Mi Amor: Dulce e Rojo
I think that my pre-Spain entry left a healthy air of mystery about "mi amor Espanola huidizo" -- my elusive Spanish love. After much soul-searching and incomprehensible Castillian grammar while strutting around La Rambla like a wannabe Barcelona sophisticate, I have found the answer:
I meant "soul-searching" as a euphamism for "LAS NOCHES DE SAGRIAS DULCES, ROJAS, Y BRILLIANTES!!!!"
And just to clarify, la chica suave on my right isn't my Spanish love, but rather, our fabulous Irish-Jewish comrade whom we like to call Kathryn Erin David. She's actually the one who so generously supplied me with this photo (Robin took it with Kathryn's camera Cassandra, but I think she just snapped the picture as an excuse to fondle Cassandra).
So, the final verdict: sangrias grandes triumph over all, solve all of life's problems (at least until the hang-over wears off), and represent the hallmarks of true, undeniable beauty: red, sweet, bright, and thoroughly intoxicating.
Also, it's just occurred to me that all of my Europe-oriented entries (and I've tallied them up carefully: two in total!) have all been almost completely about drinking and drunkeness, with no mention of the grandeur of the Norwegian Jewel and its lovely destinations, or any of our Spanish touring adventures. No worries though, I've decided to restrict all further talk about my trip to the W. Mediterranean to discussion about dry activities only! I seem to recall a goat-spotting during our excursion to the mountains of Monsterrat -- oh wait, I think that I hallucinated that goat after the wine-tasting. Dammit!
And to end this entry (which, I've determined, has a BAC of at least .37, which alcohol.edu classifies as "extremely dangerous"), Spanish keystrokes are overrated and require too much finger effort. Notice the lack of accents? What about the absence of the almighty tilde? ALL OUT OF SHEER AMERICAN LAZINESS! BWAHAHAHHAHA!
I meant "soul-searching" as a euphamism for "LAS NOCHES DE SAGRIAS DULCES, ROJAS, Y BRILLIANTES!!!!"
And just to clarify, la chica suave on my right isn't my Spanish love, but rather, our fabulous Irish-Jewish comrade whom we like to call Kathryn Erin David. She's actually the one who so generously supplied me with this photo (Robin took it with Kathryn's camera Cassandra, but I think she just snapped the picture as an excuse to fondle Cassandra).
So, the final verdict: sangrias grandes triumph over all, solve all of life's problems (at least until the hang-over wears off), and represent the hallmarks of true, undeniable beauty: red, sweet, bright, and thoroughly intoxicating.
Also, it's just occurred to me that all of my Europe-oriented entries (and I've tallied them up carefully: two in total!) have all been almost completely about drinking and drunkeness, with no mention of the grandeur of the Norwegian Jewel and its lovely destinations, or any of our Spanish touring adventures. No worries though, I've decided to restrict all further talk about my trip to the W. Mediterranean to discussion about dry activities only! I seem to recall a goat-spotting during our excursion to the mountains of Monsterrat -- oh wait, I think that I hallucinated that goat after the wine-tasting. Dammit!
And to end this entry (which, I've determined, has a BAC of at least .37, which alcohol.edu classifies as "extremely dangerous"), Spanish keystrokes are overrated and require too much finger effort. Notice the lack of accents? What about the absence of the almighty tilde? ALL OUT OF SHEER AMERICAN LAZINESS! BWAHAHAHHAHA!