Not only do I not understand the concept, but I don’t understand how something like this even exists. What a wonderful world.

Wouldn’t it have been awesome if these dancers were on the set, “interpreting” Rajoy and Rubalcaba’s answers during the debate?

Enjoy your post-Spanish election treat! Hat tip to my friend Beau Bahan in Austin.

Why is the sight of animals eating pee and poop, fucking and jerking off so funny to humans? We humans are governed by cultural taboos, so it’s the animals’ casualness and utter lack of shame that strike us as funny.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_n6XNkzS00

And primates, whose faces look so similar to humans’, are hilarious for their blasé facial expressions as [...]]]>

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A2y_LEbdEVE

Why is the sight of animals eating pee and poop, fucking and jerking off so funny to humans? We humans are governed by cultural taboos, so it’s the animals’ casualness and utter lack of shame that strike us as funny.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_n6XNkzS00

And primates, whose faces look so similar to humans’, are hilarious for their blasé facial expressions as they commit acts that none of us (well, most of us) wouldn’t dare perform in public. Not even me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6DBuk91phkI

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVE60zwXx1k

A gorilla laying on the ground in a state of total relaxation looks a lot like anyone’s dad sitting in his recliner after a big, satisfying meal — until he starts to play with his hoo-ha.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HgdanaYuC_A

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YYVwVvCn2Zs

(Video is a little long; the fun part starts around 1:40. The noises are straight out of a Star Wars movie.)

Hmmm… It really does make me think twice about walking on beautiful girls.

From now on, whenever I see them in the street, I’ll simply step on them, and not go dragging those lovely ladies thru loose trash and dog poop like I normally do. From now on, I’ll save that stuff just for the ugly [...]]]>

Hmmm… It really does make me think twice about walking on beautiful girls.

From now on, whenever I see them in the street, I’ll simply step on them, and not go dragging those lovely ladies thru loose trash and dog poop like I normally do. From now on, I’ll save that stuff just for the ugly girls.

I’m grateful to have been made aware of an issue that seriously exists. Thank you, Madrid Footlocker™.

Primero, quiero pedir disculpas a todos los que han dejado comentarios en este blog que no han sido aprobados hasta ahora. Este Word Press es una cosa rara; a veces me avisa cuando llegan y a veces no. En este caso, ha pasado de avisarme completamente… probablemente en espíritu de venganza, por mi comportamiento tan [...]]]>

Primero, quiero pedir disculpas a todos los que han dejado comentarios en este blog que no han sido aprobados hasta ahora. Este Word Press es una cosa rara; a veces me avisa cuando llegan y a veces no. En este caso, ha pasado de avisarme completamente… probablemente en espíritu de venganza, por mi comportamiento tan pasota respecto a este blog.

La verdad es que he estado metida en mil movidas este último mes, y debido a mi personalidad obsesiva que no sabe hacer nada con moderación, las cosas me salen “todo o nada”. En este caso, se ha traducido a un descuido enorme respecto a email e informática. Y con los años, esta tendencia mía va a peor.

Supongo que hay una pastilla que me curaría de ese defecto, pero los farmaceúticos te joden la creatividad. Y tengo mis mejores ideas cuando estoy corriendo desnuda por el Caprabo(TM) de mi barrio.

Tengo varias cosas para enseñaros, empezando por unas fotos que saqué en una tienda por la Ronda San Antoni. Un par de artefactos de nuestra edad de consumición compulsiva, hasta las personalidades más legendarias de la cultura pop.

Pero primero, un breve historial: cuando tenía 12 años, el profesor de historia nos dio la tarea de preparar una tesis sobre alguien histórico. Después de mucha discusión con él — una batalla que acabé ganando simplemente por agobiarle, no por convencerle —  me permitió escribir sobre Marilyn Monroe.

Pero desde entonces, la pobre Marilyn ha sido quemada para mí hace ya muchos años. No fue culpa suya, porque en mi opinión, sigue siendo uno de los personajes más fascinantes y encantadores de este siglo (y pico).

Todo empezó con ese retrato de Warhol, en su época algo curioso y revolucionario. Quién hubiera imaginado que los retratos de Warhol se convertirían en el agobio de decoración de hogar modernita y low-cost durante el siglo que venía?

Aquí tenemos una clase de “wall art” para la casa:

Aprecio especialmente el detalle de imprimir su nombre debajo de cada retrato. Por si cupiese la duda de cómo se llama ese rostro. Por si el comprador es alguien que ha vivido en una cueva durante toda la vida.

