ON STANDBY…

Silly Friday. Even sillier week. Incredibly moist and hot in Vienna. From noon on the sun hits the place where I work dead straight. Vienna was begging for rain. Bush came and went away. This place was a frigging sauna. That, alongside my below-zero motivation towards my current job made this week more horrible still. What am I doing in Vienna? My German improves, yet my level is already good, it is hard to go further and, though I learn, I do not practice. Nonexistent social life. No time to. And I need some time for me, for my music, books, my things. Spiritual asylum.

Yesterday it rained. It is cool now. Fresh, how lovely. I do not feel like working. I loathe my job, I learn Zilch. Intellectual challenge zero. Anyone with a good command of English could do it. Totally mechanical, no need to think whatsoever.

I sometimes marvel at the fact that I earn what I earn for doing what I do (thanks to ICEX, who pays 50% and fixes the salary depending on the city; Vienna is incredibly handsomely paid). Regardless of that, were we to measure it against the intellectual contribution or effort I make, I would not deserve my salary. A good deal then? Not in a thousand years. For then I think that here I am the one who does the boring, repetitive yet unfortunately necessary and time consuming work nobody would like to do. That makes it important for the big guys, does it not? Through this approach, my salary is fair. Let´s go further, shall we? Let´s bear in mind the cost of opportunity: I spend millions of hours doing something I hate and from which I learn naught; hours I´d rather be elsewhere doing other things, and the majority of alternatives seem more appealing to me. ¿How much is all that time worth? All that time I´m working, taking into consideration that each minute is like a Lovecraftian nightmare to me? That´s bloody priceless. If we bear in mind the cost of opportunity, I should earn millions.

I had better stop, this path is beaten and leads to “Das Kapital” and Marx´s theories on how much one´s work costs. I won´t be here for long and I already know what I´ll be doing afterwards. And I´m happy. Just by thinking of leaving I feel like singing and dancing. I won´t give details until everything is totally sorted out. But something nice happened in June, as the Fortune Teller predicted. Uneasy feeling, is it not? I begin to believe I´m really going to die at the age of 88. Bloody Fakir.

9 days in Belgium and I saw no rain. Now what are the odds? Gant was overcrowded on a hot Saturday morning. Nice city, full of bicycles and young people. Thence to Bruge. I thought it would be a bit fake, maybe like Salzburg aka "The greatest Tourism Swindle". People tell wonders about Bruge. Well, it was no swindle. Certainly less vibrant than Antwerp, Gant or Brussels, it is a city that lives on tourists. Not many people tha evening though, it was almost dead. But nice it was indeed. I liked it.

I loved confident, modern and buzzing Anwterp. Rich and vibrant city, like all port cities of the North See I suppose. Apart from the many awesome typical Flemish sights, the jewish district, the port hangars and colourful Zorenburg district made Antwerp the highlight of my journey.

Leuven was not so impressive, yet it had some nice things, all Flanders is nice. Special mention to the Impaled Bug Monument. As for Brussels, the centre is lovely. And atomium rocks! Outside that and two other things, it is a grey and dirty city. It is full of the strangest people, but I suppose that makes it all the more interesting. A secretive place.

• End of April: Keith Richards falls from a Palm tree. He wanted coconuts.
• Middle of May: The first 15 shows on The Rolling Stones "A Bigger Bang" European Tour from Barcelona, Spain on May 27 through to Zagreb, Croatia on July 5 are postponed.
• 2nd of June: I receive the following mail from ÖT (Österreich Tickets) News: "Sehr geehrte Kundin Sehr geehrter Kunde, wir haben folgende wichtige Information für Sie: Das Konzert der Rolling Stones am 20.06.06 in Wien wurde verschoben. Neuer Termin: 14.07.2006 im Ernst Happel Stadion! Bereits gekaufte Karten behalten ihre Gültigkeit!" Traslated, the new date for the gig is Friday the 14th of July.
• Today, barely 10 minutes ago: I receive the following mail from Sticky Fingers Journal: "WOOD IN REHAB - NOT CONFIRMED The Rolling Stones star RONNIE WOOD has entered an alcohol rehabilitation clinic in London, putting the band’s upcoming European tour in jeopardy once again. The guitarist checked himself into celebrity treatment centre The Priory last night (13JUN06) for the second time in just over a year. He was last treated in April 2005 and succeeded in staying sober for much of the band’s recent US tour. However, he was spotted drinking heavily earlier this month (JUN06) at his 59th birthday celebrations. Fans now fear he’ll be unable to kick off tour dates in Spain on 11 July (06), despite reassurances from the rocker’s spokesman. He says, "Ronnie needs some rest but he will definitely be fit for the first night of the European tour." The A Bigger Bang tour has already been delayed by two months after KEITH RICHARDS fell out of a tree while on holiday in Fiji in April (06) and suffered head injuries."

