The Statement is a great movie. Michael Caine´s performance of Pierre Brossard is fabulous; one feels in danger when he is on scene, but one also feels pity and a sort of magnetic attraction towards any single of his movements. He is the virtue and the vice at the same time, sides of the same coin. The portrait of Church and its priests is dark and ice-cold; the abbeys and its roofs and monks dressed in white, cozy and lovely, stuck way back in time. The Statement is a movie full of rhythm and its characters are humans full of complexities. The name and novel of Brian Moore, a piece of work to discover.
**
A daring and transgressor movie is a Spanish one, El y El, albeit I guess the title is wrong or something because I cannot find it in the cinematographic file of Jose Luis Lopez Vazquez or Lola Herrera. The movie is copyr-igthed in 1979 but, in spite of not being a good movie, the plot and the story (homosexuality, crime, rape), scenes and the final development are avant-garde and quite audacious. A surprising discovery.
**
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Tinker, tailor
"Tinker, Tailor,
Soldier, Sailor,
Rich man, Poor man,
Beggar man, Thief,
Doctor, Lawyer,
Indian Chief".
(A.A. Milne, 1927)
**
"A tinker and a tailor, a soldier and a sailor,
Had once a doubtful strife, sir".
(William Congreve, 1695)
**
In 1974 John le Carre -his real name is David Cornwell- published his book Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy. For the last cinematographic version (2011) it has been translated in Spanish as "The mole". I cannot say I enjoyed the movie overall. The telling turned to be quite slow and intermittent to me. The characters, the costumes, the set-up are great, though; the smell of tobacco, real and thick. The cities where the action takes place, mythical and full of magic in other places are, however, as much distant and blurred to the spectator as to the protagonists of the story: a subterranean, electrifying river of tension and fear, disloyalty and loneliness consumes this world of spies, fickle as the smoke of its omnipresent cigarettes.
Gary Oldman likes his character and seems to have enjoyed the job. I agree that the cut of the movie is opposed to that of James Bond´s: no music and no glamour; life is dark and damp as a prison cell. And, indeed, the absence of women is painful and catastrophic. In addition, the pointing-out of homosexual features of some of the characters (in a cruel, all man´s world) is no gratuitous to me. (Take as examples, two suitcases stating "if there is another man, you can tell me" or, more interesting, the relationship and the fatal ending (along the tune of La Mer) of fictional characters, Haydon and Prideaux).
Nevertheless, the rhythm made me bored. I fell asleep during the last 15 minutes -oh!-. Perhaps, the good Le Carre spy film-story, mixing up great performances, scripts and costumes with a vibrantly-told tale is the final achievement to make... Perhaps, as well, I should avoid going to the cinema after 8... .
Regarding the music, two great discoveries for me: a surprising version by Julio Iglesias of Charles Trenet´s beautiful La Mer, and the powerful music of the National Anthem of the ex-USSR (since 2000, of today´s Russia again) by Alexander Alexandrov.
Also, let me mention this by the way: the dubbing of movies should be restricted as much as possible.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Soldier, Sailor,
Rich man, Poor man,
Beggar man, Thief,
Doctor, Lawyer,
Indian Chief".
(A.A. Milne, 1927)
**
"A tinker and a tailor, a soldier and a sailor,
Had once a doubtful strife, sir".
(William Congreve, 1695)
**
In 1974 John le Carre -his real name is David Cornwell- published his book Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy. For the last cinematographic version (2011) it has been translated in Spanish as "The mole". I cannot say I enjoyed the movie overall. The telling turned to be quite slow and intermittent to me. The characters, the costumes, the set-up are great, though; the smell of tobacco, real and thick. The cities where the action takes place, mythical and full of magic in other places are, however, as much distant and blurred to the spectator as to the protagonists of the story: a subterranean, electrifying river of tension and fear, disloyalty and loneliness consumes this world of spies, fickle as the smoke of its omnipresent cigarettes.
Gary Oldman likes his character and seems to have enjoyed the job. I agree that the cut of the movie is opposed to that of James Bond´s: no music and no glamour; life is dark and damp as a prison cell. And, indeed, the absence of women is painful and catastrophic. In addition, the pointing-out of homosexual features of some of the characters (in a cruel, all man´s world) is no gratuitous to me. (Take as examples, two suitcases stating "if there is another man, you can tell me" or, more interesting, the relationship and the fatal ending (along the tune of La Mer) of fictional characters, Haydon and Prideaux).
Nevertheless, the rhythm made me bored. I fell asleep during the last 15 minutes -oh!-. Perhaps, the good Le Carre spy film-story, mixing up great performances, scripts and costumes with a vibrantly-told tale is the final achievement to make... Perhaps, as well, I should avoid going to the cinema after 8... .
Regarding the music, two great discoveries for me: a surprising version by Julio Iglesias of Charles Trenet´s beautiful La Mer, and the powerful music of the National Anthem of the ex-USSR (since 2000, of today´s Russia again) by Alexander Alexandrov.
Also, let me mention this by the way: the dubbing of movies should be restricted as much as possible.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Monday, December 26, 2011
The debate
After a conversation with V. last week, M. sent me the link to the Intelligence Square debate in London on the motion: "The Catholic Church is a force for good in the world". Against the motion, two well-known figures -not for me! Such and ignoramus...-: Christopher Hitchins and Stephen Fry. On the other side, defending the motion stood a couple of not so-well-recognized characters: Anne Widdecombe, a conservative MP, and John Onneiyaken, the Archbishop of Nigeria´s capital, Abuja. (By the way, yesterday, on Christmas Day, a couple of bombs blasted in two different places in Nigeria. The details are gruesome; the attacks against Christians in vast areas of a forsaken world have become, sadly, a routine, largely inconspicuous in the West).
These debates, or so-called debates, make me sad. For several reasons. First, because of its bias, albeit presented in a neutrality disguise. Second, because of its vindictive nature against the Catholics: the Church never plays home; the scorns, the laughs, the provocations run always against; the final development of this linked debate, the double voting, is a painful ruse for humiliation, a sentence-final blow against the rival. The host of the event, Zeinab Badawi, who did a poor job in conducting the debate or rephrasing questions, repeated thrice: "I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry".
It really makes me sad is that such debates hold the essence of a non-debate. The arguments are fluffy and feeble; the motivation for the exchange of ideas is completely missing. The parts are no, at all, in search for a truthful confrontation of ideas; there is no facts shown, no honesty. Instead, the combatants have immovable positions. What can you expect from Hitchins and Fry; the former, a radical leftist, infamous precise because his extreme points of view; the latter, a "90 % homosexual", flying and fluttering the flag of his own battle for decades? I certainly expect more from a bishop. In addition, painful enough, the Church side is always meagre, docile, out-of-touch, toothless, weepy.
Foremost, what makes me really sad -it hurts- is that the Catholic Church is a force for good in this World. It is. It really is! To a large extend, indeed. And we have not learned yet how to defend such -clear, out-of-the-question- statement. It is imperative we learn how to do it. It is a matter of justice. The enemies will always be there, ready to hurt and prepare to scorn, and we shall be blessed for it (Mt, 5). The battles might be fought and lost seven times seventy. It does not really matter. The truth really does matter. It is our duty to search for truth, find it and make it shine.
Shame upon us!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
These debates, or so-called debates, make me sad. For several reasons. First, because of its bias, albeit presented in a neutrality disguise. Second, because of its vindictive nature against the Catholics: the Church never plays home; the scorns, the laughs, the provocations run always against; the final development of this linked debate, the double voting, is a painful ruse for humiliation, a sentence-final blow against the rival. The host of the event, Zeinab Badawi, who did a poor job in conducting the debate or rephrasing questions, repeated thrice: "I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry".
It really makes me sad is that such debates hold the essence of a non-debate. The arguments are fluffy and feeble; the motivation for the exchange of ideas is completely missing. The parts are no, at all, in search for a truthful confrontation of ideas; there is no facts shown, no honesty. Instead, the combatants have immovable positions. What can you expect from Hitchins and Fry; the former, a radical leftist, infamous precise because his extreme points of view; the latter, a "90 % homosexual", flying and fluttering the flag of his own battle for decades? I certainly expect more from a bishop. In addition, painful enough, the Church side is always meagre, docile, out-of-touch, toothless, weepy.
Foremost, what makes me really sad -it hurts- is that the Catholic Church is a force for good in this World. It is. It really is! To a large extend, indeed. And we have not learned yet how to defend such -clear, out-of-the-question- statement. It is imperative we learn how to do it. It is a matter of justice. The enemies will always be there, ready to hurt and prepare to scorn, and we shall be blessed for it (Mt, 5). The battles might be fought and lost seven times seventy. It does not really matter. The truth really does matter. It is our duty to search for truth, find it and make it shine.
Shame upon us!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Sunday, December 25, 2011
A stupid vision
I had this -stupid- vision today, a vision that holds on to the night at this very grave hour. The photographs below are landmarks of this fairy tale Christmas has become: a world of forgiveness, peace and understanding.
Such a world of forgiveness, peace and understanding does not exist and will never exist. Impossible. Why? Due to many, countless reasons.
Two, three, five parts in a conflict can forgive only if all of them forgive. Now, have you ever seen a thing like that?
But people of forgiveness, peace and understanding do exist and can exist. Self-sacrifice is due, though, but people suiting the requirements do exist. Oh, yes. "What really, really matters is to understand, instead of being understood", my friend A. and his philosopher friends say. Now, how much pain and determination that is to take? Who is willing to roll down the prickly road?
Christmas is an unique event in History, unparalleled and unsurpassed. An occurrence of universal dimensions _a message of hope and understanding and of voluntarily give-in. A brilliant, immensely beautiful and redemptive episode in our history of ingratitude and iniquity.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Such a world of forgiveness, peace and understanding does not exist and will never exist. Impossible. Why? Due to many, countless reasons.
Two, three, five parts in a conflict can forgive only if all of them forgive. Now, have you ever seen a thing like that?
But people of forgiveness, peace and understanding do exist and can exist. Self-sacrifice is due, though, but people suiting the requirements do exist. Oh, yes. "What really, really matters is to understand, instead of being understood", my friend A. and his philosopher friends say. Now, how much pain and determination that is to take? Who is willing to roll down the prickly road?
Christmas is an unique event in History, unparalleled and unsurpassed. An occurrence of universal dimensions _a message of hope and understanding and of voluntarily give-in. A brilliant, immensely beautiful and redemptive episode in our history of ingratitude and iniquity.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Friday, December 23, 2011
The religion of science
Last June I won 200 pounds in a contest at UCL for PhD students. The challenge was to explain to a lay audience my research in only 2 minutes. I got ready for it -I discovered that it takes me about 3 days. Without knowing what it was and without much awareness around, I won the conquest. It was a raining and dark Friday evening, but I was happy as it were sunny. A certain interest in this sort of speeches came shortly afterwards. I started hearing that the type of 2 or 3-minute presentations is important for the public, something praised by companies and institutions. I even questioned myself: perhaps, I said, this is the thing. I know now that it is not the thing.
After this, I was encouraged by my supervisor to participate in Famelab last November. I failed. The challenge was to be the winner in London and to have the chance to spend a weekend with winners across the UK in a training course. I did not win; I did not even get to myself a second chance as a runner-up. The experience was bitter because I could have done it better, oh, much better. I won my heat -of which I am satisfied (took me again 3 days to get ready), but the final, for which I had to prepare another presentation, caught me wearing underwear. I was not surprised, anyhow. Two details of my life proved again to be my best definition: the ability to press myself down in determining moments; and the ability to leave the work half done. Whether I will be capable of reversing this label of myself or not, is something I would like to find out sooner than later.
It is partly because this experience that I felt a kind of awkward feeling watching last Sunday Brian 's show on BBC. He delivered a "lesson" on fundamental Quantum Physics for the network's friends ("celebrities"), half way between the comedy and the religious ritual.
Some parts were ok, some were good, but overall I found it out-of-touch and lacking creativity. Boring. Besides, why particle Physics? Why always the same, the same, the same? The kind of reminiscence to Oxford or Eton College style and knowledge (Mr. Paxman and the University challenge) makes me depressed, as much as these houses decorated in velvet and vintage furniture. It tastes like a big piece of granite, full of cold, and empty of poetry.
I distrusted Brian from the moment he wrote an equation in a chalk board. He drawed "t =" and then, in a careless way, a numerator divided by a denominator, in such a way that the equal sign did not lay in the middle of the fraction. You might find it excessive, but I thought: "what kind of a scientist writes an equation in such a careless manner?". A few minutes later, he asked someone to do an arithmetic operation on the board. However, there was no space in the board to write it. Call me crazy. Demonstrations of sloppiness make me suspicious as well.
I certainly dislike the arrogance of Science above anything else. I hate the religious status and prerogatives attached to Science. To me the only clear difference between Science and everything else is Mathematics, from which stems its robustness and validity: the more you know Math, the more you use it, the more you are a Scientist. Furthermore: a fundamental score of benefits extracted from Science lay in its applications. However, professors, experts and pundits are becoming narrower, weaker and weaker in Math and most of them scorn the work done with bare hands in labs and workshops or, at least, are not among their priorities. Science is entering the land of the storytellers. It is indeed the game of being like God, because it seems that everything Science does or knows is done by the virtue of talking (words): the way Yahve created the world.... Ah! The beauty is, nevertheless, in the detail, in doing. When you do, you realize you have no power whatsoever: Nature won't behave after your words. The process of Conquest becomes then impressive and beautiful.
The religion of Science. The scam of a modus vivendi. The bourgeoisie of a barren intellectuality.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
After this, I was encouraged by my supervisor to participate in Famelab last November. I failed. The challenge was to be the winner in London and to have the chance to spend a weekend with winners across the UK in a training course. I did not win; I did not even get to myself a second chance as a runner-up. The experience was bitter because I could have done it better, oh, much better. I won my heat -of which I am satisfied (took me again 3 days to get ready), but the final, for which I had to prepare another presentation, caught me wearing underwear. I was not surprised, anyhow. Two details of my life proved again to be my best definition: the ability to press myself down in determining moments; and the ability to leave the work half done. Whether I will be capable of reversing this label of myself or not, is something I would like to find out sooner than later.
It is partly because this experience that I felt a kind of awkward feeling watching last Sunday Brian 's show on BBC. He delivered a "lesson" on fundamental Quantum Physics for the network's friends ("celebrities"), half way between the comedy and the religious ritual.
Some parts were ok, some were good, but overall I found it out-of-touch and lacking creativity. Boring. Besides, why particle Physics? Why always the same, the same, the same? The kind of reminiscence to Oxford or Eton College style and knowledge (Mr. Paxman and the University challenge) makes me depressed, as much as these houses decorated in velvet and vintage furniture. It tastes like a big piece of granite, full of cold, and empty of poetry.
