This weekend our opponents are local rivals Arsenal and the fixture is probably the most important game we have played against Arsenal since a 1-1 draw in 2007 that ended our slim title hopes.

Arsenal like in 2008 have had an amazing start to the season, with the young players groomed by Arsene Wenger playing attractive attacking football and surging up the table.

In 2008 Arsenal buckled under the pressure and we narrowly missed out to Manchester United in the title race, it has now been 6 years without a title and patience at the Emirates can only buy so much time and the question is how this crop of players will react when the pressure mounts?

Despite defeat to Sunderland last week the match on Sunday brings the league’s two form teams together and gives us a chance to record 3 straight wins against last season’s top four sides.

Hopefully Carlo Ancelotti will have an almost full strength squad to pick from for this game with Lampard, Drogba, Ashley Cole all expected to be fit in time for kick off after recent injury problems.

The game itself should be quite open with plenty of chances with the leagues top scoring teams pitted against each other, the key however will be the midfield battle and Chelsea must ensure that Arsenal’s flair players are not given the time on the ball they crave.

On balance I think that Chelsea are stronger across all over the pitch and have a much more settled and balanced line up than Arsenal with or without the injuries, defensively we have the best defence in the league so far this season and the capabilities of our forward and midfield units are the stuff of dreams.

Ideally for me the Chelsea team to face Arsenal would be.

Cech  A. Cole, Terry, Carvalho, Ivanovic, Lampard, Essien, J. Cole, Mikel, Anelka and Drogba 

This is a fairly standard team for the players available however due to Arsenal’s attacking prowess I would give Mikel the nod ahead of Michael Ballack to provide the back four a more defensively minded midfield option.

Prediction: well I will let you do this bit, what do you predict?

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El lunes por la mañana como es habitual me dirigía a iniciar mi jornada laboral, una vez desayuné me dirigí al tajo con mucho desparpajo, la cadena Ser me ponía al día de la trama Gurtell y el de la Morena comentaba que lo del Madrid y el Alcorcón era de pena.
Al llegar al Hospital tome el ascensor y en la Planta del Servicio me baje con mucho primor. Alzando la vista me encuentro sentado a un artista, no puede ser, es el orondo Grasosol sentado a la salida del ascensor. Lo acompaña su esposa que había sido citada para que un anestesista la visitara. Ella padece un mal que le produce mucho disconfort al orinar, no es un problema grave pues su autentico mal radica en el elemento con el que se fue a casar. En la silla no cabía y por ambos lados de la misma se salía, con desprecio lo miré y la mirada no me supo mantener, metió la cabeza entre los pies y pensó “Tierra trágame” pues este tio de aquí otra vez me echa.
Al final de la jornada laboral a mi casa me fuí a descansar y por el camino sin dilación a Mikel le comunique mi aparición. El en ese momento me comenta que otra aparición inesperada fue por el soportada. Paseando por el Bulevar con el gran capo se fue a cruzar y la reacción de éste fue la misma que la de su aliado, es decir mirar para otro lado.
Hace unos meses en el Colegio de Médicos asistí a una reunión para la celebración de un congreso regional y a la salida con el Bizcolatex fuí a topar. Le miré a la cara y respuesta no pude encontrar, un ojo miraba a la Gran Vía y el otro a la Catedral.
En plena reforma de la finca hace años Candelaria y Jack coincidieron en un peldaño y de forma desairada no fueron capaces ni de mantenerse la mirada.
Mikel I y Mercé hace ya unas décadas crearon su piña familiar, Dios los premió con muchos elementos, muchos piñones para armar una piña ejemplar. Mikel I como buen conoceder del material de construcción, pues esa fue su primera profesión, unió los piñones con el mejor de los cementos. Sin embargo no utilizó otros materiales más contundentes, como la solidaridad, le empatía, el amor, la dignidad y la amplitud de mentes que en principio no son muy estables pero a larga son más perdurables. Las grandes catedrales que perviven en tiempos actuales se construyeron piedra sobre piedra con el cariño y la inteligencia de los antiguos canteros y arquitectos, la unión es tan sólida que tras 1000 años historia todavía estan en pie.
Mikel y Mercé basaron la unión en el cemento, el cemento y los bienes materiales. Con el paso del tiempo el cemento enfermó, la aluminosis hizo mella en él y la hermosa piña creada ha sido del todo resquebrajada, cada piñón va por su lado, defiende sus intereses sin pensar en el fastidio que le crea a los demás. Si yo trinco que me importa el de al lado si se ve perjudicado, son efectos colaterales de mi avaricia y mi codicia, si un familiar sin pensión se queda que se las apañe como pueda, eso de la solidaridad es algo para los demás.
Los piñones de Mikel y Mercé han estallado cada una por su lado y si en el camino se encuentran esto se convierte en una afrenta, el saludo se niegan y la mirada no se cruzan es el final lógico de algo que se unió por la material condición. Todo se ha creado alrededor de la finca Urraqueña y ésta puesta en valor supone el elemento distorsionador, tal vez sino hubiese existido y los piñones se hubiesen fusionado de otro modo, con amor, respeto, solidaridad, dignidad, responsabilidad, la piña se pudo ensamblar y la situación no sería la misma pues se basaría en otras premisas. Xavier se encargaría de la salud del clan, Don Guissepe resolvería las cuitas oficiles, Mikel la educación en general, Grasasol aportaría su escaso conocimiento, Biscolatex y Charly su gracia personal, Adelaida su Pret a porter, Jack su Oxigeno, Filippa su gambillas, Trinificación sus sangrias, etc, etc.
Es este el mensaje de esta entrada: lo material nunca puede sustituir a los sentimientos, el cemento solo sirve para unir ladrillos y marmolillos, las personas se unirán por materiales más nobles y éstos con euros no se pueden adquirir pero al final nunca se podrán despegar.

Trás 70 años de vivir con el cuello pisado uno casi se ha acostumbrado. A la humillación continua las personas se habitúan y a vivir como un gusano arrastrado uno se ha habituado. De este modo los grandes dictadores se hacen valedores, el pueblo que vive subyugado a sus antojos y caprichos llega un momento que no protesta y todo lo acepta. Hasta el día de la caída del pedestal los Visentinis viviamos de este modo tan juncal. No entendiamos que otro tipo de vida fuese posible y que esta era nuestra posición natural y por ello no nos podiamos quejar. Estabamos acostumbrados a los antojos del gran capo, el te exigía un documento y tu se los servías al momento, el Charly te encomendaba una misión y la realizabas sin dilación y con sumisión. El ser taimado pedía a Mikel las actas por el redactadas y en 24 horas ya las tenía modificadas. A la proclamada decoradora se le encargaba una amueblamiento sin apenas presupuesto y con toda premura está iniciaba la aventura, con cuatro gordas y un real realizaba la tarea colosal. El Malin no estába muy a mano y es por ello por lo que se libra este vasallo, si estuviese aquí tareas tendría sin fin.
Como el buen lector comprenderá lo de las piedras y cantos rodados no pertenece sólo al pasado; la humillación se convirtió en una auténtica religión. Sin embargo desde la Revolución del Pedestal la situación ya no es tan mollar. Lo mismo que la Revolución francesa, la de los Claveles o la de la Cochinos, ésta debe pasar a los libros de texto y estudiarse hasta en la ESO. Desde hace más de dos años Mikel y Xavier dejaron de ser esclavos, de la carcel hurraqueña salieron en libertad sin cargos, desde entonces no dan cuenta de sus acuaciones y solo dan explicaciones a quien les sale de sus… “narices”. Otros sin embargo tienen una libertad condicional y con una fianza muy pesada y canalla que el capo ha fijado desde su atalaya.
Con la libertad conquistada Mikel y Xavier se encuentran como niños con un par de zapatos recien estrenados y dos años para ellos no logran compensar las celadas que han tenido que soportar. En estos momentos hurraqueños se ven de sus actos dueños, tienen la capacidad de al capo molestar y sus objetivos ridiculizar. Al orondo Grasasol se le ha humillado con esplendor, al Guanichi y los demás cuando estén a tiro que se pongan a temblar. Es una época dorada la que nos toca vivir pues hemos tocado los resortes adecuados que a la mafia mucho han fastidiado, y no queremos que esta etapa de postín con el juicio llegue a su fin.
Durante dos años su fastidio constante ha sido nuestra única variante, todo lo tramado y urdido lo ha sido para este noble objetivo. Sucede algo parecido como la muerte de un ser querido, que tras una larga y penosa efermedad parece que la muerte nos da la libertad, sin embargo esto no es así pues hemos organizado nuestra vida para su cuidado y atención y su falta provoca en nosotros una gran frustación.
Que será de nuestro existir sin sus celadas perfectamente maquinadas, la visita periódica del Orondo y su esbirro a quién de la finca hurraqueña expulsaremos quién encajará los golpes que lanzamos como resortes.
Es por todo ello que una salida negociada no es por mi muy deseada, ya que un día se nos acusó de romper a la familia, nosotros en estos momentos la queremos más unida que nunca, queremos que a nuestro lado viajen estos desalmados. La venta a un tercero debe de ser por muchisimo dinero y en la situación actual un mirlo blanco no se nos va a cruzar, no sólo pagará el valor de la casona sino que deberá de hacer frente a los muchos gastos que tiene pendientes. La compra de la finca por nuestra parte es la única opción que parece probable sobre todo si el juez de instruccción no aprueba la separación y aboca la resolución a un acuerdo consensuado o la temida y no bien ponderada subasta pública obligada.
Todas estas opciones pueden poner fin a nuestra relación familiar y en esto punto de la relación es una equivocación, pues supone no disfrutar de los placeres que nos da la nueva situación. Si la sabemos manejar con frialdad se convertirá en una fuente de felicidad, es el momento de devolver las piedras y cantos rodados que tenemos en nuestras manos guardados.

