I arrived in Granada filled with the same salty feeling you get when you jump into the ocean with your mouth open. I kicked myself in the shins and cursed at my shoes when I realized I had forgotten my phone charger, camera charger, and a proper change of clothes. As I walked up to the hotel I couldn't help but think of the situations in which I would need the three items I had left behind. Seeing as I knew as much about Granada as I do about women's rights, I had no idea what the city had to offer (oh, no he didn't just make a women's right joke!). The three things I left behind could have been mandatory to their daily lives. I quickly envisioned them having super-soaker fights, making collages, and communicating only by text message. As soon as I realized the ridiculousness of the thought, I found myself in another predicament.
I was staring at seven flights of stairs due to the hotel elevator being filled with sweaty, spanish speaking bodies wading in luggage up to their necks. However, these steps were different than other steps. The length of each step was as awkward as Charlie Roherty's armpits in a public venue. If I took the steps one at a time I could have potentially grown a mustache before I got to the top (I'm not sayin' I'm just sayin'). However, if I took two steps with each stride I could hear my corduroys warning me not to take them for granted because they would rip if they had to. In my opinion, walking up (or down) steps is suppose to be as constant as a heartbeat. However, I found myself switching pace, stride length, and general outlook on life with each floor I conquered.
Little did I know, when I reached the 7th floor, my lungs were throwing a party for me. They were standing there, holding balloons, and wearing those cone shaped birthday hats with the strings that uncomfortably strangle the bottom of your neck. They were pointing and laughing at me with a homemade sign hanging behind them that read, in a variety of sharpie colors, "You're out of shape, and you look stupid in that sweater." However, I could tell they didn't plan out the spacing of the poster before they wrote it because the word "sweater" was scrunched together at the end of the sign like it was half-caterpillar. As soon as I caught my breath, my lungs and the party disappeared, leaving me to put the caps back on the sharpie markers (bastards).
I got to the room, threw my lighter-than-usual bag down on the ground, and checked my compatibility with the hotel bed. We were made for each other. Now, the only thing I could think about was a nice long shower. Over the past month and a half I have narrowed my shower time down to a minute and a half. After a minute and a half my host mom comes rapping at my door like an angry neighbor with a noise complaint. She has created a lot of competition between my body parts because each shower I have to select three or four body parts to wash. You have no idea how hard it is to look my shin's in the eyes after denying them a proper scrub down.
After my shower, a few friends and I went out and explored the city. Granada was much bigger than Toledo, and seemed more like a college town with young people walking the streets at all hours of the night. After making our way around the city for a while, hunger took over. We started to walk the streets quickly, without words, popping are hunger possessed heads in and out of local restaurants. We struggled to find anything that agreed with our tummy's and our wallets (my stomach is more of a liberal while my wallet has conservative tendencies).
The next thing I knew we were sitting indian-style, excuse me, native american-style in one of the neatest places I've ever been. We must have used a portkey to get there because I can't recall the directions. The lights were dim and the mood was heavy as it was already making its way into the pours of our skin. However, we were still unsure of the restaurant as we reached for the menu (as neat as the ambience was, I didn't want to find myself forcing down a $9 artichoke egg-roll). Sure enough, the menu gave us a light slap on the face for doubting it and then slowly revealed all of itself like a hippo rising from the swampy water. We slapped our knees and chanted, "TEA, CREPES, SMOOTHIES, HOOKAH!" Then quickly pitched a tent and declared residency.
We filled up the waitresses notepad with all different types of crepes, teas, and smoothies and before I knew it there was a banana chocolate crepe and some kiwi tea sitting delicately in front of me. The crepe was the size of a chipotle burrito and the tea's natural scent filled the air around me. Instead of eating the crepe, I wanted to name it, and then ask it to prom. The whip cream sat on top of the crepe like a snow-capped mountain as the chocolate drizzle ran along its sides like bordering rivers. To avoid looks from the others I calmly closed my eyes, and cut into the crepe. It's softness alone made me feel like I was committing a million murders. My hand, now wavering and unsure of itself, slowly brought a bite of the crepe to my mouth. I had to convince myself that I was just helping it fit into its prom dress before I could take a bite. I opened my mouth wide and craned my neck back a little like snakes do before they are about to strike. I snapped, bit, and enjoyed the sweet taste of Granada crepes for the whole night. Talking with my mouth full has never been such an issue.
