Sweet Seals For You, Always
Claire Keane
Keni
Monterey Bay Aquarium
almost home
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oozey mess
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Cosimo Galluzzi
Kiana Khansmith
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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Doug Jones
KIROKAZE
One Nice Bug Per Day
taylor price
Fai_Ryy
official daine visual archive
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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@barnafridge
Fun time.
People in history have always found the weirdest way to celebrate and have fun together, and Catalans make no exception. But frankly, this time, I don't wanna know what the fuck is going on here.
Spotted in: Barceloneta
Fear and blood in Santa Caterina.
Borne/Santa Caterina, 14.03 am, Jordi Halsenslayer and his Mother Maricarmen Bukser are ready to butcher a bunch of employees from the local public library on lunch break.
Bread/Spread/Dead
It's gonna be a hot hot summer, I can feel it.
Bonus Track: Andrzej Dragan is back in town. Wouldn't you like to follow his seminar of photography? Did you notice there is no price in the poster? It's tomorrow. A Bridge will be built somewhere downtown overnight. A miracle work of engineering will make people think it's devil's opus. Will you give away your soul for Dragan's photography workshop? Will you be clever enough to roll a piece of cheese on the bridge so that a street dog goes after it and the devil will take its soul and not yours? Are you ready? Dragan is back.
Italianas do it better.
Grazie, Signore! Thank you Lord and booking agencies for bringing us a little bit of home to us Italians expats in Barcelona. We use to gather in tavernas, drink wine, eat spaghetti and cry together because no one understands us. And maybe we sing along some of Laura's hits, such as Toccami, sono malata (Touch me I'm sick), Figlio d'un fucile (Son of a gun) or Never gonna give you up (by Rick Hastley, sung in English, because Laura went to London for 3 months when she was 16 to study English). And cherry on the cake, as we say, Eliseo Parra is gonna open for her. Italian Pride!!!
Into the wild.
-Hey, Hljótt, what is that?- -I don't know, Blóðnasir, it must be from another forest. It looks lost-. -Maybe it's sleeping. Goobledigook, have you seen that fat stuff? What is it?- -It's a gas tank, you dicks. Come on, let's go, I'm hungry. The owner of the bar left his puddle unattended-.
Spotted in: terrace bar in Baixador de Vallvidrera.
There's a place where I can go when I feel lone when I feel blue.
El Cangrejo, old school nasty Barcelona cavern club with ageing transvestites instead of indie rock.
Ode to the Catalan Owner.
O, Catalan Owner, the Law is on your side!
You rent to my friends the flat that Grandma passed on to you
The electrical system is younger then her!
O Catalan Owner, you say nobody ever complained...
O Catalan Owner, Barcelona is blind and you won't turn on the light
(the circuit breaker would pop anyway).
Owner, little desperate cheap bastard owner, money won't bring you to Heaven,
you won't dance sardanas in the Green Fields
and at God Almighty's table they don't serve pa amb tomaquet.
So leave, oh leave the money on Earth and make it a better place,
and stop complaining about the crisis at the bar, hence you are the crisis.
Catalan owner of houses like these,
I'll be your caganer,
I'll fertilize your brain,
I'll poop on your face.
We serve pussy.
Maybe it's true that Barcelona is going out of fashion, and the figures of the tourists incomes seem to say it loud and clear: Spain is not hip anymore, OMG, we're losing money!!! So the catalan restaurant people, in order to attract people at all cost, decided for the good ol' monster magnet: the vagina.
1) Breakfast of champions. You can have TWO of them and a drink here.
In Italy 1 gnocco is a single piece of the famous dish. And gnocca is one of the nicknames for vagina. So of you are into matures, hop to this fake Italian restaurant called "Auntie's vagina" and order a warm sfogliatella.
Some other places serve even the whole thing. "Blonde, tasty and Spanish". How d'you like it, sir? Medium, rare or well done?
Fats Domino.
Now that it's almost summer, what are you gonna do? Roast your butt in a place like Milan, because you have an old Lonely Planet guide book that says it's a cool city? Or go to London and walk around like a paranoid person looking left and right with an 8£ Starbuck smoothie in your hand? Come down to Barceloneta and savor the true Mediterranean lifestyle instead. You'll be able to scratch your belly, hold a 1€ beer can in your hand and slam some domino pieces down on the table while waiting for loads of pescadito frito without fear of being hit by a cab or by a Prada bag.
