Ojala, Jai Alai
Hello again Parents.

This week I write to you in need of money, yet again. You see, I’ve fallen in love. Not with a woman, nothing so banal. No, I’ve fallen for a game. The game. The speed, the grace, the irresponsible danger.
Of course I am speaking of Jai Alai, the ancient beautiful art from the Basque lands. In an effort to to sink roots into this fertile country’s soil, I would like to become familiar with it’s customs, and what better way than through sport?
I know, I know, I’ve never been much the sportive sort, but you see, this is precisley why I must now try myself. What sort of whole individual can I be with out a competative sport in my life?
Here are some videos that showcase the grace and daring of Jai Alai.
Grace Daring

As you can see, the sport is extremly macho, and not in that flamboyant bullfighting way either. No tights. They do however have that special bascket mitt, and it seems that they cost a couple benjamins. If you could help me out with that, I think maybe ina few months, I will have a skill that will allow you to finally be proud of me. Even in front of your football buddies.
I remain your, humble unsportmanly, son,
~ash

Punto Tacon

Dear Father,

As you may recall I have been in Madrid for the better part of a month and a half. In this time I’ve learned a great deal about myself. One such thing that I have learned is that I am a miserable dancer.

This may come as a shock to you, as you no doubt recall the hundreds of dollars and thousands of hours spent on dances classes. Ballet chiefly, but also Salsa, Tango, Capoeira, Swing, Flamenco, Two Step, Samba, Jazz, and Western. Here in Madrid, there is one dace that reigns above all others as the dance of national import. Flamenco, which I spent the better part of summer learning from a master in Panama at a tender age.

Sadly it seems whatever skill I developed in the discipline has atrophied. I am completely without rhythm and grace. I dare not go out dancing, for sheer fear. It is in this, I think you can help. If I was some how able to take Flamenco lessons again, I would surely regain the skills I have lost, and perhaps even attain a level I had not previously mastered.

Now, I can pay for the lessons, as they are about the cost of my lunch. I’ll simply go without. What is art without sacrifice? But I’m afraid the traditional custom made boots are far beyond my means. With your tiny investment, I can become something more than I am. Something beautiful, with elegance and refinement.

Despite my lack of poise or balance, I remain your wobbly son,
~ash

Dear Mom and Dad.

I’ve been thinking. I spend a lot of time eating plain veggies with ketchup. As you may know, ketchup is rather awful in Spain. If ketchup is not a vegetable in the US, in Spain, it’s probably not even vegetable based. I’ve detected no trace of it’s theoretical tomato origin. But I digress.

It’s not that there is a lack of inexpensive fruits and vegetables at hand. In fact, there is an abundance. It’s just that, faced with this cornucopia of plantae life, I am stupefied. I am struck; I lack the imagination and skill to render these basic bits of produce into something edible or appetizing. And perhaps more importantly, I am unable to retain the inherent decent and delicious nutrition contained within these vegetables (Speaking of nutrition, given the dubious quality of the ketchup I’ve been consuming, I am wondering if I ought to be consuming something other than simple Gin and Tonic to stave off scurvy).

So, I am writing to you to request money for cooking lessons. Madrid has many fine chefs, and hundreds of centuries of tradition and culinary culture. I can think of few better places to learn the craft.

This class with it’s instructor, Pilar’s emphasis on traditional but avant garde foods seems like the most optimal beginning. With a little luck and practice, after I complete Pilar’s seminar, I’ll have the skill and toolset to enroll at Universidad Francisco de Vitoria, home of the Le Cordon Blue Madrid program.

As you can see, my hunger is ambitious and won’t be sated by simple cookbooks. I need theory, practice, and polish. With out these, I’m afraid I may grow anemic, or succumb to swede induced hypothyroidism, or worse, get really tired of pinto beans and rice.

As always your loving and devoted, if somewhat tired of scrambled eggs for breakfast, son,

~ash

I’m 22 years old, I’ve got a liberal arts degree with a handful of minors in topics too narrow to mention. You’ll probably be enrolled in some bullshit art major. Fibers most likely. That’s ok, I’ve got a job in the software industry. I can afford to pay for your coffee and thrift store habits. If this is going to work out at all you’ll have to give up your shitty vodka obsession and start getting into high brow Irish whiskeys. Speaking of food, I’m ovo-lacto vegetarian, look it up. I look at pescatarians and omnivores with disgust and disdain, respectively. Veganism is fine, but it better not get in the way of my whiskey.

I’m into girls that are teetering on the edge of sanity; I myself probably ought to visit the psychiatrists. I’m almost certainly armed with a case of atypical depression. I’ve got experience with dystemia, mania, psychotic depression, schizophrenia, and most disorders related to the Parasympathetic nervous system, so whatever you’ve got I’m fine with it. In fact, I’m going to say that its required. I dig damaged women.

I’m a rather militant agnostic. I don’t know and neither do you. Are you into spirituality, new ageism or other hippie shit? Make sure to keep mum about it and maybe we’ll get along fine. I dislike liberals. But that doesn’t make me a republican. My political manifesto would read like the spoiled only child of Mills’ On Liberty and Murphy’s Kill The White People. I’m probably not going to get out and protest, but I will talk shit about your parents.

I ride a fixie; if you live far away, you’re going to need a car. I’m not going to bother coming to your place if its more than 5 miles away. Ideally you’d have a fixie too, but I’m willing to entertain the idea of dating even crusier riders: providing you make up for that defect with some other perk. If you can’t ride a bike, don’t respond; that’s really the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.

Pictures necessary. No shots from above to diminish your body issues.

I find these days, when I can be bothered to leave my house, I spend the majority of my time disparaging others. I am seeking a fellow misanthrope. Someone who dislikes everyone, someone who casts the first stone with no thought to their own imperfections. I am looking for what is colloquially known as a “Hater”.

If you find yourself mentally bitch-slapping even your supposed friends, wishing that they would stop sampling the “fuck up stew”, or praying that the idiot in your PHI101 class would see a speech pathologist: you’re the girl of my dreams.

I’m good looking, I’m successful, I’m hipstery, and I’m downright mean spirited sometimes. email me.

Beloved Mom and Dad,

Can I have some money for Krav Maga lessons?
Wikipedia link.

As you know, I live in a section of Madrid known for it’s lower socio-economic standing. At times there are ruffians scurrying about. It occurs to me that, despite my size and somewhat hostile overall demeanor, I might not be able to repel a certain element known to sometimes frequent this part of town. This is a concern, not only to me, but to my friends who, as you may know, are generally smaller and weaker than even I.

I think Krav Maga, with it’s emphasis on defense and practical movements, would be the sort of training I could rely upon.

Additionally, with my new lifestyle of being essentially broke all the time, I don’t often get outside, as I have been overcome as of late with the need to be working as much as possible, to ensure fiscal stability, not only for myself but for those who depend upon me.
This has led to a deterioration of my physical health. I’m just not in shape. I feel that Krav Maga lessons could impart a certain scheduled activity that might allow me to live a more healthy balanced lifestyle.

As always, I remain your loving, if somewhat meek, son,
~ash