Zodi’s Blog

Spanish treasures

This weekend was pretty uneventful compared to last weekend’s plastic and bloody debauchery. Both days were cloudy for the first time since April of 1918- the year of the Spanish flu outbreak. Coincidence? -You decide. Anyway with the clouds and all, it was the first time that we could do anything without our blood boiling over and frying our brains, so my wife convinced me to go to a Spanish flea market/community sale.

 

 Being that it was held in Nerja, I agreed, since I love the little seaside town. The place is slowly and painfully being taken over by fish and chip shops, the proprietors of fish and chip shops, and the customers of fish and chip shops. Those things multiply quicker than Starbucks on Spanish Fly. So I take every chance I get to see it before it is a sea of grease, pasty skin, and lager louts having a rowl and ‘taking the piss.’

                                                                           

On the way down I started to let my imagination run away with me as I often do. I could just see myself finding a rough draft of Homer’s ‘Odyssey,’ Fernando the III’s lost sword, or Picasso’s childhood coloring books. First I’d be on ‘Antiques Roadshow’ then I’d do the necessary tour of London’s auction houses before retiring to Ibiza.

 

blog pics 048

Don't you want to rub it?

 

After parking, we walked to an acre sized area filled to capacity with …..junk. As soon as we walked in I knew I was in for a big let down. Instead of old, naive, Spanish women parting with the treasures of antiquity, we saw nothing but gypsies selling garbage and calling it Garbazo. It was all very similar to the market day selection, all cheap sunglasses, purses that said Coche, and shoes that said Rebox. Classy beach towels with 2-pac, Tupak, Two-Pac, and Che. You can’t walk more than 10 feet in Spain without seeing Che. Why, because he is Che! Viva La Revolution!!!  Viva La Revolution!!! JaJaJaJaJa!!!

 

Oh yea, anyway, there were a ton of rusty tools and broken appliances. There was a basketball hoop with no pole, backboard or net. There were a set of golf clubs that Bobby Jones grandfather would have said were old. There were wagons missing wheels, books missing chapters and ladies missing teeth. I found a box, but it didn’t contain Schrödinger’s cat; alive or dead. However I did see a couple of cases of the Heisenberg uncertainty principle in action.

 

We did find some little treasures as we had to do. After driving an hour and a half, and braving the heat, you think to yourself, “Well I’m damn sure getting something and it’s going to be old, unique and special and I’m damn sure going to like it.” So we ended up getting two Moroccan candle holders and one Spanish rug. And they are damn unique, old, and special. If the Moroccan stuff wasn’t there, I would have been leaving with a basketball hoop and a copy of ‘Life of Pi’ without the delirium explanation at the end. Believe it!

 

 

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Looks like a bird jail.

 

The most entertaining of all the Spanish sports is people watching. Especially in this arena. Traditionally, the Gypsies are trying to rape you without lubricant, and the Spanish are unbelievable hagglers. The used car salesmen over here are a humble, terrified lot with nerve problems. At every single point of sale there is a vocal escalation in pitch and excitement from both parties. The Spanish will always shake their fingers in the Gypsies’ faces and say, “Es muy caro!” followed by vigorous head shaking and stomping of feet. The Gypsies will inevitably concede and accept the last price offered, with a miserable, “I’ll kill you in your sleep” expression. They usually get about 15% to 25% of the original asking price. The look of pure bliss on the Spanish women’s faces is alone worth the price of admission. It’s all in the name of good old European capitalism!

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July 27, 2009 - Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , ,

22 Comments »

  1. Aye yi yi.. Sorry you didn’t have more luck at the fea market.

    You should have flown in for my yard sale. 😉

    Comment by candice | July 27, 2009 | Reply

    • That’s OK, I love my bird jail. If I had been nearby I definitely would’ve come to your sale, if only to boost some CD’s. ha ha When I do fly in we’ll all get together and do something better than second hand shopping!!

      Comment by Scott Oglesby | July 27, 2009 | Reply

  2. Funny stuff Scott, and well-written. I’ll be sure to come back. Cheers and thanks for the comments!!

    Comment by Matt-Man | July 27, 2009 | Reply

    • Thanks a lot Matt-Man, that means something coming from you!

      Comment by Scott Oglesby | July 27, 2009 | Reply

  3. I like your bird jail

    Comment by nursemyra | July 27, 2009 | Reply

    • Thanks, I love my bird jail! I’d like to do a couple rooms of my house entirely in Moroccan; it’s just putting together the stuff!

