Where in the World is Tim?

Warning: The following account is true. It is neither allegory nor hyperbole, rather it is the character description of a real human being alive and on the earth at this very moment. Be afraid.

Perhaps there are those among you who might think that the name "Dan" is an alias I have given this person to protect his anonymity. It is not. I'm not worried that through some freak occurrence Dan will stumble upon my blog and read this entry, because I am fairly certain (in much the same way I am fairly certain there is gravity) that Dan cannot read. Those of you who might think I am being cruelly facetious now, may find you agree with me once you get to know Dan.

Most of the students in the IES program are from Santa Clara University, a jesuit school in California. I cannot speak for the entire Santa Clara population, though the Santa Clara IES students have a way of making IES business majors look smart, and post-op labotomy patients look like MENSA material. If you still think I'm being too hard on them, I will provide a brief bit of evidence. On Monday I was asked by a girl studying for her History class if it was true that the Roman Empire conquered much of Europe. On Sunday (that is the previous day for those of you keeping track) that very same girl was on a tour of Roman ruins with me in northern Catalonia. I laughed politelyt at the question at first, thinking it was a not very clever joke. But she was serious, and something deep inside me got very sad.

Of all the braintrusts out of Santa Clara, Dan is their king. Tall, tan, and blond I have never seen him attired in anything but a very cheap looking backwards baseball cap and a pink pollo (not chicken) shirt. Collar popped. Looking at him it is not hard to get the impression that it is a balloon that sits atop his shoulders.

Originally I did not know his name was Dan. Yet as soon as I saw him, I became perversly interested in him as a human being. Not knowing his name, I dubbed him Spicoli. To meet Dan is to get the reference. He is the tall modern day version of Sean Penn's classic character. The first day of Spanish class when asked to tell the class something about himself en espanol; he replied, in english, that he loved stickers.

If I were the only one to have had contact with Dan among the people in my dorm, I might have not have been so facinated by his character. He may have just blended into the blur of vacant minded Santa Clarans that make up the back rows of my classes. But one night at dinner, Trish, who is one of the ten San Jordi kids and is also from the Boston area, treated the assembled crowd to a story told to her by Dan himself. This is how i learned Dan's name, because no one else could possibly have told this story.

Trish's tale goes something like this:
Last week Spain was hit by a serious of the most spectacular and unpredictable thunderstorms I've ever had the fortune of living through. One day after class Trish found herself with no umbrella, as she began to leave the IES building the skies opened up and the clouds began to empty themselves like it was going out of style. She thought better of walking to the bus is such a squall, and decided to wait for the sun to come out again. There she met a tall, somewhat attractive Santa Clara boy who proceded to initiate a conversation about the weather in a flirtatious manner.

From the way Trish tells it, and from what I know of Dan I'm inclined to believe her, there was no logical lead in to the story he told her after only a minute of attempted flirty banter. I can only assume he was trying to impress her with an anecdote of his own personal inginuity.

The previous night, Dan relayed to Trish, he had gone to a Barcelona football game (thats soccer to you Americans), and a downpour began not unlike the one that was occuring outside the building at that moment. Now, as Dan was interested in having a good time at this game, and as (i can only assume) the rules of football were too difficult to grasp (you mean you can't pick up the ball?), Dan entertained himself by having a few too many drinks. But no so many that he was incapable of logical thought as he will momentarily demostraight. When those drinks hit his bladder Dan realized that he had an option other than finding the servicios. He figured he was already sufficiently wet due to the storm, who would notice a little more liquid?

Dan peed his pants. He made the concious decision to pee in his pants. He then made the decision not only to make this information public, but he thought the knowlege that he was a pants pee-er would somehow impress Trish.

I am well aware of the mathematic principle that two points make a line, not a pattern. So if you will, please allow me to expand upon Dan's character just a little more. This pants pee-er is not a bad guy. He might even be considered friendly, not unlike Lenny in "Of Mice and Men". My original urge to dislike Spicoli was set aside when, on one of the many bus rides that made up the IES Orientation Trip, punctuated only by short excursions into places of varying interestingness, Dan approached me. At the time I was reading "Moby Dick" (which is wonderful by the way), and in no mood to socialize. He seemed, however, not as interested in socializing, as discussing the book. Now I, as a nerd, am always eager to have an academic discussion (I'm sick, I know). I think in my eagerness to talk about how much I was enjoying the complexity and imagery of the book, I over estimated Dan's ability to keep up. He admitted, not far into our discussion, that he had only ever begun "Moby Dick". But, he always had trouble getting into books written in verse. Iambic pentameter confused him. Admittedly, iambic pentameter confuses me too. But not so much as his statement. I looked at him dumbly. Something about his mind was contagious, and I could not form a thought.

While I try to regain use of my brain I will entertain you with the fist passage from Herman Melville's "Moby Dick":
"Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely- having little money in my purse, and nothing particularly to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim around the mouth; whenever it is a damp drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can".

That is not iambic pentameter. That's not even verse. Dan had absolutely no reason to comfront me and lie about "Moby Dick", let alone a lie for which I had the controdicting truth in my hands.

Dan you poor fool. You sweet pants wetter.

Mark my words, if trends continue, he'll be president one day.

-Tim M Lunardoni
(of the dry pants)