We’re here in Cascais (“Cash-Cash”), Portugal, about 30 minutes from Lisbon. So far so good. We found a park with wandering peacocks and kennels of white rabbits. The bbf is excited because Culture Club is playing in the Irish bar where we internet. Portuguese beach kids are way cute – confirming that the English parents did, in fact, kidnap Madeleine. The policia just needed an outsider’s perspective to solve that one.
Thong bikinis – still popular.
Smoking – not as popular.
Speedos – only popular if they’re bulging.
Let me stop and clarify for a second that all my friends hate me because I’m here. So I don’t want to show off about the pristine beaches and the bunny rabbits and the citadels and such. Maybe I should just chronicle the bad stuff. Like I’m pretty sure I saw some poodle shit on the cobbled street earlier. Right before I bought ripe cherries from a street vendor and had my picture taken on a castle wall. And I got a grain of sand in my eye while I was tanning. So it’s not all roses here. But they do climb the walls of my apartment.
I’m sure we’ll eventually have a day of bad weather or at least some GI problems. But for now, we like the local beer, we like the green wine, we like the Right Said Fred video playing on the pub TV (local beer helps), we like that no one has tried to sell us heroin yet, and we like watching the teenagers making out in the ocean. It’s like they’ve never kissed anyone before – it’s beautiful.
But we wish we could share our trip with everyone. So if you want to give me your mailing address, I’ll send you a postcard. I won’t even charge you like this guy. And I promise to write you something insensible, maybe in broken Portuguese. Quick, get your postcard while you can. This place will only exist while I’m here. It’s called global solipsism, and it only works for me.
Ok, ok, so it’s fun and great. Now come home already.
so when did your bbf start liking culture club? what’s happening to him. we miss you already. your private town in portugal sounds fabulous. do the inhabitants understand they exist only in your imagination?
The citizens of Portugal keep hoping that I’ll write them into my blog and make them real, but I’m lazy.
Okay, I wasn’t jealous until now. Now I am. 90% humidity, undercooked enchiladas from Guad, and an unexplainable hangover never looked like such a raw deal.
No one’s bit on the postcards? Really?
620 McIntire Road
C’ville, VA 22902
The brighter colors the better.
Matt, I will be sending you lots of postcards.
Our American tenants have lived in Berlin, Germany, for the past five years. As soon as they got off the plane in Virginia the father started talking about how much he wanted to eat at Guadalajara.
so when did your bbf start liking culture club?
“Miss Me”, “Time” and “Church of the Poison Mind” are three of my favorite songs from the 80s, but I don’t usually go advertising it — until Wistar JUST DID.