Today a bird pooped inside one of my high-top Converse All Stars.... while I was wearing them. I'm particularly puzzled as to how it landed inside my shoe without hitting the outside of the shoe, my leg or any other part of my body. Birds must be getting smarter, or improving their aim.
Oh, and I'll blog about London soon.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The Day of Rest-- Kinda.
I am so sore. I have been going to the gym pretty consistently for the past month and a half... Running, lifting, stretching, etc. but none of this prepared me for me return to the court. I always argued that basketball worked different muscles, more effectively. This is a true testament. It all hurts. In a great way, of course.
I went to the gym today--not to exercise more because that would be impossible. I warmed up for a little while, stretched A LOT, used the rolly massage machines, and then shamelessly sat in the steam room for a long while. I love the gym.
I thoroughly enjoyed the 7-ish block walk back to my apartment. It's not spring weather anymore, but its not quite cold. I saw a Dino Pan, which I thought was a funny name for a bakery. I looked at my reflection in every store storefront window and repeatedly noticed how much I like these jeans. I stopped at a park. I swung. My butt didn't fit very well in the swing. I saw many classic Spanish stores, brimming with every little appliance in the world that no one has any legitimate use for. Those stores are perfect for people like my brother Eric or our cousin Ryan, who buy things just to buy shopping, not based on any need or desire. I wandered towards my building and finally realized that sign for La Crema, the cafe next door, reminds me of Hot Dog on a Stick. I had always known there was something about it.
Now, I am going to spend the rest of my lazy sunday coloring, lounging, eating fruit, and maybe, eventually doing some work. Life is good.
I went to the gym today--not to exercise more because that would be impossible. I warmed up for a little while, stretched A LOT, used the rolly massage machines, and then shamelessly sat in the steam room for a long while. I love the gym.
I thoroughly enjoyed the 7-ish block walk back to my apartment. It's not spring weather anymore, but its not quite cold. I saw a Dino Pan, which I thought was a funny name for a bakery. I looked at my reflection in every store storefront window and repeatedly noticed how much I like these jeans. I stopped at a park. I swung. My butt didn't fit very well in the swing. I saw many classic Spanish stores, brimming with every little appliance in the world that no one has any legitimate use for. Those stores are perfect for people like my brother Eric or our cousin Ryan, who buy things just to buy shopping, not based on any need or desire. I wandered towards my building and finally realized that sign for La Crema, the cafe next door, reminds me of Hot Dog on a Stick. I had always known there was something about it.
Now, I am going to spend the rest of my lazy sunday coloring, lounging, eating fruit, and maybe, eventually doing some work. Life is good.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Shomer Shabbos
Today was great. I discovered my new favorite place in Barcelona, next to La Boqueria:
El Parc de L'Espanya Industrial
This park appeals to all my abnormal interests, with its enormous prison like watchtowers, menacing dinosaur-ish slide, [currently] emptied out lake, and.... STREETBALL COURTS. Yes, I said it. There is a place to play basketball in Barcelona. I never thought this day would come.
I played for about four hours and it was so wonderful. Oh, and I played really, really well. Apparently if you don't use it, you don't lose it.
To end my day, I made a tremendous grocery shopping excursion to La Boqueria and the cheap grocery store. I got two kilos (4.5 pounds) of delicious strawberries for only two euro. SWEET DEAL! Not to mention all the rest of my fruits and veggies for a grand total of six euro. That is something I will surely miss in the States.
El Parc de L'Espanya Industrial
This park appeals to all my abnormal interests, with its enormous prison like watchtowers, menacing dinosaur-ish slide, [currently] emptied out lake, and.... STREETBALL COURTS. Yes, I said it. There is a place to play basketball in Barcelona. I never thought this day would come.
I played for about four hours and it was so wonderful. Oh, and I played really, really well. Apparently if you don't use it, you don't lose it.
To end my day, I made a tremendous grocery shopping excursion to La Boqueria and the cheap grocery store. I got two kilos (4.5 pounds) of delicious strawberries for only two euro. SWEET DEAL! Not to mention all the rest of my fruits and veggies for a grand total of six euro. That is something I will surely miss in the States.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Rampant Children, Equestrian Grooming, and Prominent Polio
Alright, I'm back blogging again.
