The Whistlers

I'm bagging my original post for today because I can't concentrate. As I began writing, I heard the loudest, most obnoxious whistle from right outside the window of my Barcelona hostel - you know, the "two-fingers-in-the-mouth" type you hear when a Mets fan wants to attract a hot dog salesperson at Shea (yes, maybe even louder than yours, Aunt Kim). The whistle happened over and over again...enough to totally block any creative thought and drive me totally nuts. With each whistle I became more and more livid. After 20 whistles or so, I jumped up, ran to the window, and prepared to scream "Shut up!!", knowing the perpetrator must be one of the many thousand English football hooligans in town for the England / Andorra match............

I have no idea how 2 little girls no older than 8 years can produce such a terrible noise. The whistling is still going and I still can't concentrate, but I just can't help but crack up every time it "invades my make-believe personal space".

Also, last night I saw for the first time an old, overweight, naked guy in a motorized wheelchair. I regret there is no photographic evidence.