Thursday, September 17, 2009
When you buy milk you only chill it after you open it. I keep opening my cupboard in the kitchen and staring at the large juicebox-like 'thing' of milk and quelling my urge to QUICK STICK IT IN THE FRIDGE. Just doing my part to adapt culturally. It makes sense, on a very technical level. Milk is warm in a cow. Milk is in a sealed container. After you break the seal, germies get in, and so then it must be cooled. Space also makes sense on a technical level, according to some people. And also having children, to others. Computers too.
I will keep my focus on milk.
(No seriously, just sit down some time and try to process exactly how the frick a computer works. Or recorded sound. Whatttt. Whattttttttttt. Whaaaaa... t)
Today Kris and I went to Trippydoobie. Tittyboobie. Abu Dhabi.
There is an amusement park on top of a mountain and it is called Tribidabo. I find it impossible to remember the name. Also on top of the mountain is a cathedral.
A religiously fun experience? God Loves Fun Too? A way to harvest the prayer-power in all the "oh my gaaaaaaaaaaaaaawd!!!!"s of rollercoaster riders?
Who made this. Who.
Additionally. ADDITIONALLY. The only way up to the amusement park is a "tram car" aka lurching old train-thing that climbs a hill so steep making sounds so foreboding that you are certain your intention to journey to fun, popcorn, + spiritual cleansing will only actually be replaced by sudden lurching death. If you are the type who is drawn to the mountaintop by ferris wheels and other non-acrophobic pleasures, ok, fair. Maybe this is part of the experience.
Why would anyone go to church here. (It costs 4 Euro to get up and back, too)
Why would anyone build a giant catherdral in a purposely inaccessible place. A place that already host an amusement park. I'm pretty sure that as a way to compete with Gaudi, this is a fail.
Once we got up there, all the rides were closed.
Look at this amusement park! Woooooooo! Fun, huh? Look, it is up here on this mountain overlooking the entire city, so you can see it allllllll the time and just wish to go. And then if you DO succumb to temptation, and venture up the mountain, we will bring you up in terrifying metal boxcar and make you fear your life. Once you are on the top, TRICK SUCKAAAAAA all the rides are fake. And you know you are not getting back in that boxcar. What else can you DO on this mountaintop?
HELLO LOOMING CATHEDRAL.
A-ha. Ahhhh haaaaaaaa.
Friday, September 11, 2009
September 11 is a holiday here. As a citizen of Estados Unidos, participating in festivities can't really be done without some kind of guilty conscience, but, hell,"When in Rome," right? (1, 2)
1. Will Ferrell has so tainted that expression for me that I feel more faux pas when I use it correctly than when arbitrarily and nonsensically.
2. Sometimes life is hard.
Ahem. September 11 is a holiday here. It is Catalonian Independence day. Woooo Party!! I am not quite sure from who Catalonia won independence or under what terms or even exactly when... but I ventured into the morning sunshine... well, the noon sunshine... well, I woke up at 10:30 and made it out by 1 and that's a much more impressive effort than I've thus far mustered. Ahem. I ventured into the noon-ish sunshine wholeheartedly enthusiastic in my intent to participate in all festivities that did not require in-depth knowledge of Catalan language and culture. I encountered the following holiday-induced abnormalities:
1. People dancing in giant circles with hands held like ring-around-the-rosy, except high in the air, dancing the least physically exerting series of steps I have ever seen. I considered participating, but upon examining the "dance" for a pattern, I could not find ANY in the combination of slow-baby-step-right, slow-baby-step-left, slow-baby-step-forward, begrudging semi-hop, subtle-toe-point moves. But everyone was doing them at the same time. So. What does that tell you? Secret. Code. Dance.
Along with Centigrade, another local way of making tourists feel stupid and inadequate with minimal physical effort.
I did not participate in the Catalan dance. Harumph.
2. People walking in giant throngs through the streets yelling Catalan... cheers? phrases? jokes? in loud flag-caped masses. I stood and watched and grinned and nodded as if I a) Understood what was being said, b) felt similarly, c) would be participating in such behavior myself had my Catalan flag returned from the dry cleaners in time. In fact, d) I was completely ignorant as to what was being said and to whether the sentiment was angry, sad, melancholy, happy, or perhaps polite yet aloof.
Loud groups of people yelling things I do not understand make me nervous.
I did not participate in the potential Catalan riot.
3. People eating and drinking. Not that this is out of the norm, but I did imagine that I detected a bit more national pride in everyone's nom nom noming and drunkeness than usual.
I did participate in the Yay Catalan Independence Food Baby Cultivation Program.
Kris and I found some Glorious Basque Pintxos place. Pintxos being the Basque equivalent to tapas or finger-food, in this place taking the form of various combinations of Awesome Stuff Piled on Bread. Think like fig and pistaschio on artichoke heart on bread and speared with a little toothpick. We also did our loyal Independence-grateful part to help drain the grotesquely huge kegs of Sidra (Spanish cider - alcoholic, flat, acidic and very appley) the stand-while-you-eat bar was curled around.
Wooooo Independence! From someone! At some point!!! Cataloniaaaa