The next morning we went to La Alhambra which is an old muslim castle that was utilized back when Granada was the muslim capital in Spain. It is also the number one tourist attraction in Spain, and for good reason. La Alhambra was different than the other castles and cathedrals I had seen because of the massive gardens and fountains within the castle walls. As we toured, it was impossible to not find yourself astonished at the carvings on the walls and the architecture of the building. The construction of everything appeared to be incredibly tedious and monotonous, and I couldn't imagine the time it took to finish the smallest part. Lifetimes were thrown into this castle at a king's order, and the history was overwhelming. Here is a link below if you find yourself intrigued..
http://www.alhambra.org/eng/index.asp?secc=/inicio&popup=1
Also, I think it is important that we take a little time to give thanks to the great tour guides in the world. With out you, many of us would be fact-less and lonely, wandering in and out of castle rooms thinking it is less cool than it actually is. A good guide makes all the difference.
Arcades and Hand Grenades,
Coop
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Córdoba!
Hey Lazy Bones!
This past weekend I took a trip to the south of Spain. After a 5 hour bus ride of vanilla-bathed oreo's, ice cold coca-cola's, and restless knees I found myself peering out at the shy city of Córdoba. As we drove, I could tell it was not revealing all of the beautiful things it had to offer. Córdoba was like one of those girls in middle school who hadn't realized how pretty she was yet. There were apartment complexes upon apartment complexes that lined the streets in an almost repulsive manner. I thought to myself, "This isn't what the south of Spain is suppose to look like." Then in a flash of brilliance, Córdoba let its hair down, threw its big-framed glasses in the trash (put in its contacts), and wore one of those pretty summer dresses that showed more leg than it ought to.
There were blooming flowers, orange trees, lemon trees, and the gorgeous old buildings that I had grown accustom to in Spain. I felt like an overbearing boyfriend as I hopped off the bus with my knees screaming, "I kneed more space!" After a moment of standing and absorbing the surroundings, my knees took to their usual form of boney and reliable.
A native guided us through the city dropping facts on the ground while still maintaing her stride. As it turned out, Córdoba was the home to many great philosophers. It was easy to recognize as I rested my hand on the knee of the bronzed version of muslim philosopher Averroes, and tied my shoes at the foot of jewish philosopher Maimonedes (I'm assuming they were more likable in person).
It was a real treat because Córdoba is also the home of one of the most well-known pieces of religious architecture in the world, The Mezquita Catedral de Córdoba. It was one of the largest, most magnificent places I have ever seen. It held more history than your local library. I'm pretty sure even its cobwebs were older than anything I know. It was an interesting piece of architecture because you could find out its roots by just looking around. There was arabic written on the walls surrounding me, hinting that it was a giant mosque during the Muslim reign in Spain. Then, as we toured more, the christianity within the building became extremely evident. There were large, inviting altars, replicas of Cardinals, Bishops, and Popes, and unbelievably high ceilings with painted angels prancing about atop of clouds. The tour guide spotted the confusion on our faces as we tried to put Christianity and Islamic religions together (It's not exactly peanut butter and jelly). She explained, that the Christians re-conquered Córdoba during the "reconquista" and built a Christian cathedral inside of the Great Mosque leaving the two, very opposing religions together within one building.
Both religions brought beauty to the building. The muslims contributed to the delightful wall art (The arabic language written is beauty in itself), and the vast forest of marble pillars. The christians provided spiritual paintings, finely carved wooden palettes, and a golden tabernacle the size of a car.
Córdoba opened my eyes to the religious history in Spain. The religious diversity became even more evident when we packed up our bags and headed towards Granada. However, I will get that info to you in the next post because there are some real decent stories and it deserves its own post!
(Always) Knocking At Your Door,
Coop
This past weekend I took a trip to the south of Spain. After a 5 hour bus ride of vanilla-bathed oreo's, ice cold coca-cola's, and restless knees I found myself peering out at the shy city of Córdoba. As we drove, I could tell it was not revealing all of the beautiful things it had to offer. Córdoba was like one of those girls in middle school who hadn't realized how pretty she was yet. There were apartment complexes upon apartment complexes that lined the streets in an almost repulsive manner. I thought to myself, "This isn't what the south of Spain is suppose to look like." Then in a flash of brilliance, Córdoba let its hair down, threw its big-framed glasses in the trash (put in its contacts), and wore one of those pretty summer dresses that showed more leg than it ought to.