Chelsea midfielder John Obi Mikel looks set to return for Nigeria after injury, ahead of their crucial 2010 qualifier with Kenya…. From BBC News. Full story

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Last weekend football in the state of Illinois (college and pro) was a complete train wreck. Derailed. Disastrous. Debacle.

This weekend? Pretty damn good.

I refrained all week from posting about anything having to do with football in the state of Illinois. I know my “About” section said I would discuss Illini Sports, but I haven’t made a single post yet about Fighting Illini Football due to their under-performing season (ya it’s that painful). But once in a blue moon, the stars align and shine down on a Halloween Weekend to give rise to the Monsters of Midway on the gridirons of Illinois’ football. For the visiting teams it was a frightening nightmare to step foot on such a weekend in Illinois.

Fighting Illini Football has been a large disappointment all season – and that is an understatement. On this 2009 Halloween Weekend, the Michigan Wolverines were looking to continue their success against Illinois at Memorial Stadium. For the Illini, they have not won a home game against Michigan since that magical 1983 season – coincidentally also a Halloween Weekend. That 1983 Halloween Weekend victory against Michigan clinched a Rose Bowl berth that set campustown into a wild weekend frenzy…and today remains one of the fondest memories amongst Illini fans. This 2009 Halloween Weekend victory against Michigan did not clinch a post-season Bowl berth. Instead it was reminder of what could be of this once storied football program. The “fighting spirit” of Dick Butkus took over freshman CB Terry Hawthorne to chase down a streaking Roy Roundtree and stop him at the Illinois’ 1 yard line to set up a game-changing goal line stand. Then the “galloping ghost” of Red Grange empowered RB Mikel LeShoure to bust up the middle for a 70 yard touchdown and break the game open. Illinois went on to run over Michigan for 377 running yards, 500 total yards, and a 38-13 win. The victory over Michigan gave Illinois its first Big Ten win of the season, its first home victory against Michigan since 1983, and its first back-to-back wins against Michigan since the 1957-58 wins. There were no goal posts torn down, no midfield celebrations, and no post-season berth. But it was a victory against Michigan…and I’ll take it.

For the Chicago Bears, they were heading home to Soldier Field hoping to dispel any notion that the Bengals beatdown exposed the Bears as a “wannabe team” in the suddenly competitive NFC North. The Monsters of Midway looked like they were back as they forced 5 Cleavland Browns turnovers. One of them was a ridiculous diving interception by Danieal Manning. Matt Forte ran decently for 90 yards and two touchdowns. However, Cutler was still harassed all afternoon by the lowly Browns that has raised more doubts than anything about the Chicago Bears. Again the offensive line struggled to protect Cutler as they gave up 4 sacks. While Forte had 2 TDs and 90 yards, it took him 26 carries for paltry 3.5 average. This is the Browns remember. Nevertheless it was a victory…and I’ll take it too.

To top it off, we ended our Sunday football season with a 10-0 shutout and finished the season strong with 3 straight victories. I struggled in the first half as some of my snap sailed too high for the quarterback, and I did get flattened for the first time all season. But in the second half I got my snaps down, got two more pancakes, and I did make a ridiculous one-handed catch on 4th down play that led to the game-clinching touchdown. I hate to gloat, but I gotta say my catch was the shit…and we got it on film! I loved playing football again and thanks to Nick, Joe, Tomasz, and the rest of the team for some fun Sunday mornings. Here’s to next season.

Even though I wasn’t even alive, watching this is electrifying and exhilarating. Look at that crowd…electric.

This is the third time I threw my remote and let out a primal scream this season because the badass-ness of the play (1st time was when Olsen got leveled in the Steelers game. 2nd was when Adrian Peterson ran over Gay). Thank God Comcast makes durable remotes.

Speed kills. Hust-la… hust-la…

Estando en la antesala del juicio los Visentinis de nuestra paciencia hacemos gala, y hablamos de distintos temillas que en su día no nos hicieron cosquillas. Se me viene a la cabeza un ser despreciable que ha ejercido de contable con su cabeza descapotable ¡sí, hablo de Charly! cuya cabeza por su dureza debió esculpir un marmolista con escaza vista. Recordáis que su padre como prestamista fue todo un artista, fue el introductor de las gabelas en Puertohurraco que le supuso pingües beneficios mientras a la familia dejaba a dos velas. Que la Candelaria quería una radio para escuchar las novelas después del anuncio del Cola-Cao: “somos los negritos del África tropical”, así después de la escuela recuerdo en mi casa escuchar, pues se las tenía que ver con el miserable ser que de la usura hacia su querer. Y una vez que daba su consentimiento, pues sin éste no había compra en ningún establecimiento, se escudaba que en la fábrica de pólvoras había uno que el dinero prestaba, era él el tragaldabas que con las gabelas se quedaba. No había otra forma de comprar sin las oportunas gabelas a Milán pagar.
Pues, bien, de este ser indecente fue émulo el Marmolillo de Charly de manera anuente. Pero como de chupatintas nunca ha progresado, las gabelas del préstamo del dinero nunca ha sacado. El gabelismo de la reventa de muebles ha ejercido con su clásico cinismo. Siempre sacando ventaja de que otra persona se encuentra en situación más baja.
Eran los albores en que celebraban los Visentinis sus esponsales buscando momentos mejores. La realidad es que estábamos tiesos en nuestros comienzos, éramos víctimas propiciatorias de Marmol, para sus labores especulatorias. Un día Mikel con su joven esposa Isabela entran en Sánchez electrodomésticos, mira qué casualidad que allí está Charly con Cecilia Porcé que de la reventa hacen su especialidad. Mikel, como el que no quiere la cosa, le dice que busca una lámpara halógena para el cuarto de baño, ya han encontrado, la Enciclopedia y Charly su apaño, que acabará como siempre en engaño. Tenemos en casa unas tulipas con lámparas tradicionales que no dan calor como lo hace la halógena a raudales, es toda una eminencia y autoridad Cecilia en electricidad, están prácticamente nuevas y nos da una lástima inmensa desprendernos de ellas siendo tan bellas, pero si os las quedáis vosotros hacemos un trato que nos libra de este mal rato. Y pos ya que estamos tenemos a su lado un mueble de aglomerado rechapado que os lo podemos dejar a un precio muy arreglado. Ya nos han endosado el amueblamiento usado y uno nuevo a precio de copla tiene el condenado.
A Xavier, que está al comienzo de su matrimonio, en el mismo menester, le endosa con encomio una mesa de salón comedor con las seis sillas compañeras, que son como el dueño, bastante horteras. No sólo obtiene buenos dineros por la reventa, sino que además está lleva unido los aparceros que retirarán los muebles de su casa cual pordioseros. Es todo ventaja lo que consigue con sus reventas esta alhaja. Entre todo lo que nos ha endosado el piso entero de muebles ha renovado, aprovechándose de la familia lo mismo que haría un venado.
A Malín, aunque le pilló más a trasmano, también le engañó como a sus hermanos. Le hizo la del pulpo en el piso abuhardillado que le alquilo a sus hijas en los madriles, y todo ello por ser gentiles, en un acto de generosidad le ofreció hospitalidad a la hija de Charly, como se demostró esto fue una atrocidad. Como la buhardilla en la que se alojó Natilla es bastante holguerilla, se puede meter otra camilla y que ésta realquile a una coleguilla. De esta forma tan miserable el insigne profesional contable hizo un negoció rentable, aunque a su primo le dio un sablazo, que no conviene olvidar por si acaso. Consiguió que su hija pagara la mitad aunque hiciera doble uso de lo que Malín de su dinero puso en comunidad.
Hoy todo ha cambiado pues los Visentinis hemos progresado y tenemos de sobra mientras el condenado sigue a su miserable vida atado. La reventa familiar ha sido solo un pecado venial, comparado con toda la tropelía que después nos haría a los Visentinis con alevosía. Después, una vez echado al monte, ha sido un bandolero que nos ha robado el dinero. Que se lo gaste todo entero en ponerle velas a San Antonio para que sus alhajas contraigan matrimonio.
¡A que sí! hermana Trinificación, los Visentinis aprendimos la lección, entre la familia solo cabe la donación porque estamos unidos por el corazón. No caben entre nosotros beneficios si nos desprendemos de bienes materiales entre nuestros edificios.

