Cause I'm cool like that...

I have a scrapbook I keep under my bed thats full of tickets. I've been collecting stubs since I was thirteen. For some reason it seems if I don't keep some physical form of evidence that these events took place, I wouldn't even remember I was there. 

However, it is hard to forget the trip I took to Europe with my friend Cameron a few years ago. Above is a page in my scrapbook I filled with plane tickets and the like from when we traveled around Spain, Italy and the Netherlands. Impounded in my memory is of course the Spanish prostitute loitering outside our hostel in Gran Via who always wore the same tangerine colored dress and could be persuaded by a Big Mac and fries. Seeing my favorite painting, "The Garden of Earthly Delights" by Hieronymus Bosch at the Prado in Madrid certainly sticks as well. Even the barrage of Italian men rushing down the alleyway in Rome to whisk Cameron and I off with a "kiss" is unforgettable. 

However, having documented proof in some kind of collage, nestled neatly under my bed helps remind me of where I was and that I was legitimately there. My memory then tends to lapse and fill in the gaps of what I thought I remembered rather than what actually happened. 

I like knowing that there were specific dates and times that coincide with these memories that will never blur with time.