vidarama

Proud parent

2011-04-25T13:16:00.002-05:00

It took since Christmas, but yesterday my 4 year-old finally mastered the video game Santa brought him. And now, after brushing his teeth and saying his night prayers, he is allowed to execute up to 7 sex workers using motion-captured flying kicks and state-of-the-art rocket launchers.

2010-02-04T14:18:00.001-06:00

She stood there, like a ghost, making me wonder whether she was actually there or just a figment of my imagination.

The "Al Gore" school of business

2009-11-25T13:10:00.002-06:00

1) Find an appropriate apocalypse-mongering theory. It shouldn't be hard: Science is on a global decline.
2) Cook-up data to prove your point. Hide things that contradict your conclusions. Bash and discredit those that are not part of your conspiracy and will not buy it.
3) Make significant investment in technology which will "solve the problem". That way, when your theory establishes itself as mainstream, you'll be years ahead of everyone.
4) Instill fear into the public while presenting your theory. Throw in some cute animals dying. Win prizes for your efforts and then wield them as if you were born with them. Hold a free concert, preferably featuring Bono. Make a movie.
5) Organize international conferences to "warn the world". Treat your opponents as crazies, unconcerned with the future of the planet, their own children and those cute animals dying.
6) Use your "concern" as a way to distract people away from the real cruelty in the planet.
7) Profit from the "scientific agreement" and the fear in the public to pass legislation that makes it mandatory to turn to your "problem-fixing" technology.
8) Rake in the money. Go ahead: buy an SUV with it. It won't hurt anyone.
9) If your conspiracy ever gets discovered, disregard the exposé as "taken out of context" or just plainly ignore it.

Surreal awards

2009-10-10T11:54:00.003-05:00

I mean, come on, your average Miss Wyoming also calls for world peace, EXCEPT her cute little smile is not a facade for murder, torture, and bloody colonial occupations.

The autheur theory

2009-07-18T16:18:00.001-05:00

The challenge is to create cooler worlds than the one god supposedly made.

Games

2009-07-18T16:17:00.001-05:00

It is interesting that the only games adults play are sexual in nature.

Lifetime achievement

2009-07-17T17:32:00.001-05:00

At the bank robbery itself, he had shot nobody.

That evening, however, he left a trail of 48 dead and 102 hurt, ranking him the most succesful mass murderer ever.

(Pretty good, considering that just that very morning, he was only a nobody with some debts to pay.)

Exchange between man and god

2009-05-27T12:35:00.002-05:00

- So what's it gonna be like?
- Well you are free to do everything you want, but when you stray away from the path, I'll be sending you, you know, little tips to help you straighten your way.
- Like what? I mean, so that I know when I see them.
- Oh, don't worry, you'll know. I'm talking about things like killing your cousin or giving you cancer, that sort of things.
Man is not so sure. God pats him on the shoulder and smiles to show his bright white teeth, arranged like those of a shark.
- Now now, don't get so gloomy. See ya' in heaven, boy!

On a bus

2009-02-18T02:42:00.002-06:00

An obscenely punk guy walks into a public bus, his mohawk and piercings drilling into his fellow passengers.

An old lady cant't help staring, her gaze drilling into him.

The punk, of course, does not like this.

--Anything special you looking at, lady?

The punk's remark is painfully obvious, but the old lady decides to ignore it.

Still, the punk tries to justify himself.

--The way I dress just shows who I am.

The lady coughs slightly before replying.

-- That is exactly what is so special about you, young man.

Another cough, almost for dramatic purposes.

-- You are the only one in this bus who dresses just to show what he is.

Automatic film

2009-02-03T03:27:00.002-06:00

(Note to myself: save up enough money or be so powerful that you can produce this, or choose not to).

INT. RUINED HOUSE IN THE WOODS -- DAY

Three masked characters are sitting down on a ruined, one-room shack in the woods, a crude parody of one of the doll houses of yore.

They all drink from empty cups, in front of an old, wooden table, made for children. They are all much larger than the table and the chairs.

The first character is a man in his 20s, completely naked, except for a long hood white hood, reminiscent of Holly Week Spanish processions and the Klu Klux Klan. He pretends to drink from a blue cup.

In front of him stands a short, robust woman, with a very large head resembling an old rabbit plush toy and a Victorian wedding dress. She pretends to drink from a red cup.

At the head of the table is a twelve-year-old boy, in an ancient school uniform stained with blood. He has an elaborate Huichol mask and pretends to drink from a green cup.

The scene plays very slow, while they pretend to drink solemnly.

