Mi Gusto Caballero Reynaldo

Have I become so terminally unhip that I missed him over the past 15 years or are there others out there who have never heard of Caballero Reynaldo? All I have to say that I am hooked and in love.

Though never a particularly big fan of Frank Zappa, Reynaldo's take on "Lumpy Gravy" above is making me want to reassess his entire catalog. You've got to admire a man who sings the Sex Pistols, Kurt Weill, Nancy Sinatra, Ethel Merman and Zappa all in a mix of Spanish and heavily accented English.

He's sort of a combination of Spike Jones, autotunes, Alvin and the Chipmunks, El Vez, Bjork, Miguel Bose, Pizzicato Five, Andrew Lloyd Weber, Ennio Morricone and Cher. And his take below on "Jesus Christ Superstar" is definitive. "So Jew are de Christ? Jew are de greet Jesus Christ? Come on dee king uv dee yous."

Reynaldo is represented by Hall of Fame Records in Valencia, Spain.

They appear to have an interesting stable of equally endearingly insane artists.

I really didn't need another reason to get back to Spain, but now the need to get back is even stronger.

It's pretty funny to see what the Zappa-files say about him here.

Theme Thursday: The Search for Catalan Breakfast

(Our contribution to Theme Thursday.)

Is there such a thing as Catalan breakfast? Searching my various Catalan and Spanish cookbooks for such recipes lead me to wonder. This Wikipedia definition seems a bit closer to the truth but not quite there:

In the morning: a very light breakfast, consisting of fruit or fruit juice, milk, coffee, or pa amb tomàquet "bread with tomato". Catalans tend to divide their breakfast into two parts: one early in the morning before going to work or study (first breakfast), and the other one between 10:00 and 12:00 (second breakfast).

I was thinking back to my trip to Barcelona in 2007 and my first morning when, typical of my routine, I was up before 6 a.m., had done journal writing and was ready to head out for breakfast by 7 a.m. The hotel doorman looked at me very grumpily as I roused him from his chair and he unlocked doors and gates and gave me a look as if to say "Didn't get enough last night and going out for more?"

When I stepped out into l'Eixample, the sun was up and there were plenty of people on the street and hustle and bustle, mainly coming from bars and discos that were wrapping up the night. I found a cafe open and it was filled with plenty of diners, obviously sobering up just in case they decided to take a nap, shower and saunter into work around 11.

The Barcelona dinner hour of after 9 p.m. still suits me, but I doubt that I will abandon my rise by 5:45 a.m. sensibility. There have to be some compromises in life

I Need to Have It Again

Two years ago today, I was here. So much has happened over the past 24 months. I really need to return to this, my favorite city on this planet.

El Otro Ladrón de Basura

Sooner or later I knew there would be a copycat. Live from Valladoid, Spain, is this ladrón de basura. Remember that this site is the original.

We All Had Lapses of Judgment in 1980

Perhaps if Leni Riefenstahl had been on hand to direct things might have gone differently.

Take Me Back, Take Me Way Back

Thanks to Salty Miss Jill for tipping me off to this amazing little tour posted on Fabulon of my favorite city on the Iberian Peninsula. Not only do I want to go back there, I want to 1908.

Thirteen Months Ago

I was here and would like to be there at the moment.

Same Time Last Year

A year ago I was having a blast in Barcelona. I am overdue for a return to Catalonia. Anyone want to join me?

Beauty and Brutality

Did anyone else watch tonight's 60 Minutes piece on brothers/
matadors Francisco and Cayetano Ordoñez? Oh. My. God.

Bullfighting is barbaric, cruel and archaic. But then there are matadors. I was on the edge of my seat and didn't blink once. I'm reminded that Spain is not perfection but it has some eye candy that is perfect. I want to go back and never return.

Si, Se Puede

I may need to head back to Spain to stand in solidarity with the truck drivers there in their blockade protesting fuel prices. Besides agreeing with them whole-heartedly on the issue, just that image of standing in solidarity with a Spanish truck driver blockade makes me weak in the knees. 'scuse me while I go use up the last vapors of my $5 per gallon gas to move my car so I don't get a ticket during "street cleaning" tomorrow. (Yeah, right, they ticket you during street cleaning day when they actually don't clean the street.)

Left Turn Yield on Green?

Once upon a time, I actually had mild respect for John McCain as a Republican who would not sell his soul to the flock of sewer maggot Evangelicals. It seems they have since infested his brain like the maggots that they are, moving from the fecal matter of Bush's shallow, alcoholic cranium to the septuagenarian senator (already a year older than Reagan when he first ran) from Arizona. Tonight we hear him on 60 Minutes, musing, "I say 'I know that I can.' But I also believe that America is a right-of-center nation. And I think that Senator Obama and Senator Clinton, with all due respect, are liberal Democrats. And I'm a conservative Republican. So I believe I can make a better case to the American people."