En la recreación que nuestro cronista-historiador de Puertohurraco hace de las ánimas benditas menciona la recolección que en la casa morisca se hacía de los frutos de otoño cuando octubre era sólo un retoño. Este pasaje relatado me ha evocado cuando yo era pequeño y estaba al caqui encaramado. El caqui era un árbol muy quebradizo por eso el gran Capo que se subieran sus hijos nunca quiso, tampoco que lo hiciera el Peppitillo era cuestión, pues ya por aquellos entonces era un gordinflón, ni su hermano el Guanichi ya que con su visión estraviada los caquis nunca guipaba. Por eliminación quién quedaba para hacer la recolección, pues los hermanos Visentinis, Malín para las bajeras y Mikel para la copa en la altura ya que a su pequeñez unía su delgadez para manejar bien las tijeras, en la ramas quebraderas.
Era todo un espectáculo ver a los hermanos jugándose la vida por la fruta tan querida. Mientras debajo estaban orientando los ojeadores a los equilibristas hacia donde estaban los caquis mejores. Ósea, el Gran Capo Milán dirigía la operación como si fuera el Gran Capitán. Yakc, el de los degüellos, retorcía los caquis con la alcachofa, era lo suyo, retorcer ha sido el destino de este ser tan cretino. Cuando había un caqui ya maduro había que tener especial cuidado para que no acabara espachurrado, Mikel era advertido de la delicada operación y que una vez producida la captura desde tan notable altura, debía trasladarlo con sumo cuidado a Malín que muy apurado lo ponía en manos del que todo lo disponía. Estos caquis maduros eran alojados en un lugar especial cuyo destino lo guardo hasta el final.
Mariana, María, Candelaría y Felipa la Veneno quitaban las hojas a los caquis cuidando que quedara un visible rabo del que luego a la ristra pudiera ser atado. Al mismo tiempo hacían una clasificación de los frutos recogidos para que luego pudieran ser repartidos. En un montón se ubican aquellos de buen calibre y que se diferencian de los demás de forma bien visible. Luego se agrupan los de tamaño vulgar que son los que abundan más en el lugar, a continuación con los más verdes y los más chicos se hace otro montón, y por último se apilan a mogollón aquellos que han sufrido un golpe porque la maniobra extractiva fue torpe, los que en su mayoría tendrán gusanos por habitantes en números abundantes.
Ya está el árbol bien recolectado, el caquis ha quedado adecuadamente esquilmado, no ha quedado ninguno para saciar el hambre del gorrión que lo creyera oportuno. Pero aun a los Visentinis en las alturas les queda una faena, quitarle al árbol las hojas para que luego barrerlas no suponga una condena. Con el árbol bien repelado y el fruto clasificado, queda la labor más interesante, reservado sólo para la gente importante, que acometerán al instante. Se trata del reparto de lotes, ¿os suena Visentinis la mencionada expresión? Y más ahora que para el nueve de noviembre en el juzgado tenemos citación. Decirlo puede ser obviado, pues a estas alturas es por todos conocido que Manolo y Candelaria el reparto nunca han presidido y mucho menos decidido. Aquí está Milán el artista, que hará los lotes cual malabarista y claro está, el que reparte siempre se queda con la mejor parte. Si cayeron los caquis maduros en el olvido, aquí vienen a colación ya que serán para Milán por su comunera dedicación. Los demás lotes más o menos serán equilibrados, menos el de Candelaría que será el más abundante, a la pobre se le llenan los ojos por la cantidad, no puede dar crédito a tamaña generosidad. Claro que cuando llegan a la vivienda con el abundante lote les entra el rebote, debajo de la primera tanda de caquis sanos de los acetres, están todos los caquis pequeños, verdes y los malsanos, aquellos que en pocos días estarán repletos de gusanos. Otra vez me han engaño mis hermanos, dice Candelaria con aquella birria en las manos. Sólo le queda la resignación, así es la vida, al menos en Puertohurraco así han sucedido las cosas, que para los Visentinis nunca han sido venturosas, por mor de todos los que actuaron como raposas. Esperemos que el día nueve en el juzgado nuestra suerte haya cambiado, y que los caquis agusanados sean para el trío tabernero por ser unos malvados despiadados.Y por si para alguien es de interés, el viejo caquis en la finca hurraqueña ya no está, ahora hay un retoño de aquel que da caquis hermosos y sanos que Candelaria se los lleva todos a sus manos. Paradoja y caprichos del destino que tiene un sentido de la justicia tan fino.

Pues mientras esperaba que comenzara el desfile de famosos en la alfombra roja de los premios las “Lunas del Auditorio”,observaba en una pantalla los repetitivos spots acerca de los artistas que se presentarían próximamente en el Auditorio y en su sede más pequeña,el Lunario.Habrá muy buenas ofertas para todo público,pero sin duda las más atrayentes para mí si pudiera asistir son Javier Corcobado,Gustavo Cerati,Los Hombres G,Los Fabulosos Cadillacs,y por supuesto Mikel Erentxun,acompañado de Mercedes Ferrer en el Lunario…

Y en éso estaba pensando cuando volteo y que veo a lo lejos en la explanada a Mercedes…creo que ella no iba en sí a lo de las Lunas,más bien al Lunario,pero sí me resultó curioso…me hubiera gustado acercarme a saludarla,pero no podía dejar el lugar en la alfombra…aunque de haber sabido que no estaría tan bueno como otros años el desfile de famosos,pues me hubiera salido…

La verdad súper recomendado el show de Mercedes,y al lado de Mikel…será seguramente algo grandioso!

(click en las imágenes para ver en grande)

Reseña: Docso

John Mikel Obi will miss Nigeria’s crucial 2010 World Cup qualifier against Mozambique in Abuja with an ankle injury…. From BBC News. Full story

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More updates on this 18 month old’s speech development.

In the playroom, Mikel got a hold of his sister’s school bag and started dragging it around with him as he walked around in a big circle. Every time he’d pass me by he’d wave and say, “buh-baiii”. So I took the opportunity to encourage him to speak some more.

Lala: Mik! That’s a bag… say, bag?
Mik: Gab
Lala: No, it’s baaag.
Mik: Gab

We’ve also been trying to teach him to say his name. This happened in the car this week.

Lala: Mik, if people ask you, what’s your name, you say, Mik-Mik!
Mik: Kim-Kim!
Lala: Mik-Mik!
Mik- Kim-Kim!

Houston, do we have a problem?

Musicians, like all artists, are a strange breed. They either profess to showing their true selves through their work or present a public face that they think the people want to see. It’s very rare that a musician or artist will open up and give you a glimpse behind the persona. One of the most tried and tested forms of getting some truth from musicians is to lull them into a false sense of security by asking them seemingly random and bizarre questions, then hitting them with the incisive stuff. It works like sodium pentothal. They struggle but eventually they can’t help themselves.

 This is the job of The Interrogator – the journalist tasked with getting a peak behind the stage curtain at the person behind the rock star. This week, MIKEL JOLLETT, frontman and songwriter with The Airborne Toxic Event gets grilled.

Which great American novel do you wish you had written and why?

East of Eden. John Steinbeck. I think it’s probably cooler to say something like the Great Gatsby or American Pastoral by Phillip Roth. You know, something filled with analyses of America’s worst impulses.

 But I feel comforted whenever I read East of Eden. It’s a hopeful book. Steinbeck writes like a bull, pushing his characters through large swaths of time. He’s also got a canny understanding of the aspirations of poor people and the power of hard work.

 This tendency is comforting in an age obsessed with people’s moral failings and the voyeuristic draw of celebrity, money and pornography.

 Is being a rock star everything you expected it to be?

 No. It’s just another role one plays in life, like “uncle,” “son,” “friend,” “writer,” or “miserable failure.” Which is to say, it’s temporary and nothing is to be taken too seriously.

 What do you feel more comfortable in: nice suit or jeans and t-shirt?

 Nice suit. That’s the worst part of living in Los Angeles. It’s always too hot to wear a good jacket.

 Have you ever hunted anything, killed it and eaten it?

 Sort of. My parents raised rabbits for food when I was a kid. We used to slaughter them every few months and make stew. I still have dreams about it. I think to them it was about respecting the life cycle: you know, if you’re going to eat something, you should kill it yourself so that you understand the sacrifice.  To me, it was just another chore and I always wanted to go to Wendy’s.

I think about the rabbits sometimes. How they died. It wasn’t some romantic thing like death always seems in stories. It was just a dull thud, a kick of the legs, then silence. It’s not like a Silence of the Lambs sort of thing where they’re screaming and haunting me or whatever. Just that the very banality of how they died sticks with me. I read somewhere that in a study of black box recordings on airplane crashes, for 80% of people, there last word is, “shit.”

 How much of an influence does your medical condition have on your life?

 Some. It keeps me within certain boundaries I would otherwise probably transgress. The only way to deal with Autoimmune Disorder, generally, is to live a balanced life: you know, sleeping well and eating well and avoiding stress and that sort of thing. Which of course is the way one is supposed to deal with life. Otherwise, I don’t really think about it except that every now and then when I’m really stressed I lose a clump of hair or an eyebrow. It’s kind of funny.

