Scandalon

I ate a bacon, egg and cheese for breakfast. If we sold this shit to Europe, it would correct our economy (and enfatinate the rest of the world).

Went for a drive in the woods and met up with the Betukers and their horses. I sat on Cooper and had him walk around. I did extremely slow figure eights. Not exactly an action-packed thrill-ride, but my balls were too chicken to trot. Cooper seemed unimpressed.

Woke up at 6am, jumped a plane to Ginebra at 9am, jumped another plane to NYC, landed at about 2pm, about 14 hours later.

Air Swiss is the shit. They gave us a sandwich on the way to Ginebra, then fed us twice on the NYC leg. Several rounds of drinks. I watched three movies on the screen built into the chair in front of me. There were muffins. It all served to make a horrendous day of a travel a straightforward annoying day of travel. Why don’t all airlines do things the way they do? Do they get government money? Are they shipping drugs, too?

Linny met me at the airport and we both got a ride in the van. As my apartment is occupied, I shucked out to the woods to set up camp in my sis’s unoccupied jam. A delirious dinner at the Long Ridge Tavern…

Now what? Do I continue this “blog”? I’m not really in a strange exciting land. Well, Brooklyn eventually. I guess I’ll do it until I get bored. Day 1: Drank. Day 2: Drank. Day 3: Drank, kickball. Day 4: Drank…

A calm fade out to Barcelona…We grabbed some good eats, where we witnessed a robbery (dude got caught…they let him go). A final drink at La Fianna, and adios.

Grabbed some din-din at Oviso. Surprisingly tasty. A quick brew and we were homebound. Christian did tricks on his Bicing machine.

Sunday was gray. Christian and I took it upon ourselves to do an English-speaking pub crawl, and generally got trashed while watching futbol. Goals met in full.

There was some kind of wacky market thing going on all down the Arc de Triomf area. I cruised through that, swung around to the beach, bought that stupid leather bracelet thing. I’ve been looking for one of those since I lost my other one of those…two years ago. Bought a gay belt.

When I got home, there was much guitarring and food. I stuck with that, and added beer.

I continued my search for a Catalan fireman jacket to no avail.

Saw Darjeeling Limited again with Noe. Love that flick.

It fucking hailed! It was awesome! It would pour rain, then the sun would come out, then there would be thunder, then the sun, then fucking hail and lightning! Then all the clouds left. Glorious.

None of my shit got fucked up, ’cause I don’t own shit that that sits outside.

Pasatore, La Fianna, et al. Met some Swedish girls who half-dragged my to Chupitos (”Shots”), where we did shots. Then we went to Buddha Bar.

Buddha Bar was a club. The (hotchick) bouncer at the front was all “Are you on a list?” and they were all “Uh, we’re Swedish chicks” and she took a look at me and said “Next time, get on the list”. We went into this club of clubs. The music was great. The girls were all smoking-hot. It was awful.

Within two minutes I was tapped to keep horrible dudes at bay, and within 4 minutes I had pissed off every awful, awful dude within two dude groups of our Swedish chick group. Every one of them deserved it. Fucking awful!!!

Soon, we were escorted into the VIP section of the bar, except I wasn’t escorted at all. I actually just got the rope. Now, I know how things go down, and I know I’m a scruffy dude in a sticky club, but they did it sneaky-like. I gave the them the finger and headed out of the bar. One bouncer dude grabbed me. I told him (in English) that he was to let go of me. He did.

I bailed. More bouncer dudes said shit that nobody understands at the door, so I threw up what could have been gang signs and said “Adios”. Fucking clubs. I really think that will be the last time.

I was so pissed that the healthy walk home did nothing to calm me down, until I walked passed a guy near Arco de Triomfo playing guitar. Hoooly shit, what a glorious life. I grabbed my own guitar from my apt, sat down directly underneath the Arc, and played some songs that nobody’s ever heard before. The guy who inspired me eventually wandered over, said hello, and taught me Hotel California.

I knew that shit would happen. A glorious night that went to shit got resurrected by playing music. Why would I do anything else?

Met up with them Parisians at Princesa 23 for a few. Called it a night relatively early. Noe was yacking.