I distrusted Brian from the moment he wrote an equation in a chalk board. He drawed "t =" and then, in a careless way, a numerator divided by a denominator, in such a way that the equal sign did not lay in the middle of the fraction. You might find it excessive, but I thought: "what kind of a scientist writes an equation in such a careless manner?". A few minutes later, he asked someone to do an arithmetic operation on the board. However, there was no space in the board to write it. Call me crazy. Demonstrations of sloppiness make me suspicious as well.
I certainly dislike the arrogance of Science above anything else. I hate the religious status and prerogatives attached to Science. To me the only clear difference between Science and everything else is Mathematics, from which stems its robustness and validity: the more you know Math, the more you use it, the more you are a Scientist. Furthermore: a fundamental score of benefits extracted from Science lay in its applications. However, professors, experts and pundits are becoming narrower, weaker and weaker in Math and most of them scorn the work done with bare hands in labs and workshops or, at least, are not among their priorities. Science is entering the land of the storytellers. It is indeed the game of being like God, because it seems that everything Science does or knows is done by the virtue of talking (words): the way Yahve created the world.... Ah! The beauty is, nevertheless, in the detail, in doing. When you do, you realize you have no power whatsoever: Nature won't behave after your words. The process of Conquest becomes then impressive and beautiful.
The religion of Science. The scam of a modus vivendi. The bourgeoisie of a barren intellectuality.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Deceases, three
Three completely different personalities have passed away this week.
Donald Neilson, the Black Panther, died on Sunday in a hospital outside Norwich from pneumonia. He was 75. His crime history starts as a burglar (400 homes raided without being caught); then he became a bank robber and ended up as a savage killer. He was jailed for life in 1976 in the Norwich prison. A year before, he had kidnapped and killed in Highley (Shropshire, near Birmingham) a 17-year-old woman, Lesley Whittle, who was to inherit the equivalent today to more than 650,000 pounds after her rich father's death. Ian Hepburn, a former Sun reporter says: "His trial was horrifying. He took a perverse delight in describing things in the most chilling way. He said a cheese wire around Lesley's neck was a saw, not a garrote -then sawed the witness box with it (...). He [was] the most evil man I laid eyes on in more than 40 years of reporting crime".
**
Neilson was more than a villain himself; and so, Vaclav Havel was more than a hero. He was also 75 when he also died last Sunday. Havel was a true hero and everything said will never be enough, never praised enough.
**
Someone has underlined the real fight in Havel's life and career: the search and conquest for truth. Fortunately or unfortunately, this very same week we have witnessed the very same example of the other side of the coin, that against which Havel fought his entire life: the power of falsehood. "Falsehood is the foremost of all forces that drive the world", said Revel. The show-off of tears in public scam from North Korea after the death of Kim-Jong-il, 69, cannot be more revealing and disgusting. Destiny has played again one of its tricks and deployed a brilliant and free-of-charge History lesson... Now, beware, the son will make his father good: deep revulsion what I felt watching the face of the kid Kim-Jong-un, ice-cold and granitic. Nothing good can come out from this face... . Brandy and rock-and-roll, and the pleasures of life, tend to make blood-thristy dictators more lay-back at some point. But the boy, this boy, is he even 18? I just hope he likes the wii... . He is the only one who is understood to cry, but does not cry... If the devil is ever to play violin again with Charlie Daniels, he will have the nauseous face of Kim Jong-un before his father's corpse. Oh, my God!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Donald Neilson, the Black Panther, died on Sunday in a hospital outside Norwich from pneumonia. He was 75. His crime history starts as a burglar (400 homes raided without being caught); then he became a bank robber and ended up as a savage killer. He was jailed for life in 1976 in the Norwich prison. A year before, he had kidnapped and killed in Highley (Shropshire, near Birmingham) a 17-year-old woman, Lesley Whittle, who was to inherit the equivalent today to more than 650,000 pounds after her rich father's death. Ian Hepburn, a former Sun reporter says: "His trial was horrifying. He took a perverse delight in describing things in the most chilling way. He said a cheese wire around Lesley's neck was a saw, not a garrote -then sawed the witness box with it (...). He [was] the most evil man I laid eyes on in more than 40 years of reporting crime".
**
Neilson was more than a villain himself; and so, Vaclav Havel was more than a hero. He was also 75 when he also died last Sunday. Havel was a true hero and everything said will never be enough, never praised enough.
**
Someone has underlined the real fight in Havel's life and career: the search and conquest for truth. Fortunately or unfortunately, this very same week we have witnessed the very same example of the other side of the coin, that against which Havel fought his entire life: the power of falsehood. "Falsehood is the foremost of all forces that drive the world", said Revel. The show-off of tears in public scam from North Korea after the death of Kim-Jong-il, 69, cannot be more revealing and disgusting. Destiny has played again one of its tricks and deployed a brilliant and free-of-charge History lesson... Now, beware, the son will make his father good: deep revulsion what I felt watching the face of the kid Kim-Jong-un, ice-cold and granitic. Nothing good can come out from this face... . Brandy and rock-and-roll, and the pleasures of life, tend to make blood-thristy dictators more lay-back at some point. But the boy, this boy, is he even 18? I just hope he likes the wii... . He is the only one who is understood to cry, but does not cry... If the devil is ever to play violin again with Charlie Daniels, he will have the nauseous face of Kim Jong-un before his father's corpse. Oh, my God!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
In the Valley of Elah
In the Valley of Elah is another movie full of details to entertain a cine-club congregation. The real heart of the United States of America is at its best, the city, the places, the people, the sordid strip clubs, the cars, the come-and-go daddy-mummy-son relationship, the controversial and man-eater Army. There is a stream of life running wild as human interaction strikes, while Nature is merely a phlegmatic observer, undisturbed and majestic. The interpretation of Tommy Lee Jones -and that of his counterpart Charlize Theron- is magnetic.
I liked especially, without any specific reason apart from its mastery, the scene when Lee Jones tells the story of David and Golliah to Charlize's little son, David, at bedtime. I have never heard anybody tell such an old story as much compelling. Beautiful.
The people of Israel, after the conquest of the land of Canaan in the dark of the ages, had to fight against the numerous little kingdoms already there; in addition, worst, they had to face a fearsome and indestructible enemy: the Philistines. These people came down the sea from Greece and Crete and were close to destroy the Pharaonic Egypt. Their images are carved on the walls of the temple of Medinet Habu (the tomb of Ramses III, I think it is in Luxor). Paul Johnson says that the Philistines "were tall and slender -giants to most Asians-, clean-shaven and eable-eyed, wore panelled kilts with tassels and their chests were protected by multi-layered ribbed linen corselets. Their headgear, distinctive and frightening, were upright circles of reeds or leather straps or horsehair, mounted on a close-fitting cap. Each warrior carried a pair of spears or a long sword, or both (...). This formidable people moved into the coastal strip, slaughtering the Canaanites and pushing into the interior (...)". Out of "this formidable people", as it wasn't enough, comes out Golliah, the monster giant.
And here it comes the marvellous story of Tommy. The two armies are on top of a hill each, separated by a valley, the Valley of Elah. For forty days, Golliah presented himself to the Israelites, pushing them to fight: "And the Philistine drewe neere, morning and evening, and presented himselfe forty dayes" (1 Samuel 17, 16). The eldest sons of Saul did not dare. But the youngest, David, coming down from the mountains where he attended cows and sheeps takes over the army. And although Saul "armed David with his armour", he says to Saul: "I cannot goe with these: for I haue not proued them" and goes on with only his shepheards bag to face the giant creature. Golliah disdained David, "for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and of a fair countenance".
"And it came to passe when the Philistine arose, and came, and drewe nigh to meet Dauid (...) and Dauid put his hande in his bag, and tooke thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone sunke into his forehead, and he fell upon his face to earth" (1 Samuel 17, 48-49).
"It is not true [the story]", blurted out Charlize -as if the C.S. Lewis' Narnia series the boy had in his bedside table were-, and Tommy retorts: "It is. It is also in the Qur'an". It is indeed mentioned in the Qur'an, surah 2 and ayats 246-251, although the playwright story is vanished: the devouring and omnipotent power of Allah oversizes the human drama of the Hebrew version. "When they advanced to meet Goliath and his forces, they prayed: 'Our Lord! Pour out constancy on us and make our steps firm: help us against those that reject faith'. By Allah's will they routed them; and David slew Goliath; and Allah gave him power and wisdom and taught him whatever (else) He will. And did not Allah check one set of people by means of another, the earth would indeed be full of mischief: but Allah is full of bounty to all the worlds" (Surah 2, 250-251).
I have the Bible of Saint James and a translation of the Qur'an -cost me 2 pounds on this bargain place on Euston road- "cheek to cheek", one next another, in my tiny library of survival here at home, in the hope that... I don't know... Perhaps, both traditions will melt on one night of magic.
The wonderful story of the Valley of Elah.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
I liked especially, without any specific reason apart from its mastery, the scene when Lee Jones tells the story of David and Golliah to Charlize's little son, David, at bedtime. I have never heard anybody tell such an old story as much compelling. Beautiful.
The people of Israel, after the conquest of the land of Canaan in the dark of the ages, had to fight against the numerous little kingdoms already there; in addition, worst, they had to face a fearsome and indestructible enemy: the Philistines. These people came down the sea from Greece and Crete and were close to destroy the Pharaonic Egypt. Their images are carved on the walls of the temple of Medinet Habu (the tomb of Ramses III, I think it is in Luxor). Paul Johnson says that the Philistines "were tall and slender -giants to most Asians-, clean-shaven and eable-eyed, wore panelled kilts with tassels and their chests were protected by multi-layered ribbed linen corselets. Their headgear, distinctive and frightening, were upright circles of reeds or leather straps or horsehair, mounted on a close-fitting cap. Each warrior carried a pair of spears or a long sword, or both (...). This formidable people moved into the coastal strip, slaughtering the Canaanites and pushing into the interior (...)". Out of "this formidable people", as it wasn't enough, comes out Golliah, the monster giant.
And here it comes the marvellous story of Tommy. The two armies are on top of a hill each, separated by a valley, the Valley of Elah. For forty days, Golliah presented himself to the Israelites, pushing them to fight: "And the Philistine drewe neere, morning and evening, and presented himselfe forty dayes" (1 Samuel 17, 16). The eldest sons of Saul did not dare. But the youngest, David, coming down from the mountains where he attended cows and sheeps takes over the army. And although Saul "armed David with his armour", he says to Saul: "I cannot goe with these: for I haue not proued them" and goes on with only his shepheards bag to face the giant creature. Golliah disdained David, "for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and of a fair countenance".
"And it came to passe when the Philistine arose, and came, and drewe nigh to meet Dauid (...) and Dauid put his hande in his bag, and tooke thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone sunke into his forehead, and he fell upon his face to earth" (1 Samuel 17, 48-49).
"It is not true [the story]", blurted out Charlize -as if the C.S. Lewis' Narnia series the boy had in his bedside table were-, and Tommy retorts: "It is. It is also in the Qur'an". It is indeed mentioned in the Qur'an, surah 2 and ayats 246-251, although the playwright story is vanished: the devouring and omnipotent power of Allah oversizes the human drama of the Hebrew version. "When they advanced to meet Goliath and his forces, they prayed: 'Our Lord! Pour out constancy on us and make our steps firm: help us against those that reject faith'. By Allah's will they routed them; and David slew Goliath; and Allah gave him power and wisdom and taught him whatever (else) He will. And did not Allah check one set of people by means of another, the earth would indeed be full of mischief: but Allah is full of bounty to all the worlds" (Surah 2, 250-251).
I have the Bible of Saint James and a translation of the Qur'an -cost me 2 pounds on this bargain place on Euston road- "cheek to cheek", one next another, in my tiny library of survival here at home, in the hope that... I don't know... Perhaps, both traditions will melt on one night of magic.
The wonderful story of the Valley of Elah.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Posse Comitatus
Once upon last summer, somewhere amidst the immense prairies of North Dakota, half a dozen cows went astray and ended up within the 3,000-acre area belonging to the Brossart's family. The men of the house refused to give them back. The sheriff of the county, Kelly Janke, nevertheless, went on to get them. The events evolved to the point of having the sons of Mr. Brossart chasing the sheriff off and expelling him while wielding fire arms. According to The Los Angeles Times (LAT), Janke called in for reinforcements and help came from the state troopers, the regional SWAT (special weapons and tactics) and the Grand Forks Air Force base. The latter organism deployed a remote-controlled flying, spy drone. The members of Brossart family were finally arrested.
This episode I found in The Independent on Sunday (IoS) today. The story is simply told by Rupert Cornwell. I have looked into LAT in order to find out more to write about here. What I found is a far more juicy tale and a problem of tremendous dimensions and complexity. I guess Cornwell did just not look into LAT because, otherwise, he would have written his column in a different way. He would have, for sure, talk about The Sovereign Citizens, movement he says nothing about. It is the gist of the whole story.
The kids of the Brossart family belong themselves to the Sovereign Citizens, a movement largely unknown by the public in the States, but with a well-proven history of criminality for almost 40 years.
The excellent documentary of Byron Pitts for the CBS 60 seconds is revealing and stunning, completely unmissable! A great piece of work to understand the profile of these individuals. They considered themselves above the law: don't pay taxes, don't have driving licenses or social security numbers. The speech of these sovereign citizens festers hate to all kinds towards authority and boasts on the use of violence against politicians, congressmen or even the President as a deterrent to achieve their self-proclaimed and whole-heartedly independence. The average sovereign citizen pours his mind on radical and brutal words when speaking. He lacks the charisma and the refine education of a Hitler, and is not aware of the skillful propaganda of a Stalin (is raw and blunt, radical, instead), but it seems to me their arguments are as much compelling, brilliant and catchy as theirs.
The ranks of the Sovereign Citizens keep growing due to the economical strains and the mortgage crisis, it is said; their numbers are calculated to be 300,000 in the States. The timing belt of Pitts story is the paradigmatic case of Jerry Kane and his teenager son. Kane is divorced and has lost his job as a truck driver at the time he joins the movement and travels around with his son peddling financially-troubled audiences a way to reduce their debt by scam. In May 2010, they both are captured after killing two police officers in duty who made their car stopped, on the grounds of some traffic offence. It was the boy, Joe -I think that's his name- who shot the men!: he put 25 bullets in their bodies overall.