 When it comes to a night out on the tiles, are you a full-on dancer or an appreciative nodder? What gets you on the dance floor?

Full-on dancer. Old soul, new hip-hop and Swedish electro. Put Al Green, Kanye West and the Knife into a blender and hit “puree.” Lately I’ve been into new dance moves like “the jacket toss,” “the tie-straightener” and “the sleeve brush.” There’s also been a lot of pogo-ing at shows lately.

 Who are your heroes in music, literature and life?

 Leonard Cohen.

 What are the benefits of fame?

 Your friends think you’re rich. Your ideas seem more important. These are also the drawbacks of fame.

 If you could front a band of musicians, living or dead, what would the line-up be?

Eric Avery and Stephen Perkins from Jane’s Addiction in the rhythm section. Jason Lytle from Grandaddy and whoever plays all those greats lines in Passion Pit on keyboard, playing songs co-written with Regina Spektor in a production conceived and orchestrated by David Bowie

Would you ever wear a cowboy hat, either seriously or with irony?

 Yes.

Are you mentally compiling notes on life in the music industry to turn into a book one day? Would such a book be complimentary of the industry or a warning to others?

No. There really are no secrets. The best moments in music are the ones that happen between your ears as you listen to your favorite song. The rest is all folklore and mythology of a world which doesn’t really exist.

Away from the on-tour catering, do you cook? What’s your specialty?

 Salmon and various types of breakfast scrambles.

You’re trapped in a lift with a critic who has been very severe in his/her appraisal of your work (think Pitchfork review). What do you say to them?

You can’t use my phone.

Many of your songs are about heartache and loss in relationships, what are the most important lessons you’ve learnt about the affairs of the heart and what advice would you give about avoiding the pitfalls?

I’m probably not a good person to ask. And anyway, I think people figure out such things for themselves. It’s never anything you read. I will say that I tend to think that fate does not exist and that symbolism in relationships is pointless. You know, “this event means this.” et cetera, and that if you want to be with someone, the way to make it work is to work at it.

You can either have the problems of a single person or the problems of a person in a relationship.

What would be your first reaction to an Airborne Toxic Event?

I’d probably want to know my folks were OK.

Do you read your own press? If so, do you take any notice of it?

I try not to. I think it’s human nature to want to know what other people think of you but it’s the kind of thing that can also make you very self-conscious. It’s probably best to take it with a grain of salt. Most people have no idea who you are.

Having said that, I really like music journalists. They tend to be smart and kind of sarcastic. They’re cynics and true believers at the same time. We have a lot of good conversations about David Bowie and Sufjan Stevens.

There’s also something kind of great about a good writer who can capture in words why they love a piece of music. The feeling in the room. The excitement at a great show. The ideas driving the music. Why people are responding, jumping, clapping, screaming, swooning. Like it’s the last night on earth. It’s not easy. You know the old line about dancing about architecture… It’s true.

What’s your favorite (legal) vice and why?

 Ambien. Europe is a whole other experience when you can sleep at night.

 TATE are now a Big Thing, after being the Next Big Thing. Who in your opinion is the Next Next Big Thing?

Passion Pit. They’ve cornered something. I can’t decide if it’s a sound or an attitude towards songwriting or a gift for rhythm and melody, but whatever it is they are fucking talented.

What would your personal profile description be on Facebook?

 ”I am not on Facebook.”

 What’s the deepest statement you’ve ever come up with and does it still resonate, or does it sound pretentious now?

 In a drunken stupor I once scribbled on my wall: “Everyone is an orphan.” Yeah, it sounds pretentious as hell.

 After meeting which famous person did your opinion of them completely change? What did you think before and after you met them?

David Bowie. He was shorter than I thought he’d be.

We talked for a long time about Nietzsche and moral-relativism and the death of God in the 20th century and we ended up having this oddly paternal moment when he asked me if my generation had a problem believing in anything.

 I nearly wrote a book trying to answer that question.

Was Michael Jackson really the King of Pop? What’s your favourite Michael Jackson song?

Yes. Right now I’ve been into that song “Say Say Say” he did with Paul McCartney.

What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done when drunk, that you can tell me?

Hmm… When we were in San Jose for a show, for some reason I decided to go to the bar downstairs and play the piano. The bar was closed. Security showed up and told me to stop. I just kept looking at him and saying, “Hey man, someone’s got to be the piano player.”

He called the police. 10 minutes later (as I was walking away across the street) five police cars arrived. A block later one asked me if I’d been in that hotel. I said, “no. But could you tell me where Carl’s Junior is?” He gave us directions and we went for milkshakes.

I guess that’s not very embarrassing. There was a time when I was nearly passed out drunk in a field and I had this hour-long conversation with a very polite and well-spoken girl. It turned out she was a blogger. She printed an account of the whole thing including pictures of me lying passed out under a diesel truck.

Which is more expressive: literature or music?

Who knows? Every major change I’ve ever made in my life has been predicated upon a book. But then you never love anything like a song.

Are we doomed?

No. But it’s best to think we are.

You have won a major music award at a flashy industry event and are expected to take the podium – who do you mention in your acceptance speech? Who would you credit for inspiration and support?

Philip Roth, Milan Kundera, Eric Bachman and the Henry Clay People. The first three because they were the ones that it seemed like they were whispering in my ear, you know saying things that sounded familiar and true, but a little incomprehensible and beyond my reach. And the HCP because they are a great local band from Silver Lake and I think they’d be excited to hear their name on TV.

Your album has been widely acclaimed and rated as one of the best rock albums of the year. Surprised or what?

Sometimes. Sometimes I wonder how anybody ever even listened to it, because it’s just like a role and not real and feel like it’s all absurd and it was just a home recording we made at our friend’s house and I should be somewhere writing a book. Other times, I feel like it was two wrenching years of life poured body and soul into 38 minutes and I guess I understand it.

You’ve been given your own state to govern – let’s call it Mikelistan – what would be the five most important laws of the land? (And remember – you’re the boss, it can be anything!)

It would be a terrible idea. Power corrupts. Always. I think all five rules would have to be about how to equitably share power and make that power based on a democratic system. That and that everyone would be required to listen to the Final Cut by Pink Floyd.

Is there really no place like home? What do you love and loathe about LA?

Los Angeles is widely misunderstood because most people think L.A. is Hollywood and Hollywood is dominated by white people and Los Angeles is not. It’s mostly Latino and black and Asian immigrants. It’s sort of like how 4 years ago if you went to Europe, everybody thought everyone in America loved George W. Bush. We only exported the worst caricatures about ourselves.

L.A. is like that. All it exports is Hollywood. Hollywood is a tiny island of 90,000 power-seeking, white people surrounded by an ocean of 14 million working people from all over the world.

Which is to say, I love the tacos. I love playing basketball in the park, I love the Korean Barbecue, the Ethiopian food, the empty beaches by the airport, the weather at my parent’s house, Fox Hills mall where all the black people are rich and the white people are poor. The Armenian ladies at Hollywood Park who try to steal chips when they lose a hand. The Vietnamese noodle shops. The hills above Griffith Park and the way rushing, muddy rivers form in the gutters when it rains.

What would you say to the 16-year-old Mikel Jollett if you could go back in time and meet him?

Don’t waste your time on math.

What is your opinion on rock stars using their standing to address political and social issues? Can musicians save the world?

We all can. It’s like a billion ton boulder we all have to push together.

Which is more difficult: writing a novel to learning to play guitar?

Writing a novel. Playing guitar is fun.

What are your initial impressions of President Barack Obama? Are you optimistic about the future of your country under him?

I’m worried he’s going to be shot. All the extremist right wing redneck rhetoric is frightening. It’s like the anti-Semitic propaganda of the middle ages or something. There’s so much blind hatred. All these people worried about socialism and that n***er president. And here he is just trying to make sure people have health care.

I picture some guy with an ailing mother threatening Obama’s life because he’s trying to reform health care. The mother is dying in bed of cancer and her son is at some rally screaming “Socialism!” It’s madness.

The Republican Party in America has convinced poor southern white people to vote against their own interests by fanning the flames of racism, nationalism and xenophobia. They are out of ideas.

Having said that, I think Obama is the most promising politician the world has seen since Roosevelt. He’s a pragmatist at heart and I like this about him since our system is designed to reign in the schemes of ideologues. He’s not a revolutionary; he’s an exceptional steward with a silver tongue. Every great elected leader in history has shared these two traits.

Does being a guitarist automatically make you awesome at Guitar Hero? Ever tried it? What song do you rule at? Any of your band colleagues any good?

It’s actually the other way around. I suck at Guitar Hero. Daren is pretty good. I think the game appeals to the drummer world-view which mostly revolves around hitting things in rhythm.

Cold beer or scotch-on-the-rocks?

Yes, thank you. How kind.

What are your expectations for the band? Do you have a plan to become the biggest band in the world?

I don’t think you can plan for that. It’s out of your control. We don’t talk about it. We focus on more basic things like staying friends or maintaining balance in our lives. This is getting harder though. The balance part (we are better friends than ever).