But if you really insist on visiting those nasty places mentioned above, at least let yourself be guided by recommended city experts:
http://milanofridge.tumblr.com/
http://londonfridge.tumblr.com/
In the company of men.
I don't know what is the Kis Kis Brotherhood, I don't know what is the secret code beyond super ball #9, I don't know what is that light that beams down from the ceiling, and I don't know and don't care what they do in that pub. The only thing I know is that Philipinos and Pakistanis expats that open an activity in downtown Barcelona have great sense of graphic design, while Southern European cheap bastards rely on the printer's skills or on the cousin that fucks around with Windows Paint for their corporate identity . In other words they are doing the equivalent of going to the vet for a heart operation. Since they are the devils of a visual hell on Earth, if I were Dante I would put them in a bloody dark place, i.e. I'd turn them into tampons.
Ian Curtis is not dead.
That's right.
Location: Metro Lesseps.
You used to be there every night when the underwear shop was closed. You used to cheer up the corner of the nasty street where I live, full of insensitive dudes and dog poop. You would trouble the dreams of children with your voluptuous mouth, while the adults needed a stupid guy with a marker to spark their imagination. Oh well, now you're gone. Who could blame the spray painter that was hired to illustrate the business that took over the old one? It was sweet and sad to see you in the last moments of your life. I'm glad you waited for me to say goodbye. So long, Ice Cream Eater. Your jaws may rest now.
Location: Santa Caterina
Click to enlarge (your penis).
12am more or less, and 8 degrees maximum outside, this man rolls into the bar on his rollerblades after his daily ride and sits down with a girlfriend talking about his feelings, in front of a alcohol-free beer. And I didn't have the guts to ask him to pose for a photograph. Cause I'm a pussy. Not like him.
Clockwise - The Devil exists. And he likes the same bars you do. This guy's an angel (like the devil itself was). Or a ghost. I didn't notice him when I took this picture. I'm sure he wasn't there. It was just after Xmas. I swear I didn't do anything bad.
Bravas a 1 euro is the new kid in town. You don't care if they are OGM, do you?
Don Mineral, (Mr. Mineral). Goddamit, José Manuel, I'm sick of your stupid rocks. You get them all outta here right now! And it's about time you get a girlfriend and a life! Or you wanna be a loser like your father???
This is the hole where all the old time millionaires that sell antiques in the Encants market hide their money.
Fuck you, Apolo!
Paral-lel is an avenue in Barcelona. Nobody knows why they call it like that, since it don't seems to be parallel to nothin'. Parallel was an ancient theatre district, it even had its own Moulin Rouge, its dancers, drags and whores all over the place, like a cheap Pigalle. Nowadays it sucks for a thousand reasons I'll tell another time, but feeds the nightlife like a pig feeds its litter so it has its props. Me, if I were Hausmann, I'd tare the whole damn area down, make a forest out of it, fill it up with deers and close it off to humans. There's too many sweat-pants wearing trash living there that would pump their poor children with Coca Cola, get drunk listening to reggaeton all sunday long and leave garbage everywhere, let alone scare off the deer.
In Parallel there's a stupid club called Apolo 2. They think they are trendy because they bring trendy bands to Barcelona so everybody should suck their dicks. The kids like the bands but they ain't stupid. When it's about going drinking they rather give a chance to the nasty bars around the corner which sell beer and food for cheap than give their bucks to a major player, which ain't stupid itself cuz look what it does:
Says: When you get in, you can't go out to smoke. Please respect the neighbours sleep.
We politely asked the door guy if this was serious. I said I don't smoke, I'd like to go outside, fuck myself, and take advantage of the stamp that, in the rest of the world, goes with the admission ticket to get back in, since you guys are also 1,30 hours late for the concert. The door guy, with the typical Spanish diplomacy, said - I'm not paid to tell you you're right, since you are. I get paid to not let you out. - For chrissake, Mr. Jailer, pleased to meet you.
