Esmeraldo el Relector de EspArrago

I haven’t done anything overtly groundbreaking this week… or last week. It’s that crunch time in school before spring break.

My art class went to Sagrada Familia. It’s a big Gaudi church that was started more than 100 years ago. It’s projected to be finished in 2030. The outside is nice on two sides, and the inside isn’t finished. The whole project reminds me of a large scale 649 Bingham. It’ll be nice when it’s done.

My art class, also, went to the Joan MirO Museum, Fundacio Joan MirO. He was into minimalism. He also liked the idea of painting for the sake of painting, because it’s fun. He had a fly beard.

Last weekend, I decided to walk to Parc Guell to do my homework. So I got lost. But I discovered the biggest escalator that I’ve seen, yet. It led to some sort of hospital, a crazy person hospital I surmised. That’s where I ate my lunch.

I, eventually, ascertained my whereabouts and began walking in the direction of my destination. I, accidentally, arrived in the park to the north of my destination. It’s easy to get mixed up because they put all their parks on top of hills. You can’t see ’em until you climb the hill. Also, I’m horrible with directions.

This is how I discovered where the gypsies live, the other side of the hill. They have a lot of dogs. But I avoided the neighborhood.

I chatted with an elderly gypsy man that was picking wild asparagus. He sat down and smoked a pipe, and I ate a lollipop that my senora gave me for Tres Reyes. It was a smiley face Christmas tree with M&M’s for bulbs. We chilled, and he explained all the different things that you can pick around the city. At least, that’s what I figured he was saying. He was speaking in Catalan.

After some time, I said good-bye and headed for Parc Guell which I could see from my vantage point on the ground in the Gypsy park.

That’s it for the weekend. But for a different topic…

I brought a couple packages of razors with me to Barcelona to do my shaving, Wal-Mart razors. I forgot my good razor thing at Hope. Wal-Mart razors really portray my true shaving ability. So, every so often, for the first month or so, I’d come to class with my faced chopped to hell. Hence, I stopped shaving for 43 days. I could almost hide things in my beard.

The other day I got ‘er cut by an Argentinean barber. He cut my hair, too. And he washed my hair. What service! I couldn't help chuckle while he washed my hair because I don't, often, have other people wash my hair. The chuckling probably made it weird for both of us.

He thought I was German because I refused to respond to him in English.