Just when it seems that any hope for the future of the world lies outside of the U.S., there was speculation that The Right would take back power in Spain. However, sanity prevailed, with tonight's election results proving that my plans to relocate there should not be abandoned. Though there is that little Euro-dollar conversion thing. At least you can still get gas for $1.98 a gallon in Ecuador .

Random Basque/Baske Trivia #14 and #375

(We'll be sharing random facts about the Basque (Baske) in the weeks ahead. Why? Why not! You can never know too much about the Basque, and Junk Thief plans to be launching his Basque literacy program among middle school children soon.)

Though Junk Thief generally didn't worry that his very small ear lobes would prevent him from ever wearing big hoop ear rings, it does worry him about stories about his mother's blood line. Maybe its from his father's Jewish line. True Basque are noted for their very large ear lobes, and they tend to take great delight in ridiculing lobe-challenged outsiders.

A favorite battle cry through the years:
eta tiro, eta tiro/belarrimotxari And shoot, and shoot/at the stumpy-eared ones

--

Euskera is possibly the oldest and generally regarded as the most difficult European language and has little cross over with French or Spanish. However, one word, jauntxo (honcho) has managed to make it into the English vernacular. Though generally defined as boss or big shot, the exact meaning of the word, through the years, has taken on other subtleties.

JTTV - Season 2, Episode 12 - Happy 1908, I Mean, 2008!

Jamiroquai You Say? No Way!

I've always loved the campy performances of Vincent Price and the bizarrely macho-homoerotic flicks of Samuel Fuller. House of Bamboo is a great piece of evidence, if only for its wacky production aesthetic. However, I never knew that Fuller and Price once collaborated on the gloriously wacko The Baron of Arizona, a little known film of more than half a century ago about an equally obscure tidbit of lore of wild west self-deluded aristocracy equal to Emperor Norton.

At first it seems a tad odd to see Price in a Western, but he's soon hanging out at a monastery, and then off to Paris and Madrid, making me long to be back in the madre españa in outfits that make his turn in Laura seem outright butch. Oh, the floral waist coats, glam bauble adorned hats, scarves and lace cuffs!

My only complaint with the usually thorough Criterion is that there aren't any extras or director commentary in this volume of the set of early Fuller films. But it's worth checking out, if only for the gloriously arch dialogue. A few samples:

Narrator: But the Baron would not see the Contessa that night as he said. He had other plans. He was ready to come out in the open!

The Baron: Aren’t you happy to see me?

Sophia: I can’t see you for the tears.

The Baron (First in a scene with the Contessa and then with Sophia): I have been with many women before, but with you I am…afraid!

Sophia: I loved you from that first time you gave me a second piece of candy.

I will have to remember this lines the next time I am back in Arizona or, better yet, Spain and can claim my royal heritage.

And Still Very Dead

In general, I agree that it's wrong to celebrate the anniversary of anyone's death as a reason for hope, but today on the 34th anniversary of the death of General Franco there is good reason to do so. There were already celebrations commemorating the end of his rule when I was in Barcelona two weeks ago. Living in a nation that has endured seven years of absolute night, it's worth looking at what has happened in Spain over the past three decades to realize that the U.S. might one day actually return to the civilized world. It's a stretch, but if Spain could make such a remarkable transformation, it's reason for inspiration for us as well. Though, I am increasingly thinking about becoming one of them and giving up hope on the U.S. I agree that it is a nation worth saving. I just am not sure I want to see it through on these shores.

Thanks to Kimy for reminding to get around to reading Mark Kurlansky's The Basque History of the World, a great celebration of the ultimate rewards of persistent resistance to oppression, even if there is a high cost.

El Born on a Monday Morning

Arriving early in the day, I had a chance to watch the Medieval barrio wake up before the Japanese tourists descended on the Picasso museum. Now one of the priciest neighborhoods and minutes away from the beach, it reportedly is a place with a couple of bars where you can still buy absinthe. I've already seen enough green faeries in my lifetime and was in no mood for them on a Monday morning.

Who'd Have Ever Guessed...

...that on a quiet residential street of South San Francisco, the self dubbed "industrial city" you'd find this place? In addition to publishing, banquet facilities, a restaurant and cultural center, they also organize handball games. Unfortunately, there don't seem to be that many fishermen hanging about, just a bit too far in from the bay to lug those little boats. And, of course, don't even get me started on the ETA.