There were blooming flowers, orange trees, lemon trees, and the gorgeous old buildings that I had grown accustom to in Spain. I felt like an overbearing boyfriend as I hopped off the bus with my knees screaming, "I kneed more space!" After a moment of standing and absorbing the surroundings, my knees took to their usual form of boney and reliable.
A native guided us through the city dropping facts on the ground while still maintaing her stride. As it turned out, Córdoba was the home to many great philosophers. It was easy to recognize as I rested my hand on the knee of the bronzed version of muslim philosopher Averroes, and tied my shoes at the foot of jewish philosopher Maimonedes (I'm assuming they were more likable in person).
It was a real treat because Córdoba is also the home of one of the most well-known pieces of religious architecture in the world, The Mezquita Catedral de Córdoba. It was one of the largest, most magnificent places I have ever seen. It held more history than your local library. I'm pretty sure even its cobwebs were older than anything I know. It was an interesting piece of architecture because you could find out its roots by just looking around. There was arabic written on the walls surrounding me, hinting that it was a giant mosque during the Muslim reign in Spain. Then, as we toured more, the christianity within the building became extremely evident. There were large, inviting altars, replicas of Cardinals, Bishops, and Popes, and unbelievably high ceilings with painted angels prancing about atop of clouds. The tour guide spotted the confusion on our faces as we tried to put Christianity and Islamic religions together (It's not exactly peanut butter and jelly). She explained, that the Christians re-conquered Córdoba during the "reconquista" and built a Christian cathedral inside of the Great Mosque leaving the two, very opposing religions together within one building.
Both religions brought beauty to the building. The muslims contributed to the delightful wall art (The arabic language written is beauty in itself), and the vast forest of marble pillars. The christians provided spiritual paintings, finely carved wooden palettes, and a golden tabernacle the size of a car.
Córdoba opened my eyes to the religious history in Spain. The religious diversity became even more evident when we packed up our bags and headed towards Granada. However, I will get that info to you in the next post because there are some real decent stories and it deserves its own post!
(Always) Knocking At Your Door,
Coop
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Somewhere Between the Swirlies.
I’m sorry for the inconsistency of these posts. This is not the way I wanted things to go. I wanted this blog to be your daily medicine. You would read it (mouth open), and I would airplane in spoonfuls of stories that not only improve your health, but your heart too. Sure, it may taste bad at first, but after a week of plugging your nose, it would grow on you.
I wanted this blog to be your nightlight, something you can look at when you’re scared or frightened. I wanted it to be that thing your bug-eyes frantically search for as you peer over your freshly washed linen sheets in the night of your room. It could retire the nocturnal monsters under your bed and the pesky varmints in your closet. More than anything, I wanted this blog to tuck you in, cuddle you, and (politely) spoon you to bed. These beautiful images I have laid out have been put to risk due to my inconsistency, and for that, I apologize. What do you say? Lets hold virtual hands, and knock this thing out together..
This past weekend, February 18 to February 21, was Carnaval in the country of Spain. Carnaval is a four-day celebration that kicks off the start of lent. In Spain, there are two places that the people flock to in hopes of adventure. The first being a coastal city in the southwest corner of Spain called Cádiz, and the second so-happened to be my residence, Toledo.
People at the Fundación had been fluffing up Carnaval since the moment I arrived in Toledo. At times, people would talk about it so much that when I heard the word “Carnaval” it felt like I was being poked in the ribs (you know, the tender part). However, I’ll admit, I was a bit narrow-minded. I made some preconceived assumptions about Carnaval that it didn’t necessarily deserve.
I thought to myself, “How sweet can Carnaval be?” It’s not like the catholic religion has been known to throw awesome parties. As much as I tried to dismiss the image, it rushed to my mind. I could see Pope Benedict XVI on stage with an Executive Saucer Shooter (see below for visual) filled with communion, shooting it out over the crowd while screaming, “Let’s get lent started!” Everyone in the crowd had red teeth and rosy cheeks due to the over consumption of wine, and people were passing out left and right (not due to the wine, but to the fact that they had to kneel for an unreasonable amount of time).