The story that Rupert Cornwell has left unfinished -the Brossart family case- is one of the tricks destiny sometimes plays: a group of sovereign citizens, unwilling to abide by the law, receives an unintended response (i.e. a non ad-hoc response) in the form of a tremendous Governmental authority! The action seems to be legitimate - and a common practice in certain places, I read- but it has brought out a capital historical issue for the US Department of Defense and, probably, an old-fashion one which can take a lift-up job.
Back to the years right after the Civil War "the Army had been used extensively throughout the South to maintain civil order, to enforce the policies of the Reconstruction era, and to ensure that any lingering sentiments of rebellion were crushed. However, in reaching those goals, the Army necessarily become involved in traditional police role", tells major Craig Trebilcock, from the US Army Reserve, in a quite interesting and well-written US Homeland Security document.
The Posse Comitatus Act (the "power of the county") was passed after normality was more or less achieved in order to avoid the Army be involved any more in the works of police and local law enforcement. This Act has been traditionally "view as a major barrier to the use of U.S.military forces in planning for homeland defense" (Craig Trebilock). The surprise of Rupert Cornwell for the use of a $10m-unmanned Predator Drone to chase three "civilians", being these planes normally used in missions in Afghanistan, Colombia or against African pirates, is just the umpteenth example of such barrier, misunderstanding and source of conflict.
Oh, what a rich, long and challenging story, Rupert... .
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
This episode I found in The Independent on Sunday (IoS) today. The story is simply told by Rupert Cornwell. I have looked into LAT in order to find out more to write about here. What I found is a far more juicy tale and a problem of tremendous dimensions and complexity. I guess Cornwell did just not look into LAT because, otherwise, he would have written his column in a different way. He would have, for sure, talk about The Sovereign Citizens, movement he says nothing about. It is the gist of the whole story.
The kids of the Brossart family belong themselves to the Sovereign Citizens, a movement largely unknown by the public in the States, but with a well-proven history of criminality for almost 40 years.
The excellent documentary of Byron Pitts for the CBS 60 seconds is revealing and stunning, completely unmissable! A great piece of work to understand the profile of these individuals. They considered themselves above the law: don't pay taxes, don't have driving licenses or social security numbers. The speech of these sovereign citizens festers hate to all kinds towards authority and boasts on the use of violence against politicians, congressmen or even the President as a deterrent to achieve their self-proclaimed and whole-heartedly independence. The average sovereign citizen pours his mind on radical and brutal words when speaking. He lacks the charisma and the refine education of a Hitler, and is not aware of the skillful propaganda of a Stalin (is raw and blunt, radical, instead), but it seems to me their arguments are as much compelling, brilliant and catchy as theirs.
The ranks of the Sovereign Citizens keep growing due to the economical strains and the mortgage crisis, it is said; their numbers are calculated to be 300,000 in the States. The timing belt of Pitts story is the paradigmatic case of Jerry Kane and his teenager son. Kane is divorced and has lost his job as a truck driver at the time he joins the movement and travels around with his son peddling financially-troubled audiences a way to reduce their debt by scam. In May 2010, they both are captured after killing two police officers in duty who made their car stopped, on the grounds of some traffic offence. It was the boy, Joe -I think that's his name- who shot the men!: he put 25 bullets in their bodies overall.
The story that Rupert Cornwell has left unfinished -the Brossart family case- is one of the tricks destiny sometimes plays: a group of sovereign citizens, unwilling to abide by the law, receives an unintended response (i.e. a non ad-hoc response) in the form of a tremendous Governmental authority! The action seems to be legitimate - and a common practice in certain places, I read- but it has brought out a capital historical issue for the US Department of Defense and, probably, an old-fashion one which can take a lift-up job.
Back to the years right after the Civil War "the Army had been used extensively throughout the South to maintain civil order, to enforce the policies of the Reconstruction era, and to ensure that any lingering sentiments of rebellion were crushed. However, in reaching those goals, the Army necessarily become involved in traditional police role", tells major Craig Trebilcock, from the US Army Reserve, in a quite interesting and well-written US Homeland Security document.
The Posse Comitatus Act (the "power of the county") was passed after normality was more or less achieved in order to avoid the Army be involved any more in the works of police and local law enforcement. This Act has been traditionally "view as a major barrier to the use of U.S.military forces in planning for homeland defense" (Craig Trebilock). The surprise of Rupert Cornwell for the use of a $10m-unmanned Predator Drone to chase three "civilians", being these planes normally used in missions in Afghanistan, Colombia or against African pirates, is just the umpteenth example of such barrier, misunderstanding and source of conflict.
Oh, what a rich, long and challenging story, Rupert... .
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
In the land of Butch Cassidy, the lightning did strike
Danny Boyle has turned the dramatic story of Aron Ralston into a monument to human reliability and advocacy: 127 hours is a strong documentary against self-sufficiency. The story, the chain of events, is on a second plane, despite the cold in the dark night, the insects, the thirst, the blood and the urine, or the unbearable minutes -for the spectator- showing James Franco self-amputating his arm.
I feel that somehow a deeper description of a human being brought to such an extreme ordeal is possible, a place where everyone is a total stranger for himself. How would you feel if you can sniff the stench of your hand decomposing or can hear the hiss sound of air leaving your putrefied thumb when pinched with a cheap multi-tool set? There is something that I missed, as well; something that must have been petrifying for Ralston: the sound of silence in the desert night. The pre-tragedy character is a person full of noise. His headphones and the loud music, the screaming, the splattering of water, the wild laughing, all play a huge role in the first 20 minutes. After the accident, what else is to be heard but the rubbing of the blunt knife against the boulder? What else but the temporary moans or self-pity confessions to the camera? What else but the burning silence?
The accident actually kills one individual and brings a new one into live. The first is a lone rider; the second, a family man, conscious and humanitarian. The first is capable of doing all 55 fourteeners in Colorado, alone, in winter time -a pioneer-; the second breaks through the wild call of suicide thanks to his wife Jessica and states that if he was able to survive the accident was because their common and fundamental desire "for freedom, for love and for connection".
The most interesting thing is that both men are exclusive. One cannot be with another. The second came after the first died; the first was completely disrespectful of the second. This is how Aron Ralston expresses the idea himself in his book:
"It is 11.32am, Thursday, May 1 2003. For the second time in my life, I am being born. This time I am being delivered from the canyon’s pink womb, where I have been incubating. This time I am a grown adult and I understand the significance and power of this birth as none of us can when it happens the first time. The value of my family, my friends and my passions well up a heaving rush of energy that is like the burst I get approaching a hard-earned summit, multiplied by ten thousand. Pulling tight the remaining connective tissues of my arm, I rock the knife against the wall, and the final thin strand of flesh tears loose; tensile force rips the skin apart more than the blade cuts it.
A crystalline moment shatters, and the world is a different place".
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
I feel that somehow a deeper description of a human being brought to such an extreme ordeal is possible, a place where everyone is a total stranger for himself. How would you feel if you can sniff the stench of your hand decomposing or can hear the hiss sound of air leaving your putrefied thumb when pinched with a cheap multi-tool set? There is something that I missed, as well; something that must have been petrifying for Ralston: the sound of silence in the desert night. The pre-tragedy character is a person full of noise. His headphones and the loud music, the screaming, the splattering of water, the wild laughing, all play a huge role in the first 20 minutes. After the accident, what else is to be heard but the rubbing of the blunt knife against the boulder? What else but the temporary moans or self-pity confessions to the camera? What else but the burning silence?
The accident actually kills one individual and brings a new one into live. The first is a lone rider; the second, a family man, conscious and humanitarian. The first is capable of doing all 55 fourteeners in Colorado, alone, in winter time -a pioneer-; the second breaks through the wild call of suicide thanks to his wife Jessica and states that if he was able to survive the accident was because their common and fundamental desire "for freedom, for love and for connection".
The most interesting thing is that both men are exclusive. One cannot be with another. The second came after the first died; the first was completely disrespectful of the second. This is how Aron Ralston expresses the idea himself in his book:
"It is 11.32am, Thursday, May 1 2003. For the second time in my life, I am being born. This time I am being delivered from the canyon’s pink womb, where I have been incubating. This time I am a grown adult and I understand the significance and power of this birth as none of us can when it happens the first time. The value of my family, my friends and my passions well up a heaving rush of energy that is like the burst I get approaching a hard-earned summit, multiplied by ten thousand. Pulling tight the remaining connective tissues of my arm, I rock the knife against the wall, and the final thin strand of flesh tears loose; tensile force rips the skin apart more than the blade cuts it.
A crystalline moment shatters, and the world is a different place".
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Six spheres
In the course of an experiment with first-year students, they are to find the density of glass spheres -allegedly spherical- by using a balance, a pycnometer and DI water. They are told to use 6 spheres of about 6 mm in diameter. Simple.
The question may arise, however: why 6? Why 6 spheres?
Accidentally, I came across with the answer, I believe. Later on in the experiment, the students are to calculate the drag coefficient of glass spheres of different sizes falling down in a cylinder full of fluid. The momentum balance -assuming measurements are to be taken after terminal velocity is reached- is, simply: (force due to gravity) - (force due to drag) - (force due to buoyancy) = 0. The drag force is assumed to be equalled to (drag coeff) * (projected area of sphere in the direction of motion) * (kinetic energy at terminal velocity of the fluid past the sphere). All parameters are found experimentally, apart from the drag coefficient, which is to be calculated from the over-mentioned equation.
A priori, the drag is written as a function of the mass of the sphere, as well. In order to write it in terms of diameter and the density of the glass, the assumption of spheres being perfectly spherical is made.
The density of a sphere perfectly spherical is (6*mass) = Pi*(Diameter^3). That's the reason for the 6!!
The density of the glass so calculated is about 15 % different from the density calculated experimentally (not considering the perfect-sphere assumption). However, the assumption that spheres are spherical is made in order to calculate the drag coefficient; thus, such error shall invariantly be in the experimentation, down to the final results.
I find these kind of revelations juicy. It looks possible to me that the staff who designed the experiment years ago must wanted to show more than what we show today -crap, because of lack of interest. It's like doing Science Archaeology, Modern Science Archaeology, and enquire in the minds of people 10, 20, 40 years ago, most interesting. Don't you think?
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
The question may arise, however: why 6? Why 6 spheres?
Accidentally, I came across with the answer, I believe. Later on in the experiment, the students are to calculate the drag coefficient of glass spheres of different sizes falling down in a cylinder full of fluid. The momentum balance -assuming measurements are to be taken after terminal velocity is reached- is, simply: (force due to gravity) - (force due to drag) - (force due to buoyancy) = 0. The drag force is assumed to be equalled to (drag coeff) * (projected area of sphere in the direction of motion) * (kinetic energy at terminal velocity of the fluid past the sphere). All parameters are found experimentally, apart from the drag coefficient, which is to be calculated from the over-mentioned equation.
A priori, the drag is written as a function of the mass of the sphere, as well. In order to write it in terms of diameter and the density of the glass, the assumption of spheres being perfectly spherical is made.
The density of a sphere perfectly spherical is (6*mass) = Pi*(Diameter^3). That's the reason for the 6!!
The density of the glass so calculated is about 15 % different from the density calculated experimentally (not considering the perfect-sphere assumption). However, the assumption that spheres are spherical is made in order to calculate the drag coefficient; thus, such error shall invariantly be in the experimentation, down to the final results.
I find these kind of revelations juicy. It looks possible to me that the staff who designed the experiment years ago must wanted to show more than what we show today -crap, because of lack of interest. It's like doing Science Archaeology, Modern Science Archaeology, and enquire in the minds of people 10, 20, 40 years ago, most interesting. Don't you think?
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The Third War
I heard that the former spiritual advisor of Bill Clinton came once to London to deliver a conference. The venue was kind of posh and so was the audience. The topic: "the Third War". He walked to the stage, perhaps, he opened his folder, adjusted the microphone, glanced at the crowd and started: "You don't give a shit about the Third War". The people were astonished and could hardly believe what they have heard. "If fact", the speaker continued, "you cared more about me saying "shit" than about the Third War".
I belong to a generation which grew believing wars were curses of the past and that armies are no longer needed. Now I know such belief is a great mistake. Unfortunately. However, even now I find the possibility of a new war within Europe very remote. Just merely to fancy about it makes me feel like I am playing an impossible game: the game of imaging impossible things.
But, is it really impossible? I mean, the origins of many wars are grotesque. How many ridiculous wars!
Is it really impossible? To begin with, European countries are holding opposed positions in economic terms, and more or less hostile in social and cultural matters. Underneath the rusty endurance of conventions, nationalism is starting to shine at the core. Parcel bombs are far from being unusual lately: from Joseph Akermann to the Greek embassy in Paris, and Italian anarchists in the middle.
Something like that?
Still, I cannot imagine it. It is impossible!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
I belong to a generation which grew believing wars were curses of the past and that armies are no longer needed. Now I know such belief is a great mistake. Unfortunately. However, even now I find the possibility of a new war within Europe very remote. Just merely to fancy about it makes me feel like I am playing an impossible game: the game of imaging impossible things.
But, is it really impossible? I mean, the origins of many wars are grotesque. How many ridiculous wars!
Is it really impossible? To begin with, European countries are holding opposed positions in economic terms, and more or less hostile in social and cultural matters. Underneath the rusty endurance of conventions, nationalism is starting to shine at the core. Parcel bombs are far from being unusual lately: from Joseph Akermann to the Greek embassy in Paris, and Italian anarchists in the middle.
Something like that?
Still, I cannot imagine it. It is impossible!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Wind from the East
Last night, the furious wind and the sound of splattering water against the window woke me up. I glanced at the street _the street laid forsaken, wearing the magical gown of timeless mystery, under the dimly-red light of the lamppost. Right ahead, the black tree had its naked fingers shaken merciless _a blacken stain swarming abrupt and rashly in a field of rain. If the sky were then to be torn entirely and the yellow light of the stars to strike my forehead, I could have believed it. In fact, my eyes were open to see and my ears, ready to listen to. I wished somebody, someone would have said it right there... The something you are always yearning to hear... .
I know not whether the wind blowing savagely was from the East. I guess it could. I'd like it so! The East Wind brought to London the mighty figure of Mary Poppins, after the surmise of van Dyke. How exciting! East winds. East winds for the Modern Western man!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
I know not whether the wind blowing savagely was from the East. I guess it could. I'd like it so! The East Wind brought to London the mighty figure of Mary Poppins, after the surmise of van Dyke. How exciting! East winds. East winds for the Modern Western man!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Trains and polar bears
I think I said some time that years ago I use to write down in a notebook what I called -by then- "serendipities", although they were not exactly that. I felt curious about the fact that on the same day and different circumstances I learned of something entirely new for me until then. I don't quite know why I stopped writing down those singular "serendipities": today, I could count up to several hundreds of them.