I think we’ve all lost our minds a little bit. Life is beginning to feel like some endless waking dream. Like my band mates are just recurring characters and every new face I see looks like the composite of a few I’ve seen before. I’m currently  typing this on a laptop on an airplane in a string of endless flights, shows, wild nights out drinking, phone calls home, quiet hung-over mornings slumped over a guitar, deafening wild-eyed evenings slumped over a microphone, meet-and-greets, sound check parties, signing tents, band meetings, rehearsals, bus trips, jet-lagged days where you wander aimlessly through the streets of a foreign city reading signs and looking for basic necessities like some kind of bleary-eyed zombie in tight black jeans.

The whole thing is kind of silly.

Aunque a muchos ya los conocereis de posts individuales, he decidido hacer una recopilación de gente que hemos conocido a lo largo del viaje. Así pues aquí están por orden de aparición (en nuestras vidas, se entiende):

-Etxebarritarrek: aka el-trio-del-melón. Son con los que más hemos coincidido, casi a diario. Les vimos por primera vez a la salida de Llança y, por última en el euskotren en Basauri. Su lema, fácil, nos levantamos tarde y acabamos tarde, pero siempre llegamos, eh! A pesar de perderse, a pesar de los dolores de rodilla, a pesar de pillar todas las horas de sol, a pesar de tener que batallar con Josemi, a pesar de llevar el rutómetro de lado…Más adelante se divorciarían y, Aitor y Asier harían piña con el cuarteto-trío de madrileños, con los que acabarían el viaje. Mientras que, a Josemi la última vez que lo vi fue en la selva de Irati y, nunca más se supo de él.

-La pareja de Madrileños: No os voy a mentir, la primera impresión que nos dio fue que él la había engañado a ella para hacer media transpi. Parecían condenados al más absoluto de los fracasos, pero el caso es que iban apechugando. Así pues, de nuevo, nos equivocamos. Sólo coincidimos con ellos las dos primeras jornadas y, teniendo en cuenta la dureza de la primera, creemos que llegarían hasta Pont de Suert. Sobre todo destacar, los pedales de plataforma (sin puntera ni calapie ni nada) y la rueda de 2.35 que llevaba la chica. Para quitarse el sombrero.

-El tío Victor: Tú tienes tu propio post, majete. No se si llegarías a terminar, o más bien si tu novia te dajaría, pero ha sido un placer pedalear contigo.

-El cuarteto-trío de madrileños: lo primero, lo siento pero no me quedé con vuestros nombres. La primera vez que los vimos fue en plena cuesta del col del Riu. Y, habríamos de coindir bastantes veces a lo largo del viaje, de hecho nos separamos en Irún. Dos frases se me han quedado grabadas vuestras, si sube hasta riéndose y nosotros no vamos por lo fácil, vamos por lo bonito (o algo así). Como los etxebarritarrak, también abonados a acabar tarde las etapas. Eso sí, me sentí muy culpable por hacer que nos perdiesemos, tirándonos por la trialera, con la consiguiente subida, en Sant Joan d`Lerm, que ya ibaís pidiendo un poco la hora. Muy majetes todos.

-Germán y Sonia: creo que en su post ha quedado claro que ellos son de esas personas que hacen que merzca la pena un viaje. Y eso que sólo hemos coincidido con ellos las tres primeras jornadas. Venga majetes, un saludillo desde aquí.

-La pareja del carrito: A éstos si que hay que darles una medalla. Sufrimiento, esfuerzo, pero, sobre todo, paciencia.

-Xavi x2 y Josu: aka los-giputxis-que-andan-en-bici-de-carretera. Si, algún día, los llegais a conocer, no vais a tener ninguna duda de dónde son. Vascos, vascos %100. Nada de las afueras de Euskadi, no. De la misma Euskal Herria central. Que les das una piedra y te la levantan cien veces, vamos. Eso sí, majetes, un rato. Valiente cena que nos metimos en Toses. Luego ellos nos colaron en su albergue, eskerrik asko! Arazorik gabe bidaia amaitzea espero dot.

Sergio, Julen eta Arantzazu: A ver, por partes. Sergio aka pozo-de-la-desgracia. Lo primero que hice cuando llegué a Bilbo fue ir, sin perder tiempo, a la enciclopedia a buscar la definición de mala suerte. Confirmando mis peores sospechas, aparecía una foto tuya, Sergio. Y, es que, no se ni cómo, con tu sino, has podido acabar semejante aventura, la verdad. Eso sí, todo lo que tienes de mala suerte lo tienes de buena persona…

Julen jauna, aka me-he-meado-la-transpi-entera-con-mis-pedales-de-plataforma-sin-despeinarme, es otro cantar. Ha batido todos los records de pinchazos. Y, aunque has querido copiarme la idea del blog, no te guardo rencor, porque tú (y tus pedales de plataforma, claro) sois mis ídolos. Zein handia zaren.

Por último la tía Arantzazu, aka pero-si-ya-he-estado-mil-veces-en-Ordesa. No sabes cuánto te echamos de menos al ver las cimas del pirineo, para que nos dijeses los nombres. Eres una animada de cuidado, lo mismo vas a hacer monte, que te apuntas a un triathlon, que te haces la transpi en btt, te da igual. Vamos que la casa no se te va a caer encima.

Vamos, en conclusión, para poneros una estrella a los tres.

-Mari Jose: Ella también tiene un post aparte. Cómo para no tenerlo después del trato recibido. Y, es que, lo de la piscina aquella, escapa a cualquier convencionalismo. Bueno no sólo la piscina, el pueblo entero, quitando, claro, la rusa del único restaurante del lugar. En pocos sitios, creo, me han tratado mejor.

-Mikel: aka mi-carrito-y-yo. Más o menos en el último tercio de viaje nos empezaron a llegar rumores de un jarto (sí, otro más) y su, inseparable, carrito. Menos mal que luego llegó su novia a aliviarle el viaje y, de paso, a portearle el material del carrito con la frego (juasjuas). Os lo voy a decir claramente, hay caballos que tienen menos pata que él. Y, cuando se trata de tirar de desarrollo en carretra, no hay quien le aguante. Con razón que ha corrido tantos años en bici de rueda fina.

-El trío gallego: Nosotros coincidimos poco con ellos, concretamente la noche de Fiscal. Y, a continuación, la siguiente noticia que tuvimos de ellos, fue que habían salido tarifando. Pocos son los datos que tengo de ellos: eran tres, dos pedaleando y otro con la frego de apoyo. Al día siguiente iban a tirar por primera vez de mapa y rutómetro, pues venían con el GPS y, cuando vieron que todos tirábamos del libro de Laparra, se debieron sentir algo señoritos. Por no seguir las, más que claras, instrucciones escritas, a rotulador, en la roca, uno de ellos se cayó en un zarzal (o algo así). Como nosotros, también tienen un blog (del que no se la dirección).

Pues bien, a todos vosotros (los que estais aquí y los que no), que habéis dejado, en mayor o menor medida, vuestra huella en nuestra vidas, gracias!

PD: ahora mismo, nada me gustaría más que tener una foto de todos nosotros juntos. Lástima, otra vez será.

The intermission between one football season to the next is filled with rumour, gossip and downright journalistic boredom there is no point commenting on it as everyone has a job to do, but some of the stories that have come out of this close season have been more fanciful than ever before mainly fuelled by the dealings of Real Madrid and Man City. Happily though, real column inches can be filled by, real news stories about real events – Roll on season 2009/10

This season more than ever before promises to be a game changer, for me there is a real sense of a changing of the guard the money highway flowing from Man City, a growing strength coming out of the Midlands in Aston Villa and perhaps this could be the season that Spurs come out of the shadows of their more regaled neighbours. So as this season kicks off who will be the winners and the losers? who will take their fans on a roller coaster ride, just avoiding relegation in  the last minutes of the final game of the season? and who after 722 games and 64,980 minutes will be crowned champions or lose their place in the premier league?

The top four will be one place I believe there will be a changing of the guard but not at the top!!

1st Chelsea – What a Liverpool fan tipping an arch rival for the title!!!, I’ll temper this point with two clauses (1) Carlo Ancelotti does not upset what Hiddink created in his short stint with the club i.e. a powerful attacking well run machine that could take the rough with smooth (2) The central midfield pairing of Essien and Mikel stay fit and are not missed during their African Cup exertions. When working in tandem they are without doubt the best club level central midfield pairing in the world. However last season showed that without both the balance in the Chelsea midfield is gone and the team can come unstuck.

Having said that Chelsea if all goes well there is no team in the league who can beat Chelsea. The defence is miserly, the midfield is imperious in defence and attack; the addition of Zhirkov will improve their potency and in attack they are peerless -Drogba is a complete package backed up by a voracious Anelka and a hungry Sturridge who could yet prove the buy of the season.

2nd Liverpool – If the midfield of Chelsea starts to creak Liverpool will take the title no doubt about it. However, their chances also rely on a big if; that if is the world’s best striker in Fernando Torres. Without Torres teams are able to defend higher up the pitch against Liverpool a point that ultimately cost them the title last season.