      Comment by Scott Oglesby | July 27, 2009 | Reply

  4. Interesting fact: Bobby Jones grandfather once beat Schrödinger’s cat with his niblick. By combining these two physical properties, he actually set in motion what would later be known as Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle (originally called Old Man Jones’ Whack A Cat Theory)

    Comment by alantru | July 28, 2009 | Reply

    • I think I’ve played that game at Dave and Buster’s, unwittingly participating in early quantum physics experiments.
      That old man Jones was a tough nut to crack all right. I always thought he’d be much better off going over the lid of the box with a lob wedge. The niblick always seemed like too much club to me.

      Comment by Scott Oglesby | July 28, 2009 | Reply

  5. I came here all the way from bed to type on my itty bitty BlackBerry keyboard that you had me at Schrodinger. But now I’m really swooning, what with the combined theories and the whole being watched thing. Lovely, gentlemen.

    Comment by barelyknittogether | July 28, 2009 | Reply

    • You……. complete us. That’s what we do over here; combine tested scientific theories with half hearted conjecture and superstition. We’re just like the New Earth crowd! Oops, Pavlov’s dog just drooled on my keypad; that must be God’s way of telling me to wrap this comment up and go protest books!

      Comment by Scott Oglesby | July 28, 2009 | Reply

  6. Sounds fun, really. I once bought four tropical birds at a Philippine flea market and let them go.

    Comment by fundamentaljelly | July 28, 2009 | Reply

    • I’m just going over all the slang for ‘birds’ in my head. It could mean that you bought 4 kilo’s of blow, 4 British girls, 4 middle fingers, or four 1 under pars. Hmm. I actually think that you meant real birds. That was nice of you to set them free, but scary considering Schrödinger’s hungry cat on the prowl.

      Comment by Scott Oglesby | July 28, 2009 | Reply

      • Schrodinger: Cat is dead.

        Schrodinger’s cat: Schrodinger is dead. Now, about those birds…

        Also, how do you get the umlaut to appear? I can’t seem to figure out how to type with accent marks like the umlaut and the accent aigu.

        Comment by barelyknittogether | July 28, 2009 | Reply

  7. BKT- So you are saying that not only do we create our own reality, but our own reality is THE reality? I like it! Schrödinger and the cat are both being negative Nancy’s. I’m going to be nothing but positive from here on out! My wealth is in the box and it is mother fucking ALIVE!

    For some reason my ‘Word’ knows Schrödinger, I think they dated the same girl in high school. That’s why ‘Word’ is always telling everyone that Schrödinger has a tiny penis, and Schrödinger keeps telling everyone that ‘Word’ is an unlikely occurrence.

    Comment by Scott Oglesby | July 28, 2009 | Reply

  8. Please send me every treasure you find. Just use my credit card as you see fit. The gypsies, oh how I love their madness. In Italy they’d kneel with their heads down with their hands sticking out for coins. I used this as the perfect time to practice my slap-the-hand-sending-the-coins-flying routine.

    Comment by Ramblin' Rooster | July 29, 2009 | Reply

    • Rooster needs a bird jail. But I think the one you found is too small.

      Comment by Claire Collins | July 29, 2009 | Reply

      • Claire, why does Rooster need a bird jail? Are you saying he’s henpecked or a criminal cock? Are you Rooster obsessed the way that I’m monkey and TGIF obsessed?

        Comment by Scott Oglesby | July 29, 2009 | Reply

    • Uh oh, we have a problem. I already maxed out your two credit cards on World-O-Pills and start-up money for Lovejuice. I had to pay the celebrities to get their ….um endorsement.

      You gotta watch messing with those gypsies man. After I low-balled this old lady over a bag of nectarines, she pointed at me and said, “Richer!” Now no matter what I do, I keep getting richer. Actually it’s not that bad as far as Gypsy curses go!

      Comment by Scott Oglesby | July 29, 2009 | Reply

  9. The gypsy that cursed me shouted, “Rooster!”… enter the ramblin’…

    Comment by Ramblin' Rooster | August 3, 2009 | Reply

    • Yea but now you will always be the biggest cock with the coolest name!

      Comment by Scott Oglesby | August 3, 2009 | Reply

  10. Guess that’s one way to play out a curse…

    Comment by Ramblin' Rooster | August 4, 2009 | Reply

    • …and a cold Milwalkee’s best; it doesn’t get much better than that!

      Comment by Scott Oglesby | August 4, 2009 | Reply


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