Madrid, Spain

In Madrid, even the street art is infused with pasión. She may look like a hussy, but I assure you she has a heart of gold like Julia Roberts in “Pretty Woman." Okay, maybe not that pure.

I like how the light, ever-so-delicately, cascades through the available channels in this photo. The ability of the sun to uplift can be a powerful thing. Or so I’ve been told. The last time I left this couch in the past 24 hours was to pick up a baked ziti a few blocks away. The sun was gone at that point. I came home just as despondent as ever. As I engorged myself with Neanderthal-like zeal, the baked ziti was successful in providing transient pleasure, only to leave me high and dry again once the itus and self-loathing took hold. Moral of the story: if you're gonna be in the sun kids, use appropriate UV block.

The juxtaposition of this road hog against the delicate complexion of nature makes for a profound statement on the deconstruction of traditional values in the Mormon household. Get your shit together Mormons.

This could be The Prado museum. To be perfectly honest, I can’t recall. Funny, as The Prado is one of the best museums I’ve ever been to. Never have I been shushed so many times under one roof. You’d think a little animated discourse between two friends over the relative levels of feminist existentialism realized amongst baroque era painters would be encouraged.

Feelin’ those angles bruh bruh.

It sure would be nice to get married in some gardens like this. I can just picture my mother lightly tearing up as my toddler niece disperses rose petals in an even carpet - forging a dazzling path for the nascence of the union. My wife and I share tenderhearted vows that tug on the heartstrings of all and sundry. After the honeymoon we return back home and eventually grow to resent each other. One of us cheats on the other and we both dive for answers at the bottom of a bottle.

Those in glass houses should not cast the first stone. Those in glass houses should totally have a pillow room on the top floor observatory though.

Yo dawg, I heard you like columns. So, you know, I, umm, took a photo of some columns. My favorite part is the columns. I threw in some tree for cheeky measure, but we all know whom the real star of this show is… that’s right, your mans dem chillin’ like Forest Gump in the background. Good work man in the background.

Any plans today? Umm… I was thinking of maybe surrounding myself with a verdant expanse of world-class park while I nestle up against a colossal Roman monument and do some Mad Libs. I might head over to Javier’s and play some Wii bowling instead though.

I am the mighty Persephone. When it gets late in the park and foot traffic begins to dwindle, I like to take a dip o’natural. My mom frowns upon this as she fears I’ll be raped or something. What does she know?

Hey look at that shit. It glows in the dark as he shoots it up into the sky, only to gently float back to earth for yet another subsequent slingshot journey to the cosmos. I must have one.

Hellooooooo. Did somebody call for some sassy Madrid? No Madrid, we're all quite happy with the current level of sass.

Hey Madrid, can I have a word with your urban planners? Yeah, so, I don’t know about you guys, but when I’m walking up stairs I like to be able to follow a proscribed straight path. See this Goya eyesore, it’s kind of impeding my safe passage up the center. Recommendation: raze it and install some monkey bars.

Aaaaand, I officially hate where I live. Thanks Madrid.

From left to right: Joan Jett, Michael Jackson, Judge Lance Ito, Fred Durst, Jim Morrison, the blue power ranger, Edward Snowden, and Jackie Chan.

Roman statues, columns, water. Okay, we get it. So why did you post this then Josh? Why did your mom post it? Umm… she didn’t. Touché – duly noted.

Throngs of exhilarated and restless tourists await the yearly return of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Who will be the first to be touched by his noodly appendage?

Taken from the secret garden. I cannot recall exactly why this area has been ascribed this name but my prevailing theory involves incest.

Word. Ain’t no city that can fuck with my tough, yet elegant facades. That shit right there is craftsmanship homie. What you know about that with your Ikea bed frame and night tables? Frontin' like that shit from Pier One Imports or something. The fuck outta here son.

Hey look at this big square. Sure would be a shame if a bunch of us… gathered here or something…

And there you have it, Picasso’s most famous piece, “Starry Night." I believe this painting symbolizes his mourning over the death of his prized box turtle, Mephistopheles. Later in his career, Picasso would slice off one of his ears after receiving an insider tip about the advances being made in stem cell research. Religious zealots would, in turn, impede this scientific progress causing him to die alone and single-eared. He is buried with his box turtle, Mephistopheles.

Hey Macarena! (Ay!)

Holy Shit. Shrek el Musical was in town and I was unawares. You would think this would have been highlighted on the hostel’s activity board or something. Pub-crawls come and go, but Shrek el Musical is the kind of visceral tour-de-force that engraves itself on your psyche.

Just sauntering around. Doing my thing you know. Enjoying this fine spring day. Boy that sure is a nice statue of Pope John Paul Who Gives a Fuck… aaand I’ve just stolen a bouquet of Valencia Red Roses.

Could anyone direct me to a McDonald’s? I’m getting really tired of the full-flavored cuisine here. If I eat one more fresh, locally grown, ingredient I might start feeling good about my body. Oh shit, there’s a McDonald’s over there. I wonder if they got the twenty piece.