Moreover, without Torres who takes his place Kuyt? Babel? Ngog? There is no simple answer. Furthermore, it is Torres’ raw pace that terrorises teams and allows the rest of the team the space to create and shoot. All of the EPL champions of the last decade have had that raw pace from Giggs, Henry and C. Ronaldo. Had Liverpool been able to snare David Silva I would have been singng a different tune, alas, the money has not been there, which will leave Liverpool short by a yard

3rd Man Utd. – This is a tough choice because I believe this position will go one of two ways either the above or Arsenal, however Utd. Have the experience and cunning in their team and manager to take third. The shortcomings of a less than frightening midfield will be badly exposed, whilst their defence will dig them out of a few holes it will be the season we will see the best out of Wayne Rooney.

So why third? Teams will take Utd. up the centre and none of their midfield can tackle or is Paul Scholes finally going to learn the only part of the game he is not an expert at?? They are a fabulous team but without a central midfield who can like previous teams hurt you in the centre of the park you need skill alone and going to Stoke or Wolves on a dark dreary Monday night you need to tough it out and frankly they don’t have it.

4th Man City – I thought I said it was between Utd. or Arsenal for 3rd so surely????? (Arsenal or Man Utd. will miss out on the European Cup for next season obviously I’m still stuck, but I’ll explain in bit).

Manchester City reminds me of Leeds in the last year of the old Championship they have bought big and the media is talking about a “settling in period”. However, like Leeds they have bought good pros who know how to balance their play between battling and style. A case in point is Tevez, he can scrap but knows how to score. Even in my opinion the strangest signing in Adebayor is a strong, hard target man who when push comes to shove will work for the ball.

The talent already in the squad is enviable; the solidity that has been bought will allow the likes of Robinho and Ireland to shine.

5th Arsenal  – Ok I’ll explain they are the wild card out of the entire bunch. A new Barcelona-esque formation, which they can actually pull off and players coming back from long-term injury and they could do anything but equally, they could go out of the top four. If so Wenger’s position will become untenable, however, they also could win it; I simply cannot predict it, if so it will be Man Utd. finishing 5th.

It is going to be a season of change exciting and unpredictable kickoff is only a couple of hours away let’s enjoy it

Pedaleamos como nunca y nos cogen como siempre.

Esto es desesperante, y más cuando te has levantado, haciendo la machada, a las cuatro y media de la mañana para poder atravesar el parque de Ordesa (un tema, que tocaré en próximos posts, que tiene su miga).

Así es, cuando hemos llegado a este pueblo enfermo, Fiscal, a que no adivinais a quien nos hemos encontrado? A los del carrito del helao del otro post. Es para deprimirse, os lo aseguro. Extrañados, les hemos pregutado:

-Qué andais aquí?

Y entonces nos han sacado de toda duda, han cogido la carretera. Así sí, con buena picha bien se jode…claro que ellos está excusados, bastante tienen con lo suyo (el carrito del helao).

En ésas estábamos cuando ha aparecido Sergio, aka (as known as) yo-sólo-he-salido-tres-días-con-la-bici-para-entrenar-la-transpi. Tras él, sus compis unas dos horas más tarde.

Luego nos han confirmado que también ha llegado el trío de los madrileños seguidos de un getxotarra que también va con carrito (esto ya empieza a convertirse en moda) del que dicen los corrillos que es un jarto de mucho cuidado…

A todo esto, el del melón, que ha subido a Ordesa detrás de nosotros andaba diciendo que se iba a hacer lo de hoy, lo de mañana y parte de lo de pasado de un tirón, ahí es ná.

Vamos, que éramos pocos y parió la abuela…

Daniel Boone

Did you miss me? I took some time off from writing here. I was busy getting ready for a trip with my Mother (and then taking the trip this past week.) We went by car to south-central Kentucky for a sort of homecoming.

Mother and I have never visited Kentucky (although we have driven across the south-western edge of it, coming back from Nashville to St. Louis. The state of Kentucky takes its name from the Iroquoian “kenta-ke”, which also used to be written as “Kaintuck”, “Caintuck”, “Kentuck”, and “Kentucke.” It means “a dark and bloody ground.” I would love to tell you how that name came to be given there, but I don’t know and still need to research that.

This homecoming was a trip to Wayne County, Kentucky, in and around the town of Monticello (pop. 5,900), and that is the place our Shelton ancestors left to come to St. Louis by covered wagon in the late 1800s. They settled in St. Louis County along the Missouri River in what is now redeveloped as the “Riverport” light industrial area, and their children settled nearby as adults in St. Charles, Maryland Heights, and Creve Coeur. This is a HUGE waste of farmland, but nobody asked me before they rezoned it and paved it over. At one time in the 1800s some of that area near Creve Coeur Lake was incorporated as “Vigus,” which no longer exists except as a reference to the name of a quarry on Creve Coeur Mill Road.

Original Carter Family

Wayne County is in the Appalachians, which is a mountain range that extends a long way throughout the eastern USA, from New York in the north to Alabama in the south. There are several ranges within the Appalachians, and Wayne County is in the foothills of the Great Smokies, as I am told by its residents. It’s rugged terrain with cascading mountain ridges, valleys and hollows, and areas of plateau that nicely accommodate family farms. I could picture Daniel Boone coming out of a wooded area almost anywhere I looked. I could hear all those Appalachian > folk songs < playing in my head from every Grand Ole Opry show I’d accidentally listened to over the years. Click on the folk songs link, above, and you can play a few of the songs by the original Carter Family, like “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” while you read the rest of this.

Mother’s birthday was yesterday; she is now officially 79 years old. She began doing family research about 20 years ago to fill in details of things we knew as anecdotes about the Sheltons and Wayne County and Monticello, Kentucky. She found a lot of things in her research over the years, but like any good researcher, she also raised more questions that needed to be answered. I am her oldest child, and I got on the family research wagon with her a few years ago, in earnest, and I thought a trip to Wayne County would be a good idea. It was.

Kentucky Log Cabin | Wayne County

The Sheltons were my Mother’s maternal ancestors. We’ve hit some walls on our research of the Sheltons, and to keep moving forward when we hit a wall with one family branch (a desire that genealogists understand completely), we also have done research on my Mother’s paternal ancestors, who are Mennonites and mostly still reside in the Gettysburg area of Pennsylvania, as well as on my Father’s side of the family (maternal & paternal), and they’re easiest to trace, because they are from Ireland and England and arrived in the US “recently,” relatively speaking, so there are good historical records documenting their arrival and path to get here.

My dad’s family also was literate, which the Sheltons were not. The inability to read, write and spell (especially spell) makes things a lot harder on your descendants when they are trying to research you. People who are illiterate depend on county clerks and census takers, etc., to decide how to spell their names on official documents (which we use to research their lives), and the lack of consistency in spelling can be confounding. That, plus the fact that you really need an index to track the many nickname conventions that were used in previous generations and that have completely disappeared (e.g., “Patsy” was apparently used for nearly every woman’s name at some point.) There is the “Soundex” system that helps with the various spellings–an ingenious thing, if there ever was one–and there actually are regional indexes in most genealogy libraries helping with the nicknames. If you don’t love a puzzle, however, don’t get involved in family research or you will either waste a good amount of time before quitting, pulling out your hair in frustration, or both!

Beaver Creek Resort Marina

So, if you have never been to south-central Kentucky, including Lake Cumberland, you are missing a spectacular part of the USA. It’s beautiful countryside, and the people were unfailingly open, welcoming and kind to us city folks come looking up our ancestors. We did find some good documentation, left with lots more sources of research for the questions that were raised on our trip, but most of what we learned came straight from the mouths of people who live there. If you ask a question of someone from the area about a certain place or events, they are most likely to respond, “Well, I don’t know a whole lot about that, but I’ll tell ya what I do know … .” Half an hour later, you’ve got the goods. They know a lot, but they just don’t tend to brag.

I have a link on my FaceBook page with a photo album (a selection of the best of our trip), which I can share here, and which you can visit even if you’re not a FaceBook member. Please take the time to read the captions on the photos: They tell the story behind what you’re seeing. I’ll set the stage here by pasting the information Mother had on how and why and when Francis Marion Shelton, his wife Martha Jane (Mathews) Shelton, Dollie (Mathews) Mikel (Martha Jane’s sister), Dollie’s husband J.T. (Jacob) Mikel, and all the Shelton and Mikel children got from Kaintuck to Missourah.

Francis Marion & Martha Jane Shelton

Remembrance of trip from Monticello, Kentucky, to St. Louis, Missouri, by covered wagons
Approx. 1894/96

As told by Mytle Shelton (Small) to Doris Jean, her granddaughter, in St. Louis, Mo.

“My father, Francis Marion Shelton, fought in the war*, as well as his brother in law (J.T. /Jacob Mikel.) A section (of land) was given for service. “They” sold their farms and came to Missouri for the black soil. They had two covered wagons, horses, cows and a plow. It took six weeks to get to St. Louis area.

They followed the river. They would stop for two or three days visiting farms along the way. It was a long trip along the Mississippi. They didn’t know where they were and saw a farm; there were rifles sticking out of the windows. The people at the house hollered, “You can’t stay here!” Then they asked, “Are you a family?” and because the men leading the wagons said they were families traveling, they were welcomed there. (Francis) Marion Shelton said, “We must be in Missouri—It’s unfriendly.”

