Grammatical mischief
The sublime Grammar Cop@Banterist (now at LS) has been on patrol at Coney Island. Ignatius J Reilly would be proud of him.
The sublime Grammar Cop@Banterist (now at LS) has been on patrol at Coney Island. Ignatius J Reilly would be proud of him.
The state-sponsored Mediterranean Social Forum “demonstration” for “a conflict-free, peaceful Mediterranean” began with a huge punch-up between the Moroccans and the Saharouis, so I was reasonably optimistic that one of the post-march bands, Les Boukakes, would indeed stage a “sexual scene where many men masturbate on and give a ’semen bath’ to a willing submissive” [...]
Be there (ie Presentació Pública) or be something objectionable. Unfortunately I have a prior engagement with a spider.
Joan Barril suggests making orthography subject to the weather as one more means of diverting attention from the fact that most people can’t get the accents right in the simplest of Catalan. Erik Dams touches a related theme–writing implements designed to operate under meteorological conditions unsuited to their users–and Wim de Bie reports–one shouldn’t necessarily [...]
kalebeul’s favourite Marksist notes that a German comic is raising laughs in Britain. No hope of that here: in the course of a post claiming that customer service in Barcelona is worse even than in Rio de Janeiro, Sarita mentions the poster campaign for budget flyers, Germanwings:
Germanwings. Vuelos a Alemania desde 19 euros. No bromeamos, [...]
Apparently some ladies & gents with whom I sing when the big geezer is off doing other stuff are going to be on the telly quite a lot.
Apart from the odd bit of arranging, the barrel organ is the thing at the moment, when I get time. It’s a somewhat more lonely path, but I’m not very good at dance steps or 80s music anyway.
Kalebeul wouldn’t watch a hagiography of a faghating totalitarian fuckwit like St Paul, so it sees no reason this weekend to take cinema seats away from Barcelona’s chiliastic masses in their nostalgic lust for Hispanic dictators and good-looking saints. Paul Berman’s piece from 2004 applies. Even the regime sociologists seem to have noticed that Cataloonia has lost track of reality.
Graffiti of Camarón de la Isla and guitarist, somewhere in Barcelona, I think in Carmelo, so overlooking the place where he died:

More here.
Kabe-Otoko/Wall Man, neither human nor demon, observes the world from within walls:
“Velen verzeggen Schiedam, maar sluiten dadelijk een verbond met Barcelona.” Is it about drinkers swearing by Dutch gin/jenever, only to turn to Spanish wine and brandy?