I fell back asleep…Gift cards slash bling…

Hace mucho sol. I grabbed my guitarra and wandered to the park. Then I wandered to the beach. Then Christian wandered to the beach. Then we chilled directly out on the beach, near a dog who needed no leash. The whole affair was glorious. We met a local woman who came to the beach every weekend to remind her of why she loved Barcelona (mainly, everyone she talked to said it was the bomb diggety).

We went back to local bat later on for a casual drink. We ended up watching what we believe to be Amiga Man, the precursor to I Am Legend. Cool shit, like Barbarella.

Word them directly up. I left France.

I met up with a slew of Germans at the toothpick place near Pasatore. We talked about sports. I marveled at their understanding of English. We wandered to Local Bar and they discussed my singularity. We met up with Christian’s friend Jay and wandered to Pipa. We were the only ones there, but that quickly changed (you know, after I showed up).

I met whom I believe to be my first Russian. She (like Jay) was here for a talk on architecture and building tools to help you build buildings in AutoCAD. Some dude she was with was the main speaker. Interesting chat all around.

We ended the night by buying beer in the streets and drinking on the steps of the post office…I stumbled into the darkness with nary more than a wave goodbye…

Ooooh Champs Elysees…Sunny day. I cruised along various parks. Parc de Monceau has this thing where people simply unleash their children. It was mayhem. Kids scrambling everywhere, violently.

I cruised out on a grassy spot near some students and was later kicked off by a fat lady with a whistle. She was all fweeep! Fweeep! From there I wandered around to some cafes and what not.

We ate dinner at a fancy joint near Ile de la Cite. The Seine river looks mad good under street light. We then drank at what was sort of an Irish Pub. Then we went to this other place that had “live DJs” downstairs to watch one guy dance horribly. Then we went to an outdoor place.

We bought a cigerette from the table next to us with the useless change in our pockets. They never actually took the change, but the waiter did despite a meager protest (”Is for me?” “No.” “Oi, oi…is for me…”). He was an awful waiter, but we felt bad because some American girls just walked away without paying. I made new friends/enemies in Deutche and then we wandered off to another outdoor place.

We discussed chauvinism and made friends with an eavesdropping girl who took us to another place or two, but everything was closed. We grabbed a cab with no problem. I don’t remember how, but Chez Matt was wearing a blanket as if it were a cape at the time.

At some point during the night, and I’m not sure which, I’m pretty sure I bought a beer for approximately US$20.

We bought a chicken and a baguette and just ate those. It was messy. The sun came out for a minute, and I’ll be damned if the weather didn’t turn pleasant.

We wandered over to a friend’s place nearby and spoke in numerous languages. They had a great lofted apartment. We went to a Colombian place and ate mad quesadillas and guac. We strolled to a bar or two, but found nothing but cold.

Chez Matt and I went in search of drinking. While passing a bar with a big window, a man inside wearing a top hat and boa gave Matt a deep bow. We dipped into a different bar. He eventually followed us into this bar and chatted Matt up. Awesome.

We were probably at another gay bar, because everyone was very gay and dancing and having a gay old time. The music was my favorite genre: Wedding. Matt contends that this is synonymous with “disco” but it clearly has a more funky side. We got quite funky and very drunk.

It fucking snowed! Like inches! I checked out the Museo d’Orlys. It was closed. I checked out the Eiffel Tower. It was tall. I ate crepe. It was crepe.

On the way back, in a big intersection, there was this little kid in a Batman backpack freaking out. Nobody seemed to notice, but he was not calm. I just sort of squatted next to him and said “Hey man…You alright?” he said something along the lines of “Joo ne se pa mi maMA!!!” which translates roughly to “Oh fuck, I’m lost!” I then empowered some French-speakers to help this kid out.

They phoned his mom and went to either meet up with her or stuff him into the back of a windowless van. My job is done.

We rolled on Mona. Glorious architecture here, and, due to omelettes, the French know about breakfast. Finally! We ate omelettes and went to the Louvre.

It was packed (free admission). The Louvre used to be part of some king’s house. He would just hang out there sometimes when it wasn’t too cold. The idea of Kings is suddenly more insane. Like, next level class separation. And wars and shit. Good ol’ The Dark Ages.