Knobs of the Born

It was exactly a week ago today that I nabbed the photos of these door knobs in the Born, sometime after the Picasso Museum and before lunch in San Antoni. A stated goal of Junk Thief since its launch has been to find the perfect door knob. Not quite there but getting warm. Very warm? Thoughts? Suggestions on appointed points on the map? Photos and phone numbers you might want to forward?

How's Your Euskera, Irene?

As someone who is in a plane at least two times a month, I have yet to pull out an in flight magazine and find, usually in the first dozen or so pages a full page ad with a photo of this woman. Her blinding white veneers and golden tresses. If I'd come across her photo without context I'd peg her as either a South Florida madame or Vegas realtor. No, Irene Valenti is a self avowed matchmaker bringing together busy professionals in what she calls the "European tradition". I was just in Europe and I certainly never saw anyone with such trashy, flashy audacity as Irene.

According to her online bio, she's originally from Edmonton, Alberta -- which I'm sure is where she picked up all those European traditions. Again, seeing the photo out of context and I were asked to guess where she grew up I'd say Ashbury Park at best, more likely Newark or even lower down on the Jersey pecking order.

It's kind of sad to think that there are people out there that get in touch with Irene, since she's obviously raking in enough bucks to have her work her reputed old world charms. I honestly wish I had some bucks to blow just to have the satisfaction of seeing her expression when I filled out my profile, handed it to her and said, "What I'm really looking for Irene, is a Baske fisherman, with a donkey dong." I bet Irene can't even speak Euskera. Okay, mine's not that great either. However, I did hear from a Baske dude online who's coming to SF in a few months and it didn't cost me a cent. Sure, I hear similar things from guys in Nigeria and Malaysia, but I always bend the rules for the Baske. Are you sensing that there may be a theme coming to Junk Thief in the months ahead? Could be.

The Discreet Charm of Real Estate Pornorgraphy and Aging with Grace

I think this photo may be my absolute favorite of the 800+ shots I took this past week. Take a moment to click on it and "embiggen" it to catch the focal point of the elderly couple on the balcony which I get teared up just looking at again since it embodies why I will definitely be coming back to Barcelona, perhaps permanently. I began by shooting the charming Forn de Pa sign below them, but first the man came out to gaze at the street in his Dreta L'Eixample neighborhood (the Upper East Side of Barcelona), and then the woman joined him. I felt I was seeing something that was at once very private but also so natural and loving and not in any guidebook. In the flash of a few seconds, just as the warmth of afternoon was about to turn to the end of the day touched me in a deeply multi-layered way that Billie Holiday singing "Autumn in New York" does. Just after putting my camera back in my bag, they glanced down, as if suddenly aware of me, and I went on about my way, and they returned inside.With apologies to Luis Buñel, I found that the bourgeoisie of Barcelona, especially its elderly, had enormously discreet charm and great grace. Almost always elegantly but never elaborately dressed. My favorite moments were watching them going about their daily lives and picturing myself at that age and thought about where I would like to be when that time comes. Most of them, of course, came of age during or some perhaps just before Franco came of age. As Catalonians, even the most elite felt oppression during that dark era, and I found myself longing to pull one aside and ask what it felt like to have so many dreams dashed and now to live in a city so glorious, graceful and able to function without resentment of its many annoying tourists.
Those questions raced through my head as I followed a few steps behind this woman who dashed ahead of me into her local market, a wrought iron charmer. How I longed to walk beside her, help her push the cart along as she filled it with items for an elegant Catalonian Saturday supper that would suddenly increase from one to two.
A couple of days later just after nabbing this shot of a lady in the Born, she turned and glanced back at me with a sly, knowing smile. She didn't look the least bit resentful or angry but perhaps just a tad scolding of a ladrón at play in what has become one of the priciest neighborhoods in the city. In a few months, Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona will let the world know that I am not the only neurotic Jew to descend on their city. And I am not the only one obsessed with real estate pornography, and I am sure we'll get plenty of lush interiors in the Born and Dreta L'Eixample. I've already scouted real estate prices there which are somewhere between San Francisco and Manhattan. When I announced more than a decade ago that I would be searching for and buying real estate in San Francisco, people laughed and said "in your dreams; it'll never happen." When some young ladrón follows me up Passeig de Saint Joan as I saunter home leaning into my cane and carrying a loaf of warm pa and salt cod, I promise to have attained a similar state of grace and will just smile back, having plenty of secrets that I prefer to let shimmer through the gauze of bourgeois charm.