spent three days with a dear friend in France. He picked us up at the airport on Thursday morning. Thinking we were flying in from Frankfurt, a flight that was 2 hours late, he strolled in 1:45 behind schedule thinking he was super cool for being 15 minutes early. We went back to his parents flat in Paris for a quick shower and nap while he was calling all his friends for a little get together at their country house in Normandie. After a shower to fresh'n up, we climbed into his car, which is a French version of a Jeep Pacer that he throws around corners like a go-cart. Half way to his country house we saw his friend G on the highway, and Monsieur tried to ram him with his Francopacer. The friend thought it was super fun.
The house is amazing, a little cottage out of a Disney movie in a small
farming community 1.5 hours outside Paris. Its decorated with Monsieur’s
Mom's paintings, has cherry trees in the back and is pretty much the
most relaxing place in the world....until a bunch of French gypsies
show up with a kilo of blow.
The first night was really mellow, just five of us and a couple bottles of wine with a very light dinner. Serge Gainsbourg was singing about sex with Gilda Radner (so I understood in my broken French) in thebackground, standard stuff.
Blogger woke up around 6am and walked around the little
community, and by the time we came back, Monsieurs friend’s from aroundFrance were trickling in. He told us stories about parties they have thrown there over the years, sometimes with over 300 people showing up and staying awake for 3 days non-stop. One story involved two or three policemen and firemen showing up at around 1am, telling them that they had to shut the party down and come to the station with them. It turned out to be some wacky farmer neighbors that Monsieur eventually recognized, and ended up doing tons of blow with.
By that evening, it was evident that Monsieur’s friends were going to get down to business, smoking dag after dag and slowly starting to pump their fists when they walked. Blogger is a complete puss, so he stuck to wine. It didn't take long to recognize that the master bathroom, had become the French version of a bathroom stall at Limelight circa 1988. People constantly going in, and then coming out with their head's bouncing to the music and fist pumping action having elevated from waist to shoulder level. All of Monsieur’s friends were of course fantastic, comprised of Gypsies, a couple of French hippies that had lived in the Arkansas Ozarks for a
year or so, families with little children running around, and new born babies.
Blogger called it a night around 2am. The next morning the party was still going strong, though Monsieur had passed out so we stole the keys to his car and drove into a little town to do some
sightseeing and buy cheese and foie gras. The next night was more of the same; the Gypsies with gold teeth and a sweet 17 inch Mac G4 Powerbook giving Blogger tons of badass music, and then making me think they were going to eat Blogger whole. Monsieur drove us to the train station working on 1 hour of sleep over three days, but of course acting completely normal and on top of his game. He had to go to work the next morning and pass out while standing up and presenting at a client meeting, so of course he planned on doing more blow.

1-2-3 SPEEDO!

If you have a problem with me in a Speedo, then I am going to have to ask you to leave this blog. There are few things more beautiful than a man enjoying the sun (and his girlfriend peaking over his He Hill) on a beautiful summer in Begur. This beach, Sa Tuna was rated the best in terms of environmental quality and overall beauty by some really important guide book people I might add, and add to that beauty I did.
I can recommend renting a car for those of you thinking of making a trip up the coast. It is only an hour and a half or so from Barcelona, depending on how good one is at reading the busted directions produced by the spanish version of Mapquest. Sometimes I truly wonder if there are small baboons inside my Powerbook, churning out fucked up directions and laughing their blue baboon asses off.
(Note, if any one doubts the existence of God, find a picture of a baboon's ass on Google and then ask yourself why).

Dulce Sarria De Mi Vida

This blog is the result of my acceptance to IESE business school in Barcelona, Spain. It has begun in Barcelona, where I and Lyndsey are currently staying for the week while I find a flat and hopefully flatmates for this coming year. I return to begin classes at the end of August, after which I hope to stay and work in Europe.
My first impressions of Barcelona are overwhelmingly positive. Though I have been here before, it was at the end of a summer exchange program spent in Sevilla in 1999 during which I saw only a hostel on Las Ramblas, one of the beaches on Barceloneta and a Planet Hollywood. I don’t recall being particularly impressed with any of the three which I attribute more to the negative baggage I had brought from Sevilla than to the city itself. There are of course additional reasons for the negative recollection, but they will remain untold even in the open forum that is a blog.
We are staying in the flat of a group of IESE second years that I met through the incoming student forum that has consumed more of my time than work, at least in terms of interest. This is not to say that I do not continue to work hard, but as with any new experience on the horizon it begins to take precedence over what one associates with their old life. The flat is absolutely gorgeous, located in a small neighborhood called Sarria. The barrio has the look and feel that I fell in love with during my first visit to Europe. Families spend time outside on the streets, from the ancient to the swaddling. Specialty shops abound including several fantastic charcuteries, fruit and vegetable stands, a small fish market and many bakeries, though I must say that the general quality of bread in this country is quite a disappointment after 3 days in France. Way too crusty on the outside and airy in the middle. The flat itself wonderful: high ceilings in ample bedrooms, with intricate cornice work and two large bathrooms for the four rooms. The master bathroom even has a large oyster shell whirlpool on a platform.
The center of the flat opens into a fantastic courtyard.------------>
Sadly there is no access from the apartment, but it provides fantastic natural light and the feeling of being in a small rural setting as opposed to a bustling Catalan city. On top of all this, it is around the corner from the subway/ferrocarril Sarria station with express access to Plaça Catalunya.

Estrella Damm

I was once prejudiced towards cultures who dry their clothes on racks. How did their jeans remain so tight? It has everything to do with the quality of the water.