(The Communion Wouldn't Be Multi-Colored)
I should have known that Carnaval was going to be an event because, as you probably know, Spain is a predominantly catholic country. After the “Reconquista” in which Isabel I and Fernando II pranced down the Iberian Peninsula with an army at their backs, expelling the Jews, and conquering the Muslim colonies, it has pretty much been a consensus (Sorry for getting all history on yo’ ass!). Anyways, what I’m trying to say is, due to the enormous population of Catholics in Spain, everyone was out in the streets for Carnaval.
If someone were to ask me, “Cooper, what do you want out of Carnaval?” I would probably respond with something like, “Well, I hope I’m not asking for too much but.. If you can get me a fire-breathing dragon, gentlemen that blow fire out of their mouths, a couple fellows on stilts, and a thousand giddy Spaniards dressed in awesome costumes I guess that would do it.” As hard as it is to believe, that is exactly what Carnaval was.
(Fire-Breathing Dragon)
(Gentleman Blowing Fire Out of His Mouth 1)
(Gentleman Blowing Fire Out of His Mouth 2)
(Fellow On Stilts 1)
(Fellow on Stilts 2)
(A Thousand Giddy Spaniards)
The night started with Mateo and I assembling our “desfraces” or “disguises.” Mateo went the V for Vendetta route, and I went for the always-loveable 70’s hipster that fancied denim a little too much. I popped on my afro, a disco ball necklace the size of a baby, and some sunglasses that could make Clint Eastwood feel weak at the knees. Then, we took to the streets hoping that Carnaval would not only accept us, but also spread its arms and bear hug us deep into the night.
(7 Kinds of Danger)
We went out in search of good people and good times, and we found just that. In La Plaza de Zocodver was Carnaval. There was a giant stage in the middle of the plaza where hundreds of people gathered to listen to some local flavor. Some were popping in and out of the bars that outlined the Plaza, and other folks were crowding the street venders who were shelling out cheap drinks and good food.
We spent the night there, meeting locals, dancing offbeat, and enjoying the atmosphere of Carnaval. I took pictures of the best costumes that I saw, I hope you all enjoy, and let me know your favorites.
(Yelling!) From Rooftops,
Coop
P.S. My costume made it into the local paper so my trip to Spain has nestled itself into the archives forever! It’s as good as dinosaur bones.
Pac Man!
The Mad Hatter!
My Afro Buddies
The Best Costume I've Ever Seen.
Mother Nature!
My Personal Favorite.
This Is As Politically Incorrect As You Think.
Edward Scissor Hands!
Some Hungry Hippy's!
Kiss!
Tetris!
Two Creepy Bears Holding Hands!
I wanted this blog to be your nightlight, something you can look at when you’re scared or frightened. I wanted it to be that thing your bug-eyes frantically search for as you peer over your freshly washed linen sheets in the night of your room. It could retire the nocturnal monsters under your bed and the pesky varmints in your closet. More than anything, I wanted this blog to tuck you in, cuddle you, and (politely) spoon you to bed. These beautiful images I have laid out have been put to risk due to my inconsistency, and for that, I apologize. What do you say? Lets hold virtual hands, and knock this thing out together..
This past weekend, February 18 to February 21, was Carnaval in the country of Spain. Carnaval is a four-day celebration that kicks off the start of lent. In Spain, there are two places that the people flock to in hopes of adventure. The first being a coastal city in the southwest corner of Spain called Cádiz, and the second so-happened to be my residence, Toledo.
People at the Fundación had been fluffing up Carnaval since the moment I arrived in Toledo. At times, people would talk about it so much that when I heard the word “Carnaval” it felt like I was being poked in the ribs (you know, the tender part). However, I’ll admit, I was a bit narrow-minded. I made some preconceived assumptions about Carnaval that it didn’t necessarily deserve.
I thought to myself, “How sweet can Carnaval be?” It’s not like the catholic religion has been known to throw awesome parties. As much as I tried to dismiss the image, it rushed to my mind. I could see Pope Benedict XVI on stage with an Executive Saucer Shooter (see below for visual) filled with communion, shooting it out over the crowd while screaming, “Let’s get lent started!” Everyone in the crowd had red teeth and rosy cheeks due to the over consumption of wine, and people were passing out left and right (not due to the wine, but to the fact that they had to kneel for an unreasonable amount of time).
