Barcelona, Spain - Part 2

A couple of mildly infuriating variances in the structural symmetry here. Can you spot them? If you answered yes to that question, you may want to consider a little break from your internetting. Perhaps embark on a journey beyond the safe harbor of your front door. I’ve actually heard good things about the world outside my sheetrock, but until paramount manifold impetus for movement arises, those reports will have to remain unsubstantiated.

 You could host a soap box derby on this bitch’s face.

Hey guys, look, “Hair” is playing! Should we go check out ticket costs? Ummm…. nah, I think imma just chill back tonight homie, but you go on and do your thing playa.

Contrary to what the “CHAOS” tag may be advocating, I’d have to say that this harmonic little nook was nothing short of precious. As a matter of fact, those finely manicured greens are just begging for a convivial, kid-friendly, picnic. I’ll bring the hummus. Keep up the good work CHAOS.

 Shipping containers will always remind me of season two of “The Wire." I’ve always maintained that this season was aberrational inasmuch as it didn’t quite embroil the viewer in the thorny complexities of what can be considered ethical in an inner-city America resigned to play by its own set of rules - as the other seasons so instinctively and agonizingly did. One day, however, I found myself wrapped up in an online forum back-and-forth with someone who espoused an opposing perspective. At one point in our exchange of discourse, I crafted a meticulously analytical, yet objective, rejoinder addressing any of his arguments that held a modicum of merit. A good amount of time was placed into the construction of that forum post. He never replied back. While I’d like to interpret this as a tacit deposition of capitulation, I cannot say for sure. It’s possible the poster lost interest in the thread, went on a prolonged vacation, died of autoerotic asphyxiation or any other plausible scenario rendering him afk and unable to reply. You never can tell with the internet, can you? Pretty neat look at Barcelona from the shipping yards anyhow…

 Fuck it, Why not?

 Good afternoon folks. This is your captain speaking. We’re currently cruising at a cool 1500 feet. We should have you at your destination within the next, oh, say, two to three minutes. In the mean time, if you’ll take a look outside to your left you can catch a great view of my aunt Theresa’s coop building. It’s fairly non-descript from the outside, but they’ve just installed new high-efficiency washer and dryer machines in the basement. She estimates saving nearly 11 euros per annum with the resulting reduction in detergent measure, but readily admits there may be some holes in the algorithm she used to arrive at that projection. She’s factored in a standard deviation of error where n = 1.5 euros. however, so you might want to consider eating organic from now on.

 With a relatively decent pair of binoculars, one can peer into Theresa’s coop from here. Although, if you espy anything more provocative than her daily viewing of “Wheel of Fortune” or hours of blankly staring into the wall while petting any given one of six cats, consider yourself fortunate.

 Feelin’ those angles bruh bruh.

While the memory of posting exultant vigil at this precipice draws back to me with vivid blithe and clarity, the current state of lying in bed - snow showering beyond my windows - with thoughts of the highly-likely probability of having to traverse through it all as I acrimoniously enter my place of work tomorrow, tragically transforms the rendering of this recollection into a melancholic parable of existential grief.

Okay everyone. If you could all just pose in a fashion that suggests a congenital calm and abounding serenity with the universe and your place within it, that would be great.

Hey Barcelonan urban planners. Keep up the good work.

Your Friend and Confidant,

Blanche Devereaux

No European city would be complete without some sort of pseudo-castle I made no attempt to learn about.

“The juxtaposition of this anti-aircraft howitzer to the salacious curves of the marbleized figure…”  is just the type of empty prosaic preface I would expect to hear from any given number of assholes that has never attempted to think for himself.

Something told me I should have brought my fish-eye lens and K2 Mach 90 custom rollerblades! So many potentially righteous photos deprived a radical genesis owing to a mere lapse in prudent foresight. Get your shit together Josh. If there's any silver lining to this all, it's that "NOFX" would appear to still have a following in Barcelona. I was worried that the legacy of this inconspicuously gifted and culturally era-defining band may have remained unsung overseas.

Man, that sure was a great deal on the organic Greek yogurt I just bought. I mean, I’m not sure I needed 180 ounces of it, but a discount of that exceptional measure seldom sees the light of day. The problem is, Greek yogurt tends to be a little too dry, chalky, and bland for me sometimes. If only I had some sort of bold, flavorful emissary of glucose to mix into it all. What’s up with all the raw honey over here by the way? Who buys this shit?