As a chain of coincidences, I learn of the work by David Attenborough few weeks ago while attending a tutorial on Public Speaking (sometime, when injuries are cured, I will comment on this). "Mr. Attenborough is fascinating", we were told. I am sure he is. Last Sunday, I dozed after lunch in the couch, feet up on the coffee table, while Frozen Planet run on the TV. I heard Attenborough's voice in the distance, reciting the lyrics of What a Wonderful World and I said to myself: he is good.
Frozen Planet. Ok, it is good to know. Today, I read that some people have complaint because last November part of the scenery was shot in a zoo in Holland. Whether that is admissible or not, I leave it to you. I guess it is, but why not to say it on the very same documentary? Mr. Attenborough's voice could make heaven of a hellish grinding of teeth and motivate motion at absolute zero; so, why not?... Anyhow, Frozen Planet, a personal serendipity.
I liked better the African Railway, the last adventure of Sean Langan in BBC4. He travels in the train across the Freedom Railway from Dar es Salaam (Tanzania) to Kapiri Mposhi (Zambia) built by the Chinese in the 70s to be able to bring the copper from Zambia to the port in Tanzania. I think it was very good as a cultural documentary, eloquent and touchy; even though he did not find answers for the financial bankruptcy in 2008, I got attracted to the task of reading in each of the looks, smiles, gestures and words of the people in the crazy building of offices.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
As a chain of coincidences, I learn of the work by David Attenborough few weeks ago while attending a tutorial on Public Speaking (sometime, when injuries are cured, I will comment on this). "Mr. Attenborough is fascinating", we were told. I am sure he is. Last Sunday, I dozed after lunch in the couch, feet up on the coffee table, while Frozen Planet run on the TV. I heard Attenborough's voice in the distance, reciting the lyrics of What a Wonderful World and I said to myself: he is good.
Frozen Planet. Ok, it is good to know. Today, I read that some people have complaint because last November part of the scenery was shot in a zoo in Holland. Whether that is admissible or not, I leave it to you. I guess it is, but why not to say it on the very same documentary? Mr. Attenborough's voice could make heaven of a hellish grinding of teeth and motivate motion at absolute zero; so, why not?... Anyhow, Frozen Planet, a personal serendipity.
I liked better the African Railway, the last adventure of Sean Langan in BBC4. He travels in the train across the Freedom Railway from Dar es Salaam (Tanzania) to Kapiri Mposhi (Zambia) built by the Chinese in the 70s to be able to bring the copper from Zambia to the port in Tanzania. I think it was very good as a cultural documentary, eloquent and touchy; even though he did not find answers for the financial bankruptcy in 2008, I got attracted to the task of reading in each of the looks, smiles, gestures and words of the people in the crazy building of offices.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Monday, December 12, 2011
7 Billion
About a month or two ago, I heard timid echoes of the alarm sirens launched by some as we hit -so they say- the 7-billion-of-humans barrier on Earth. However, it seems to me that the alarms should be set all the way around: the world as we know it is getting older and older. The only countries booming children are those around and below the African Ecuador. All the rest are getting older. Japan is the worst case, but Spain is not a promising one, and the situation of Germany is delicate, for instance. The examples are numberless: general debacle. Even Arabic countries.
Why?
I guess explanations are to be found for each specific country and, within one, for each specific area or region. Perhaps, given the general tendency, it may exist general explanations.
Nevertheless, let me point out here two main ways to address the situation. On one side, the global dynamics: we are too many, can we afford it?, the planet is crowded. On the other, the local, dynamics: social and cultural considerations, values and principles, history, economy, pensions, family and personal relations in localized states.
Unfortunately, it seems to be more appealing for the catastrophic mind to focus on the first dimension. However, the tangled implications, arduous complexities and transcendental beauty of the problem relies on the second one.
A book for Christmas: "El Suicidio Demografico de Espana", by Alejandro Macarron.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Why?
I guess explanations are to be found for each specific country and, within one, for each specific area or region. Perhaps, given the general tendency, it may exist general explanations.
Nevertheless, let me point out here two main ways to address the situation. On one side, the global dynamics: we are too many, can we afford it?, the planet is crowded. On the other, the local, dynamics: social and cultural considerations, values and principles, history, economy, pensions, family and personal relations in localized states.
Unfortunately, it seems to be more appealing for the catastrophic mind to focus on the first dimension. However, the tangled implications, arduous complexities and transcendental beauty of the problem relies on the second one.
A book for Christmas: "El Suicidio Demografico de Espana", by Alejandro Macarron.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Tindouf
In the night of last October 22sd, three volunteer workers -two Spaniards and one Italian- were abducted in Tindouf (Argelia) -the last three in Magreb- by what it seems to be a branch of Al-Qaeda. The Agency AFP has echoed the message recently received from Jamat Tawhid Wal Jihad Fi Barbi Afriqqiya, stating responsibility for the kidnappings. The lack of news about the three youngsters is absolute.
I am a supreme ignoramus, I've said that in more than one occasion. I am very gullible individual and for most part of my life I have been always thinking "well" of life and people; even though I tend not to do it lately, I am sure that, in scenarios like this real conflict in Western Sahara, reality will always be worse than expected; the connections and vested interested, more tupid than thought; the nihilism, more putrid, horrible and savage than imaginable.
The case of the kidnapping of these young fellows -they look great in photographs... Ainhoa is only 29, Rossella and Enric are probably as young as her- makes me sad from end to end. Is there any other mandatory proof to state clear and loud that security is not being guaranteed in the refugee camps of Tindouf, nor anywhere around the whole area, from South Morocco to Mauritania, from Tifariti to Bamaka? It does not matter whether you work for Mundu Bat, or the Sahrawi Friends Society of Extremadura or Saint Cugat, or the Italian Commission for Developement, or Doctors Without Borders or any other organization out of the dozens in the area, you are not safe. Ainhoa, Enric and Rossella were supposed to be in the most secure area of all, outside the camps, in Rabuni, the Administrative Center of the Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic (SADR) and the Polisary Front headquarters... And they were taken... Like that... And we know nothing about.
It is a moral predication for the organizations working in the area to describe and detail all possible dangers for tourists, volunteers or workers coming down, and it should be a moral predication for the organizations recruiting Europeans for "humanitarian" tasks to improve security and emergency procedures. Life belongs to each of us, but everyone should face reality. This course of action is called responsibility.
Unfortunately, in this last case of kidnappings, responsibility is missing. The Government of Spain or the executive officers of the SADR are being irresponsible. Why did the Government of Spain not consider urgent to call for or encourage temporary withdrawal from the area? Does it have to be with being wiped out power in a few weeks? What about the new party seizing power? It is a shame.
On another side, the Security Director of the SADR stated shortly after the abductions: "The Polisary Front has taken all necessary measurements for all foreign volunteers to feel calm"... What do you mean, Mr. Akeik? Shall we all remain calm after this? Is that all that matters? Or do you mean, Mr. Akeik, that the measurements had not been taken before?
Furthermore, a delegate of the Culture Ministery visiting Arnedo, La Rioja, Spain, for a film festival dedicated to the Sahrawi circumstance during the week of the kidnappings said, crystal and clear: "[We] say to all friends of the Sahrawi people that their security in the camps is guaranteed"... Fuck you!
The whole thing stinks to me. The simple fact that the refugee camps has been going on for 36 years -not 35- is not motive of pride, but a thick stench! Why 200,000 people has to be in a refugee camp? Would not be more normal to start a life in Algeria? It seems to me that some people do somewhere else but in a way not available to everybody or without resigning other privileges for himself or for others.
I don't trust the Polisary Front, do you? To begin with, I dislike profoundly the name: the word "front" does inspire a number of things, but not peace, not at all. It is a war term, isn't it. I feel all the words of Polisary Front and intentions are a mere decoy, a luring device to whatever aims. Why the camps seem to be a beehive of women and children? Where are all the men? Where are companies, small or familiar, thriving to survive and produce wealth, the way to freedom and independence? Every year, 20 millions of euros end up in hands of the Polisary Front from several Spanish administrations, according to Canarias7. Where does this money go to?
The existance of certain sites like this gives me the dead fright: slavery, repression and totalitarian techniques within the camps.
I suspect that the fact that on October 19th the Polisary Front celebrated its XI Congress has had some effect in the abductions... Its motto during the Congress: "Fight and cohesion to snatch independence and peace". Peace? As far as I know, the war with Morocco ended in 1991... "Fight", a very peaceful word, as well... .I don't trust it. In 36 years the only political organization for the Sahrawi People is the Polisary Front (which is not indeed a political organization). Mr. Mohamed Abdelaziz, the President of the SADR is, at the same time, the General Secretary of the Polisary Front. He has left the Congress re-assured with more than 90 % of the votes... . Can you remember any good coming out of an identification between Party and Government?
Disgraceful.
Lord, be prayed:
You are the only one who can restore Life.
You, the Just, the Loving.
To you our lives entitle.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
I am a supreme ignoramus, I've said that in more than one occasion. I am very gullible individual and for most part of my life I have been always thinking "well" of life and people; even though I tend not to do it lately, I am sure that, in scenarios like this real conflict in Western Sahara, reality will always be worse than expected; the connections and vested interested, more tupid than thought; the nihilism, more putrid, horrible and savage than imaginable.
The case of the kidnapping of these young fellows -they look great in photographs... Ainhoa is only 29, Rossella and Enric are probably as young as her- makes me sad from end to end. Is there any other mandatory proof to state clear and loud that security is not being guaranteed in the refugee camps of Tindouf, nor anywhere around the whole area, from South Morocco to Mauritania, from Tifariti to Bamaka? It does not matter whether you work for Mundu Bat, or the Sahrawi Friends Society of Extremadura or Saint Cugat, or the Italian Commission for Developement, or Doctors Without Borders or any other organization out of the dozens in the area, you are not safe. Ainhoa, Enric and Rossella were supposed to be in the most secure area of all, outside the camps, in Rabuni, the Administrative Center of the Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic (SADR) and the Polisary Front headquarters... And they were taken... Like that... And we know nothing about.
It is a moral predication for the organizations working in the area to describe and detail all possible dangers for tourists, volunteers or workers coming down, and it should be a moral predication for the organizations recruiting Europeans for "humanitarian" tasks to improve security and emergency procedures. Life belongs to each of us, but everyone should face reality. This course of action is called responsibility.
Unfortunately, in this last case of kidnappings, responsibility is missing. The Government of Spain or the executive officers of the SADR are being irresponsible. Why did the Government of Spain not consider urgent to call for or encourage temporary withdrawal from the area? Does it have to be with being wiped out power in a few weeks? What about the new party seizing power? It is a shame.
On another side, the Security Director of the SADR stated shortly after the abductions: "The Polisary Front has taken all necessary measurements for all foreign volunteers to feel calm"... What do you mean, Mr. Akeik? Shall we all remain calm after this? Is that all that matters? Or do you mean, Mr. Akeik, that the measurements had not been taken before?
Furthermore, a delegate of the Culture Ministery visiting Arnedo, La Rioja, Spain, for a film festival dedicated to the Sahrawi circumstance during the week of the kidnappings said, crystal and clear: "[We] say to all friends of the Sahrawi people that their security in the camps is guaranteed"... Fuck you!
The whole thing stinks to me. The simple fact that the refugee camps has been going on for 36 years -not 35- is not motive of pride, but a thick stench! Why 200,000 people has to be in a refugee camp? Would not be more normal to start a life in Algeria? It seems to me that some people do somewhere else but in a way not available to everybody or without resigning other privileges for himself or for others.
I don't trust the Polisary Front, do you? To begin with, I dislike profoundly the name: the word "front" does inspire a number of things, but not peace, not at all. It is a war term, isn't it. I feel all the words of Polisary Front and intentions are a mere decoy, a luring device to whatever aims. Why the camps seem to be a beehive of women and children? Where are all the men? Where are companies, small or familiar, thriving to survive and produce wealth, the way to freedom and independence? Every year, 20 millions of euros end up in hands of the Polisary Front from several Spanish administrations, according to Canarias7. Where does this money go to?
The existance of certain sites like this gives me the dead fright: slavery, repression and totalitarian techniques within the camps.
I suspect that the fact that on October 19th the Polisary Front celebrated its XI Congress has had some effect in the abductions... Its motto during the Congress: "Fight and cohesion to snatch independence and peace". Peace? As far as I know, the war with Morocco ended in 1991... "Fight", a very peaceful word, as well... .I don't trust it. In 36 years the only political organization for the Sahrawi People is the Polisary Front (which is not indeed a political organization). Mr. Mohamed Abdelaziz, the President of the SADR is, at the same time, the General Secretary of the Polisary Front. He has left the Congress re-assured with more than 90 % of the votes... . Can you remember any good coming out of an identification between Party and Government?
Disgraceful.
Lord, be prayed:
You are the only one who can restore Life.
You, the Just, the Loving.
To you our lives entitle.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Immersion
Barcelona dwarfed Madrid again: 3-1; but it could have been 3-0 or 5-0.
There is this small English pub -very English- in a hidden, lovely corner of Muswell Hill. It's been ages since the last time I was there. A group of Catalan Spaniards is in the pub for the game; I did not recognized their accents first, but soon enough they talk to each other in Catalan. "They come here twice a year for the Barca-Madrid game", the pub boss tells me.
The game is on and passion lightens up their hearts in fire. "Vamos, pa'lante", "Joder, tioooo, tarjeta yaa".
The problem with linguistic immersion is that works fine as long as you don't have to breath. But Life is all about breathing and, then, you will tend to speak the language you feel more comfortable with.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
There is this small English pub -very English- in a hidden, lovely corner of Muswell Hill. It's been ages since the last time I was there. A group of Catalan Spaniards is in the pub for the game; I did not recognized their accents first, but soon enough they talk to each other in Catalan. "They come here twice a year for the Barca-Madrid game", the pub boss tells me.
The game is on and passion lightens up their hearts in fire. "Vamos, pa'lante", "Joder, tioooo, tarjeta yaa".
The problem with linguistic immersion is that works fine as long as you don't have to breath. But Life is all about breathing and, then, you will tend to speak the language you feel more comfortable with.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
The new pharmacopea
Saturday 2.30 pm: I am cooking my lunch at home in a lovely, short, cold and sunny afternoon. M. says that I have to be inventive in the kitchen, so let's be inventive! I will eat whatever it comes out of the oven.
In the meantime I am having a tasteful and divine appetizer. Between sip and sip of a glass of wine and a just-discovered song of Rebecca Ferguson it comes to my mind -don't know why, probably without reason- a couple of news I read in Metro this week (almost everything I read lately). Both pieces are related to pharmaceutical drugs.