Of course you can go smoke in the bathroom, like a teenager. But please be honest and tell me instead that you don't want me to go to a trashy bar next door like CAN EUSEBI and enjoy its little beers for almost nothing! And don't tell me you got a family and a rent to pay. CAN EUSEBI got it too, you trendy CUNT!
So meet CAN EUSEBI and choose which one you'd rather hurt yourself with.
This is Eusebi, the motherfucker that founded the bar that honours his name. You wouldn't wanna fuck with him, would you? The spear he holds is a pincho. One piece is a pickle, one's an onion, and the other one is a piece of your sister's thigh (who used to model for American Apparel). The drooling stuff is vinager, what was your dirty mind thinking?
Eusebi opened a bar long time ago, then recently opened another one next to it, with a sleeky Ikea look, lamps, wood and all the jazz, but with the same menu. It's just a fool's gold. The real thing is this one:
And he put some latinos to work. See if they give a shit about spelling. They've got a family to feed, no time to read like you, me and the Apolo cunts.
So get drunk on cocktails with J-lo, even if a cocktail means a 3-euro gin&tonic with a giant screen and boxing matches going on. By the way. Fancy another cocktail, Snow White?
And if you have the munchees, you got a big menu to choose from:
Apolo cunts, you pissed me off. I would never give a chance to Eusebi if I didn't have to. Get your shit together.
Enchantment in the Encants
When it's about the Encants junk/antique market of Barcelona, river, or rather, lava streams of ink could flow, and coffee table books could be printed, thick and fat enough to make the coffee table collapse. Anyway, I know you're busy, I don't wanna waste much of your precious time. Today I went to the market and saved a coupla pearls for you.
1. Spin&Go Straccio Touchless e Strizzatore.
Italy has been home of world famous pieces of design, even your local hairdresser knows it. Products like the Vespa scooter, the Valentina typewriter or the Brionvega radios and tv sets. But there's a dark side involving house care: the Spin&Go touchless mop. I don't quite get where the touchless point is, but if you are into the 4th month of marriage with your Russian mail-bride, this could be a revitalizing sex accessory AND a house care solution. Put the lazy bitch to work for chrissake!
2. The Who
Spain is loaded with rock 'n roll old priests. Struck by a lightning in the early years, they keep the flame alive despite their respectable age as long as their liver says "yes, knock one more down".
Look at this one for example. I bet he has a little something for his 21-years-old girlfriend in his shopping bag. Or, since almost everything can be found at the Encants market, maybe he bought that cheap jacket a little carelessly, without checking out the back first, who knows?
3. Black Paella
I think there's a small step between writing this kind of sign outside of a restaurant and putting a black guy on the door that grabs the tourists and pack 'em in.
(Click on the photos to enlarge and enjoy matching with the caption. Little help: they are in sequence).
Christmas in Barcelona is...No matter how tall you make a Christmas tree. It will always be unnoticed.
Christmas in Barcelona is...An anorexic Mrs. Santa showing you the sexy side of a locksmith, in case you didn't catch it.
Christmas in Barcelona is...A whole website devoted to a guy that takes a shit close to the Holy Family.
Christmas in Barcelona is...about being humble. You'll always find someone with bigger moustache than yours.
Christmas in Barcelona is...about crappy decoration. Decoration in downtown Barcelona is next to nothing. Whatever is kinda public must be as cheap as possible, in general. Also, if it's too good, some asshole will break it or steal it. But this Tetris Xmas tree in the hospital deserves a 10, especially because social security suffered painful cuts.
Christmas in Barcelona is...If you had Xmas lunch or dinner here, quickly reconsider about your life or ask for help before it's too late.
Christmas in Barcelona is...Media attention. Put Barna Fridge photographer taking picture of a neat, sweet bakery shop and the Spanish macho with the family will approach magnetically and enter the place. Another one that will learn the word "cupcake", the only English word that hasn't been castillanized or catalanized yet.
Christmas in Barcelona is...warm. Let's have an ice-cream.
Christmas in Barcelona is...changing your Xmas menu. Where I come from we eat a little pig, shame on us. Learn to love the sea. Where you see an octopus, some others, like Hokusai or me, see a woman giving herself pleasure in the bathtub.