It was a beautiful, very spring day here in Barcelona. I spent it wandering aimlessly, watching and observing, laying on the beach reading a book, then wandering back to my apartment for a nap with my balcony doors wide open. Perfect. Here were a few highlights:
I was walking down La Rambla, minding my own business, when I see a child coming toward me, completely unaccompanied. He couldn't have been more than five, though probably even less. He had a platinum blonde, wavy mullet and wore a Winnie the Pooh shirt that said "Hanging Out". And he wasn't happy. As he approached, I was blatantly staring at him, trying to put all these wonderful pieces together in my mind, and thankful for my very dark sunglasses, even though staring is entirely socially acceptable in this country. Then, as he passes by my right side, I see his frown deepen to a disapproving scowl and the little punk tried to kick me, right in the leg. He narrowly missed, as we were walking in opposite directions, but the damage was done. He is clearly a troubled child, tormented daily by the unfortunate and conflicting hair and wardrobe decisions of his parents. Now he's gone so far as to take his aggression out on others, hoping this will ease the pain of his constant punishment. Poor, poor child.
Next, on my way to the beach, I was walking along the port, through an area frequently used for promotional events. As usual, workers were setting up a bouncer and various carts for a BBVA (a Spanish bank) extravaganza. Suddenly, I was struck by a particularly pungent, and oddly familiar odor. Strong, clean, minty with a hint of lemon...It smelled just like the horse shampoo my aunt and cousin used when I was a kid! I hadn't thought of that in years, but suddenly I was remembering being five years old, walking around the ranch, riding the horses, getting stung by bees and trying to build tree houses. I love that scents have the ability to bring back even the faintest memories.
Finally, although Polio has nearly been eradicated, it's crutch remains. While in the United States, any sprained ankle, severely stubbed toe, or even paralyzed leg will warrant the use of underarm crutches, Europe is different. Here, they issue the forearm variety, and while I understand it is just one more cultural difference, I can't help but laugh a little every time I see them, and think of them as Polio crutches--which shouldn't even be funny! But I don't think I'm alone in this. Some of my fellow Americans here find it equally bizarre and humorous.
It was a beautiful, very spring day here in Barcelona. I spent it wandering aimlessly, watching and observing, laying on the beach reading a book, then wandering back to my apartment for a nap with my balcony doors wide open. Perfect. Here were a few highlights:
I was walking down La Rambla, minding my own business, when I see a child coming toward me, completely unaccompanied. He couldn't have been more than five, though probably even less. He had a platinum blonde, wavy mullet and wore a Winnie the Pooh shirt that said "Hanging Out". And he wasn't happy. As he approached, I was blatantly staring at him, trying to put all these wonderful pieces together in my mind, and thankful for my very dark sunglasses, even though staring is entirely socially acceptable in this country. Then, as he passes by my right side, I see his frown deepen to a disapproving scowl and the little punk tried to kick me, right in the leg. He narrowly missed, as we were walking in opposite directions, but the damage was done. He is clearly a troubled child, tormented daily by the unfortunate and conflicting hair and wardrobe decisions of his parents. Now he's gone so far as to take his aggression out on others, hoping this will ease the pain of his constant punishment. Poor, poor child.
Next, on my way to the beach, I was walking along the port, through an area frequently used for promotional events. As usual, workers were setting up a bouncer and various carts for a BBVA (a Spanish bank) extravaganza. Suddenly, I was struck by a particularly pungent, and oddly familiar odor. Strong, clean, minty with a hint of lemon...It smelled just like the horse shampoo my aunt and cousin used when I was a kid! I hadn't thought of that in years, but suddenly I was remembering being five years old, walking around the ranch, riding the horses, getting stung by bees and trying to build tree houses. I love that scents have the ability to bring back even the faintest memories.
Finally, although Polio has nearly been eradicated, it's crutch remains. While in the United States, any sprained ankle, severely stubbed toe, or even paralyzed leg will warrant the use of underarm crutches, Europe is different. Here, they issue the forearm variety, and while I understand it is just one more cultural difference, I can't help but laugh a little every time I see them, and think of them as Polio crutches--which shouldn't even be funny! But I don't think I'm alone in this. Some of my fellow Americans here find it equally bizarre and humorous.
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