A fourth character joins them. He is an old man, dressed in an old Red Army uniform, with his face covered by a small japanese mask depicting a woman. He pours thick, boiling tars in the cups of the remaining characters and sits down, pretending to drink from a yellow cup.

EXT. WOODS -- DAY

The naked man, with the Inquisition hood, stares at a couple of naked men in their 30s making love with white wigs. Instead of screams of pleasure, out of their mouths come out lines of beatles.

The scene plays slowly. The naked man with the hood is covered by the beatles.

INT. LARGE LIVING ROOM -- DAY

A large living room in a Barragán house, with a peach-colored carpet. The furniture is all covered in drapes, except for a huge projection TV from the late 70s. Sunlight filters in through the heavy red drapes convering the windows.

The small, woman, with her huge rabbit head, dances a very complicated medieval dance with trained French poodles. Around them runs an old electric train.

The scene plays slowly, honey drips out of her mask, staining her Victorian wedding dress.

EXT. SMALL LAKE -- DAY

The boy in the old school uniform stained in blood, with his Huichol mask, rows a destroyed glass-bottom boat in a small lake. The water around him is full with small, floating, plastic dinosaurs.

From trees around the lake hang 12 beautiful naked women of all kinds, with their eyes covered by leather bandages and their arms tied around their backs.

The plastic dinosaurs move up in slow motion and cover the boy.

INT. WINE CELLAR -- NIGHT

The old man in the Red Army uniform and the Japanese mask slowly pretends to eat a lush turkey out in front of a wooden table in the middle of a full wine cellar. Each time, he takes a bite of turkey, it falls off the mask.

Next to the turkey lies a body of of a naked person on its belly, sex indefinite. On its back, there are six long lines of cocaine.

Out of the man's mask runs a long stream of tears.

INT. RUINED HOUSE IN THE WOODS -- DAY
The naked person of the last scene stands absolutely still on the table. It is a transexual, with small breasts and a large penis.

The four characters, sitting around the table, are drawing.

The naked man with the Inquisition hood draws up a crude superhero, something between Captain America and Superman, but all in red, white and green.

The small woman with the giant rabbit head draws up a crude vampire in the style of Bela Lugosi, next to a naked woman. The drawing is that of a very young kid, but the scene it depicts is rather pornographic.

The school boy with the stained dress and the Huichol mask draws a complicated anatomic drawing, straight out of the Rennaisance. Men and women intermingle in the human he is depicting.

The old man in the Japanese mask and Red Army uniform draws something with small felt-tip pens. At every stroke, he takes the pens to the mask's mouth, staining it.

He is drawing a large moth with small points. The moth exhibits a skull over the large, thick worm body.

A monarch butterfly flies into the room and slowly poses herself on a large piece of bread from the Mexican Day of the Dead, in the form of a face, which has replaced the transexual person.

INT. RUINED HOUSE IN THE WOODS -- LATER
The four figures are sitting down on the table, absolutely still, their cups in front of them over their stained drawings.
Monarch butterflies cover every inch of the room.

They look disgusting, instead of beautiful.

On the stove, an old tea pot, the only surface that has been spared by the butterflies, blows with an annoying sound.

My most favorite films of all time in history

2009-01-31T17:01:00.003-06:00

When teaching my students, I always make the difference between films one likes (because they struck some particular cord in the viewer) and the films that are well made (because of how deftly they accomplish what they intended to).

In that sense, a century and a decade of that particular form of art and entertainment described as the movies, has left thousands of works that transpire pure genious. Enlisting them, even in no particular order, seems, thus, an excersize in futility.

Listing, however, the 20 works that I like the best (or liked crazily at the moment I saw them) seems not only possible, but useful. Here they go, in no order. (Given the subjective nature of the list, might my subjective comments be forgiven).

1. Cidade de Deus (directed by Fernando Mireilles and Katya Lund) - Perfect (not thanks to Mireilles, it now seems).

2. Kôkaku kîdotai (directed by Mamoru Oshii) - Best SciFi movie EVER (and that comes from a hard fan of Star Wars and 2001: Space Oddisey).

3. Dracula (directed by Todd Browning) - Browning and Freund might have hated each others guts, but they made an awsome film, and Philip Glass made it even better.

4. Tokyo Ga (directed by Wim Wenders) - Wenders makes a film about Ozu. 'Nuff said.

5. Oktyabr (directed by Sergei Einsestein) - If no one saw this is better than Potyomkin, its for prejudices against its subject matter.