The first one is this drug accepted and authorized now by the FDA -as far as I know- to mitigate the devastating effects on a binge drinking night. The combination, quite simple and homemade, was found by a girl in the morning following a "great" night of alcohol and in the midst of the most terrible hangover. She says that, however, her formula is not intended to encourage heavy drinking... Ok, whatever... . It follows, rather, heavy drinking. Let's just not stop saying that heavy drinking is something good as long as it happens once or twice a year... Otherwise, there is something just wrong about it.
The second piece is related to the lady who sadly and unexpectedly killed herself while taking a bath. Apparently she did not remove the patch of her medicine to palliate chronic neck and shoulder pains in the first place. The heat accelerated the rate of diffusion of the drug in the tissue to fatal levels. It is claimed that the leaflet of the drug contains a clear warning against the use of the patch in certain circumstances, like taking a bath. You always have the doubt whether the lady read that or not; whether knew that or not; whether did that on purpose or not, in a particularly dolorous day. However, my question is: did the doctor who prescribed the medicine sufficiently emphasized the avoidance of the patch during hot baths? Did the doctor say: "Dear Ms, please under no circumstances use this patch while taking a bath. Never, ever do that: it might have terrible consequences. You could die!"
That's what I am taking about.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
In the meantime I am having a tasteful and divine appetizer. Between sip and sip of a glass of wine and a just-discovered song of Rebecca Ferguson it comes to my mind -don't know why, probably without reason- a couple of news I read in Metro this week (almost everything I read lately). Both pieces are related to pharmaceutical drugs.
The first one is this drug accepted and authorized now by the FDA -as far as I know- to mitigate the devastating effects on a binge drinking night. The combination, quite simple and homemade, was found by a girl in the morning following a "great" night of alcohol and in the midst of the most terrible hangover. She says that, however, her formula is not intended to encourage heavy drinking... Ok, whatever... . It follows, rather, heavy drinking. Let's just not stop saying that heavy drinking is something good as long as it happens once or twice a year... Otherwise, there is something just wrong about it.
The second piece is related to the lady who sadly and unexpectedly killed herself while taking a bath. Apparently she did not remove the patch of her medicine to palliate chronic neck and shoulder pains in the first place. The heat accelerated the rate of diffusion of the drug in the tissue to fatal levels. It is claimed that the leaflet of the drug contains a clear warning against the use of the patch in certain circumstances, like taking a bath. You always have the doubt whether the lady read that or not; whether knew that or not; whether did that on purpose or not, in a particularly dolorous day. However, my question is: did the doctor who prescribed the medicine sufficiently emphasized the avoidance of the patch during hot baths? Did the doctor say: "Dear Ms, please under no circumstances use this patch while taking a bath. Never, ever do that: it might have terrible consequences. You could die!"
That's what I am taking about.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Friday, December 9, 2011
A farsighted example
In my school days and early years of my Bachelor's degree I use to hear a lot that Statistics is a simple matter, that it is easier than other sisters of the family of Mathematics. The message deeply rooted and carved a groove into my mind that led me into a major disinterest for Statistics and the science involved within.
I know not who nor on what grounds divulged such nonsense and lie -it is a lie. Statistics are not straightforward at all, but formal and cumbersome; unless, of course, you resign yourself to be happy with the 2+2 level (kindergarten level) of concepts of mean and standard deviation.
These days I am struggling with the details of a tool called time-series analysis -something kind of old, but new somehow for me-. The mathematics involved -if you want to be rigorous- are obtrusive and tricky, and the proliferation of computer aids and software makes the whole thing even more slippery -as they are entire black boxes. There are many weapons in science quite dangerous because they allow doing things without knowing the stuff: the first example is the "rule of three"; the last, all these computer, modelling and simulation craziness around us.
In particular, the measurements or inferences on which the climate and/or weather studies (the terms refer to different concepts) are based are, indeed, series in time that need to be analyzed rigorously. After a few weeks of time-series studies, I can see where all complications and disagreements among the scientific community might come from (leaving apart, of course, lies or faked data).
This morning in the tube I read that the speed of winds up in the North reached yesterday to 165 mph, contrary to the top 90 mph "predicted". I said to myself: Jesus! What kind of models we are using that we calculate numbers with such an extraordinarily, anti-scientific error?
This is a farsighted example of the stuff we still don't know... And we think we do.
Nowadays I feel Science is presented as an activity consisting of "pushing boundaries". However, in many instances we are still to learn the basic things of Nature; things that have been there for ages and still we don't know... We are, for example, incapable of explaining to the fullest the motion of a stream of water or a gust of wind.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
I know not who nor on what grounds divulged such nonsense and lie -it is a lie. Statistics are not straightforward at all, but formal and cumbersome; unless, of course, you resign yourself to be happy with the 2+2 level (kindergarten level) of concepts of mean and standard deviation.
These days I am struggling with the details of a tool called time-series analysis -something kind of old, but new somehow for me-. The mathematics involved -if you want to be rigorous- are obtrusive and tricky, and the proliferation of computer aids and software makes the whole thing even more slippery -as they are entire black boxes. There are many weapons in science quite dangerous because they allow doing things without knowing the stuff: the first example is the "rule of three"; the last, all these computer, modelling and simulation craziness around us.
In particular, the measurements or inferences on which the climate and/or weather studies (the terms refer to different concepts) are based are, indeed, series in time that need to be analyzed rigorously. After a few weeks of time-series studies, I can see where all complications and disagreements among the scientific community might come from (leaving apart, of course, lies or faked data).
This morning in the tube I read that the speed of winds up in the North reached yesterday to 165 mph, contrary to the top 90 mph "predicted". I said to myself: Jesus! What kind of models we are using that we calculate numbers with such an extraordinarily, anti-scientific error?
This is a farsighted example of the stuff we still don't know... And we think we do.
Nowadays I feel Science is presented as an activity consisting of "pushing boundaries". However, in many instances we are still to learn the basic things of Nature; things that have been there for ages and still we don't know... We are, for example, incapable of explaining to the fullest the motion of a stream of water or a gust of wind.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
The Science of today
I keep finding Research and Science quite tiresome and barren these days in methodology, topics and procedures. It sounds unbelievable that one can get tired of Science nowadays, but it is just how I feel.
The way labs tend to look like adds up in to my general feeling. As an example, I am showing here three photographs taken a few weeks back:
People actually work in those labs (!!!).
**
Another feature of the modern times that add up to my general disappointment is the peculiar use of libraries, away from its original intended purpose: books are no longer checked, studied or venered. Ain't that so?
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
The way labs tend to look like adds up in to my general feeling. As an example, I am showing here three photographs taken a few weeks back:
People actually work in those labs (!!!).
**
Another feature of the modern times that add up to my general disappointment is the peculiar use of libraries, away from its original intended purpose: books are no longer checked, studied or venered. Ain't that so?
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Francis Galton, a big motherfucker
This year we can commemorate the 100th anniversary of Sir Francis Galton's death, cousin of Darwin (both had a common grandfather), a man of huge professional proportions on his own. He stood up in many fields, from Statistics to Anthropology, Meteorology to Geography. He was a great explorer and traveler. However, I came to know him very little ago (oh! what an ignoramus I am) for his ideas as a Geneticist.
Following the commemoration, the UCL has published digitally (so they say, because what they have done is to photograph the original hard copy), for the first time, The College of Kantsaywhere (1910, I think).
The novel is a racist jewel, pretty much against all established human rights. The usual stuff: only the best descendant deseve be well-nourished and educated and to have off-spring on their own. I have read a few pages and I can understand those were different times and how the developments in Genetics at the time could lead preclare minds to such unhumane positions. However, I don't quite understand the neutrality in judging such piece of work at the light of the modern human rights: an umpteenth example of intellectual asymmetry.
To me, the prodigy child Galton was, the outstanding intellectual, was also a worm alike to that of Hitler, lost similarly astray with no difference. There is no evidence at all of a direct relation between both, but they were in the same chord of evil music: they share the same evil essence.
I have said it before and I say know: intelligence, natural disposition, brilliantness do not mean anything. The coldest, meanest and most terrible and cruel beings were educated and most intelligent.
On the contrary, the Jesus Christ wanted to sopport his Church on the stones disposed of by the stonemasons. Could it be a bigger contrast?
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Following the commemoration, the UCL has published digitally (so they say, because what they have done is to photograph the original hard copy), for the first time, The College of Kantsaywhere (1910, I think).
The novel is a racist jewel, pretty much against all established human rights. The usual stuff: only the best descendant deseve be well-nourished and educated and to have off-spring on their own. I have read a few pages and I can understand those were different times and how the developments in Genetics at the time could lead preclare minds to such unhumane positions. However, I don't quite understand the neutrality in judging such piece of work at the light of the modern human rights: an umpteenth example of intellectual asymmetry.
To me, the prodigy child Galton was, the outstanding intellectual, was also a worm alike to that of Hitler, lost similarly astray with no difference. There is no evidence at all of a direct relation between both, but they were in the same chord of evil music: they share the same evil essence.
I have said it before and I say know: intelligence, natural disposition, brilliantness do not mean anything. The coldest, meanest and most terrible and cruel beings were educated and most intelligent.
On the contrary, the Jesus Christ wanted to sopport his Church on the stones disposed of by the stonemasons. Could it be a bigger contrast?
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Of England today
Now that Ted Hughes has been honored a place in the Poet's Corner of Westminster Abbey, I have to get myself a copy of The Hawk in the Rain. I know nothing about him. I have the feeling I will like his poetry:
"I imagine this midnight moment's forest:
something else is alive
beside the clock's loneliness
and this blank page where my fingers move.
(...)
Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
it enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
the page is printed".
**
I read in the tube that some burglars killed a few-week old kitten in the microwave once they found out nothing was worthy to steal. A couple of weeks later I read again in the tube that a young lady, in spite of the grievances she held against another young lady, did kill the small kitten of the latter in the microwave. It seems to me that even cruelty follows trends.
**
K. showed up today in the office with a notorious bandage in the lower part of his left jaw. He came straight from surgery. On Sunday, during a fight of Tae-Kwon-Do he got his jaw broken. A standard 4-hour operation that a skillful practitioner got it wrapped in about 40 minutes. He is a clever guy and holds the secret of a mystery in his own life, I feel, but I really got impressed: a simple story for a kind of serious accident. And he is just moving ahead. I wish him the best.
**
The UK has for foreigners a specil ability to scatter into pieces the myth. Take That, for instance. You see Gary Barlow last Saturday night on TV, or you learn of his performance (a rave) in the Albert Hall yesterday, and you feel his myth evaporates. He looks just like the normal guy in X-Factor. He is touchable. The myth, once more, works better (and only) in the distance... To me, at least to me.
**
The trial for the death of a young girl who used to work for Channel 4 seems to go on these days. Apparently, her lawyers, father and family spokesman are seeking justice on the grounds of being bullied by her former bosses. She died when she was of my age just a couple of years ago. She tried expensive things to find recovery and stillness... I thought, why did she not just come home? Home is the only place you will have at the end (don't lose it). Home is the place where one is awaited.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
"I imagine this midnight moment's forest:
something else is alive
beside the clock's loneliness
and this blank page where my fingers move.
(...)
Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
it enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
the page is printed".
**
I read in the tube that some burglars killed a few-week old kitten in the microwave once they found out nothing was worthy to steal. A couple of weeks later I read again in the tube that a young lady, in spite of the grievances she held against another young lady, did kill the small kitten of the latter in the microwave. It seems to me that even cruelty follows trends.
**
K. showed up today in the office with a notorious bandage in the lower part of his left jaw. He came straight from surgery. On Sunday, during a fight of Tae-Kwon-Do he got his jaw broken. A standard 4-hour operation that a skillful practitioner got it wrapped in about 40 minutes. He is a clever guy and holds the secret of a mystery in his own life, I feel, but I really got impressed: a simple story for a kind of serious accident. And he is just moving ahead. I wish him the best.
**
The UK has for foreigners a specil ability to scatter into pieces the myth. Take That, for instance. You see Gary Barlow last Saturday night on TV, or you learn of his performance (a rave) in the Albert Hall yesterday, and you feel his myth evaporates. He looks just like the normal guy in X-Factor. He is touchable. The myth, once more, works better (and only) in the distance... To me, at least to me.
**
The trial for the death of a young girl who used to work for Channel 4 seems to go on these days. Apparently, her lawyers, father and family spokesman are seeking justice on the grounds of being bullied by her former bosses. She died when she was of my age just a couple of years ago. She tried expensive things to find recovery and stillness... I thought, why did she not just come home? Home is the only place you will have at the end (don't lose it). Home is the place where one is awaited.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Thanks
Michael Jackson sang in Man in the Mirror: “if you wanna do a better world, take a look at yourself and make a change”. It is a modern version of a very old admonition. Nothing is said, though, in ancient or modern times, about how to change or what of change is needed. The contents of such a change are clearly subjective, because what one might think as a mandatory improvement, could be a superfluous modification for another; what it would be a significant break for some, might be meaningless for others.
I think that a very nice breakthrough in the path to improve the condition of humans among themselves is to rescue the use of the word “thank you”. I have mentioned this before here: we are stopping using this word freely, as it is supposed to.
The fact that the English tends to suppress the expression “thank you” or “thanks” by “cheers” is significant to me (perhaps, it is not too much surprising giving the fondness of this country to the drinking culture). A clear thank you for the common man and woman in the common situation is harder and harder to get.
I won’t hide the fact that this inconsiderate evolution bothers me a lot. I also found it detrimental for any healthy society formed by free individuals who interact freely. I get crossed the most any time you offer the way to somebody and the action is unacknowledged or unrecognized by the one who is benefited. Particularly, in the old times kids were touch by their mothers to say “thank you” to anyone who granted a kindness to both. In these days, nor even the mother or the father does it frequently.
The word “thanks”, “gracias”, in Spanish, or “mercy” in French has a component of gratuity, a nice recognition of the fact that favour and kindness is a note of high civilization against the wilderness of the natural environment and against our animal condition.
If I were a singer I would love to try being revolutionary by claming: if you want to do this world better, say “thank you” and teach your kids to say “thank you”.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Signs of identity
Sometimes, one witnesses trivial events with a powerful and unambiguous meaning inside -at least, for oneself-; events that, in addition, are hard to convert into words: it touches your heart, let put it in this way. The feeling is like a dark and fatal abyss suddenly opening beneath your feet, and disclosing a vast truth unattainable to reason or to the general acknowledgement.