(The Communion Wouldn't Be Multi-Colored)
I should have known that Carnaval was going to be an event because, as you probably know, Spain is a predominantly catholic country. After the “Reconquista” in which Isabel I and Fernando II pranced down the Iberian Peninsula with an army at their backs, expelling the Jews, and conquering the Muslim colonies, it has pretty much been a consensus (Sorry for getting all history on yo’ ass!). Anyways, what I’m trying to say is, due to the enormous population of Catholics in Spain, everyone was out in the streets for Carnaval.
If someone were to ask me, “Cooper, what do you want out of Carnaval?” I would probably respond with something like, “Well, I hope I’m not asking for too much but.. If you can get me a fire-breathing dragon, gentlemen that blow fire out of their mouths, a couple fellows on stilts, and a thousand giddy Spaniards dressed in awesome costumes I guess that would do it.” As hard as it is to believe, that is exactly what Carnaval was.
(Fire-Breathing Dragon)
(Gentleman Blowing Fire Out of His Mouth 1)
(Gentleman Blowing Fire Out of His Mouth 2)
(Fellow On Stilts 1)
(Fellow on Stilts 2)
(A Thousand Giddy Spaniards)
The night started with Mateo and I assembling our “desfraces” or “disguises.” Mateo went the V for Vendetta route, and I went for the always-loveable 70’s hipster that fancied denim a little too much. I popped on my afro, a disco ball necklace the size of a baby, and some sunglasses that could make Clint Eastwood feel weak at the knees. Then, we took to the streets hoping that Carnaval would not only accept us, but also spread its arms and bear hug us deep into the night.
(7 Kinds of Danger)
We went out in search of good people and good times, and we found just that. In La Plaza de Zocodver was Carnaval. There was a giant stage in the middle of the plaza where hundreds of people gathered to listen to some local flavor. Some were popping in and out of the bars that outlined the Plaza, and other folks were crowding the street venders who were shelling out cheap drinks and good food.
We spent the night there, meeting locals, dancing offbeat, and enjoying the atmosphere of Carnaval. I took pictures of the best costumes that I saw, I hope you all enjoy, and let me know your favorites.
(Yelling!) From Rooftops,
Coop
P.S. My costume made it into the local paper so my trip to Spain has nestled itself into the archives forever! It’s as good as dinosaur bones.
Pac Man!
The Mad Hatter!
My Afro Buddies
The Best Costume I've Ever Seen.
Mother Nature!
My Personal Favorite.
This Is As Politically Incorrect As You Think.
Edward Scissor Hands!
Some Hungry Hippy's!
Kiss!
Tetris!
Two Creepy Bears Holding Hands!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
My Birthday (Suit).
Please imagine this blog post naked. We commence.
This past weekend capped off my first month in Spain as well as my first birthday on a different continent. I'm not saying that I'm going to scrapbook about it, but I probably will. Actually, come to think of it, I don't think I could be a good scrap-booker even If I wanted to.
I don't have the organization skills, the patience, or the steady hands to maneuver a pair of scissors in and out of the dips and juts that come along with the outline of the human body (especially around the elbow area).
The birthday was good. It wasn't perfect, but it was good. Yeah, I guess you COULD say that I didn't get everything I asked for. I didn't get a parade in my honor with giant floats of me doing monotonous daily activities like brushing my teeth, watching television, and eating. I didn't get any hoola-hooping midgets or monkeys with sparklers, and I definitely didn't get Morgan Freeman to walk a couple steps behind me and narrate my day. This was stupid of me, but I thought at the least, my friends would have gotten me a Trick British Children's Choir to sing me "happy birthday."
What is a Trick British Children's Choir you ask? Well, I invented it on account of my birthday. Like you probably assumed, it is a choir comprised of, more or less, fifteen british children. However, they are a Trick British Children's Choir because, like trick candles, the more you ask them to stop (or hush), the louder they sing.
Joking aside (or in back), my birthday did comprise of a small choir, but instead of a choir of small british children, it was a choir of good friends from La Fundación. We filled our stomachs with some great food at a fancy restaurant that no one could pronounce the name of, then we took to the streets like a bunch of mongrels. As great as the city of Toledo is, it would have been a less than mediocre birthday without the good company.