6. I Walked With A Zombie (directed by Jacques Tourneur) - This movie has so much things I love, I should have made it. Actually, I should.

7. The Big Sleep (directed by Howard Hawks) - Bogey and Bacall are the best onscreen couple ever, Hawks kicks ass and nobody can write dialogue like Faulkner.

8. Last Days (directed by Gus Van Sant) - Van Sant is the only director that can pull well a movie where nothing really happens.

9. In the Mood for Love (directed by Won Kar Wai) - Won Kar Wai will live on as a master of the craft even if he had only made crap after this (though 2046 and My Blueberry Nights both rock).

10. Rearview Window (directed by Alfred Hitchcock) - Classic Hollywood at its absolute best, plus Grace Kelly is like the most beautiful woman ever.

11. Il Divo (directed by Paolo Sorrentino) - This movie should have won avery award possible and then some. And whoever rejects it because of its complicated plotting, should learn Italian political history instead.

12. This is Spinal Tap (directed by Rob Reiner) - Its amps go up to 11.

13. Rebel Without a Cause (directed by Nick Ray) - Who cares about the fact this is the only other James Dean movie? All right, he's good (but Nick Ray's better!).

14. Léon (directed by Luc Besson) - If anybody aspires to build up an industry outside of Hollywood, they better listen to Besson.

15. Abre los ojos (directed by Alejandro Amenábar) - You think this could not be a better movie and then the SciFi twist happens. Fuck you, Matrix.

16. Midnight Cowboy (directed by John Schlesinger) - The darkest, brightest look into the 60s.

17. La montaña sagrada(directed by Alejandro Jodorowsky) - Jodorowsky was way ahead of everyone... back in the 70s.

18. Female Trouble (directed by John Waters) - I never thought raping and mutilation could be so damn funny.

19. Match Point (directed by Woody Allen) - It's curious that Woody Allen's best film is the one in which nobody plays him.

20. Der Krieger und der Kaiserin (directed by Tom Tykwer) - If I ever direct anything as brilliant, I can die the next day.

Untitled film scene

2008-12-26T13:39:00.001-06:00

A girl, her mother and her two aunts are seated in the salon. The elder women clap softly after a performance of Desdemona by the girl, who reads from a book.

In the back, his father, a once famous actor from the silent cinema, has his suit measured for tailoring.

FIRST AUNT
You and your brother are such talented actors!

SECOND AUNT
(referencing the father):
Of course, they grew surrounded by show-people!

GIRL
I think the best teachers were the hypocryts.

As she says that, she sows no emotion.

The women swallow their gasps.

The girl curiously bows and leaves.

Wall Street talk

2008-10-07T12:22:00.002-05:00

"Now that the plantation's in shambles, we might as well let Uncle Tom run it"

El primer cigarro del día

2008-07-12T14:53:00.002-05:00

En la literatura en torno a las substancias psicoactivas frecuentemente se encuentran reportes de usuarios que citan como motivación para el consumo prolongado de cierta substancia el deseo (nunca cumplido) de revivir la primera experiencia con ésta. Aunque el argumento me parece poco sólido farmacológicamente, debo confesar que experimento esa necesidad con la nicotina a diario. El primer cigarro del día produce una sensación tan placentera que sigo fumando a lo largo del día en espera de revivir la experiencia inicial, desde luego sin jamás conseguirlo.

En este momento, por ejemplo, estoy flotando aún en el high nicotínico producido por el cigarro que encendí justo al comenzar este post.

Intercambio urbano

2008-04-08T22:23:00.001-05:00

[Visto sobre una barda]

Yo no como muertos, soy VEGETARIANA. <-- Mi comida se orina sobre tu comida.

The meaning of forever

2008-04-01T01:08:00.002-06:00

Leo tu mail e non mi resta che sciogliermi a piangere (missing you in a way I thought one could only miss oneself).

(Ed è così che finalmente entiendo el significado de las palabras para siempre).

De cómo podría perder parte de mi disco duro y la mayoría de las memorias de mi adolescencia sin consecuencias emocionales significativas

2007-12-02T13:47:00.000-06:00

Siempre he pensado que todo lo que escribí antes de la universidad (con la única excepción del Último Suspiro de la Fe, que por alguna razón ha envejecido con algo de gracia) está plagado por una naivette intolerable, enfermo de una prosa incapaz y poco evocativa, infectado de un sentido patético del ritmo y una superficialidad dramática.

Hoy, platicando con Caro sobre su prosa particularmente fuerte y buscando algo que darle a leer, sin embargo, la razón fue, por primera vez, claramente obvia.