Yeah, what you need homie? I got anything you could want in this Dark Side of the Moon messenger bag. You ever sync that album up with “The Wizard of Oz” after a couple of hits of LSD? One time my friends and I did this when we were in college. That was a trip for the ages. I remember telling everyone the next day about the uncanny synchronization between instrumental, lyric, plot motif, and character action. A few years later, the buddy who had sold me the liquid acid divulged that it was mere tap water all along. I was actually one of the unknowing participants in a control group he was using for psych class. Turns out I’m a complete and utter tosser.

In this placard, a dapper gentleman kindly directs a horse to the exit. It goes without saying, but the erection of this public notice was completed well before the age in which chivalry officially died.

The guy in red jacket was our tour guide – a veritable preceptor of arcane and culturally enriching material regarding Barcelona and Spain in its entirety. Or so I’ve been told. I was mostly hanging back distances just outside of earshot and taking photos of dubious graffiti.

Hey guys, come in. I don’t bite! Unless you want me to. In which case, let’s start with your children. I find my venomous incisors to be far more pernicious and enduring if I can sink them into younger, suppler, more impressionably helpless skin.

RAWR. Terrace or balcony – you decide! After that, inspect the architecture surrounding your windows, compare, and let the ineludible dolor saturate your being.

Hey look, Invader left his iconic, indisputably fame-worthy, trademark on Barcelona. Of chief interest in this photo, we can all agree, however, is the pigeon nesting above. Keep up the good work pigeon.

Guy in the shirt with horizontal purple stripes is up to some “Arlington Road” shit.

Never since the inception of this blog have I had more instantaneous heterogenous fodder for which to construct commentary. In light of this oversaturation and the invariable second-thoughts I would eternally retain over my ultimate selection, I would just like to point out that the rotund woman in the background with beige get-up is, in fact, straight killin’ it! She looks like a character from ‘The Far Side” or something.

Hey guys. What’s going on in this back street? Oh nothing, just back street stuff…

Ahh, that interior of an inground pool color - good choice.

Sure sun, feel free to erase whatever you see fit. Just do me a favor and leave a couple luminescent diagonal stripes or something.

Come close my dear.

No, yet closer my love.

Said the wolf in grandmother’s clothing.

Wow, you’ve really gotta be impressed with the craftsmanship behind those flying buttresses. Or not - no one’s holding a gun to your head or anything. Although, come to think of it, for no finite amount of reasons, that would actually be a great misfortune if you happened to be reading this blog just as someone decided to put a gun to your head. I’d also like to note at this juncture that I have no idea what the actual structural requisites for a flying buttress entail. Those are most likely arches of some sort. I googled flying buttress at some point in this thought process but was too lazy to read the wiki entry so I just vacantly perused google images instead. My nomadic attention span didn’t even afford me enough time or concentration to make an educated inference towards these matters.

Feelin’ those angles bruh bruh.

This is the street art of an illustrious Spanish sprayer who goes by the name “Pez”. Pez translates to fish in English. Don’t say I never taught you anything. For those of you who knew that already, just play along. It’s hard to really get mad at any of Pez’s pieces. If you do, however, happen to find yourself disgruntled in the wake of his artistry, then you might wanna hang out with my mom.

Fuck it, why not?

Despite his buddy’s fierce backing, Miguel was unable to stick the landing, which has led many to question if, ironically, it was the pressure derived from that very encouragement which corrupted his form. The seemingly innocuous bail out ensuing after the photo resulted in the slight fracture of Miguel’s third metatarsal. This would have sequestered many lesser skaters to the bench for quite some time, but not Miguel, who kept on truckin’ without letup like the Spanish badass he is. If you’re reading this, we love you Miguel!

The sea was angry that day my friends! There were no significant casualties, however, scientists have expressed concern that, although ephemeral, the staggering increase of tidal erosion, which occurred, may one-day lead to a bizarre series of causal events ushering in an unprecedented cataclysm capable of worldwide extinction. Contingent on human survival, Ben Affleck is slated to portray the protagonist in its Hollywood blockbuster translation. Asked to comment on this casting, Nicholas Cage has been quoted as saying, “Oh, word?”

