"La chanson est un art mineur!"

And so I find myself awake after a long night of creation. Last night, with the españoles, we were listening to Joaquín Sabina... ("yo quiero ser una chica Almodovar...") the dirty mouth of Spanish pop, for sure, but so marvelously full of lust for life. It was nice to have people in my home, but I felt sorry for the one Brit, a boyfriend, who smiles attentively, but probably leaves with a monstrous headache from trying to follow conversations in varying accents and speeds in a language with which he is only vaguely familiar. Every once in a while we would all remember and tell a story in English, or at least start it in English, but the punchlines would be in Spanish. I tried to be a better anfitriona, but it is so easy to slip between languages that you often forget.

Mmmm. good food from all over the peninsula...and some from the heart of the colony...

And now... a pile of dishes that daunts... ah well. I'll save that for later's procrastination activity...