Jacob Mikel was the rifleman and shot all the game. When they came into the St. Louis area, not having drunk yellow river water in Monticello, which is fed by 13 mountain springs, the girls all were looked at and noticed for having pale, clear skin. Yellow river water in the St. Louis area yellows the skin, apparently.

Francis Marion Shelton, Suzie, Ky.
Martha Jane Mathew Shelton (wife), Wayne Co., Ky.
Children:  Lena, Myrtle, Mattie, Ethel, Mildred, William

J.T. (Jacob) Mikel, Wayne Co., Ky.
Dollie Mathew Mikel (wife), Wayne Co., Ky.
Children: Fillmore, Sherman, Ethel, Jodie (possibly two youngest children, James & Esther , were born in Missouri)

*possibly the Spanish-American War, but not yet documented

Editor’s note: If you live in or have visited northwest St. Louis County, specifically Maryland Heights, you may have seen a block-long street that runs off Fee Fee named “Mikel Avenue.” It has been there a long time and is named by/for the Mikels who came to Missouri from Wayne County, Kentucky.

> Link < to photo album of my trip with Mother to Wayne Co.

By the end of last season both Deco and Carvalho made it public that they wanted out of the club; and join former boss Jose Mourinho at Inter. It looked like they were on their way, but in the end it all fell apart. To be honest I’m glad it didn’t come through. I still believe Deco hasn’t fully proved himself at Chelsea and there’s more he has yet to achieve here. He’s a world-class player, and with Michael Essien and John Obi Mikel leaving for nationals duties for the Africa Cup of Nations this season, Deco will surely hold his place in the middle of midfield. Instead of bringing in new recruits to fill in the gap, why not give Deco some time to settle down and really show what he’s all about? During the Scolari era, he was accused of making the starting XI just because of his chemistry with the manager. Well this is his moment to prove everyone out there whoever doubted him wrong.

As for Carvalho, there’s no doubt that he’s one of the best tacklers out there. It’ll take some time for him to find his touch again due to being sidelined for most of last season by injury. But judging by his performance in the pre-season friendlies against the Seattle Sounders and Inter Milan, I don’t think he’ll have any problem.

But what about Andriy Shevchenko and Claudio Pizzaro ? They both came from big clubs; AC Milan and Bayern Munich respectively, but both were a flop and found it very difficult to find the net whilst wearing a Chelsea jersey. If Ancelotti decides to sell them, then there’s nothing to be done. But maybe they too should be given more time to prove themselves. Right?

Tras duros años de trabajo y evolucion los chastas sacan su primera maqueta. La presentacion tuvo lugar en el Zaragoza Ciudad donde regalaron unas 300 copias entre seguidores y amigos.

Seguiran quemando mas copias pero si quieres escucharlo ya tienes la opcion de descargarte la copia en mp3.

Lo Mantenemos Vivo de Los Chastas

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Los Chastas, grupo que ha ido cambiando sus miembros hasta conseguir una gran armonía y compañerismo esta compuesto por Redik, Mikel y Greco.

En los directos cuentan con las manos de Dj Spin a los platos y en la produccion con RDI PRODUCCIONES, que produce el 100% de sus bases, con SUB-ART que se encargó de la masterización del material.

Su carrera que comienza a despegar ahora, despues de mucho tiempo en la oscuridad de la pocilga, no habría sido posible sino por el trabajo del festival Artmozara, que lo eligió como representante para el Zaragoza Ciudad, y del Coletivo LLAMEMOSLO X y el a poyo mutuo que tenemos entre nosotros.

Debemos hablar además del show de sus directos que los hace tan caracteristicos. Estamos hablando de sus disfraces de cerdos que representan su lema: “Vivimos como cerdos, cantamos como cerdos”.

Si tiene la suerte de verlos alguna vez en un directo no dude en saltar y gritar como un puto cerdo.

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MYSPACE: http://www.myspace.com/loschastascrew

CONTACTO/CONTRATACION: Loschastas@gmail.com

Who doesn’t love wearing their baby? I would wear mine more often it’s just that he weighs a damn ton these days.
I usually carry him in a sling – off to one side on my hip. This is not kind to my weight-bearing shoulder. But as baby gear makers and marketers would have it, there is a solution. (At least for your shoulders, if not your back). You just need to distribute baby’s weight on both shoulders. And for that, all you need is a Moby Wrap.

photo credit: www.mobywrap.com

Now I’m not sure if Mik would want to be carried this way unless he was napping, so I would most likely have him in this carrying style known as the hike hold.

photo credit: www.mobywrap.com

Or since he’s Mr. Ultra Observant, there’s this style called the lotus hold.

photo credit: www.mobywrap.com

But here’s what’s truly impressive. The moby wrap easily accommodates TWINS!!

photo credit: www.mobywrap.com

Don’t you love it? I like the lilac colored one. I think it’s unisex enough if my next bebe is a girl and light enough so it’s not too hot for the tropics.

Clipe novo do Fever Ray, dirigido por Mikel Cee Karlsson.

I am rather pleased with myself. Not only did I arrive at the airport at the airport at a reasonable time for my flight to San Sebastián (not three hours before like usual), but more importantly I picked the right line to stand in!  Said line was not my initial choice; my instincts drew me to the one with the family lengthily debating the merits of aisle vs. window.  But I defied destiny and moved lines, not only beating the family but also taking part in the quickest check-in process in Spanish history!  No wonder they won the Olympics.

Passing through Security I was distracted by the poster displaying active ETA members wanted for terrorism. It reminded me that Basque separatism was very much a current issue. The open, guileless faces of the offenders mesmerized me.  I was particularly drawn to a woman who was just a year older than me. I wondered what would compel someone like that into terrorism. What experiences could she have had in her 27 years that drove her to this path? What must it feel like to be a fugitive for the rest of one’s life?  What crimes did she commit? How did they get her picture? A story began to develop. Imagine yourself a foreign tourist, happily skipping along, lost in day dreams about your destination when suddenly your stomach plummets because there on the poster of terrorists is you. Well, not exactly you, but your doppelganger.  The guardia civil, in their “90’s architecture” green, the ones about whom the guidebooks have put the fear of God in you to avoid, suddenly notice you and your happy reverie is shattered as all hell breaks loose. It would be even funnier if this protagonist had done everything – dress, hair, makeup – to try and maker herself pass for Spanish because she was sick of looking like a tourist….

As I wait I consider the beginning of my travels. Not sure what I was thinking when I assumed the 3 am bus to Luton airport would be a nice, quiet, relaxing affair. When the double-decker coach arrived, it was packed. Once I was finally allowed on I ascended to the darkest corners of bus travel hell.  My face thudded against air thick with body heat and glazed in sweat. Through this underworld I scavenged for a seat, finding one behind “Becca” and “Simon” and next to a night owl with a commitment to rave music and reading her book with the light on. So began my comprehensive tour of every bus station, airport and car park between Birmingham Digbeth and Luton.

Slept through the flight, hopped the bus to Plaça de Catalunya and sashayed down las Ramblas (as well as one can sashay carrying two packs) to my hotel.  Upon my arrival I learned that when Spanish say the first floor they really mean the fourth.

When I saw the jail cell parading as my room I sighed and quickly changed into summer attire. Unfortunately, I soon discovered that my brand new sandals, so cute with their minimalist loops of black leather string, barely stayed on.  Half a block of walking and the straps would slide down my sweating feet.  I stopped to hitch them up.  Another block and once again the straps were under my feet.  Undeterred and optimistic, I continued this awkward but nonetheless jaunty style of walking when suddenly – splootch – my beloved Red or Dead sandals were buried in a whomping glop of dog shit. Sigh. Luckily this happened in front of a restaurant whose bathroom sink and flimsy rice paper napkins helped clean up the mess. I returned to my room, dropped my earring and realized that due to the lack any convincing light source it was gone for good.

* * *

At the San Sebastián airport information desk I met a fellow traveller, a professional pianist from Argentina who was on tour of Spain. Together we struggled to find the bus, running arpeggios across the busy highway to reach the stop. Forty minutes later we were in town and I found the Banco Hispanico who miraculously accepted their own travellers cheques without commission. I was staying on Cathedral Square at the home of Señora Charo, a retired lady who let rooms in her amply-sized apartment to travelers. I arrived at the same time as Lambert, the Biking German from Munster, and we agreed to tour the town together.

My first impressions of San Sebastián were mixed.  It had beauty and charm, but was also an über-tourist destination.  I was shocked by the sheer volume of Americans. Lambert and I climbed Monte Urgull to visit the fort and take in the views of possibly the most crowded beaches I have ever seen.  Of course, these drawbacks would have been easily overcome with a witty and engaging companion, but I had aligned with possibly the most boring German on the planet.  I could not decide which was less painful: his very slow English garnished with the occasional Spanish word, or my fantastically deplorable German.  Either way I could barely get him to shut up, the only difference being the speed at which I was bombarded. He was completely obsessed with biking.  I was honoured with a lengthy description of how a local mountain was used for the “Clásica San Sebastián” bike race and how he was looking forward to visiting it the next day. To enhance the experience I was blitzkrieged by a bird.  Nothing spectacular– a light splattering on my right arm.  Lambert didn’t even notice.