People say that turning 20 isn't really a big deal because you are still one year away from 21. I couldn't disagree more. This was the first year that I could muster enough testosterone to grow, not a full mustache, but a half-stache. I can't begin to tell you how much more comfortable I feel knowing that their is a baby caterpillar taking a nap on my upper lip. Every morning I look at it in the mirror, pet it, laugh with it, because we both know the struggle that it took to get to this point. What put us over the edge? My 20th birthday.
Kissin' and Cussin',
Coop
This past weekend capped off my first month in Spain as well as my first birthday on a different continent. I'm not saying that I'm going to scrapbook about it, but I probably will. Actually, come to think of it, I don't think I could be a good scrap-booker even If I wanted to.
I don't have the organization skills, the patience, or the steady hands to maneuver a pair of scissors in and out of the dips and juts that come along with the outline of the human body (especially around the elbow area). The birthday was good. It wasn't perfect, but it was good. Yeah, I guess you COULD say that I didn't get everything I asked for. I didn't get a parade in my honor with giant floats of me doing monotonous daily activities like brushing my teeth, watching television, and eating. I didn't get any hoola-hooping midgets or monkeys with sparklers, and I definitely didn't get Morgan Freeman to walk a couple steps behind me and narrate my day. This was stupid of me, but I thought at the least, my friends would have gotten me a Trick British Children's Choir to sing me "happy birthday."
What is a Trick British Children's Choir you ask? Well, I invented it on account of my birthday. Like you probably assumed, it is a choir comprised of, more or less, fifteen british children. However, they are a Trick British Children's Choir because, like trick candles, the more you ask them to stop (or hush), the louder they sing.
Joking aside (or in back), my birthday did comprise of a small choir, but instead of a choir of small british children, it was a choir of good friends from La Fundación. We filled our stomachs with some great food at a fancy restaurant that no one could pronounce the name of, then we took to the streets like a bunch of mongrels. As great as the city of Toledo is, it would have been a less than mediocre birthday without the good company.
People say that turning 20 isn't really a big deal because you are still one year away from 21. I couldn't disagree more. This was the first year that I could muster enough testosterone to grow, not a full mustache, but a half-stache. I can't begin to tell you how much more comfortable I feel knowing that their is a baby caterpillar taking a nap on my upper lip. Every morning I look at it in the mirror, pet it, laugh with it, because we both know the struggle that it took to get to this point. What put us over the edge? My 20th birthday.
Kissin' and Cussin',
Coop
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
A love letter (of sorts).
Dear Madrid,
Thank you for letting me treat you like a playground. You are a little bigger than I expected, but I would love to, uh, date you. It wouldn’t have to be too serious (or would it?). You could sing me to sleep with your whistling nightlife, we could rise in the morning to your beautiful weather, and if you started talking to other people I could break up with you, only to forgive you two weeks later (our relationship would be stronger because of it). I mean, you’re not really my type, but after only two dates I can feel myself falling for you in a manner that can only be displayed in a Jennifer Aniston movie.
When my friends told me we were going to see you, I can’t lie, I was nervous. I had heard a lot about you, but I had never actually seen you. There were pictures of you online and you looked beautiful, but you can never trust the Internet. For all I know, you could have been a 40 year-old man with hairy arms and a red moustache. It could have turned into one of those “Catch a Predator” shows where we meet and you walk in naked, holding a bowl of fruit. I mean, who has time for that? Certainly, not me. However, my friends reassured me with things like, “Madrid is so nice!” and “you have to go! You will regret it if you don’t.” If it wasn’t for them I would have never of met you.
Before I left to meet you, I found myself drawing up box-plots, venn diagrams, and flow charts to find a system that would equalize my pre-date tensions. It turns out the anecdote was far more simple than I had originally thought. It could be found in the depths of my dresser drawer. You give me pre-date tension and I will give you a nice pair of corduroy slacks. Let me explain.
