How much longer can Barcelona's TIME OUT (en Català!!??) survive?
While I was strangely thrilled and puzzled when the first edition appeared on newsstands a little over a year ago, I immediately began a collection of the titles because I was reasonably sure they would become curious if sentimental artefacts of a delusional by-gone era (not to mention language) within the not too distant future.
I commented to a friend of mine yesterday that, especially now that Spaniards (and more characteristically, the incorrigibly tight Catalans) are not purchasing much of anything these days--and have even taken to shoplifting in grocery stores--and that every other storefront seems to sport a LOCAL PER LLOGAR cartel, I didn't think Time Out-Barcelona would live to see the first cool chill of autumn. (Official Spanish unemployment exceeds 17%, with the real figure surely closer to 20--higher still, I was surprised to learn, in the xenophobic, self-satisfied corridors of most mercenary Catalunya.)
Unbeknownst to me, as I am only a part-time resident here and haven't been in town since January, the magazine has already exerted a final gasp for life by supplanting more English language text and tips. But alas, apparently even this concession to reality has not stemmed the tide of red ink; recently the magazine began being distributed gratis, according to the same friend, in the Wednesday edition of La Vanguardia. (Or is it Què Fem? in the Friday edition?) Apparently the Grupo Godó that owns the newspaper also either owns TIME OUT BARCELONA or has a significant financial stake in the title. (Oops, wrong again: it's a brainchild of Sapiens SL, HQ'd across the Besòs in Badalona.)
Yes it's sad, but ultimately one has to ask, "What were those folks smoking?" when they made the decision to launch what is, at least in other capital cities, basically a where to go, what to do guide aimed at young people and out-of-towners, in a language indecipherable--especially in PRINT--to about 99.8% of the world's population? It will be a solemn but ultimately an imminently predictable and deserved passing.
No tears, no laughter, please; after all, we are Catalans.