As Lambert droned on about brevets, chondromalacia and fartleks, I tidied up my arm and considered my challenging sandals. I needed a way to increase resistance between the loops of the ankle strap and the leather strap across my foot.  What would MacGyver do? Suddenly it came to me. While Lambert was lost in his velocipedic reverie I bit off shreds of a massive blister bandage and, due to their sticky nature, was able to put them into the loops, creating resistance. So well, in fact, that not only did they hold as we descended the mountain, but I was unable to remove them for our walk along the beach so they are now caked in sand. At least they will be ready for the beach tomorrow.

After I ditched Lambert I met Mikel, an electrical engineering student who was boarding with Doña Charo. Mikel took me to five different bars where we sampled the best of the local food and drink.  I had chipirones en su tinta which was the most tender squid I had ever eaten in a purple-black vinegary magical sauce and angula, teenie weenie fish (eels) that looked like grey pasta and cost more by weight than gold. At one bar we met an old man of whose conversation I grasped maybe 5% although that which I did was fairly – as the Spanish say -  “green”. I tried the local cider, white wine, beer… but not too much of anything, of course. Ha.

Who would have thought that San Sebastián would turn out to be such a blast!  When I returned to the hotel (having arranged to meet Lambert later that evening) I was greeted by Mikel who offered his mom’s homemade traditional Basque rabbit stew (which tasted like frogs legs). He had invited his friend Chema (the nickname for those named José Maria), so that night it was me and the boys.  And what a group it was: me speaking Espanglish, Lambert earnestly struggling in Espanglish, Chema practicing German, and Mikel amused by it all. We went to an English/German pub (of course) where I eavesdropped on two Americans deeply engaged in conversation. I think one of the elements contributing to the Stupid American Tourist stereotype is the way Americans frequently sound like infomercials on self improvement. “I was getting drunk all the time and just felt like hell, so I gave up alcohol and relationships, and it was like, man, so much better….” They speak with such authority on the most trivial of subjects.

We found ourselves on a street filled with tons of Australians and Americans (and two Basques, one German and one Canadian).  While we pushed into one bar I met a cute Argentine from Rosario, but upon my return from my “drip dry” bathroom trip he had gone.  We navigated the throngs, popping inside, outside, all the while Lambert and Mikel teasing me about being checked out by guys. By 2:30 am there was a definite Birmingham-like male-to-female ratio in my favour and with much better looking guys.  Yum, I like Basque tapas. We crawled in as dawn was breaking. I completely slept through my alarm and rushed madly to the airport.

I allowed myself the liberty of looking closely again at the ETA fugitives. The one who so fascinates me was born July 27, 1970 and is named Ainhoa.  She actually looks a lot like my cousin Janis.

I sure hope no one has brought a bomb on this flight because passing through security was a complete circus.  The woman right behind me buzzed as she went through and when the guard asked to examine her she just flashed her bracelets and made poo-poo noises in French which he sheepishly accepted. Say what you will about the English, their security is thorough.

* * *

Back in Barcelona, I bypassed the 600 peseta sandwiches on the Ramblas, heading straight for the Mercado, picking up ample provisions for less than a pound. I loved hearing the delicate “click” my cherry pits made as they hit the pavement. Near the Fundació Antoní Tapies I could see part of the back of Casa Batlló, the Gaudí apartment building with balconies shaped as masks.  Even better, I could see that the shopping centre behind it had a great view.  The fourth floor had a back patio to which I would have normally been refused entry, but because there was a guy working outside the salesperson allowed me to go.  This vantage point, rarely seen by tourists, took my breath away with its mosaic roof, wrought ironwork, blue tiled walls and beige tiled floors.

Tried my luck for the second time at Montjuïc where I took in the expansive view of the city; had it been super clear I might have seen Mallorca. This time the Joan Miró Foundation was open and surprisingly difficult to navigate. Without my guidebook I surely would have missed the civil war lithographs and the donations by his wife. A piece he painted just for her he had named “Morning Star.”  Could that be more romantic?  Why are so few men artists?

As dusk approached I surveyed my options for returning to town. Walking was ruled out because the mountain was now almost abandoned and my route would have been through a tunnel of graffiti. An older gentleman with an extravagant vein cascading down his nose recommended the bus, but when he abruptly commenced a passionate and irate tirade about the failure of North American tourists to heed his advice, I rapidly made my way to the simple, quiet funicular.

Back to the hotel I walked through Plaça de Catalunya and joined a large crowd watching an Ecuadorian band perform.  As I stood there, anticipating the next song, I sensed someone looking at me.  I casually glanced behind me to see a very dark-skinned man. I began thinking about how difficult it must be for someone in Spain to be such an obvious outsider, especially in such an historically intolerant culture, when suddenly he was next to me whispering “hello”. My peaceful Andean reverie was shattered as he invaded my personal space.  Notwithstanding my sympathies as one outsider to another, I realized my vulnerability and, unwilling to discover his motivations, got the heck out of there.

Jose Mourinho is poised to make a £15million raid for Chelsea’s John Obi Mikel.

Inter Milan boss Mourinho knows Nigerian ace Mikel still has two years left on his contract at Stamford Bridge.

But the former Chelsea chief wants to get in quickly with a bid to take the midfielder, 22, to Italy.

Mikel deputised for enforcer Michael Essien while he was out with a long-term knee injury this season and earned glowing reports.

Inter are ready with a five-year deal for Mikel — the player Mourinho signed in controversial circumstances from Norwegian club Lyn Oslo in 2006.

The Portuguese boss won a three-way tug of war involving Manchester United and Lyn.

But Mikel joined Mourinho’s Blues only after Premier League rivals United claimed he had signed for them.

The Sun

I know what Barca did to Real Madrid on the weekend.  I know Messi is supposed to be the player of this generation.  I know Iniesta and Xavi are incredibly talented midfielders and Eto’o is one of the best strikers in the world.  But the only things that are matter are these:

Barca has the away goals shut out of Chelsea in its favor.  If Barca scores at least one goal, Chelsea needs to win the game.

Messi is going to be determined to show he is the best in the world after the performance Ronaldo put on today.

The game is being played at Stamford Bridge where the pitch feels smaller than the Nou Camp which means less room for Messi and company to play their football.

No Marquez and no Puyol in the middle.  That means Pique, who for all his game is a relative rookie, and Caceres in the middle with the mercurial Valdes behind them.

Eric Abidal got skinned by first Robben and then Ramos for the first goal.  Hiddink, if I were you, I’d start Kalou on the right.  Dani Alves on the right is at best an average defender.

Henry might not play due to a knee injury.

Hiddink is a scarily successful coach no matter the squad he has – and he has a tough, experienced, motivated squad playing at home.

Based on these factors, while I still think its going to be tight, I think Chelsea goes through.

Guus, this is what you need to do to win.  As I said in the prior post, (1) water the pitch well to slow Messi down.  (2) Start Kalou on the right and Malouda on the left.  Lampard in the middle.  Drogba up front.  Essien and Mikel holding midfielders.  If you go one down, then bring on Anelka up front in the second half for Mikel.  For now, Ballack needs to start on the bench.  (3) Make sure Cole doesn’t give Messi the sideline – funnel him inside and then have Essien pick him up.  Not Mikel who gives away too many fouls on the edge of the box.  If Messi tries to go to the middle as he did against Real Madrid, even better for you.  That’s when you have Essien man mark him with Mikel sitting in a holding position behind him.  (4) If Henry doesn’t start, I believe Keita or Busquets will play in holding midfield along with Yaya Toure to help out the two kids at the center of defense.  Resist the temptation to play Ballack even with the reduced Barca team speed if Henry is out.  Yes, he may be good for headers off set pieces, but that’s a luxury you can’t afford in this game.  (5) Make sure Chelsea pumps more diagonal balls into the box.  See how Barca was all at sea during the Real game with crossed balls – they scored both goals on balls like that.  Cech was wasteful with his long clearances straight to Valdes.  (6) Keep possession better than you did at Barca.  Don’t be so nervous.  Barca isn’t that strong at pressing.  You play in the EPL.  You can hang with Liverpool and Man U.  Why be so concerned about Barca’s pressure up the pitch.  Pass your way out.  You always have Drogba to hold the ball up.

Pep, this is what you need to do.  (1) If Henry is out, then play Iniesta down the left and start Keita and Yaya at holding mid behind Xavi, Eto’o and Messi.  Hold Chelsea first, give cover and confidence to Pique and Caceres and wait for Messi to deliver.  If it’s tough going, then bring on Bojan for Keita and push Eto’o wide.  (2) Score a goal.  In fact, score two.  Because I think that’s what you are going to need to win with the defense you have for this game. (3) Shave and get a decent tie.  (4) Start Messi going up the middle to confuse the crap out of Chelsea’s backline and then move him back to the right.

Prediction:  Chelsea 2 Barcelona 1