Vi un cartel que hizo lo mismo con el pobre James Dean. Su famosa foto, en chaqueta de biker, estampado en carteles, biombos, papeleras…

Pero el golpe más bestia fue lo siguiente, de nuevo a Marilyn:

Si Marilyn y James Dean hubiesen sabido que sus rostros acabarían, 50 años después de sus muertes, ornamentando papeleras y recoge-escombros, se habrían suicidado mucho antes.

__________________________

Oh, y esta noche: Planeta Catalunya! Como siempre, en el Café Teatre Llantiol de Barcelona, C/ Riereta 7, 23h. Click aquí para más info y reservas. Sólo quedan unos 4 shows hasta el summer break, y quién sabe qué nos pasará entonces. Si el planeta (universal, no catalán) seguirá existiendo o no.

I’ve fantasized about the fates of some of my favorite YouTube characters:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4HFb5N0AyCk

Of course this poor, barely-closeted weatherman must have [...]]]>

Do you ever wonder what happened to some of these people who became such an entertaining part of your life for a day or two? Wouldn’t you love to see a show about what happened to them?

I’ve fantasized about the fates of some of my favorite YouTube characters:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4HFb5N0AyCk

Of course this poor, barely-closeted weatherman must have lost his job once this video went viral. But I like to think he’s having a much better time now in his new career as the host of a hip new reality show for MTV-France, on fully fumigated sets.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFk6JaHEX6c

I enjoy imagining this lovely but unlucky anchorwoman as the CEO of a new and crushingly successful dating agency.

I pray that this reporter got to leave this “country-ass, fucked up town” behind and is now enjoying his life as a jet-setting correspondent in the most sophisticated world capitols: New York, Shanghai, Paris, Tokyo — and always indoors. May he never have to walk through grass and pollen again!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FV-HLXeUmAk

God. I tried so hard to imagine a happy ending for this terribly unfortunate girl in the hot tub, I really did. Poor thing definitely must’ve killed herself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vxTW4qK8-M

Here’s hoping this crustacean-phobic cook conquers her nerves one day and hosts her own Martha Stewart-Meets-Jackass-type show. Martha’s all right, but this lady (and her dog) would kick her ass!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E8aprCNnecU

This adorably cherubic, cookie-loving tot is now a preteen and a total fucking asshole.

I am referring, of course, to the viej@s choch@s.

I noticed it when I went to the droguería (for some reason, in this country [...]]]>

Well, it’s Semana Santa, whatever the hell that is, and the world’s afire with especially pious energy here in Barcelona. Well, maybe not the whole world, but definitely one segment of it is.

I am referring, of course, to the viej@s choch@s.

I noticed it when I went to the droguería (for some reason, in this country they call a “drug store” a place only sells mops and bath gel). The cashier, Rosa — a warm, petite woman who is always smiling, always ready with a friendly word of conversation — was surprisingly irritable.

One big clue: the place, like every other store that was open in my neighborhood today, was filled to the brim with viejas. Old ladies waiting in line, other old ladies refusing to wait their turn, pushing their coins in Rosa’s face and demanding she check them out now, old ladies grabbing the last boxes of soap off the shelves, old ladies dando coñazo to the store clerks about why don’t have this or that product, and complaining about the ones they do have.

The old ladies had picked the place clean; the shelves were nearly bare. It looked like the End of the World was near.

One old lady chided Rosa the cashier about the fact that, because of the holiday, the droguería closed early today, at 2 pm. Rosa’s answer was, “Well, just one Saturday of the year we close at 2 instead of 9. It’s logical, isn’t it? Don’t you think it’s logical? ” with that last “logical” dripping with venomous sarcasm. Then Rosa made a remark about perhaps committing suicide once the store closed.

Wow. I never in my life imagined that Rosa would be capable of uttering something so dark to her customers. These old ladies must have pushed her to the brink. Rosa had transformed into someone else, as humans are known to do when subjected to extremely inhumane conditions. Under such circumstances, even the best among us will crack. It was like ‘Nam in that droguería, man, and Rosa was in The Shit.

Unsettled from the droguería, I went to the bank. All the banks are closed today, but I went to use the automatic teller. I had to urgently deposit some cash before the banks opened again, whenever that is… in June, perhaps? July? Whenever these Godawful holidays end, which I’ll know because we’ll be able to buy food again.

Not all the cash machines accept straight bills, so I had to pick the right one to do it. There were two vestibules available: one with two cash machines, and one with just one machine. I picked the single-machine vestibule and locked the door, leaving the other vestibule with the two machines free for others to use. I try to be thoughtful that way.