Nunca escribí nada interesante porque, antes de los 18 años, no había vivido nada interesante.

Nunca escribí nada interesante porque mi vida entonces, vista desde aquí, parece más bien un desastre mortalmente aburrido.

Esto, sin embargo, no es un handicap, sino algo terriblemente útil. El haber tenido una adolescencia y una niñez que no valieran la pena significa que no puedo echar a mirarme hacia atrás en vez de ver hacia adelante.

Y, sobre todo, significan que lo único por lo que vale la pena sentir nostalgia es el futuro.

Climate change for sale

2007-10-08T12:09:00.000-05:00

This year is going to go down in history as the year in which the Americans discovered global warming and made a huge show out of it.

What we should be thinking instead of buying Toyota hybrids and turning of the Plasma TVs while not in use (ooops, most of the world’s population doesn’t even know what that is), is what Al Gore and all his apocalypse-mongering friends are going to do with this ecological fear they’re instilling into people. And we should be thinking about this while thinking that temperature changes are quite common in our planet (there was one such a change before the Plague years, in the XIV century, except that one was blamed directly on god and not on carbon emissions), and that whatever this change turns out to be like, it will be nothing like the Permian–Triassic (P–Tr) extinction event, which wiped out 90 per cent of all species 251.4 million years ago, with no cars and aerosols to blame.

Really, these people would have been able to sell you the Ice Age if they had been around.

Marketing-trick determinism

2007-09-26T08:32:00.000-05:00

The tendency among the Millenials to base their purchasing decisions specifically and almost exclusively on how good they perceive the advertising, promotion and other marketing mechanisms for the product in question to be.

"I bought this Nike shoes because of the real cool viral they deployed the other day on YouTube"

"Oh no, I don't drink Coke; it's just impossible to log into their website to exchange the codes under the caps for iTunes songs"

Porn and the workplace

2007-06-19T11:21:00.000-05:00

The only legitimate reason I can think of for porn web browsing to be forbiden at workplaces is that you might run into some of your co-workers' exploits while browsing the latest postings in, say, Shufuni.

(But, then again, that would make workplace gossip much more informed, wouldn't it?)

Mid-film inspiration #1

2007-05-21T16:19:00.000-05:00

Millenials will tend to call their kids after rap stars and Ikea furniture.

This is it

2007-05-02T18:13:00.000-05:00

The photo of the future. The one for which you've been waiting most of your life.

(And that moment, long ago, in a galaxy far far away, where you couldn't wait to see the material you shot, 12 hours from the first slate of the rest of your life, seems so faraway so close).

La distanza sopra un letto di una piazza

2007-01-26T19:22:00.000-06:00

Mi dispiace tanto proprio non poter essere parte di questa tua guerra contro il mondo.

(Se non, sospetto, nelle vesti di quelli che hanno troppo e, forse non volendo, fanno sentire terribili a quelli che mancano di tutto).

Something worse

2007-01-05T07:33:00.000-06:00

There's something worse than a blank page staring at you:
a blank page staring at you with and impatient, blinking cursor.

Diferencias

2006-10-19T08:52:00.000-05:00

Hay una diferencia enorme entre sentir amor y saber darlo.

Enorme.

Llamada desde Penne

2006-08-22T17:36:00.000-05:00

Cuelgas y te das cuenta que el problema no es la estructura dramática, ni la suspensión de la incredulidad, ni la estética inherente a las palabras. El problema es que su vida se deshace ante tus ojos.

Y el problema es, sobre todo, que por más que lo deseas no tienes ni idea de que hacer para impedirlo.

Ancora la rosa di rabbia

2006-05-26T07:06:00.000-05:00

E ufficiale: non potrò mai lasciarti.

Tra l'altro, perche se già leggerti mi fa sentire cose per le quali non sono stato progettato, se quelle parolle non fossero più anche un po' mie, finirebbero per bruciarmi gli occhi, distruggendo nel processo tutto il resto.

Viaje a Francia

2006-04-13T17:24:00.000-05:00

Francia tiene cosas extrañas.

Los baños con tinas y regaderas de teléfono pegadas al grifo,
los minitel,
los teclados AZERTY,
las estaciones de las que sólo parten dos trenes al día,

y, desde luego,
las luchas que de hecho obtienen algo.

H For Hypocrisy

2006-04-13T16:14:00.000-05:00

A near future where a hyper-mediatized government lies at every turn and spies every move of their citizens. (Now, I have to grant them this is entirely believable).

