Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Dance Party: Timbuctu Nights

Black Beat Noir Negro Alf Laila Leggo!

Tonight by Bigiano

Ewele by ShowDemCamp (SDC)

Crazy by Seyi Shay (ft Wizkid)

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Friday, July 03, 2015

over-sharing highlights from one year ago

Tomorrow is July 4th, which means that one year ago we were in Barcelona for little sister K's wedding.
It was just this morning I finally "created" a virtual museum post on REALbubbler, so now, excited about the coincidence, I checked my little book and found that woah, indeed, on Day 6 of that trip, July 3rd, in the morning, among other things I'd hung out for hours at the Catalonia History Museum.  Yep, the one I lovingly nicknamed The Museo Nacionale de Fake Shit.  The one that inspired me more than anything else I saw in that town - I said, wow, these people make something out of nothing, every time, while losers make excuses.  You know how in developing (or non-developing) countries, it's always blah blah due to the issues of inadequate this and non-availability of that and low funding and lack of capital...  Now, these people made a museum with very few valuable artifacts; most of the exhibits were replicas or reproductions of the originals.  Kudos to the can-do, get-it-done spirit.  And I came back home and explored the idea of a virtual museum and found a few good examples.

If this was an anonymous blog, here would be more excitement.  (I'll try not to edit too much.)  It is incredible how much I saw and did in just seven days, I mean, I'm incredible, lol.  If I had a decent camera, I'd just photograph the short pages of my notes to show you.  Am I the only person left who doesn't carry a cracked-screen phone complete with video camera and Candy Crush?

Ok, here's the summary page at the end of my 10 pages of notes from the trip:
  You know I loved a boy.
  My father loved our date.
  The wedding was lovely.
  The croquette at the wedding reception.
  The kiss that sanctified air.

  I speak beginner to intermediate Spanish.  Better than I thought.  
  You can charge admission to a museum of fake shit.  Maybe even an online museum.

Wow, so much to explain all at once.  Where do I start?  No, I don't even remember what sanctifying air means, but it must have been really something :)  That was Day 3.  By Day 4, I'd been dumped but didn't know it until Day 5 or 6 when I'd been double or triple-dumped.  Day 7, in the final hours, I got my boy back yaaaay, isn't it wonderful when love wins?  We fled to his apartment for a quick chat during his 15-minute lunch break (work work work), the way we talked it technically didn't count [Clinton, 1998] because ehhn, time was short and he was Indian so I didn't see the point, but he was super happy and I was heart-happy and free to skip off to meet my peeps and duck into a bookstore and meet a gorgeous book guy that you already know and do lunch with my peeps and get to the airport.

I don't know what the croquettes were made of, but yum.  That was Day 1, the wedding.  Same day as checking out the local park, big lunch, grabbing something to wear because luggage gone.  Loool because my stylish sisters' luggage gone too, so they couldn't upstage the bride.  Wedding after-party and after-after-party, but I'm a human being after all, I was tired.

I'd actually got food-poisoning on Day 0 and emptied my whole gut in the plumbing at the connecting airport (practiced my Arabic with the cleaner lady who wanted baksheesh, oh dear, just like Nigeria) and hung out at night with the groom's crew from Bilbao right after, so I don't know where all the energy came from.  Guess when you don't have too much money lying about and someone gets you a trip to wherever - thanks mama - you get in there and rock the hell out of it :) 

Day 2, Sunday, I walked throughout Barcelona.  Discovering downtown is like what I was born to do.  In my notebook, I listed: Poblenou/Diagonal, past Torre Agbar and Glories Mall and Design museum, up by Sagrada Familia and Casa Mila (La Pedrera) and Casa Batlo and great buildings with steel balustrade on intricate facades, the shops, outdoor dining, and street musicians on Passeig del Gracia, El Corte Ingles to change money ( $ gift from uncle ) and retrieve my red scarf forgotten yesterday, and down La Rambla.  Don't forget Marilyn Monroe and the erotic museum. S wanted to see my chest, well, to determine my shirt size. Home by 11pm.

By Day 3 I was fit to work as a tour guide; fortunately, my father was willing to hang out with me, so I got to put my skill to use :)  I put my high-heels on thinking it would be some mild walking, then we took public transportation everywhere, but lots of hiking - the park near the hotel, the zoo - sea lion show yippee, then Parc Guell, food and the Nigeria-France world cup match, then Camp Nou closing time.  Then it was night and I sent papa to bed while I went to see flamenco and fall for a local (S from Day 2) and sanctify the air.

Day 5 my feet were finished, so I did nothing but rest and watch TV, but Day 4, I took a different cut across the town.  An hour or two with my mother and lovely sister but we split up because I'd already seen the mall a couple of times - love you very dearly but no more El Corte Ingles for me, so now I did Barri Gotic, a church, the ateliers, got lost and ended up in a sort of rough area and Parc de la Ciutadella, walked the marina still lost, rushed dinner, late to the opera, waited for loverboy who of course had made a point of going out to the W hotel without me because he's an evil Las Ramblas dude lol, so instead I talked to a drunk likely minor drug dealer dude who explained the ecology of Las Ramblas nightlife - the prostitutes, the Nigerians, the tough guys, the whole scam repeating night after night.  That day was the taxi union strike (against Uber) so I had to walk/bus home very late.  Was thinking to go off to Paris for Day 5 but no money, no feet...I let everybody else have the fun for a change :)

Day 6, July 3rd, I had money again and dad said I had to buy stuff so I complied during my walk down to the center of town.  Then as you know, I went to that national history museum.  I didn't mean to go there, I'd thought this was the famed Catalonia Art Museum, was so sure I was an expert in Barcelona, all I needed to do was walk past the marina and the beach.  So it was the wrong place, but it was the right place after all.
Afterwards I asked a local what I should do next because I'd already done everything, so I spent the afternoon at Laberinto d'Horta on the outskirts of town, then did some Gaudi (Casa Mila), went late to my sister's show at fashion week, hung out at this amazing musical instrument shop, and then as my little book has it "Unbelievable: ST stood me up again!  ...I waited 2 hrs.  Got drunk on half a glass of Sangria.  Couldn't eat my dinner."

Day 7: First, to hospital with K (sister) and mum.  Then to La Rambla to think, eat a perfect sorbet (my third - same flavour, same shop) and make up with my beautiful.  It worked.  ( fades...) Later, on the flight back, I was in dreamland because (...ok, this is too sappy...) 

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Luggage returned Day 2 or 3.
Reason number three that I didn't go to Paris on Day 5?  ST.  As in, heartbreak.  
I forgot about ST all these months :0

I was also going to write about the future of work - telecommuting (I'm about to try a full telecommute gig) and virtual workplaces (virtual reality, immersion in any place you choose).  Well, now I have.
What I would have seen at the other museum