Most often, you don’t know what will occur on the first date. Usually you throw on some nice attire and just hope for the best. However, many times you can find yourself wearing the wrong thing. Your suit doesn’t bode well at chuck-e-cheese, or Barack and Michelle are disgusted by your choice of sweatpants for their dinner party. I found out that a lot of my pre-date tension was based off the stress of trying to find something to wear when you don't know where you are going. I needed something versatile, I needed corduroys.
Corduroys are the swiss army knife of the pants community. They can be used in any situation that you encounter in a given day. You can wear corduroys to the club because they are perfect for dancing. They don’t restrict any movement in the lower body, and they make their presence known immediately when you walk in the door. They demand respect like the Alpha Lion in a pride, and it is a wonderful feeling to know that you aren’t going to put a tear in your pants if you finally work up the courage to try that dance move that you’ve been practicing for months in front of the mirror at home (did that just get too personal?).
Corduroys can also be utilized at weddings for their “dressy” appearance. There is a story floating around that the man who invented the corduroys, Christopher Walworth Corduroy II, actually invented them exclusively for weddings. He needed a pair of slacks that could pass as “dressy” but still permit him to shake a leg on the dance floor without feeling like a robot. Some fine fabric and four stitches later birthed the first pair of corduroy pants.
The only problem with corduroy pants is that they often get into fistfights with sweatpants over who is more comfortable. It just so happens that, like sweatpants, corduroys go great with popcorn on movie nights. Their comfortability (not a word) allows you to curl up into positions you thought only existed to squirrels and chipmunks.
My friends told me you were spontaneous so I wanted to be prepared, and I knew that whatever situation presented itself; I could combat it with my freshly pressed corduroy slacks. This dropped the pre-date tensions quickly, and I felt a new confidence level as I looked dashing while still maintaining my comfortability (still not a word).
My first thoughts of you were that you were far too big and too loud to be my girlfriend, but I didn’t want to rush my judgment so I gave you a second chance. That is when I started to see all the positive things about you. Your streets were clean, and you were entertaining millions of people effortlessly! I had fun eating with you at the “Museo de Jamón” and taking in the sites at La Plaza de Sol. It was hard to believe how friendly you were, you knew everyone. We danced with the Mariachi band in La Plaza de Sol, we took a photo with Mickey Mouse, and we took a tour of El Palacio Real (Royal Palace). However, I have to say that my favorite part about our date was El Prado. The paintings in the exhibit were exquisite, and I couldn’t believe how close they let us come. If we would have stuck our tongues out we could have licked the fine art of Doménikos Theotokópoulos, Diego Velázquez, or Francisco de Goya.
I’m sorry I talked too much, but I just wanted to tell you I had a really good time and I would love to come visit you again (call me back!). Here are some of the pictures of us on our date that I scrap booked..
You in front of the Royal Palace.
When you met my friends!
More friends!
You being silly.
You being cute.
You tying your shoe (still cute).
I told you not to wear that dress! OMG!
(a whole lot of)LOVE,
Coop
P.S. Is it too soon for you to meet my parents?
Thank you for letting me treat you like a playground. You are a little bigger than I expected, but I would love to, uh, date you. It wouldn’t have to be too serious (or would it?). You could sing me to sleep with your whistling nightlife, we could rise in the morning to your beautiful weather, and if you started talking to other people I could break up with you, only to forgive you two weeks later (our relationship would be stronger because of it). I mean, you’re not really my type, but after only two dates I can feel myself falling for you in a manner that can only be displayed in a Jennifer Aniston movie.
When my friends told me we were going to see you, I can’t lie, I was nervous. I had heard a lot about you, but I had never actually seen you. There were pictures of you online and you looked beautiful, but you can never trust the Internet. For all I know, you could have been a 40 year-old man with hairy arms and a red moustache. It could have turned into one of those “Catch a Predator” shows where we meet and you walk in naked, holding a bowl of fruit. I mean, who has time for that? Certainly, not me. However, my friends reassured me with things like, “Madrid is so nice!” and “you have to go! You will regret it if you don’t.” If it wasn’t for them I would have never of met you.
Before I left to meet you, I found myself drawing up box-plots, venn diagrams, and flow charts to find a system that would equalize my pre-date tensions. It turns out the anecdote was far more simple than I had originally thought. It could be found in the depths of my dresser drawer. You give me pre-date tension and I will give you a nice pair of corduroy slacks. Let me explain.
