Todo a cien, Our Lady of Hope and a Platypus
In the last few years Barcelona has seen an explosion of "Tiendas de todo a cien" (Everything for one hundred pesetas shops). That’s what people still call them, even though most of the shops changed their name to the far less snappy "Everything at €0.60 euros (or more)" when the euro was introduced in 2002.
They sell a very wide variety of poor quality, badly-extruded kitsch, ranging from Chinese restaurant-type back-lit pseudo-paintings of waterfalls in which the water appears to be moving, to rotating optic fibre lamps, substandard rubber gloves and fake Vatican-issue condoms.
The shops are often Chinese-run, which probably explains why the items on sale are F6 geared more to the Chinese market than the supposedly sophisticated and design-obsessed Barcelona punter. Perhaps shop owners have read Rod D. Steinberger’s marketing best-seller "Creating demands for useless, aesthetically displeasing sweatshop-produced junk".
erithacus’ was reclining in the dentist’s chair while Doctor González, his surrealist dental surgeon, was prodding around in his mouth with a cold, heavy dentist’s mirror and a piece of Lego.
Doctor González put her tools down and turned round to see to some papers that were flapping about because the faulty unidirectional air outlet in the air-conditioning system wasn’t working. She placed an aluminium tray firmly on top to them. erithacus meanwhile listened to the sound of the compressed air tube in his mouth. He opened and closed his mouth slightly to change the tone of the air and play "Two Ladies" from the film Cabaret, perhaps inspired by the two women who were currently fixing his gob.
Doctor González picked up her tools again and got back to work.
"How strange!" she uttered, gently playing the xylophone on the teeth of erithacus’ lower jaw. "The only other tribosphenic molar I have ever seen was in the jaw of my son’s baby platypus. Do you spend a lot of time in the water?" she asked.
"Guurggh...gh....gh" answered erithacus.
Doctor González picked up the pharmaceutical company-issue notepad from the table beside her.
"I think this is going to require some special equipment" she affirmed, scribbling on the top sheet.
"Carmen" she said to her assistant. "Do you think you could pop out to the ‘Todo a Cien’ and get these?". Unconcerned by erithacus perturbed rapid eye movement, she ripped off the top sheet and handed it to Carmen, who left the room.
Carmen returned carrying a plastic bag from which she drew a heavy-looking glass paperweight. Inside the glass was a representation of "La Macarena" (Nuestra Señora de la Esperanza), Seville’s favourite virgin. Carmen handed the paperweight to Doctor González, who used it to replace the aluminium tray on the papers. From where erithacus was reclining he could make out an inscription on "La Macarena’s" back.
Made in China: proof of Rod D. Steinberger’s pudding.
They sell a very wide variety of poor quality, badly-extruded kitsch, ranging from Chinese restaurant-type back-lit pseudo-paintings of waterfalls in which the water appears to be moving, to rotating optic fibre lamps, substandard rubber gloves and fake Vatican-issue condoms.
The shops are often Chinese-run, which probably explains why the items on sale are F6 geared more to the Chinese market than the supposedly sophisticated and design-obsessed Barcelona punter. Perhaps shop owners have read Rod D. Steinberger’s marketing best-seller "Creating demands for useless, aesthetically displeasing sweatshop-produced junk".
erithacus’ was reclining in the dentist’s chair while Doctor González, his surrealist dental surgeon, was prodding around in his mouth with a cold, heavy dentist’s mirror and a piece of Lego.
Doctor González put her tools down and turned round to see to some papers that were flapping about because the faulty unidirectional air outlet in the air-conditioning system wasn’t working. She placed an aluminium tray firmly on top to them. erithacus meanwhile listened to the sound of the compressed air tube in his mouth. He opened and closed his mouth slightly to change the tone of the air and play "Two Ladies" from the film Cabaret, perhaps inspired by the two women who were currently fixing his gob.
Doctor González picked up her tools again and got back to work.
"How strange!" she uttered, gently playing the xylophone on the teeth of erithacus’ lower jaw. "The only other tribosphenic molar I have ever seen was in the jaw of my son’s baby platypus. Do you spend a lot of time in the water?" she asked.
"Guurggh...gh....gh" answered erithacus.
Doctor González picked up the pharmaceutical company-issue notepad from the table beside her.
"I think this is going to require some special equipment" she affirmed, scribbling on the top sheet.
"Carmen" she said to her assistant. "Do you think you could pop out to the ‘Todo a Cien’ and get these?". Unconcerned by erithacus perturbed rapid eye movement, she ripped off the top sheet and handed it to Carmen, who left the room.
Carmen returned carrying a plastic bag from which she drew a heavy-looking glass paperweight. Inside the glass was a representation of "La Macarena" (Nuestra Señora de la Esperanza), Seville’s favourite virgin. Carmen handed the paperweight to Doctor González, who used it to replace the aluminium tray on the papers. From where erithacus was reclining he could make out an inscription on "La Macarena’s" back.
Made in China: proof of Rod D. Steinberger’s pudding.
posted by Bob @ 3:25 pm
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