I guess if you are still reading this, then you are wondering why you didn't win a free iPod... Well, its because your mom had an affair with a hobo from the Bronx which permanently soiled her cooter, and now God hates you.

So, moving on to more important matters, I'll tell you a little bit about Barcelona, and what I discovered. I learned the following:

1) Sangria can come in a can but if you're a tourist they'll pour it into a pitcher with ice and lemon bits for you.
2) Barcelona is the Mullet Capital of the World and as an avowed mullet-admirer, I must admit that I was heartily impressed by the sheer number of mullets and variations on the style. Including at least one Mullet/Faux-hawk which threw to the wind the original intention of the mullet as "business in the front, party in the back."
3) Spaniards sing that "olay song" everywhere you know the one I mean, its that song you hear played every time Soccer is mentioned in the US. Right, so I thought it was a soccer-specific song... but apparently you are allowed to sing it any time you are in a large group, drunk, and bored.
4) Spaniards only sell "traditional spanish food" in tourist areas. I guess they still eat paella and tapas, but they also have three-story tall KFC's... so you tell me which one is more popular.
5) There is NOWHERE on earth that doesn't have Canadians, and I mean nowhere. The first flag I saw in Spain, was a Canadian one hanging out of window. I would imagine that a Canadian in Spain would be much like Dorothy in Oz, desperately clicking his or her heels together, hoping for a magical return to Toronto.

Of course, in addition to being an asshole tourist and demanding English from people whose first two languages are Spanish and Catalan, the purpose of my trip was to see Queen, or what remains of it, perform live. I am not a Queen fan, per se -- I mean, I respect any band that has TWO songs on the "Jock Jams" CD, but outside of Bohemian Rhapsody, I'm clueless. I'd also like to add that I in no way support Fat Bottom Girls, nor do I think that they aid the rockin' world in any way.

That said, the concert was pretty good, and I managed to learn that asking for "Potato Chips" at a Spanish concession stand WILL result in one receiving a bag of potato chips of the delightfully ruffled kind. So, with that, my confused pointing and angry gesturing, I managed to overcome a language barrier.

In Barcelona the local beer is called "Damm."

I just thought that was cool.

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