A masked individual, bent on the overthrowing of the status quo, resorts to terrorist acts to acomplish his revolutionary purpose. (Yeah, ok, that's been seen to happen too).

But that is, of course, totally cool and legitimate because, after all, everyone knows that to fight the powers that be (through whatever means necessary) is what good guys do (that is, until someone actually dares to do it). (This last part is, therefore, idiotically absurd, irrationally incoherent and simply not credible).

Too bad for everyone involved that the Academy does not (yet) give awards for adding insult to injury.

Tre mesi e il perche delle cose

2006-02-27T19:41:00.000-06:00

È vero che non sembrano tre mesi. Ed è vero che tutto è succeso a una velocità che non sembra adeguata per la vita (o, almenno, non in questi tempi apparentemente privi di guerre e rivoluzioni). Il perché, però, è semplice quanto magico. Lo stato alterato delle cose era quando il mio mondo non aveva che il vuoto della tua asenza insospetata. E così, con la stessa inevitabilità con cui nel caos si scompone l'universo, la mia vita è finita per diventare la nostra e ci siamo trovati di rittorno allo stato naturale (nel qualle, purtroppo, non eravamo stati mai prima): i Tg e i surgelatti a due, i libri scambiati dall'altra parte del letto, le notte coi corpi aggrovigliati...

(E si, anche questa tua crudelle mancanza in questo momento dove ti trovi da qualsiasi parte, eccetto quì.)

The last blonde

2006-02-27T19:32:00.000-06:00

Hoy el TG anunció que, de acuerdo a la OMC, la última persona rubia (i.e. güera, mona, catire...) nacerá en el año 2202 en Finlandia.

Me elude del todo como hayan podido llegar a esa conclusión (tendrán al menos la fortuna que no habrá nadie que haya visto hoy el TG en 2202 para desmentirlos si se equivocan), pero debo confesar que incita la imaginación en forma dramática.

(El problema, desde luego, es que cualquier intento de transformarla en ficción está condenado de antemano al más burdo de los fracasos en su intento de superar la inimaginable fantasía que engloba siempre la realidad).

What is the difference between a dialect and a language?

2006-01-29T18:26:00.000-06:00

"A shprakh iz a dyalekt mit an armey un flot"
(A language is a dialect with an army and a navy)

[Atributable to an anonymous participant in the 1944 series of lectures on "Problems of the Yiddish language", as told by Max Weinreich].

La sfera di neve illuminata

2006-01-26T20:53:00.000-06:00

Quando nevica, la cospirazione soffice e interminabile di fiocchi di gelo che sepolta tutto l’universo conosciuto, fa le veci di un immenso riflettore per un film che non sarà mai girato. L’effetto (dolorosamente evidente per chiunque osi sfidare a occhi scoperti la città rescolpita in neve in un giorno particolarmente pieno di sole), si verifica anche di notte, con l’illuminazione pubblica di protagonista.

In quel modo, mentre la gente si chiede se ha lasciato qualche luce accesa, io scopro lei aggrovigliata fra le ore piccole e le mie lenzuola, tracciata nei toni dell’alba della fine del mondo che prova il cielo di una Milano coperta di neve.

(Io, senz’altro, non avevo idea che una cosa simile fossi possibile. E lei, certamente, l’ha predetto nel suo blog qualche ora prima che io lo scoprissi).

Il tuo blog

2005-12-23T19:14:00.000-06:00

Spezzato dalla tua incontrovertibile assenza, lego il tuo blog e non mi resta che sciogliermi piangendo. Forse perché hai dormito al freddo per avermi vicino, forse perché io non posso fare nemmeno quello. Forse perché non ho capito qualcosa che hai postato, forse perché la gelosia che ciò mi ha provocato mi risulta una sensazione tanto estranea. Forse perché sei capace di tante parole belle, forse perché non tutte sono dedicate a me come vorrei. Forse perché nel tuo cd ritrovo canzoni che mi erano piaciute da sempre, forse perché sono insieme con altre canzoni che mi piaceranno d’ora in poi. Forse perché non conoscerò mai l’abete che riempiva la tua stanza di aghi d’ombra, forse perché magari il nostro parco carino-barra-tetro farà lo stesso fine.

Forse perché scopro che sei meno mia di ciò che vorrei.

Forse perché mi accorgo d’essere più tuo di ciò che pensavo.

The frozen city

2005-12-20T10:21:00.000-06:00

New York is pure caos, like if it was in the middle of rehearsing some lines of our apocalypse.