In the bus to home I have this girl sitting behind. She is in her early twenties, I guess. In one of the stops, a guy -who happens to know her- gets on the bus, sits next to her and starts doing chit-chat talk. Quite soon, the girls gets off. She is sitting next to the window, so the guy makes some room for her... But she does not say anything, nor any "excuse me", "sorry"... They are behind me, as I said, and it is not like I saw it, but listened to it. I guess her body language was enough to have the guy receptive -enough- to let her out.
As she was leaving the bus, the girl said: "see you in facebook"... I came home reflecting of such an artificial encounter, lacking of spontaneity: pure modern conventionality. The girl, for sure, that's my view, has learned how to play the game.
**
Early this morning, I gave a speech to the some of the boys and girls I happen to share the office with. You know how these things work: the office is indeed not an office, but a place to talk, chat, relax, drink tea, and so forth. Our office is the only one like that in the Department: other offices are quieter because people feel "more relax" in ours, as the environment is relaxed and slack. It is not supposed to be like this, you say, you are said, of course, and everybody being bothered by the noise and unconsiderate activity gets crossed about... Most important, nobody has seriously attempt to done anything, apart from bitching about or jump into unproductive arguments. These cases end bad always. It is not as much easy problem as it might look like. For sure, I won't fix it: these kids will kill me first.
Anyhow, apart from the option of ear-plugs (which I have), I try to ask for consideration, over and over again, any time I get particularly bothered or I think their behavior is clearly "out of line", no matter how repeatitive.
Early this morning, during one of the usual stuff, I looked at them, some looked at me and knew, but gave me the look-back that a naughty child gives his mother or his friend's mother: the one that shows, first, that he knows he is wrong and, second, that he does not give a damn. So, I started my speech. It took me 1 minute and I say: "can you just avoid the screaming, the stentorian laughing and talk lower with consideration to the me... Or the rest?... Can you?". I only got a clear answer from one of them, being the rest just acknowledging my words so I could finish soon. So I started again. Some of them finally talked and said what they thought. Some of them not.
The most interesting reply to me is this: "Can you just tell, in a nice way, "hey, guys, lower your voice, maann!", or something like this, but not with speeches, because I get very uncomfortable".
Why? Why this young fellow get uncomfortable when somebody honestly express his feelings?... Interesting, hm?
This is to me an extra example of the stubborn laws of convention. Too much education, too much technology, too much globalization but, at the end, it is just that these kids have being taught and learned how to play the game! How to be warm and comfortable inside the circle of fire: the circle of conventions. How to laugh, what to reply, how to look... Just think of the cheesy byes people give to each other at the end of a conversation, a meeting or something, with a -umpleasant (for me)- cadence that let the bye dye slowly and syrupy: "... Byyeeeeeeeeeeeeee".
As I said, these two events gave me much more than what I have been able to write about... Signs of identity of today and yesterday... And ever.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
In the bus to home I have this girl sitting behind. She is in her early twenties, I guess. In one of the stops, a guy -who happens to know her- gets on the bus, sits next to her and starts doing chit-chat talk. Quite soon, the girls gets off. She is sitting next to the window, so the guy makes some room for her... But she does not say anything, nor any "excuse me", "sorry"... They are behind me, as I said, and it is not like I saw it, but listened to it. I guess her body language was enough to have the guy receptive -enough- to let her out.
As she was leaving the bus, the girl said: "see you in facebook"... I came home reflecting of such an artificial encounter, lacking of spontaneity: pure modern conventionality. The girl, for sure, that's my view, has learned how to play the game.
**
Early this morning, I gave a speech to the some of the boys and girls I happen to share the office with. You know how these things work: the office is indeed not an office, but a place to talk, chat, relax, drink tea, and so forth. Our office is the only one like that in the Department: other offices are quieter because people feel "more relax" in ours, as the environment is relaxed and slack. It is not supposed to be like this, you say, you are said, of course, and everybody being bothered by the noise and unconsiderate activity gets crossed about... Most important, nobody has seriously attempt to done anything, apart from bitching about or jump into unproductive arguments. These cases end bad always. It is not as much easy problem as it might look like. For sure, I won't fix it: these kids will kill me first.
Anyhow, apart from the option of ear-plugs (which I have), I try to ask for consideration, over and over again, any time I get particularly bothered or I think their behavior is clearly "out of line", no matter how repeatitive.
Early this morning, during one of the usual stuff, I looked at them, some looked at me and knew, but gave me the look-back that a naughty child gives his mother or his friend's mother: the one that shows, first, that he knows he is wrong and, second, that he does not give a damn. So, I started my speech. It took me 1 minute and I say: "can you just avoid the screaming, the stentorian laughing and talk lower with consideration to the me... Or the rest?... Can you?". I only got a clear answer from one of them, being the rest just acknowledging my words so I could finish soon. So I started again. Some of them finally talked and said what they thought. Some of them not.
The most interesting reply to me is this: "Can you just tell, in a nice way, "hey, guys, lower your voice, maann!", or something like this, but not with speeches, because I get very uncomfortable".
Why? Why this young fellow get uncomfortable when somebody honestly express his feelings?... Interesting, hm?
This is to me an extra example of the stubborn laws of convention. Too much education, too much technology, too much globalization but, at the end, it is just that these kids have being taught and learned how to play the game! How to be warm and comfortable inside the circle of fire: the circle of conventions. How to laugh, what to reply, how to look... Just think of the cheesy byes people give to each other at the end of a conversation, a meeting or something, with a -umpleasant (for me)- cadence that let the bye dye slowly and syrupy: "... Byyeeeeeeeeeeeeee".
As I said, these two events gave me much more than what I have been able to write about... Signs of identity of today and yesterday... And ever.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Offense, second example
In this state of mine of particular sensitivity, the second example that got me crossed has to do, once again, with privatization, cuts and unreasonable positions.
Next Wednesday will be November, 30, and for such day a strike has been called against Governmental cuts in the public sector. I am not following it very much. It seems, however, that groups of Marxist ideology are really interested, as the pending strike got actively advertised during the UCL demonstration a couple of weeks ago. The Socialist Worker predicts 3 million "workers" in the streets next Wednesday; the balloting process undergone in several unions shows a clear support of the strike from those who voted, although the turn-out is generally meagre.
Around the SOAS patio today, in the University College London, the propaganda has already started. I read this pamphlet: "Eurozone melts down: no cuts, against privatization". And there brings out a map of the "Eurozone" of black color and dripping like it were made of fresh ink. The funny thing is that UK is fully present (although it is not in the Eurozone), Spain is half out of the picture and, of course, Portugal is entirely out... .
It seems obvious that this time the authors of such foetus don't have much money nor any willingness to invest the smallest amount of time to produce something intellectually decent. It seems to me that such propaganda is the product of the typical extremist group. And that is what crosses me. I can understand the drama of officials of the Food and Drug Administration facing reductions, suppressions, remodelations or, directly, receiving a termination notice. But I cannot feel any sympathy for a bunch of kids with nothing better to do, dangerous, showing no empathy to other fellows and with overflowing current bank accounts.
Fuck them!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Next Wednesday will be November, 30, and for such day a strike has been called against Governmental cuts in the public sector. I am not following it very much. It seems, however, that groups of Marxist ideology are really interested, as the pending strike got actively advertised during the UCL demonstration a couple of weeks ago. The Socialist Worker predicts 3 million "workers" in the streets next Wednesday; the balloting process undergone in several unions shows a clear support of the strike from those who voted, although the turn-out is generally meagre.
Around the SOAS patio today, in the University College London, the propaganda has already started. I read this pamphlet: "Eurozone melts down: no cuts, against privatization". And there brings out a map of the "Eurozone" of black color and dripping like it were made of fresh ink. The funny thing is that UK is fully present (although it is not in the Eurozone), Spain is half out of the picture and, of course, Portugal is entirely out... .
It seems obvious that this time the authors of such foetus don't have much money nor any willingness to invest the smallest amount of time to produce something intellectually decent. It seems to me that such propaganda is the product of the typical extremist group. And that is what crosses me. I can understand the drama of officials of the Food and Drug Administration facing reductions, suppressions, remodelations or, directly, receiving a termination notice. But I cannot feel any sympathy for a bunch of kids with nothing better to do, dangerous, showing no empathy to other fellows and with overflowing current bank accounts.
Fuck them!
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Offense, first example
I have been quite unproductive for the last few days; quite a few, to be truthful. I feel bad about it. This life of mine resembles that of Harry Haller, I reckon, I mutter to myself. It must be a moment of certain fragility because everything makes me feel crossed easily. And I know nothing good can come out of this.
I take offenses easily. I will give you two examples.
The first one is handed by this Greek guy from the Department, a newcomer, who sent this petition-for-signature email to everybody: " The Greek Government plans to change the public character of NOA [National Observatory of Athens] and convert it into a private institution, to the contrary of the status that other similar institutions have around the world. It also plans to suppress by the next year the annual state funding of NOA by 30 %. (...). If we do not act now it will take several decades to recover and rebuild what we have achieved so far (...).
Oh, God!... Puag, disgusting!
No: what it will take several decades to recover and rebuild is the current state of life in Greece and that of its people. Two or three generations down the stream of life will be paying for the debts of the current generation and the crimes of their politicians and business man, all friends. I don't know if there is any written and immutable law of how "other similar institutions" should be funded by public money, but certainly the status of Greece is not precisely similar to that of other countries. In a list of priorities, if you intend to save social benefits or the health system, at least partially, there is no room for NOA.
It is the usual bullshit, what can I say?... Why is privatization necessarily wrong? Why privatization necessarily means that "what we have achieved so far" will be destroyed?
Privatization is a taboo word, a useful talisman for the cheesy intellectual argumentation in fashion! Privatization is a narcotic, a mystic word that, when pronounced, automatically casts a spell upon those who listen and gets them out of their minds. A classic case of hypnosis. "Madagascar" and "Constantinople" are such words in Woody Allen's The Curse of Jade Scorpion, for example.
No: what is entirely wrong is that the Greek government lied about the financial status of the country in order to join the Euro with or without harborers and these criminal people are not going to pay for it... How are we preventing then such things to happen again as much as possible?
The savings of so many millions in and OUT of Greece are at stake and one has to listen to such bullshit and propaganda!
The petition comes from here and it has been starting by the NOA itself. Apparently, if you provide your details and email, and you join the site, you can start any petition and as many as you wish. For example, this lady from Colorado started her war against Keeping Up the Kardashians. Every fool has his moment of glory.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
I take offenses easily. I will give you two examples.
The first one is handed by this Greek guy from the Department, a newcomer, who sent this petition-for-signature email to everybody: " The Greek Government plans to change the public character of NOA [National Observatory of Athens] and convert it into a private institution, to the contrary of the status that other similar institutions have around the world. It also plans to suppress by the next year the annual state funding of NOA by 30 %. (...). If we do not act now it will take several decades to recover and rebuild what we have achieved so far (...).
Oh, God!... Puag, disgusting!
No: what it will take several decades to recover and rebuild is the current state of life in Greece and that of its people. Two or three generations down the stream of life will be paying for the debts of the current generation and the crimes of their politicians and business man, all friends. I don't know if there is any written and immutable law of how "other similar institutions" should be funded by public money, but certainly the status of Greece is not precisely similar to that of other countries. In a list of priorities, if you intend to save social benefits or the health system, at least partially, there is no room for NOA.
It is the usual bullshit, what can I say?... Why is privatization necessarily wrong? Why privatization necessarily means that "what we have achieved so far" will be destroyed?
Privatization is a taboo word, a useful talisman for the cheesy intellectual argumentation in fashion! Privatization is a narcotic, a mystic word that, when pronounced, automatically casts a spell upon those who listen and gets them out of their minds. A classic case of hypnosis. "Madagascar" and "Constantinople" are such words in Woody Allen's The Curse of Jade Scorpion, for example.
No: what is entirely wrong is that the Greek government lied about the financial status of the country in order to join the Euro with or without harborers and these criminal people are not going to pay for it... How are we preventing then such things to happen again as much as possible?
The savings of so many millions in and OUT of Greece are at stake and one has to listen to such bullshit and propaganda!
The petition comes from here and it has been starting by the NOA itself. Apparently, if you provide your details and email, and you join the site, you can start any petition and as many as you wish. For example, this lady from Colorado started her war against Keeping Up the Kardashians. Every fool has his moment of glory.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Brit rap
I am not at all interested in technology, i-pads, i-pods, i-phones or kindles, play or wii. I really don't give a shit. Nor about facebook or twiter and have not got seriously into linkedn. I have a prehistoric phone which is mute and silenced and sometimes made me wonder if it really works. I don't follow fashion, I don't know how. I don't know a place suitable for myself, really. I have not found myself... Really... Still... Yet. I sometimes fell the awful feeling of getting old before blossom; it is the dusk before the dawn.
My daily days do not help, as I am in touch with boys and girls 5, 7, 10 years my junior. The technical files of singers, city workers, business men, even divorce young ladies are full of people younger than me. You have the feeling of growing up when TV hosts and footballers are generally younger than you, but those times are long ago gone. Time is a bitch.
The feeling does not improve when I open a window in my time wall and look outside into subcultures, into other stuff. It is like being even older and pretending to be otherwise without a spirit.... Agg! Let me drop this baloney for another time.
My lurking into modernity this weekend dragged me to this. It is not like I am scandalized or something; it just makes me so depressed. On a different frame, I listened to different young artists, mainly from the hip-hop culture here in the UK, or in London: Giggs, Dizzee Rascal, Professor Green or Ed Sheeran. It is a very-easy-to-listen-to music. I say to myself: this is not rap! I look at the clothes, the style, the culture and it is so hot, but so traditional, so predictable. So depressing.
In 2004 I spent my first long weekend in Atlanta. I think it was after a walk along the Peabody boulevard that we found ourselves in a negro disco with gogos fully naked on swings, semi-naked people dancing on stage like they were having sex and music like this. I think I thought: "how the hell can you explain Western philosophy to this people". It was the real underground.
The new Brit hip-hop music (I like very much this, this, this and this) might be rude and unwelcome sometimes, (talented too), with excessive fucking words and a certain proclivity to the gang culture and the outlaw behaviour, but it has nothing real. It is an artificially-created culture (and not quite promising, let say). It is a gentle and sweet music, too much in hands of fashion and conservatism. It is on X-factor! With Tulisa Contostavlos as Ambassador.
Last Thursday, on a pub in Great Portland Street, on the contrary, the Sex Pistols performed. I read in the tube what one of them said: "do you know what the problem is? Simon f***ing Cowell".
There are people who never change. And I am glad it is so.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
My daily days do not help, as I am in touch with boys and girls 5, 7, 10 years my junior. The technical files of singers, city workers, business men, even divorce young ladies are full of people younger than me. You have the feeling of growing up when TV hosts and footballers are generally younger than you, but those times are long ago gone. Time is a bitch.