Most often, you don’t know what will occur on the first date. Usually you throw on some nice attire and just hope for the best. However, many times you can find yourself wearing the wrong thing. Your suit doesn’t bode well at chuck-e-cheese, or Barack and Michelle are disgusted by your choice of sweatpants for their dinner party. I found out that a lot of my pre-date tension was based off the stress of trying to find something to wear when you don't know where you are going. I needed something versatile, I needed corduroys.
Corduroys are the swiss army knife of the pants community. They can be used in any situation that you encounter in a given day. You can wear corduroys to the club because they are perfect for dancing. They don’t restrict any movement in the lower body, and they make their presence known immediately when you walk in the door. They demand respect like the Alpha Lion in a pride, and it is a wonderful feeling to know that you aren’t going to put a tear in your pants if you finally work up the courage to try that dance move that you’ve been practicing for months in front of the mirror at home (did that just get too personal?).
Corduroys can also be utilized at weddings for their “dressy” appearance. There is a story floating around that the man who invented the corduroys, Christopher Walworth Corduroy II, actually invented them exclusively for weddings. He needed a pair of slacks that could pass as “dressy” but still permit him to shake a leg on the dance floor without feeling like a robot. Some fine fabric and four stitches later birthed the first pair of corduroy pants.
The only problem with corduroy pants is that they often get into fistfights with sweatpants over who is more comfortable. It just so happens that, like sweatpants, corduroys go great with popcorn on movie nights. Their comfortability (not a word) allows you to curl up into positions you thought only existed to squirrels and chipmunks.
My friends told me you were spontaneous so I wanted to be prepared, and I knew that whatever situation presented itself; I could combat it with my freshly pressed corduroy slacks. This dropped the pre-date tensions quickly, and I felt a new confidence level as I looked dashing while still maintaining my comfortability (still not a word).
My first thoughts of you were that you were far too big and too loud to be my girlfriend, but I didn’t want to rush my judgment so I gave you a second chance. That is when I started to see all the positive things about you. Your streets were clean, and you were entertaining millions of people effortlessly! I had fun eating with you at the “Museo de Jamón” and taking in the sites at La Plaza de Sol. It was hard to believe how friendly you were, you knew everyone. We danced with the Mariachi band in La Plaza de Sol, we took a photo with Mickey Mouse, and we took a tour of El Palacio Real (Royal Palace). However, I have to say that my favorite part about our date was El Prado. The paintings in the exhibit were exquisite, and I couldn’t believe how close they let us come. If we would have stuck our tongues out we could have licked the fine art of Doménikos Theotokópoulos, Diego Velázquez, or Francisco de Goya.
I’m sorry I talked too much, but I just wanted to tell you I had a really good time and I would love to come visit you again (call me back!). Here are some of the pictures of us on our date that I scrap booked..
You in front of the Royal Palace.
When you met my friends!
More friends!
You being silly.
You being cute.
You tying your shoe (still cute).
I told you not to wear that dress! OMG!
(a whole lot of)LOVE,
Coop
P.S. Is it too soon for you to meet my parents?
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Daily Life.
Hey you bushy-tailed squirrels (here's an acorn for you!),
After looking at the photo above I know you're probably thinking something like, "how can two people look so happy together?" Well, it's not easy. It takes hundreds of communication errors, hours of spanish soap operas, and a few arguments about who is using all of the hot water to form a bond as indestructible as the one delicately displayed above. Julia has been an angel to me thus far. She has continued to help me with my Spanish even though she is probably as frustrated as my face when it tries to grow facial hair. Not many people have the patience to wait mid-conversation long enough for their counterpart to sieve through a spanish-english dictionary to find the appropriate word. It's like taking a walk with someone who has disobedient shoelaces. Naw mean? Also, when she was teaching me how to roll my "R's," I'm pretty confident I saw a couple of spit bubbles leave my mouth only to land on her face, and plant their flag like a couple of proud astronauts. However, she shrugged it off like the soldier that she is, and I chalked it up as something to work on..
Anyways, I wanted to show you zombie's a couple of pictures of my room..
The kitchen...
And the birds that I rise to each morning!
I have lots to tell you folks! I have a new nickname amongst the locals, and a madrid visit to share, but its been difficult to find time (school is starting to really pour it on..).
See You On the Streets,
Coop.
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