(And even though I'm fully commited to playing the role of the antichrist when the real thing hits, this time around I'll just have to limit myself to being some kind of active extra.)

Conquered by the queen of pain

2005-11-13T09:55:00.000-06:00

Non poter chiedere scusa non è poi così importante (o almeno fino al punto in cui le mie bellissime intenzioni non finiscano per pavimentare la strada all’inferno). Ma, a ringraziare, io ci tengo. Perfino benché non ci sia nessuno a cui essere grato quando la cosa giusta ci capita, finalmente, nel momento preciso.

Dov'eri?
Quando?
Prima. Da che ti ho sognata per la prima volta senza saper che esistevi.

Tantissimi auguri

2005-11-13T09:40:00.000-06:00

Este podría ser el mejor cumpleaños de mi vida
y ni siquiera ha comenzado.

(Special thanks to: Dr. Inuoe, AJ & Matteo, Angie Maria, :: XIMO ::, theemmaandmariastyle, Ching, Dani (sempre tanto carina), Julie (sorry there) & Ana Laura, Mari, Marijana, Gibo, Raffaela, Federica and, obviously, Silvia).

Letto per caso...

2005-11-01T11:23:00.000-06:00

"I videogiochi non influenzano i bambini. Voglio dire, se pac-man avesse influenzato la nostra generazione, staremmo tutti saltando in sale scure, masticando pillole magiche e ascoltando musica elettronica ripetitiva."

Eurotrash girl

2005-10-07T08:42:00.000-05:00

It's not the Pallaniuk novels, or the permanent MTV vacations. It's certainly not Valerie or your grandmothers' purse. Might be your love for Michael Jackson or your puzzled five-year-old look, but they're offset by your annoying comment on german dubbing and the fact that you vote greens AND cdu. It's clearly not the mosquitoes, or your stuborness towards everything Italian and to smoking in closed places. Its not your cookies or your soups or your houses inside houses, neither of which I'll ever try. It's not your hurry when I hug you or I tell you stories, nor is it your strange attraction to girls and your addiction to concerts coupled with your unlikely prudishness. It's not even the fact that you'd consider fucking yourself or pretend to hear voices when you're too bothered to figure out why you do things.

What is it then?

Probably the fact that everything's so bizarre
it just happens to seem natural

AOL acquires low-price search engine for 22.7 million

2005-10-03T20:20:00.000-05:00

Published: August 10, 1997, 12:20 PM PDT
By Tim Clark
Staff Writer, CNET News.com

Yesterday, in a move that points to the confidence of investors in the future of e-commerce in particular and the Internet boom in general, online giant America On-Line acquired low-price search engine priceadvantage.com for 22.7 million in an all-cash deal that will mostly benefit proprietor Carlos Martínez, head of a 15-employee company ran from the seventh floor of a building in Manhattan.

Although PriceAdvantage.com, founded in November 1995, has barely made a 75,000 dollars profit in its history, it has been considered a very promising asset ever since it entered investors’ crosshairs in mid 1996. Getting an average of 2 million hits a day, PriceAdvantage.com is like a Yahoo! for price tags. Users that access the very user-friendly site can write anything from a generic noun (such as “car”) to a brand to a product name and get a comprehensive list of online retailers carrying the desired item—organized by pricing. Although in some cases the results are frustratingly limited (and a trip to the mall might be significantly more enlightening), industry analysts believe that, as “e-tailing” becomes the norm and most businesses turn to the web to offer products and services, PriceAdvantage.com will be an invaluable tool for costumers and a very profitable company for its owners, probably based on a paid subscription (listing is currently free and open to any cyberspace shop) or a “picked retailer” publicity scheme such as the one that the site currently features (and from which it has made almost all of its profits).

But, beyond the plausible competitive edge PriceAdantage will have in the future as the only site of its type that currently exists, the key to its success is the software it’s based on. Although not radically different from the algorithms that make search engines such as Yahoo, Lycos and Altavista run, PriceAdvantage’s core is extremely precise (and quite fast) at detecting prices and products. Unlike search engines that look for content, PriceAdvantage very rarely turns out mismatches or irrelevant links—you’re almost guaranteed to get real prices for existing products, no matter how vague your request or how garbled the retailer’s site.