The feeling does not improve when I open a window in my time wall and look outside into subcultures, into other stuff. It is like being even older and pretending to be otherwise without a spirit.... Agg! Let me drop this baloney for another time.
My lurking into modernity this weekend dragged me to this. It is not like I am scandalized or something; it just makes me so depressed. On a different frame, I listened to different young artists, mainly from the hip-hop culture here in the UK, or in London: Giggs, Dizzee Rascal, Professor Green or Ed Sheeran. It is a very-easy-to-listen-to music. I say to myself: this is not rap! I look at the clothes, the style, the culture and it is so hot, but so traditional, so predictable. So depressing.
In 2004 I spent my first long weekend in Atlanta. I think it was after a walk along the Peabody boulevard that we found ourselves in a negro disco with gogos fully naked on swings, semi-naked people dancing on stage like they were having sex and music like this. I think I thought: "how the hell can you explain Western philosophy to this people". It was the real underground.
The new Brit hip-hop music (I like very much this, this, this and this) might be rude and unwelcome sometimes, (talented too), with excessive fucking words and a certain proclivity to the gang culture and the outlaw behaviour, but it has nothing real. It is an artificially-created culture (and not quite promising, let say). It is a gentle and sweet music, too much in hands of fashion and conservatism. It is on X-factor! With Tulisa Contostavlos as Ambassador.
Last Thursday, on a pub in Great Portland Street, on the contrary, the Sex Pistols performed. I read in the tube what one of them said: "do you know what the problem is? Simon f***ing Cowell".
There are people who never change. And I am glad it is so.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Anniversaries
Today, more Spaniards than ever are called to the ballot boxes -in fact, they have been voting since 10 am until... 8 pm, I guess. Well, 9 pm, since the time in Canary Islands is one hour behind. T
The date was refused, inquired, talked about initially for some reasons, on the grounds of being the anniversary -one year more- of Francisco Franco's death. The general finally died in the night of November 20th, 1975, event expected from at least a year back, since he suffered a thrombophlebitis attack.
The influence, real and psychological, of Franco on the Spanish society is massive, even today. The guy has been death for 36 years (I wasn't even born at the time), but the pillars of the national skeleton he created are essentially intact (DNI, Social Security System, Tourism, Traffic Civil Guard, Care System). Some other pillars are even in worst shape: judges controlling politician are not independent, but are elected by them (following the socialist reformation of Judicial Law in 1985), and the Nationalism or Regionalism has elevated the problem of national identity to all institutions and administrations.
Franco has been an obsession for Spaniards in democracy; certainly, much before 2004. I don't quite understand why. Anyhow, the wounds from Franquism seem to be now more inflamed than ever as. A huge part of the blame is on PSOE; during a disastrous period 2004 - 2011, started with the most horrendous terrorist attack in Europe in all history (to this day, unexplained and unsettled), the until-today (let's hope, we only have to wait a few more hours) party in Government (PSOE) maliciously helped open injuries again by, for example, enforcing laws "of national memory" which were not in its electoral program, absolutely unnecessary, to my view: an unfair and pure political movement out of any touch with reality. There was this judge, very-well renowned internationally and a very-well known, shameless brass-neck, for example, who just a couple of years ago ordered to exhume Franco's body to verify his death (!!!)... Despite the fact that millions watched his funeral on TV.
This anniversary has for PSOE similar connotations in one sense to that of 20-N in 1975, to my view: a time closed to non-existence. Not long ago, the PSOE celebrated 100 years in the Parliament. There is not much to boast about, though, because during the times of Franco PSOE was almost nonexistent. "100 years of honesty", said their propaganda; and some used to add: "And 40 in vacation". If PSOE did not exist at Franco's death time as a real, organized political structure, today seems to be falling apart. PSOE can only show a haggard countenance, it has no other one, not a single side of trustfulness and authenticity; PSOE has become a victim of its own dishonesty, unlawful techniques and incompetency.
**
What most people do not know is that precisely on another Nov 20, in 1936, Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera was executed to dead in a prison in Alicante. He was the founder of Falange.
**
For me, Nov 20 has a special meaning. A day before, last year, I arrived in London. I exhausted the 2-week notice, left my previous work office at 11 am and found myself in London, Russell Square tube station, around 7 pm. That's it. One year has gone by!
But on Nov 20th, I met M. for a pint and a cold walk-around looking for Camden People's Theatre. The day in London has been today alike to that day:cold and misty, misterious and promising. A beautiful autumn day. It is my anniversary, my special anniversary. If I had to save one thing this year... Only one, ok? That would be it; a person, a woman: M.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
The date was refused, inquired, talked about initially for some reasons, on the grounds of being the anniversary -one year more- of Francisco Franco's death. The general finally died in the night of November 20th, 1975, event expected from at least a year back, since he suffered a thrombophlebitis attack.
The influence, real and psychological, of Franco on the Spanish society is massive, even today. The guy has been death for 36 years (I wasn't even born at the time), but the pillars of the national skeleton he created are essentially intact (DNI, Social Security System, Tourism, Traffic Civil Guard, Care System). Some other pillars are even in worst shape: judges controlling politician are not independent, but are elected by them (following the socialist reformation of Judicial Law in 1985), and the Nationalism or Regionalism has elevated the problem of national identity to all institutions and administrations.
Franco has been an obsession for Spaniards in democracy; certainly, much before 2004. I don't quite understand why. Anyhow, the wounds from Franquism seem to be now more inflamed than ever as. A huge part of the blame is on PSOE; during a disastrous period 2004 - 2011, started with the most horrendous terrorist attack in Europe in all history (to this day, unexplained and unsettled), the until-today (let's hope, we only have to wait a few more hours) party in Government (PSOE) maliciously helped open injuries again by, for example, enforcing laws "of national memory" which were not in its electoral program, absolutely unnecessary, to my view: an unfair and pure political movement out of any touch with reality. There was this judge, very-well renowned internationally and a very-well known, shameless brass-neck, for example, who just a couple of years ago ordered to exhume Franco's body to verify his death (!!!)... Despite the fact that millions watched his funeral on TV.
This anniversary has for PSOE similar connotations in one sense to that of 20-N in 1975, to my view: a time closed to non-existence. Not long ago, the PSOE celebrated 100 years in the Parliament. There is not much to boast about, though, because during the times of Franco PSOE was almost nonexistent. "100 years of honesty", said their propaganda; and some used to add: "And 40 in vacation". If PSOE did not exist at Franco's death time as a real, organized political structure, today seems to be falling apart. PSOE can only show a haggard countenance, it has no other one, not a single side of trustfulness and authenticity; PSOE has become a victim of its own dishonesty, unlawful techniques and incompetency.
**
What most people do not know is that precisely on another Nov 20, in 1936, Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera was executed to dead in a prison in Alicante. He was the founder of Falange.
**
For me, Nov 20 has a special meaning. A day before, last year, I arrived in London. I exhausted the 2-week notice, left my previous work office at 11 am and found myself in London, Russell Square tube station, around 7 pm. That's it. One year has gone by!
But on Nov 20th, I met M. for a pint and a cold walk-around looking for Camden People's Theatre. The day in London has been today alike to that day:cold and misty, misterious and promising. A beautiful autumn day. It is my anniversary, my special anniversary. If I had to save one thing this year... Only one, ok? That would be it; a person, a woman: M.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Weekend soccer
I've just read that Maradona's mother has passed away. Her name was Dalma Salvadora Franco, 81, known as Donia Tota. It is never too late to meet people. RIP.
Donia Tota, kissing her son.
**
In Germany, I am glad to hear that Raul Gonzalez keeps rolling on as the team captain of Shalke 04. He has scored 1 this weekend in a 4-0 victory against Nuremberg. Against the tantrum of Yannick Noah this Saturday in Le Monde against all Spanish sport, I would oppose the stamina and resilience of Raul: pura casta, something the French knows nothing about. (Besides, dear fellow, la potion magique is a French invention, so keep it for yourself. We will prefer el balsamo de Fierabras, better and older).
In Germany, as well, the match Colonia - Mayence has been cancelled following the suicide attempt of the referee.
**
I read an article on the truncated emergence of soccer as a mass-sport in the United States during the 20s, with the American Soccer League. The report is truffled with names of work and professional reference, that reflect clearly the power and paramountcy of the American industries: New Cork Fields, Boston Wonder Workers, Bridgeport Bears, Betlehem Steel; and witth the names of players, time-ago disappeared, many of them emigrants: Archie Stark and Bill Harper (Scotland), Billy Gosalves (Portugal), Micky Hammill (Ireland) and Bert Patenaude (France-Canada).
It is always good to meet new people on weekends... Dead or alive.
**
I have not commented yet on the 1-0 result out the England-Spain last weekend. I remember vaguely a game Belgium - Spain in the previous heats for the Euro Cup 2008. Spain needed a victory to be in and by the minute 75 the score was 1-0 against. Under heavy rain and in a hostile environment, the team managed to score twice in ten minutes by playing soccer like angels. It was the beginning of a winner team and a fresh, new style.
I just hope the team has not lost themselves yet. After the first half of the game against England, 0-0, if I were the couch (no difficult to imagine: like Del Bosque, I was born in Salamanca!), I would have said to them: "Look, you have been playing for 45 minutes alone, but you won't win if you don't score. Go ahead, keep trying, go on, it is a matter of time, score! The sooner you do it, the better for me, because I want to try different alternatives. I won't do it before you score, so go ahead and give me as much time as you can. But this game must be won by you and it is your battle. You started it, you finish it... We want a victory. Now, any problems? Any comments? Any suggestions?... ". And after, I will give them my tips.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The Guardian report
M. usually reads the starting column of Tim Dowling in The Guardian magazine of the weekends, which I sometimes do, as well. Today, Dowling gave me the idea of telling stories in the blog, as opposed of merely dropping my mental insights (sometimes, depositions) as I usually do. I shall try.
The role of quizzes in Britain does somehow surprise me. People seems to love this stuff and take it seriously. The quizz Tim Dowling attended was to the benefit of a charity promoting equality in African Schools and was hosted, attention, by Jeremy "Paxmao". Each table was "captained" by a celebrity, Bruce Dickinson, Louis Theroux or Larry Lamb.
A party for notes of the same harmonics, isn't it?
**
Kristen Wiig would have feel as much out of place as Tim Dowling did. "It was tough walking into a workplace where everyone knew each other", she said to Emma Brockes. I guess I would have to see Bridemaids, despite my huge disappointment with The Hangover last weekend. Horrendous, awful movie.
**
Billie Piper does not seem to be a at peace with herself, I feel. She does not like her face, nor her jaw, nor her etc. She dislikes her man's hands. I look at her picture and say, "oh, yes, she has man's hands", and the Seinfeld episode comes to my mind.
**
I heard sometimes that you only need 17 seconds to judge and categorize a person you first meet. David Lammy seems a good person, a man cut out from a black-and-white photograph 40 years ago. His militancy in the Labour Party seems to me an automatic process of sedimentation, an obvious place to where he has been naturally poured off after his background and personal life trial. I might be in disagreement with his judgements, but I find his analysis quite interesting and his experience moving. And like his writing.
**
Zoe is a beautiful name for a girl. It comes from a Greek word meaning "Life". In fact, the term "azoic" is applied to the elements in the column V of the Period System, of which the captain is N. Nitrogen is the part of air who does not bring life, pure a-zoe, as opposed to oxygen, zoe, which confers a life-allowance certificate.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
The role of quizzes in Britain does somehow surprise me. People seems to love this stuff and take it seriously. The quizz Tim Dowling attended was to the benefit of a charity promoting equality in African Schools and was hosted, attention, by Jeremy "Paxmao". Each table was "captained" by a celebrity, Bruce Dickinson, Louis Theroux or Larry Lamb.
A party for notes of the same harmonics, isn't it?
**
Kristen Wiig would have feel as much out of place as Tim Dowling did. "It was tough walking into a workplace where everyone knew each other", she said to Emma Brockes. I guess I would have to see Bridemaids, despite my huge disappointment with The Hangover last weekend. Horrendous, awful movie.
**
Billie Piper does not seem to be a at peace with herself, I feel. She does not like her face, nor her jaw, nor her etc. She dislikes her man's hands. I look at her picture and say, "oh, yes, she has man's hands", and the Seinfeld episode comes to my mind.
**
I heard sometimes that you only need 17 seconds to judge and categorize a person you first meet. David Lammy seems a good person, a man cut out from a black-and-white photograph 40 years ago. His militancy in the Labour Party seems to me an automatic process of sedimentation, an obvious place to where he has been naturally poured off after his background and personal life trial. I might be in disagreement with his judgements, but I find his analysis quite interesting and his experience moving. And like his writing.
**
Zoe is a beautiful name for a girl. It comes from a Greek word meaning "Life". In fact, the term "azoic" is applied to the elements in the column V of the Period System, of which the captain is N. Nitrogen is the part of air who does not bring life, pure a-zoe, as opposed to oxygen, zoe, which confers a life-allowance certificate.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Thursday, November 17, 2011
The claw of cocaine
The paradise of cocaine in Europe is Spain. Someone is describing the story of cocaine in brutal and naked strokes. Perez Abellan is a virtuous story teller of crime and his reports are excellent. It's bad to say, but I have lots of fun listening to him. Cocaine is the "drug in fashion" and "a total corrupter". There are lately in the country services door-to-door of tele-coke. In my beloved country, the amounts of this drug are as vast as the sands of the desert. (In the North, the world of ETA swarms around it). The cocaine is apprehended sometimes and locked in cells, basements or cabinets in Police dependences. But it is rarely burned. The drug is normally stored in such compartments without being routinely tested and it is ignored whether the coke keeps being coke or has been replaced by sugar. Like that. From time to time, we learn about this cases: years ago 150 kg of cocaine vanished from a Police office in Seville and this very last weekend, more than twice that amount has been robbed from a Safety deposit in Malaga. They are not isolated cases and some people doubt the official versions. Precisely, after many years of inquires, not a single grame of the coke abducted in Seville has been found (!).
In another sense, there are gangs of criminals getting specialized in parasiting dealers by briberies or, directly, by means of robbery and extorsion: definitely, it is a much, much cheaper and safe way to become rich than producing, distributing and selling it.
The 80s was especially a dark age for the youth, as many of them fell into the claws of the cocaine and heroine. I was a kid, but I could even testify putting together the cluster of memories that reached my ears or eyes. Today, I think many of us know the case of at least one individual in their late 30s or early 40s, more or less close, who died or survived to that period. The adult who survived is a train wreck, suffering from chronic diseases of the nervous system and a myriad of physical problems.