Hey, I was wondering if I could walk down some extensive corridor systems. Bonus points if you can line the path with verdant beauty. Oh you can? Gee, thanks Madrid. My friend told me you were a piece of shit, but I guess this just proves the old adage; a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

Asked to comment on some of the above nature, David Attenborough was quoted as saying, "That shit's just aii for me dawg."

Tootle-lootle-doo. Just gamboling through the park. Oh hi Mr. Peacock, wasn’t expecting to see you before noon. Little known fact about peacocks: it is actually the male who carries such gaudy feathers. This is because all male peacocks are flamboyantly gay as they haven’t prayed hard enough to Jesus. Get your shit together peacocks.

Surreal.

Look at the size of that bank. Seriously, what goes on in there? Prevailing theory: incest.

Translation: “where the geniuses buy their glasses." Yeah, right, like I’m sure Albert Einstein bought his glasses there. What’s that? Stephen Hawking’s wire frames were engineered there? I’ll take 4. Does this one come in tortoise shell?

Say it with me now, “Bo-de-ga."

Sorry Figaro Adolfo Marsillach, but consider your theatre… tagged. Oh you’re dead and what was once maintained at a quality production level has turned into the half-cocked equivalent of off-Broadway dilettante drivel anyway? Cool. So, you don’t mind me spraying a penis on here then, do you?

Shortly after his box turtle, Mephistopheles, died, Picasso led a brief rebellious foray into tagging the streets. Here you can see another crew attempted to tag over one of his works. Picasso responded by staging a dance off, predating “Step-up” by nearly 60 years. Hollywood, as always, knows a cash-cow when it hears it.

Seriously though, if I have to subject my taste buds to the orgasmic bliss of one more goddamn organic paella I am not liable for the indeterminate, chaotic, mayhem that will invariably ensue. Oh nice, a Burger King.

Most likely around midnight and everyone is taking their siesta before they wake up at 2 AM, eat their dinner, regale in pungent sangria as they generate small talk in exceedingly passionate cadence, then raise the fucking roof at the club until 8 AM.

Someone very famous and culturally important was buried just below here. Photography was not permitted in this room. I did not know this. When the woman informed me, I told her I would delete it. I didn’t delete it. It’s on the internet.

Creepin’ up on the museum of archaeology… Oh shit, the vertical hedge spotted me. Bae caught me skulkin'. Well-played squire.

Aaaaand Ms. Bukkake 2011 goes to... the collective female population of Japan.

This guy was chiseling life-like diaphanous folds into precious marble when he was knee-high to a grasshopper. Around that age I was spending most of my time pulling clumps of grass out of the lawn and waiting for the ice cream man to arrive.

Ahh yes, the bitch slap felt round the world. While scholars debate many of the historical details surrounding this pivotal event in Roman history, there is a general consensus of belief that the young heroine first powdered her hand with Gold Bond medicated powder before delivering the blow - paving the way for the beloved, storied tradition endorsed by any self-respecting pimp to this day.

Dear Father, who art in heaven, would you mind sending down a little definitive proof of your existence to literate, rational, people across all lands and cultures? No? No worries. You’re still the best! I’m getting into heaven and it’s totally the bomb there, right? Phew, the implications of the infinite intricacies of beauty and my comparatively ephemeral time in which to immerse myself in them is no longer cause for anxiety! Life is so much better without imagination. Thanks!

¿Dónde está la biblioteca? Oh there it is! I just finished reading “Fifty Shades of Grey” in English for the sixth time and I’ve been meaning to practice my rudimentary Spanish on an appropriately graded literary level. This will be just perfect. Man, those steamy sex scenes will be all the more risqué in Spanish. I’m getting kind of turned on just thinking about it. You’d think it strange a 31-year-old person reading this kind of trash for such base gratification, especially in consideration of the virtually infinite number of quality reads lying dormant in the pantheon of observation. But nope.

I think this is the entrance to Silent Hill. You go in first homie, I'll be right behind you. I, uhh, I just need to run to the store to get some batteries. My, uhh, single blade rc radio remote control helicopter gyro just died on me.

Step right up. Toss a coin in and make a wish. I wish to one day get rich through the hard work and vision of my own entrepreneurial enterprise, to get married to a woman who is both fiercely understanding and challenging of my belief systems, to raise a family that loves to appreciate the world as I do and pursues academic rigor in the direction of their interests. Aaaand 10 years later I’m a junkie selling my grandmother’s silverware for gear. Thanks a lot Madrid.

Feelin’ those angles bruh bruh.

Starting to go into withdrawal. If it gets any worse my hand won’t even be able to steady this camera for a photo. But damn, I don’t know anyone with links in Madrid. Oh look, a dodgy railroad station over there. This seems like just the venue a fine, young, miscreant such as myself would be able to acquire the necessary wares needed to make the soul-crushing tedium of life tolerable for a few more brief moments.

It’s funny, in my lifetime I was one of colonial Ecuador’s foremost minds, inspiring separationist fervor and contributing to the eventual independence of my country.  Now, here I am, staring off into some dodgy railroad station in Madrid and narrating the internal monologue of some guy on his couch. Life’s unpredictably humbling multifarious web of connectivities sure can be amazing if you stop to think about them every now and then. If only I could find some way to express that to others...