America On-Line came first in a furious bidding process that kicked off when Mr. Martínez announced earlier this year his intention to sell the company. While some regard this as sheer madness considering the high fortunes that he could enjoy by staying on-board for at least a few more years, he complains that “it has grown way too big way too fast”. Unlike most CEO’s of high tech companies, Mr. Martinez, brought up in Chicago’s South Side by his immigrant single-mother, didn’t acquire computer or business skills in an expensive Ivy-League College, but in a two-year stint in the Army as an “Information Technology Specialist”. An authentic rags-to-riches story saw him go from working two jobs (as a low-paid network technician in a Wall Street firm and a waiter) a couple years ago to securing 50,000 dollars worth of venture capital to build his dream from the ground up. He reputedly acquired the source code for the search software (which he later modified) from a Stanford graduate for a mere $750.

AOL, which beat archrival Compuserve, and Netscape Co. in the sale, among others, expects to operate PriceAdvantage as a subsidiary. Sources at the online giant hint that it could undergo an IPO in early 1998, after it demonstrates its ability to grow.

Random thought

2005-09-23T05:38:00.000-05:00

People complained that the iPod shuffle feature was not really random because it would some times play two songs in the same album next to each other [it's a wonder that they never thought that it was god, performing the little miracle every once in a while].

As a result, the creative minds at Apple had to add a "Smart Shuffle" feature to iTunes 5 which reduces randomness decreasing the likelihood of two songs in the same album being played in sequence [and in the sixth day, Steve Jobs made iTunes in our image and likeness].

People are now happier thinking their shuffle is now truly random [just imagine the shock of listening to, say, a-Ha's "The Sun Always Shines on TV" right after "Take On Me"--now *that* has to be work of the devil!].

The human species doesn't understand anything yet [talk about intelligent design!]

La despedida

2005-08-07T22:49:00.000-05:00

So, this is goodbye.

(Y esta noche, Columbus Circle y tú se quedaron con más de mi de lo que creían)

Miss Delicious

2005-08-02T01:02:00.000-05:00

Miss Delicious is such a wonderful vampiress,
a whisper of her poetry is all it takes

to drain my eyes of the happiest of tears.

Packaging

2005-07-28T20:03:00.000-05:00

If I could package what I feel for you,
it would most resemble a glass of unruly and inmensely tender
vanilla fireflies

Celos

2005-07-20T05:20:00.000-05:00

Exactamente lo que no pudo hacer por mi, ¿lo haría por él?

Lo que duele verdaderamente es darte cuenta de que mientras tu vida avanzaba, las de los demás no se quedaron a esperarte.

Finales

2005-05-26T13:41:00.000-05:00

De regreso del supermercado, el sol en extinción nos impone un silencio con insoportable sensación a final.
La verdad incontenstable es que ambos nos duele mucho mas el hecho de que JM se vaya de lo que aparentamos.

Dalla Sig.ra F. Lombardo

2005-05-26T08:06:00.000-05:00

"La mia vita è solo quello, un concludere costante. Ho concluso con Danielle e lui non lo capisce. Ho concluso con Stefania e lei non lo capisce. Ho concluso con te... è sì, abbiamo concluso."

**Certo, ma, mi scusi, signorina Lombardo. Qui la domanda è se abbiamo davvero concluso e, soppratutto, perche cazzo continuo ad asspetare di no.**

Ahhhh, odio ser una niña de secundaria!!!

Art As A Car Wreck: Mason Connors And His "Lives Wrecked" Project

2005-04-06T15:48:00.000-05:00

By Carol Vogel

The first time Mason Connors (Colorado Springs, 1963) was involved in a car accident was on the day of his 23th Birthday. He wasn't driving, but riding in the back, asleep. When he woke up, ripped off his dreams by a sound he never imagined possible, he discovered the universe around him was all small pieces of metal, glass, cloth and skin flying everywhere. And then blood. So much of it. His, other's, flowing through the air like a river in revolt.

That night seven persons lost their lives. Connors was the only survivor, her brand new wife, Tabitha, killed instantly in the crash.

Everybody that has been in such a catastrophe or lost somebody to them knows how much pain they involve, how insurmontable they seem, how they seem to leave the survivors wrecked beyond any possible hope.

And yet, Mason Connors has since been in many of them. Eight, to be precise. And, not only has he survived to tell the story (or, more precisely, each one of the stories), but has decided to do so in a very unconventional way.

"Art is the only relief we can get from pain. When we are tortured by the misery of the human condition, so brutal, so permanent, so haunting as to leave no escape, the only thing we can possibly do is look at suffering in the eyes and do our best to turn it into something beautiful," says Connors, from his studio, deep in the Texan desert.

And it would come at no surprise that this trained civil enginereed would turn to art as a cure for anguish after such a life changing experience, if it wasn't for the fact that his chosen form of expression is crashing cars and turning them into objects of art.

