I’ll bring the bottle and you bring your glasses, So you can see what hits you

So I got nothing except this one picture to post. It’s the dog in the building next to me, hanging out on the balcon. But I do have some ideas for more stuff to post, just have to actually take the pictures. I got nothing but time the next two days, and tomorrow night should be perfect for taking them.

So tomorrow is the 52nd anniversary of Aldous Huxley taking his first acid trip. True story. Interesting, huh? He was 61 at the time, and eight years away from death. Yeah, I’m full of fun facts like that. I just have a hard time remembering them.

You might not be hearing anything from me for a couple of weeks. We’ll see if I have some time, but for a change I actually have something important to do. No time for intranet hi-jinx.

Happy birthday, Jeebus!

……

Oh shit, I almost forgot. So, they have this Christmas tradition here in Catalunya. It’s called “El tió“, and it’s basically an anthropomorphic log that kids beat with sticks to make it poop presents. Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to make that up if I tried. Each class at my school got to beat this log and then grab the presents that it “shat” out (they actually cover the presents with a blanket). Man, it just gets weirder and weirder here. I love it.

I can’t tell you who I found, Except that it rhymes with dissolute

Spanish Graffiti, pt. 5 (Valencia) -

He wants to be like Leif Erikson, To discover America

Here’s the pictures from Valencia last weekend. Sorry for the long time (only five days, I guess, not too bad) between posts.

These were taken the first night/early morning. It was impressive and strange to walk into, like some city only occupied by late night buses, Christmas lights and decorations and drunken hobos asking for a spare Euro or two.

The same plaza during the day time.

Valencia is about midway down the eastern Spanish coast. It has one of the longest and most depressing beaches I’ve ever been to. Maybe because it was cold as fuck, and all of the seaside attractions were closed for the winter. This is from what I call the Valencia Coney Island. It was a strange, sparse, tiny amusement park about three minutes away from the beach, with miniature versions of all the rides expected at a theme park.

From the side of one of the carny trailers. Teddy bears and AK-47’s.

One of the best parts about the park (other than that it was completely abandoned, yet still had tourists and locals meandering through it) was the “Horror House” (actual name on side of building).  Even though it was only big enough for 10-year-olds to ride, it still had some of the most gruesome, disturbing pictures painted all along it.  It was amazing and really strange.  Goddamn it, this place is great sometimes!

I love just coming upon things like this that seem like you’ve walked into some weird parallel dimension.

A tattoo shop we found in the west side of town.  Tattoo shops are pretty few and far between here.  I have to see what kind of rates they charge in Spain.  Maybe I could get something like that bad-ass bald eagle.  The ladies will love it.

Check the sky.  It’s not as vivid here, but it was straight-up Easter pink and blue.  Something out of a pastel nightmare.

I really didn’t know what Valencia was going to be like, and it surprised me.  If I had to compare it to a city in the States, it’d be like Chicago.  Not too much to see, tourist-wise, but more of a cool city to live in or come to for a break some weekend.

It was nice to get out of Catalunya for a few days.  While Catalan is still spoken in Valencia, it’s more of an actual Spanish city.  I could read every sign.  I could eavesdrop and understand what people were talking about.  Waiters and bartenders didn’t look at me strange when I spoke to them in Spanish (I have been trying to order in Catalan lately, though).  It was very refreshing to actually be in Spain, not some bastard step-son of Spain where everyone resents their political status and overseers.

We (me and this other American who teaches up in Girona) stayed at this hostel called the Purple Nest.  It was cheap and nice.  Lots of interesting people to have late-night chats about old American cartoon shows with.  The first night I got into a long conversation with this Scotsman who was sleeping in the bed below me.  He told me that Spain was shit and he’d rather go back to Glasgow.  Maybe he’s right.  I’ll have to see.  Scotland and Ireland sometime, definitely.

I got a couple of words to say, To all you strong and silent types

Spanish Graffiti, pt. 4 (Girona)-

Yeah, I know. More graffiti. Hey, you don’t have to read it. I see no gun to your head or twisting of your arm.

The next five are from the same wall mural next to the Girona train station. One of the best pieces I’ve ever seen, but the quality of these pictures might not do it justice.

Girona had amazing work all over the city. Honestly, I didn’t take enough pictures, believe it or not.

This, to me, is the Spanish culture, or at least the Spanish culture that I want to see. I’d rather spend all day walking around a city, taking pictures of these, than walking around all day in a cold, quiet museum staring at paintings of dead people made by dead people. Sure, they’re beautiful. Sure, they’re “historically important”. But I don’t see as much value in them as most people do. They show me nothing about what’s happening here now. Call it the relevance of art, or plain lack of class, but I could care less.

I haven’t been to one museum here, and hope that will stay the same. I can see entirely too much culture just walking down the street or hanging out in shitty dirt bars, talking to guys that have never left the country (or region) in their lives.

Before I had status, And before I had a pager

Pt. 2 of Girona, as promised:

These are the high water lines from a narrow street near the base of the hill, when they have bad rain storms. Girona isn’t a coastal town, but is trapped between two mountain ranges. So, they have some nasty weather during the fall. The red line at the bottom was at about stomach level.

Part of the massive movie collection at the house.

The beginning of the wall walk.

That didn’t seem like 15 beers

Went to Girona this last weekend. It’s about an hour north of Barcelona, two hours north of Tarragona, and just south of the Pyrenees and the French border. This is going to be a two-parter, because I have that many pictures. And expect an entire Girona graffiti post coming soon, as well. I’m trying at least to get back into the habit of taking pictures.

This is one of the views of the city from the giant wall that surrounds the old city.

This is the view from the balcony of the house where I was staying, right on the Onyar river. Oh yeah, I stayed with Claude, this kid in the same program as me that teaches around Girona. He lives with the director (principal) of his school and his family, who have one of the biggest houses/buildings I’ve stepped foot in in Spain.

A page from a French phrasebook I found in the house (the mother is French). I can’t imagine what reaction you would get if you asked a Frenchie if they minded not smoking. It’d be like asking them to stop eating stinky cheese or watching Jerry Lewis movies.

Walking through the back hills of the city, we came upon this little caged-in shrine. At the base of it on the ground was this plaque.

Apparently, in 1978, Jesus left a bloody footprint at this site. Just like Bigfoot, it was the only evidence of his visit.

So they got some miniature versions of Jesus and Mary and locked them in this little cave right behind the plaque.

Creepy shrine/altar in a pitch-black hole. This was taken with the full flash on. This is where the blood of newborn babes is offered to Jeebus for eternal potency and fertility.

Some store where you can by Roman costumes for re-enactments of Christ’s crucifixion. I’m not kidding.

Pt. 2 in a day or two.