The unfortunate life lessons I learned when I spent a week of my summer vacation at the Miami airport.
Spending the night…
More info can be found at:
Author: zapzzapz
peanut butter, your favorite snack bars, converter, your favorite spice, comfortable pants, black shirt, sunglasses, scarf, light jacket
An American staple you won´t
find in European shops
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How do you spell “f-yous” ?? Well I suppose it doesn’t matter when what I really wanted to write was “What the f$%k! That ending sucks!” What is it about foreign films that makes them so intriguing? Well, for me at least. No matter how dry the beginning, how tedious the middle, you assure yourself the ending will bring all the skewed pieces into place and salvage the film or at least validate that the entire hour wasn´t wasted.
So you think to yourself — hmm, maybe a little wine will help…
When you´re lucky, the film turns out to be a masterpiece, the kind that brings you to the brink, every emotion swirling, leaving you to watch every last credit roll across the screen, lingering in your seat, hoping some how to resist the real world a few moments longer, so you can soak up every last picture and bit of music they squeezed in. On the bad days, the ending sucks, your mad as hell that you wasted your time, and want to find the jerk writer, director, actor (fill in the blank) who strung you along then left you sitting there with your mouth open cussing at the crap ending.
Maybe for you it’s not a problem because you are already know the endings will piss you off so you are quite content to watch ¨survivor something¨, ¨somebody´s got talent¨, “Housewives of Hootersville¨ or whatever city sensation is cool at the time. You’re guaranteed that before thirty minutes is up one of them will be calling the other one a slut because she looked at her man, slept with her son, daughter or got caught trash talkin. If you´re insulted, my apologies. But reality is … ha… reality is reality is no longer reality when it is being filmed for people to later watch on television. C´mon we act different when the video camera is on. Some of us get stupid (me) some get shy and others go full on Bridgett Bardot striking a pose! Yes I realize that reality is, 50% of the population has no idea who that is.
You know life sucks often enough in the real world.Do we really need our TV for more?
So back to foreign films, my go to entertainment on every international flight. There is something about the intensity it requires to read the subtitles, interpret the context of the actors tone all the while keeping pace with what is developing visually. In my A.D.D. brain, the multitasking is comforting. It becomes even more interesting when there are no subtitles to comfort you. You can watch an entire film, knowing with all certainty thats its a comedy only to find out later that it was
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I have ants. Really. Or do they have me. I didn’t invite them but they moved right in.
I have long suspected that ants are taking over the world. Not at all at once… but they are coming…you know the way one drop of water eventually becomes a flood. Years ago I saw this documentary that scared the crap out of me. IT was about this particular strand of ants ( I don’t remember which ones, names are flooding my brain at once…carpenter.. army…red… big head ..well that one I made up but some of them do have gigantic heads compared to the size of their body)
So these ants were slowing taking over, I mean migrating.. across Texas …across..under…
B movie about the giant ants
my house of ants…
even in my beer ….
You know it doesn’t matter what time zone or continent you find yourself in, there’s bound to be a dead bird in the street, idiot drivers and dogs who train their people to follow them. Barcelona is no different, except maybe more birds, more motos (scooters) than cars. People here are passionate about their pets. Hell, Catalans are more passionate about everything! Just sit down to a meal with one. A simple lunch turns into a party (fest) for the senses. The fork, less of a shovel and more of mode of delicious deliverance.
I’ve meandered off topic. It was my first night back in Barcelona, so of course (es clar) we had to talk a walk through the city. Well, not through. I mean who literally walks through a city. Okay, maybe your serious nomadic traveling types and for sure there is something in the bible about Jesus walking through places. I’m not a theologian or my brother ( who always seems to know the answer to everything) He should have been on Jeopardy. Okay, so back to walking in, not through, the city. The dog, ….why do we say that “the dog” or “the cat”. I mean they have names don’t they? It’s not like we go around saying “the human” Did you have lunch with “the human” this afternoon? Hey human it’s time to go. Imagine how confusing your address book would be, all the phone numbers would be listed under H for humans. Back to the dog, who yes has a name, Nit (rhymes with sit and means night in Catala) Nit was leading us down street after the next focused on two the things finding the park and how he was going to ……
Continue reading “Dead Pigeons ( Ocells), long walks, and a girl and her dog (gos)”
Sometimes I ask myself why I do this…..
So we always do this thing when we have a trip coming up, type A personality or not. We get out the bags, usually some suitcase that looks like crap because the baggage handlers on the last flight apparently played dodge ball with it on the tarmac and ran over it when they were done. We pick out our outfits based on activities we may or may not do. Places we might go, covering the bases from ¨oh so casual ¨to ¨damn you look good¨. Then the shoes, then the avalanche of accessories, electronics, hair products, toiletries (I laugh every time I write that word, such an absurd catergorization really). The travel books, language guides, journals etc.
In your mind you flash back to the girlscout/boyscout code of always being ready for every situation. Thats me although i have to admit, I was an extrumely disgruntled 7 year old that was never allowed to join the girlscouts, or what I assumed was the even cooler boyscouts. They got to go camping your know! You never heard of boyscout earning a stupid badge for sewing. Instead my brother and went out raiding the trash piles at construction sites and built stuff in the woods.
Anyway I admit, I was once…who I am kidding, pretty much most of my adult life, that kind of packer. As long as it is under the 50 lb or 24 kilo airline check-in accepted weight allowances for luggage, you can stuff the that bag till it bulges, and if you it has an expansion zipper you can shove even more in there. So maybe you have to sit on it to get it closed or tie a strap around it and pray it doesn´t explode going down the baggage carousel. Until the day I finally started to learn, you pack it. You pay!
You have to carry, push, shove, drag that back through who knows how many hallways, elevators, parking garages. And lord forbid it should be an ounce over the allowance when you plop it on the scale at the airport. There´s nothing like being reprimanded by a german check-in agent as you work feverishly to try and weed through your suitcase while a line impatient passengers glares at you. Quick put on the heaviest shoes, forget the the jar of peanut butter, put on the coat (who cares if its 95 degrees, blah blah. Or you succumb to the pressure of those glaring but understandably annoyed would-be passengers, and you shove your credit card across the counter and pay the extra $50 for your overwieght bag. Like I said, you pack, you pay!
Big WooHoo 