The angst is strong with this one. Quite likely his vintage fixed-gear has been stolen.

My money is on the guy with the orange stripes. He just looks like he wants it more. Something about those tufted ears that says, “I was born with a misanthropic disregard for humanity and am capable of some truly Mike Tyson-like levels of sociopathic brutality.”

Second floor – Guess. Top floor – T. J. Maxx. You see, you really have no choice but to like Barcelona.

Excuse me sir, would you like to come check out this museum containing myriad precious artifacts and enriching information? Only 5 euro entrance fee! Not now chief, I’ve got a case of got-nothing-better-to-do-itis and the only remedy is a $6 bottle of corona opened for me by a celebrated mixologist. Maybe next time I’m in Barcelona.

Oh to be even a trifling tadpole in this pond… Wait, what?

Ocular scan and DNA sample cleared. Nice to be back in the hostel. I just wish I could shake the specter of security-like vigil that uneasily grips me for some reason.

Props on staying relatively straight street. And good looks on the Bona Fruita too – I could really use a Snickers ice cream bar before I begin another languorous day comprised of capricious frivolity.

Which one of you quick on the trigger detectives espied with familiarity this elevator seen earlier in the blog? That’s right, we’re headed back to Park Güell! What’s that you say? Your time is precious and you have better things to do than revisit scenery I’ve already documented? Well, you probably should have fleshed out your sets of remunerative standards long before you began viewing this site then. At this point, may as well stick around for the all-too-familiar ride - this time with considerably less overcast!

First stop, crazy, leopard-spandex-wearing, guitar dude. I must preface this all by stating that the platitude, "words would hardly do it justice" has never been more apropos - for such a spectacle of bizarre grandeur was the kind of extraordinary, ships passing in the night, contingency one could never truly be prepared to grasp while caught off guard, sober and vulnerable. Nonetheless, I shall endeavor to lay down in discourse that which is ineffable by virtue of its ground-breaking twaddle. Here goes. This guy would simultaneously strum a few chords while splicing together random lyrics from golden classics in several languages with other words he seemingly drew out of a hat. To say he assorted the, on-the-fly, lyrics with assiduous grace and surgically inane aplomb would be doing him a disservice of affidavit. Tragically, the latent hilarity of the absurd was lost on the masses. While my friend and I could not help but effervesce with laughter, an air of uncertainty remained as to whether or not this guy was certifiably insane or a pioneering beacon of forward-thinking comedic entertainment. Had it not been for a discrete momentary grin of acknowledgement directed toward our solitary laughter, I would not have been able to render a verdict. This guy might be my favorite thing about Barcelona.

See, I promised more visibility this go around! A day so fine, in fact, one cannot help but remove her shirt and find the nearest crude mantle to sumptuously bask in the sun on.

Once again foiled by that very same tree! But you know what, if Tupac’s sagacious promulgations taught me anything, it’s when to accept the cards you're dealt and heedfully proclaim, “I ain’t mad at cha.”

Land ahoy! Yeah, we know asshole - that’s Barcelona.

Gaudí was maniacally obsessed with benches. Some say that his addiction to their installations trumped even his need for attention. Yeah, that’s right, I said it. Gaudí was an attention whore. Wanna fight about it?

Thirsty? Well then, just depress this button into the long shaft gagging my throat with an efficiency that would inspire jealousy from producers of militant Germanic pornography and I'll be more than happy to slake your unfortunate thirst.

Ease up bruv. Life’s not a contest to see how gnarled you can get. And even if it were, I’ve seen far more gnarled trees before so I don’t even know why you bother to be honest. Personally, I don’t even think it looks good. I just took a photo out of whimsy. Yeah, that’s right – whimsy.

So about that turducken…

So many balconies and/or terraces!!

Soon.

I’ve got an idea. How about I take a picture of you, taking a picture of me? It will be so fucking meta the internet won’t even know what hit it. How hilariously spontaneous of us! As incredibly artistic as this photo is, I cannot help but wonder how the entirety of the message on the chalkboard read. “Gracias por su…” what? I find it dreadfully futile attempting to fathom any fitting denouement to that fragment. There’s just so little anyone could be truly thankful for.