Andre Agassi circa 1990

I like to think that I'm, if not smooth, at least functional at European double-cheek kissing. But it feels absolutely ridiculous to me to do it with other Americans. I guess I haven't been here long enough. Aside from some unnecessary cheek kissing, tonight was about as American as Barcelona gets. I took off work early to drink beer and watch sports in a bar where everyone spoke English, and then ate fried bar food for dinner with Americans. I did have to ask the English bartender to repeat herself three times before I understood that she was asking me if I'd had a soda earlier, though. Accents are hard, a fact that is somehow both reassuring and demoralizing for my troubles with Spanish. And I was sitting next to a Red Sox fan, who confirmed that there is no baseball in Spain.

There's futbol, though. The World Cup would be a lot more exciting if the Americans hadn't gotten their asses kicked by the Czech Republic. I have to admit, though, my heart wasn't fully in it; I've got no hatred for the Czechs. With the Italians, though, it's personal. Don't fuck with my friends, otherwise I'll cheer against your futbol team.