I’m going to get past the EasyJet baggage fees by wearing all of my clothes the way Joey did with Chandler’s on Friends.

Here’s an angel who’s not only ripped, but is shedding his tunic like he’s about to go down and kick evil’s ass. I named him Jean Claude Van Damnation.

Sure, art thieves can make off with a Van Gogh painting from an Egyptian museum, but let’s see them nick one of Gaudi’s works.

Torre Agbar, the world’s biggest phallic symbol, is located at the Glories Metro stop. I swear I am not making that up.

There are a lot of people hanging around at the Parc du Clot. I’m assuming that’s the place you go when you want to hire scabs. Think about it… you’ll get it sooner or later.

How was I to know I couldn’t pee in the sitting room at Casa Batllo? It’s not my fault Gaudi puts bathroom tile everywhere.

There are a lot of random thoughts that pass through my brain while I’m traveling. Each week, I’m sharing a few of them. Please don’t judge me.

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This week a little focus on the language of the land.

• My minimal skills with the French language makes it nearly impossible to retort with “that’s what she said” to what people are saying. But no matter how hard it might be, I’m doing it anyway. TWSS.
• I keep hoping I’ll find a street called Rue Maurice LaMarche and there’ll be a giant statue of Pinky and the Brain at the intersection.
• If the word gratuit means free in French, why do gratuities always cost me money?
• I figured a city named Bordeaux would be like the French equivalent of Willy Wonka’s factory, except with rivers of wine and bubbling cheese fountains.
• In France, a cul de sac is called an “impasse.” Shouldn’t the French term for cul-de sac be cul-de sac?
• I’m at a Mexican salsa club in Bordeaux and am totally confused as to how to communicate. Should I not be able to speak French or not be able to speak Spanish?
• I like that used cars in France are called “ocassion.” It makes it feel like you’re celebrating something, even if it’s just buying someone’s second hand piece of shit Peugot.
• It’s interesting that the international song for an ice cream truck is a plinky version of “Farmer in the Dell.” Wouldn’t they make about 10 times as much money if they played Justin Bieber or something?
• It’s far easier to understand the French than the group of Irish people I’m watching football with. It’s like trying to decipher Brad Pitt’s character in Snatch.
• In France, churros are called chi-chis. It makes them seem even more delicious, but now I want them served wrapped in a halter top.

Not every random thought deserves to have its own blog post. Here are some of the things that popped into my head while I was in Amsterdam.

• Do you think somewhere in the Netherlands there’s a community of Dutch Pennsylvanians? All wearing Steelers jerseys and eating cheese steak?
• They don’t seem to realize it, but the marketing folks for Cool Ranch Doritos are missing a natural opportunity to sponsor the entire city of Amsterdam.
• Amsterdam trivia: a licensed prostitute has to pay 19% sales tax and 30-35% income tax on the fee she gets from a client. There’s a joke in there about getting screwed 3 times for the same money, but I can’t quite get to it.
• Trying to figure out signs in Dutch is like sorting through furniture names at Ikea.
• In trying to speak an approximation of Dutch, I think I just asked someone for directions to the “Al Franken House.”
• You’d think that with the gigantic queue in front of the Anne Frank house, the Germans would have known something was up.
• I’m torn between two worlds. For the hell of it, I joined a pub crawl in Amsterdam with a bunch of twenty-somethings but I also think I’m starting to develop that crusty white gunk old people get on the sides of their mouths.
• On the pub crawl I feel a little like “Ken, Lonnie, I’d like you to meet … Mohammed, Jugdish, Sidney and Clayton. Grab a seat and make yourself at home, okay?”
• There’s an Amsterdam Club called “More Than a Woman.” I don’t want to think too hard about what that means, but I’m guessing it’s not a Bee Gees theme bar.
• My hotel bath tub in Amsterdam is some bizarre funnel shape so the only way to shower without falling over is to pose like Captain Morgan. One foot by the drain and one on the ledge above.
• The Diamond Museum should give out free samples like they did on the Heineken tour.
• I’d really like to have someone’s ear to complain about the long lines at the Van Gogh museum.
• I haven’t eaten much in Amsterdam since I realized everything is cooked in Dutch ovens.

When I’m on my bike for hours at a time, weird stuff happens in my head. I’ll be writing those brain drops down and sharing them weekly, so you can watch my descent into madness first hand!

• My favorite town name in England: Bletchly. Any town that sounds like you’re praising the porcelain is awesome in my eyes.
• Learned a new British phrase for drinking too much: “getting trolleyed” – i.e. drinking so much they have to push you home in a shopping cart.
• Here’s how polite the British are: the pub toilets have vending machines selling condoms, which isn’t unusual. But in Britain, they sell Tic-Tacs with the condoms, so you don’t have to subject your partner to that awkward “next morning” breath.
• I corrected a typo in the AT&T warning about international data roaming: “Turning on international roaming could lead to ridiculous charges.” $20 per Mb? WTF?
• A closed sign in front of this cafe would evidently be redundant.

• In the U.S.: Bike vs. car = bike loses; in Europe: Loaded touring bike vs. city car = even odds. Yes, that’s right. There’s a Smart Car Roadster.

• The green neon crosses in front of French pharmacies makes it feel like the entire city is full of medical marijuana dispensaries.

That’s it for this week. Glitches between Evernote and a shitty internet connection lost a whole bunch of other thoughts, so you’ll have to be patient for more.