But once I inserted the money, the cash machine hummed loudly for several minutes — always a bad sign — before finally rejecting the bills. A screen came up saying that operation wasn’t available — esto es España , you know-- so I had to pack everything up and go to the second vestibule, the one with the two machines. I picked the correct machine out of the two and started over.

While beginning my transaction, I heard the door rattling. A woman was trying to open it. I pointed out the other vestibule to her, which she hadn’t seen, and she smiled and waved in appreciation.

A minute later, I heard the door rattle again. I was concentrating on counting the bills to make sure they were correct and didn’t turn around right away. The door rattled again, extremely violently, and the glass walls shook. I heard the noise of something hard hitting the glass. “What the fuck?” I thought and turned around, thinking I was about to be held up by a band of Albano-Kosovar war criminals.

It was an old couple, a man and a woman, each with a cane. The old man was violently tugging at the door, his face twisted in fury, and the woman was hitting the door with her cane. “Abra! (Open!)” she yelled. “ABRA!!”

Holy shit, I thought. Crazy viejos with weapons. Like hell I’m gonna open that door now.

I made a motion for them to hold their horses, trying to indicate that I was finishing up something important that couldn’t be interrupted. “ABRA!!!!” The old woman screamed. “There are TWO cash machines in there. You HAVE to open the door! ABRA, cabrona!”

That “cabrona” did it. I turned around and said through the glass door, “I’m sorry, I don’t open the door to violent, insulting people who are out of their minds. When my money’s safe in the bank, then I might open the door… But probably not. I don’t think it would be a good idea even then.” They both began screaming and cracking their canes against the door. “ABRA! ABRA!! Hija de puta! There are two machines, you HAVE to let us in!”

“I don’t have to let anyone in. Especially if they’re a pair of foul-mouthed lunatics with sticks.” I was starting to feel drained and depressed. I so hate dealing with people who remind me of my parents.

“Cabrona! Go back to your neighborhood!” shouted the old lady.

“I am in my neighborhood.” I turned back to the machine.

“Well you wouldn’t know it, from the way you act!”

“And from the language coming from your mouth, lady, it ain’t too flattering a reflection on the neighborhood either. Is that how the neighborhood talks?”

“Go to hell! Cabrona!”

“Happy Easter. Jesus loves you both, I’m sure. I’ve got to hand it to him.”

The lady in the other vestibule watched the whole incident, her mouth open in shock. When she finished, she opened the door and the old couple walked in, now cursing at me through the glass separator and banging away at it with their canes. “Good day,” the lady said in a trembling voice to the couple of old lunatics in an effort to demonstrate that she was a friend, please don’t attack, and got the hell out of there.

“Happy Easter.” I repeated over the din of their insults as the machine spat out my wad of bills. “Well, maybe there is a God after all; since you’re a couple, He spared two other people a lifetime of misery.” The screen lit up red with the same “Operation Not Available” sign as the other machine had done. But to me, those words read, “Nyah, nyah-nyah-NYAH-nyah!”

It’s pretty funny that the time of the year when people seem to be at their worst is called Semana Santa. If this is Semana Santa, I’d hate to see Semana Idiota, or Semana Gillipollas.

Seriously, I’d love to know who thinks this shit up.

The local government’s apparent contempt for its citizens is perfectly represented by this desolate little “park” at the Europa-Fira metro station in L’Hospitalet, just outside of the Barcelona. In all my thousands of trips to Ikea, I have never once seen even one human soul actually [...]]]>

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWTDrYbZf2c

Seriously, I’d love to know who thinks this shit up.

The local government’s apparent contempt for its citizens is perfectly represented by this desolate little “park” at the Europa-Fira metro station in L’Hospitalet, just outside of the Barcelona. In all my thousands of trips to Ikea, I have never once seen even one human soul actually enjoying this “park”… but no matter, for someone in the government decided it would be a great idea to pay some design firm a huge wad of cash to implant a mass of huge, metal HAIRS all over it.

Gee, I wonder why no one hangs out in this park. Imagine meeting for a first date with someone you have a crush on: “Hey, do you want to hang out for a while?”

“Sure! Where should we meet?”

“Hmmm… How about that park covered with LONG, GROSS HAIRS?”

Seriously: HAIRS. Stuff that the entire civilized world is trying desperately to get rid of, and they go and plant them in the middle of the park. Is there any better way to say “fuck you” towards the citizens of this town than to implant huge, metal HAIRS in their public spaces?

I can only think of one way to top it. Instead of hairs, put big, metal replicas of dog shit. There are still some open spaces left to ruin.

Come on, people! Don’t stand for this nonsense! Let’s all meet in that park… cover the entire area with hot wax… and quickly and brutally rip those hairs out.

Now my toilet’s all jumpy.