We grabbed some grub and a drink at a cafe and headed home before it started to rain and snow. We then played StarCraft for hours and it was everything we hoped it would be.

Beautiful day. Unfortunately, I spent most of it packing or traveling.

I returned Mierdita. No more scooter.

The beach was packed for good reason. It was just perfect weather. A welcome change to a comparatively gray March.

I shucked it to the airport and jumped a plane to Paris. Flew over the Eiffel Tower during sunset, that was neat. A few trains and metros later and I met up at Chez Matt’s place. We wandered around a bit and ate some raw meats. Then we drank odd beer in a cafe. Then we wandered into no less than three gay clubs.

Paris is expensive and hailing a cab is impossible. Love them outfits, though.

We rolled to Fianna for a quick drink, then on to Local Bar which was having some kind of weird fashion show reception. We never got a name or a card or anything, but they were showing slides of local fashion school folk on the screens. Quite nice.

The crux of the evening involved Manchester. We met up with Josh there. I ended up talking to a girl from a fictional island who was living in London, on holiday in Barcelona. That was interesting. Her large-glassesed friend lead us to meet up with a few more of her friends, then we went to some club in Raval. It was mainly a bunch of dudes waiting for an unreceptive bouncer, so I stumbled on home.

Hadda catch up. Bling stuff.

We went to the market with the vegitable roof for breakfast and saw many animals that no longer have their skin. I ate a baguette.

Noe cooked up some dinner that included the cheese we bought in France when we went skiing. It smelled like a dead cat, but changed its tune when melted over potatoes.

We hopped an autobus to Sevilla after ditching the rental car. Lovely city. We wandered around with no map and no problem until we came upon a grassy spot in front of the university. We wasted in the sun and shade and practiced handstands again. A local gave a modest cheer as my successful handstand resulted in every single thing in my pants’ pockets falling onto my head. I walk around with a lot of shit in my pockets.

We ambled in every direction, noting the pretty architecture and listless nature of the whole town. It was warm in the sun and cool in the shade without a cloud in the sky. We almost went to a bullfight, but the dude selling the tickets was a sketchball.

Walking was too much effort, so we just found some place to sit down. Then we ate. Then we drank. Then we met some folks from Ireland, London/Paris, and Wales while drinking. We passed the time in delightful conversation while continuing to drink. Chronology forced our hand, and we shucked it to the airport so as not to miss the last flight to Barcelona…

Flight was delayed, fuckers. We grabbed some bad sandwiches, awful muffins, and brew to pass the time in the same manner as before, but on a much crappier scale. We passed-ass out on the flight and groggily made our way back to Arc de Triomf, with an F1 wannabe behind the wheel of our cab.

Our trip south was a rollicking success.

Damn, this place nice. We rented a tiny-ass car from Jerez and proceeded to drive in various directions. Our first stop was Cadiz. It’s like a long city. Very ugly at first, then pretty near the tip. We practiced shitty handstands on the beach and avoided making eye contact with topless grandmothers. At one point, inspired by kids a third our age, we tried doing flips off of the sand dunes with crap results and The Pain of Learning.

We drove along the highway until we got bored or saw something interesting and eventually ended up driving along super country backroads with chickens and cows and horses and shit. Gorgeous. We stopped into a “cafe” to grab something to eat and, after being stared at wide-eyed by the local yokels, we decided to just grab some muffins and Doritos and go somewhere else. We ate on top of the car overlooking a glorious sea of grassy rolling hills, complete with livestock.

On our way to Arcos, we saw a biggass hill. Perhaps a mountain. From signs it appeared to be Medina-Sedonia. We drove as high up as we could, then hiked on foot. Near the tippy-top, we passed a car in which sex was happening, jumped the fence of the water plant, and took a few pictures at the highest point in Andalucia (or at least the highest point that I could see…that wasn’t very close to there). The sun set as we ate wacky sandwiches while overlooking highschool kids “hanging out” near a rotary that the same cars kept looping through, blasting awful techno.

Near dark, we finally arrived at Arcos. It was confusing and resistant to automobiles. Looked pretty from the road, though, all lit up and shit. Dead tired, we once again made our way to Jerez and crashed near the cathedral. The weather was perfect from start to finish.