Contrary to most of my Catalan compatriots, I wholeheartedly love Argentinians. I have been happy walking through the narrow streets of Palermo Chico, fantasizing about which of those mansions I could retire to write treatises on aesthetics and world-renowned autobiographies. I owe much of my excessive passion for the stage to Buenos Aires, and it was there that I discovered the work of Monti, Kartun, Daulte, Spregelburd, and so many others (I would say that this is the only place on the planet where you can end up truly gorged on theater). My Argentinian friends are educated and adorable people, aware that they have inherited the worst of the Spanish, the Italians, and even the English; in fact, they especially disavowed the discourse of the motherland and all that "polla en vinagre" (vinegar dick) that the Spanish used to ruin their very rich country. But above all, they hated the Argentinians whom Borges called professional South Americans, charming, flirtatious, and saccharine.
My dear "porteños" understood my national identity without any problem and, in fact, referred to me with the delightful epithet of the Catalan dandy. But, as happens in all countries of the world, even the most enlightened peoples dedicate themselves to exporting their most grotesque individuals to the corners of the planet. It happens to us too, don't think otherwise; I have met professional Catalans around the world whom you would have slapped within the first minute of conversation, due to that excessive pride of someone who believes that the four bars have as much historical weight as the American liberating army, or that particular type of imbecile who always compares the best meats in the world with the supposed superiority of Vic's "butifarra" and who believes that Catalanness is at odds with speaking Cervantes' language decently. We, believe me, are not the best exporters on the planet.
All this comes to mind, as you can imagine, because of the commotion caused by the case of an Argentine ice cream maker from the Gràcia neighborhood (the name of the establishment is already a slap in the face; Helados Dellahostia) who verbally assaulted the partner of a fellow citizen just for addressing him in Catalan, telling him that we are "in the kingdom of Spain." Well, after the matter in question went viral, the Argentine in question suffered alleged citizen vandalism ---he was given stickers with the senyera and some graffiti on the facade---, which has resurrected the much-worn debate about what is the best way to seduce or impose the adoption of our language on newcomers. There are many voices, led by the usual Spanish nationalists and some hardcore indepes who live off the former, like Toni Soler, who have cried foul, accusing the initiative of being intolerant, finicky and, of course, even fascist.
To all those who see this display of legitimate citizen protest as a practically Nazi act, I would recommend that they pay attention to similar actions perpetrated by Peronist unions in my beloved Argentina; because there, if you disobey the canonical worker's law dictated by the unions, you are not visited by a picket with four cheap flags, but rather they directly burn down your store with all the ice creams included. I openly defend the protests of fellow citizens, based on a law as easy to understand ---and of an absolutely liberal and enlightened spirit--- as that if you piss us off, we will scratch yours too. On the other hand, it should be remembered that current legislation obliges merchants to label establishments and serve in official languages (or at least understand them!). Therefore, even if you think we are part of the kingdom, in short, you're screwed, you listen to me in Catalan and you serve me the damn ice cream.
That said, dear Barcelonians, let's not lose our sanity over a dickhead-meter; let's love Argentinians as God intended, let's read their theater, let's enjoy their unparalleled art of cutting meat and let's even tolerate, blessed be they, that from time to time they steal our girlfriends. And as for ice cream, if possible and taking advantage of the fact that they have not suffered the tariff fever, let's buy Italian or American ones.