The persistance of cocaine in the underground has been related to some crimes commited by common men or women, apparently without any motive. One example is the crime occurred in a church late in the last September in Madrid: one man, 34, killed a pregnant woman, wounded another and then shooted himself in the mouth.
The investigations have found no relation whatsoever between the victims and the criminal... . However, it is widely known that if cocaine is consumed in large quantities for long periods, it will make the victim prone to a variaty of psychiatric problems, paranoia, among them... .
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
In another sense, there are gangs of criminals getting specialized in parasiting dealers by briberies or, directly, by means of robbery and extorsion: definitely, it is a much, much cheaper and safe way to become rich than producing, distributing and selling it.
The 80s was especially a dark age for the youth, as many of them fell into the claws of the cocaine and heroine. I was a kid, but I could even testify putting together the cluster of memories that reached my ears or eyes. Today, I think many of us know the case of at least one individual in their late 30s or early 40s, more or less close, who died or survived to that period. The adult who survived is a train wreck, suffering from chronic diseases of the nervous system and a myriad of physical problems.
The persistance of cocaine in the underground has been related to some crimes commited by common men or women, apparently without any motive. One example is the crime occurred in a church late in the last September in Madrid: one man, 34, killed a pregnant woman, wounded another and then shooted himself in the mouth.
The investigations have found no relation whatsoever between the victims and the criminal... . However, it is widely known that if cocaine is consumed in large quantities for long periods, it will make the victim prone to a variaty of psychiatric problems, paranoia, among them... .
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
What is funny and what is not
I enjoyed very much the National Theatre production in the Adelphi Theatre this evening, One man, two guvnors. A generous display of energy and hard work, I presume: it has to be difficult to give oneself in like that every night. Well, acting is about this, I guess. Perhaps, the interpretation is excessively centred in Corden at times, and lacks of rhythm at moments; but the output is good. A very funny comedy with a good interpretation and a gigantic physical work of some actors. Had fun.
The seed, original comedy, The Servant of Two Masters, is due to Carlo Goldoni (1746). The life of this man is... Italian, let's say... Fellinisque. Goldoni was born in Venice, and his life and work seems essentially modern: chaos, paradoxes, censure and public scandals and brawls. The man endured 86 years of life and for the last 30 he lived in Versailles, amongst the daughters of the King of France, teaching Italian. After the French Revolution Goldoni loses his Royal pension -granted by Louis XV- and dies in 1793 in dire poverty, abandoned as a rabid dog. The funny part in the fantastic comedy of his life is that the day after his death the National Convention decided to restore his pension, unaware of his death.
There is no better comedy than Life itself. Reality sometimes surpasses Fiction. Again and again. V. made me laugh today when she remembered the story of Cicciolina, the Hungarian porn star in the 80s who made it all the way to the Italian Parliament with her Party of Love. Burlesque, grotesque, funny, scandalous... Ok... . However, that IS Life; it was the Heart of Life beating through, nothing else.
But I agree with V. in that there are parts in the Comedy of Life who are not funny at all. The resignation of Berlusconi has come with elements of buffoonery that strike me. The grotesque scene of a group of people singing his fall to Handel's Hallelujah outside the Quirinale is just astonishing. The fact that his resignation has been celebrated as that of any petty dictator instead of an elected politician in a democratic state deserves, unfortunately, more pity than celebration, more worries than joys.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
The seed, original comedy, The Servant of Two Masters, is due to Carlo Goldoni (1746). The life of this man is... Italian, let's say... Fellinisque. Goldoni was born in Venice, and his life and work seems essentially modern: chaos, paradoxes, censure and public scandals and brawls. The man endured 86 years of life and for the last 30 he lived in Versailles, amongst the daughters of the King of France, teaching Italian. After the French Revolution Goldoni loses his Royal pension -granted by Louis XV- and dies in 1793 in dire poverty, abandoned as a rabid dog. The funny part in the fantastic comedy of his life is that the day after his death the National Convention decided to restore his pension, unaware of his death.
There is no better comedy than Life itself. Reality sometimes surpasses Fiction. Again and again. V. made me laugh today when she remembered the story of Cicciolina, the Hungarian porn star in the 80s who made it all the way to the Italian Parliament with her Party of Love. Burlesque, grotesque, funny, scandalous... Ok... . However, that IS Life; it was the Heart of Life beating through, nothing else.
But I agree with V. in that there are parts in the Comedy of Life who are not funny at all. The resignation of Berlusconi has come with elements of buffoonery that strike me. The grotesque scene of a group of people singing his fall to Handel's Hallelujah outside the Quirinale is just astonishing. The fact that his resignation has been celebrated as that of any petty dictator instead of an elected politician in a democratic state deserves, unfortunately, more pity than celebration, more worries than joys.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Silvia & Jaime
I have followed the suggestion of Federico Jimenez Losantos and watched a few video clips of Jaime Bayly and Silvia Nunez del Arco in MegaTV from Miami. I don't know what to think. It is daring and "different" on one side, but... Narrow-minded and excessively narcissistic on another. I guess that his relationship with his young wife Silvia cannot be judged only by what is seen on television. They throw intimate stuff to the audience and try to conjure up rumors, gossip and lies by explicitly bringing thorny issues up and sugar it with comedy gigs and self-based cracked jokes, and playing around, acting around.
It must be a river running underneath them, something more intimate than the standard intimacy. As Harold Pinter once said to Paul Johnson: "What happens inside a marriage is only known for sure by the wife and the husband". This it is, yes.
I don't feel much sympathy for Bayly, though. To begin with, apart from the phony content in it, I don't like the way he treats his wife. There is something obscene about it. The girl is just 21 and Bayly is the only man in his life. How did he meet her? It seems she does not mind or does not notice, but I do. The relationship looks very modern (the girl-writer, 24 years of age of difference, being Bayly a bisexual and having an ex-wife and a previous homosexual relation of 8 years with a man), but it stinks to the old, pure male chauvinism.
Will Bayly be the next person to deceive Losantos?
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
It must be a river running underneath them, something more intimate than the standard intimacy. As Harold Pinter once said to Paul Johnson: "What happens inside a marriage is only known for sure by the wife and the husband". This it is, yes.
I don't feel much sympathy for Bayly, though. To begin with, apart from the phony content in it, I don't like the way he treats his wife. There is something obscene about it. The girl is just 21 and Bayly is the only man in his life. How did he meet her? It seems she does not mind or does not notice, but I do. The relationship looks very modern (the girl-writer, 24 years of age of difference, being Bayly a bisexual and having an ex-wife and a previous homosexual relation of 8 years with a man), but it stinks to the old, pure male chauvinism.
Will Bayly be the next person to deceive Losantos?
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Eccentric
My first time in the UK was the summer of 2009. My first time in London. It was a very nice, first impression. Before, from my tens on, London and the UK was an English course book in a cloud of unbeatable incapacity to learn the language. London was a pack of red double-deckers, a promised land of gentleman and old ladies at tea at 5 o'clock, Agatha Christie, Paul McCartney and an endless countryside of green, green grass roamed about by Mary Poppins, Dick van Dyke and a couple of kids. That was England to me.
The world of Jimmy Savile -as I found out this weekend- was the England of my fantasies. I watched the documentary in the BBC and kept saying: "these times are long, long gone". However, that world was even dead before Jimmy, I realized. In a single look at the movies in the Public Library I found 3 or 4 like The Last of England (1987), on the same theme: the end of tradition, the end of English society par excellence, in the 60s, 70s or 80s. Each decade was supposed to be a breaking abyss, I don't know... .
Life goes on, nevertheless. My friend S. -a man born on November the 11th- is pointed me out for the last couple of years to extraordinary productions of the English as history or fiction dramas, series, sit-coms. The last ones, Jekyll and Sherlock, both BBC productions, S. highly recommends. These productions maintain the flame of what England is, as Jimmy Savile probably did... For me, subconsciously.
I discovered Sir James Savile this week and swallowed the pill of his legendary life in a sigh and a tear, shortly after his death.
It is never too late to underline a vision: the right and freedom to be unique, eccentric... . Even if Hell breaks loose.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
The world of Jimmy Savile -as I found out this weekend- was the England of my fantasies. I watched the documentary in the BBC and kept saying: "these times are long, long gone". However, that world was even dead before Jimmy, I realized. In a single look at the movies in the Public Library I found 3 or 4 like The Last of England (1987), on the same theme: the end of tradition, the end of English society par excellence, in the 60s, 70s or 80s. Each decade was supposed to be a breaking abyss, I don't know... .
Life goes on, nevertheless. My friend S. -a man born on November the 11th- is pointed me out for the last couple of years to extraordinary productions of the English as history or fiction dramas, series, sit-coms. The last ones, Jekyll and Sherlock, both BBC productions, S. highly recommends. These productions maintain the flame of what England is, as Jimmy Savile probably did... For me, subconsciously.
I discovered Sir James Savile this week and swallowed the pill of his legendary life in a sigh and a tear, shortly after his death.
It is never too late to underline a vision: the right and freedom to be unique, eccentric... . Even if Hell breaks loose.
Jimmy Savile, RIP (1926 - 2011)
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Jeremy Paxmao
I was watching Have I got news for you last Friday night and found the last objectionable interview sketch of Jeremy Paxman to Pavlos Geroulanos, the Greek Minister for Culture and Tourism. I don't know what Paxman had in mind -one can assume he knows what he is doing-, but his remark was so simplistic and offensive than even comedians Paul Merton and Ian Hislop got surprise, which might not be an easy thing to achieve.
I think Paxman has already spent too much time in the BBC. I can imagine one got a distorted impression of oneself eventually. Why is it you have become so shitty, Jeremy? Would you have the guts to talk like that to your Queen, the old lady? Hm.... .
I am not considered myself prudish nor would like to be a sanctimonious. On the contrary, I feel that if you get your cheek slapped, you should slap back, twice and stronger if you can. That could make fair what it is not. Jeremy Paxman must be paid with the same coin. I encourage all visiting him to do it. It might not be easy, but it cannot be very difficult. He has proved himself to be a good ofense giver; let us see if he is as good as a taker.
Here we have our friend Jeremy who, after working 34 years in the BBC -a network proud of his equi-distance and moral relativism in analyzing political and social issues, in the name of objective information-, chucked out the garbage of dishonesty to all Greeks in the face of one of their Ministers, based on a feeble argument. Why? Because only 345 declared to have swimming pools in their houses in an area where 17,000 were actually recorded. Is that sharp journalism, Jeremy?... Sharp shit, I call it.
It occurs to me that perhaps there is a law (laws are the Powerpoint of bad politicians, the rustic baton of authoritarians: they are nothing without them), a law that gives public benefits to all with incomes less than 30,000 euros a year and, perhaps, one can imagine, there is another law demanding taxes and stuff to those having a swimming pool. Could it be? At the end, who wants to pay taxes? Who will say "no" to money? Do you think people are stupid? There are weird cases still -I am one of them-, but not too many. You are not one of them, I am sorry. Do not get confused, Jeremy, the same would happen in Britain or France or German or the United States, as indeed already happened. We are not that different from each other. History proves it. We are not better than apes. The chimpanzees and us have a common ancestor, did you know that?
Let us remember, why not, the extreme inhumanity -it was not any riot or protest- in the very London in August. Kind of nice, huh? Following your deep, profound course of reasoning, what would you have to say about the British then? I can help you: "why is it you British are so uncivilized?".
If I were the Minister of Culture and Tourism of Greece I would have replied: "Mr. Paxman, let me answer you: we Greeks are as much dishonest as you British are greedy. You are proud of centuries of Piracy in the seas and Colonialism on shore (Here, a pause). C'mon Mr. Paxman, you are more than that, I presume. I will give you answers if that is what you what, but let us talk seriously. Or would you prefer to talk about the Elgin marbles, for example, in your childish style?".
I said it before and I say now. Greece should leave the Euro and the case must be judged: the guilty should spend a long, long time in prison. But, let people of Greece alone! How many of them do you think, Jeremy, were aware of the scam of their Government? Do you think they knew?
I find it hard to believe.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
I think Paxman has already spent too much time in the BBC. I can imagine one got a distorted impression of oneself eventually. Why is it you have become so shitty, Jeremy? Would you have the guts to talk like that to your Queen, the old lady? Hm.... .
I am not considered myself prudish nor would like to be a sanctimonious. On the contrary, I feel that if you get your cheek slapped, you should slap back, twice and stronger if you can. That could make fair what it is not. Jeremy Paxman must be paid with the same coin. I encourage all visiting him to do it. It might not be easy, but it cannot be very difficult. He has proved himself to be a good ofense giver; let us see if he is as good as a taker.
Here we have our friend Jeremy who, after working 34 years in the BBC -a network proud of his equi-distance and moral relativism in analyzing political and social issues, in the name of objective information-, chucked out the garbage of dishonesty to all Greeks in the face of one of their Ministers, based on a feeble argument. Why? Because only 345 declared to have swimming pools in their houses in an area where 17,000 were actually recorded. Is that sharp journalism, Jeremy?... Sharp shit, I call it.
It occurs to me that perhaps there is a law (laws are the Powerpoint of bad politicians, the rustic baton of authoritarians: they are nothing without them), a law that gives public benefits to all with incomes less than 30,000 euros a year and, perhaps, one can imagine, there is another law demanding taxes and stuff to those having a swimming pool. Could it be? At the end, who wants to pay taxes? Who will say "no" to money? Do you think people are stupid? There are weird cases still -I am one of them-, but not too many. You are not one of them, I am sorry. Do not get confused, Jeremy, the same would happen in Britain or France or German or the United States, as indeed already happened. We are not that different from each other. History proves it. We are not better than apes. The chimpanzees and us have a common ancestor, did you know that?
Let us remember, why not, the extreme inhumanity -it was not any riot or protest- in the very London in August. Kind of nice, huh? Following your deep, profound course of reasoning, what would you have to say about the British then? I can help you: "why is it you British are so uncivilized?".
If I were the Minister of Culture and Tourism of Greece I would have replied: "Mr. Paxman, let me answer you: we Greeks are as much dishonest as you British are greedy. You are proud of centuries of Piracy in the seas and Colonialism on shore (Here, a pause). C'mon Mr. Paxman, you are more than that, I presume. I will give you answers if that is what you what, but let us talk seriously. Or would you prefer to talk about the Elgin marbles, for example, in your childish style?".
I said it before and I say now. Greece should leave the Euro and the case must be judged: the guilty should spend a long, long time in prison. But, let people of Greece alone! How many of them do you think, Jeremy, were aware of the scam of their Government? Do you think they knew?
I find it hard to believe.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)