Ivan is here, after a long journey from Barcelona to Frankfurt to Chicago to Mon Cal to here. (Just kidding about the Chicago stop...what priest would subject his students to flying through O'Hare?). He got in a few nights ago, and was very nice until he realized that I would be trying to practice Spanish with him, at which point he cringed and tried to run away from us, before he was mistaken for a Mexican by a border guard and shot*.
Just kidding about the shooting thing. But damn, those cattle prods leave some amazing welts. Anyways Ivan is now profoundly irritated by my Spanish, which is roughly on the level of a four-year-old's, except most four-year-old's can roll their rr's. I can understand him a little when he speaks Spanish in that deep bass voice of his, at least enough to understand that deeply funny and slightly profane Spanish declaration his friend Victor made concerning American History (ask me about it).
In other news, Harry Potter wins 3 Quidditch Matches.