No one has said anything about postponing the new dates. It is almost funny, were it not utterly nerve-racking, the whole frigging shambles. 4 decades hitting the bottle and Ronnie checks in for rehabilitation NOW! It looks like a cosmic joke, and many weird things are happening to me as of late…

I`m 328 years old and come from the future. I got to know this blog through an old lunatic called Ziggy, a roofless alcoholic beggar who lives in a GSPB (Government subventioned Park Bench) he came to get through a NGO who helps ruined former property-bubble-is-about-to-pump doomsayers. I decided to use my time machine to tell you all how things are going in Spain in my time.

Luckily, the Pumping of the property bubble predicted by such imbeciles and doomsayers as that Ziggy never happened. Real state prices in Spain hace increased a solid yearly 17% throughout the last 50 years. We have therefore turned into the richest country of the world: a loft in Paseo de la Castellana in Madrid is twice as expensive as the whole state of California and the Imperial Palace of Tokio put together; then again, nobody lives in Paseo de la Castellana any longer: those houses are not to live in, but to invest in.

Though I work in Madrid, I, for one, have bought a wonderfully cosy 40 square metre flat in a God forsaken village 90 kilometres north of Burgos, that, thanks to the motorway, is just a stone´s throw away (only 300 kilometres) from Madrid. In order to pay the rent, my wife and I and other 3 couples have gathered round: A notar married to a State´s attorney, an ambassador married to a bestselling novelist, and a Supreme Court Judge married to a scientist that developed a cure for cancer and patented it. Through this alliance, we can pay the mortgage with only six salaries, so that we can use the remaining two to live on. At the beginning it was hard, but now we barely notice it; besides, the value of the flat has already increased a 17% since we bought it a year ago. Moreover, the ambassador´s wife, the novelist, is downright hot.

Although my salary is passable (I´m the CEO and owner of a multinational firm present in 100 countries, though I also have a part time job as grave digger for the night time), I must admit that the inflation we suffer due to the fact that we are the richest country in the world makes things a wee bit difficult; all the same, it all comes down to getting used to it: we all complained when we began to eat lizard sausages, and now, lo and behold! You grill them kindly and they taste heavenly. However, I will take advantage of the fact that the minimal working age has been reduced to ten years to take my child out of school and find him a job shovelling concrete. Another salary will sure help pay the mortgage.

I earn 2000 cranes after taxes per month. The crane is the currency that took the place of the € when we were banished from the EU (that´s how ugly and damaging jealousy and envy can be). The exchange rate is 1000 cranes/€. A loaf of bread costs a million cranes. There is no longer gold in the safes of the Bank of Spain. There are bricks instead, which, in this country, have proven to yield amazing returns on investment to and be a far safer asset than gold.

The atomic wars triggered by the owners of state-subventioned houses in Andalusia reduced the population to just 5 million Spaniards. Nevertheless, there are 50 million south americans all employed by the construction industry, so 800.000 new buildings erupt each year and we have a ratio of 20 flats per Spaniard. Construction represents already a 99% of the GDP in Spain, and this figure keeps on rising, fast and steady. 90% of Spain´s surface is urbanized and we are investing zillions of cranes in R&D in order to try and find a way to build cities in the sea (one cannot live there, yet then again, those houses are not to live in, but to invest in).

In a nutshell, all this is what the world jealously calls „the Spanish miracle“, subject of endless investigation, studied by doctors, shrinks and scientists worldwide. Droves of researchers from all the countries of the world visit Spain every year to marvel at it all. It would be no wonder, when many of them chose to stay. Life is beautiful here.

And that is all I can tell you about the fate that awaits you all. Okay, I must go and hunt some lizards for lunch.

As I was on my way to the Post to send out some letters and make a pair of transfers some days ago, I run into an Indian (turbant included). He spoke to me in English, I thought he was lost and about to ask me for an address. Not the case. He was a fortune teller, he even had a visit card that said so. He asked me whether I wanted to know my future. I kindly declined the offer. But before I could vanish he told me I was basically a nice guy that nevertheless thinks too much, is therefore unnecessarily troubled by everything and wants to atone fro having wasted time in past years. He hit the bull´s eye, and I stayed.

He took a tiny piece of paper, and scrawled something on it without me seeing it. He made it a ball and told me to hold it in my fist.

He then took another piece of paper, said 6 7 8 and told me to choose one, swift! I chose 7. He wrote it on the paper. Then he told me to name a flower, swift! I though of many, but, right there and in English, I could only say “Rose”. He wrote it on the paper as well. He finally asked me for the three things I wish the most, swift! Easy answer, money, love, happiness. So he wrote L (Love) H (Happiness), M (Money). As he was writing it down, he was also rambling about me, and all the things he said (nothing too concrete, though, it would magic the same effect by almost anyone) hit the mark. He only said two things carved a bit deeper: That 2003 had been horrible for me (true) and that I will die at 88 (how marvellous to know! The bloody Fakir…). He foresaid me 5 great years, that money will come and go and that something WONDERFUL will happen to me in June.

His paper said 7 Rose L H M. I was still holding the other piece of paper in my fisted hand. He invited me to open it. I did. Exactly the same: 7 Rose L H M.

It was then, when I was shaken, that he opened a folder. Inside I could see a picture of him and further Indians (dots, not feathers), outfitted like Fakirs, in turbants and diapers, all of them but flesh on the bone (Graduation day in Dark Magic University?) . Alongside the picture there was a thick stack of 50 € banknotes. He softly said “I´ve wished you good Karma, now do please put something here”. I hesitated. He went on, kindly “As well as I bring about good luck, I can also damn people, and you´ll never see me coming”. Blend of nerves, fear and an urge to go away once and for all. Confusion after the paper trick, his predictions, his looks and the picture. I scratched my pockets at random, and thank the heavens only two 10 € notes appeared ( I had a 100 € note, would not have given it away, yet, had the guy seen it, he might have begun to rave about damnation, next day I had to take a plane, and I have not yet vaccinated against the Zecke). I just put one 10 € note. Having seen the other, Monsieur Fakir asked for more, whether I had no 50 € notes. I told (rather begged) him that I did not and I needed the other 10€. He seemed satisfied, fared me well and gave me a “good luck” trinket.

It was just 10€, the whole show and the guy´s looks alone were already worth that. But let´s state it flatly: the bloke was a pro, and when we parted I was halfway between afraid and angry at my gullible behaviour. I am not superstitious, yet these kind of supernatural things are not easy to digest, either. The paper, the looks, the menacing promise that you could be given good look as fast as you could be deprived of it. A flawlessly performed hoax. And the stack of 50€ bank notes he had was bloody THICK.

Later, without the scene´s magical smoke screen, I though about it, and it is brilliant in its simplicity:

• 6 7 8: I think 90% of the people would say 7, a number that History, Folklore and Tradition have always given mystic qualities, and that many people regard as a magic number.
• Rose: the first that invariable comes to mind in English. The hoax wouldn´t work by one English native speaker.
• L H M: English again. Limitless possibilities: Money, Marriage, Love, Life, Long life, Happiness, Health…

But right on the spot, one is wholly off guard when he sees the two papers. The stench of mistery, plus the promise of good luck or impending disaster… Very weird, very frankly. The little fortune he had in the folder tells me that Monsieur Fakir does not sleep on a bed of nails