That's right. The eight crashes after that first one have all been planned carefully and in advance by Connors, as part of a life project that would seem completely insane if only it wasn't so fascinating.

"I think you could say that by now I have more knowledge about the physics and mechanics of car crashes than most forensic teams and automobile manufacturers in the world," he quips. He might be exagerating, but he certainly knows a great deal about the issue.

For the past seventeen years, Connors has studied everything related to car accidents, from physics to law. And then, every approximately two years ("I've always had a problem with punctuality", he confesses), he has planned and executed a car accident with the utmost attention given to details, specially security and respect for other's property and the law.

"There are always problems, though. Each and every time I know I'm risking my life in a very big way. And that's partially the point, knowing that I could not come out alive from this one. And then there's the law. There's basic things, like, you simply cannot crash into a building or someone elses car. That's for sure, but then there's the fine print, and that's where things star getting messy. For example, in one of the accidents, I basically smashed a 92 Suburban into the side of a mountain, just a few miles away from the Grand Canyon. I made sure it wasn't on the protected area, but I still got ticketed. I had not violated any traffic law (I'm very careful with that), but there was this state law which considers landscape features state property and so I was charged with that. I was bailed out by a San Francisco gallerist."

Because the fact is that, even though state agencies might not be among his biggest fans (I mean, which police department on Earth wants to deal with a guy that plans car crashes?), people in the world of art flock to see his impressive works.

"There is just nothing like him, there hasn't ever been," says New York gallerist Virginia Zabriskie. "He simply turned the world of art upside down. He could have taken random wrecked cars and made them into this absolutely fabolous Fabergè eggs he makes, this collages of twisted metal, and they'd be very special indeed, but it's the fact that he has lived through the accidents, with the cars, that just makes them unique objects. I do not think there is anything comparable in any gallery in the world, anything as valuable, in the true sense of the word".

The fact that there is only nine of them (Connors hopes to complete the tenth for 2006) makes them even more precious. The four that have been auctioned have reached record prices for works of art which are not sculptures or paintings and have been made by a living artist. His fifth piece, part of the estate of the late Arthur Goldberg was sold at Christies 2004 $100 million-plus contemporary art sale for an astonishing 3.5 million dollars, by far the largest ammount paid for any work by the younger, less-known artists involved. It was bought by a Japanese collector.

"What makes his cars so unbelievably special is that they contain a life in them. A life that was lived, ended, and cannot possibly be restored," explains art critic Mari Goicochea. The title Connors has chosen for his project is very revealing in this sense: "Lives Wrecked".

"After that first crash, after Tabitha, when I was in the hospital with half my body fractured, I knew I just couldn't go back. I had no life to go back to. It had all been wrecked, like the car. So I simply decided to get that car, I mean what was left of it, that car back and fill it with my wrecked life. So I collected everything I had and basically made this huge, weird and beautifull collage, this Frankenstein monster thing with all the pieces that were scattered after the dust settled from the crash. I burnt all the rest, sold what had some value and just left with the clothes I had on to start from scratch".

And he has been doing the same thing ever since.

"Every time I complete a car, and I'm truly satisfied with it, I just burn everything that's left and leave without knowing what my life is going to be like afterwards, who am I going to be, who am I going to meet. After a while (it usually takes a three or four months) everything kind of gets into place by itself and it's just living that life to the fullest, until I have this insight, this "revelation" that it all shuould be over, after which I start planning the whole thing and crash the car I've been driving for the past two years and go through the whole life-death experience, after which it's back to the ranch to turned the wrecked car and the wrecked life into something and then start it all over again."

"It's sometimes a bit tiring, especially after people started knowing who I was."

But, even though he might find it so, there art world certainly does not share his opinion. The newly restructured MoMA is rumored to be very intersted in acquiring Wrecked Life Number Three (the first work Connors ever sold) from its present owner, the Denver Museum of Contemporary Art (which is said to be quite reluctant about any sale or deal for this piece, which has turned out to be one of its major attractions). Furthermore, the Whitney Museum of Modern Art is now considering holding an exhibition on his work next fall, quite an unusual distinction for a working artist. And, even though Conors just bought a few months ago his tenth car (a '00 Blue Camaro), there is already a considerable line of collectors, galleries and auction houses eager to get it. "There is much interest on it, even by some very major names," hints New-York based Andrew Pugliese, Connors's dealer.

The buzz is sure to remain, as Connors goes on with this, his tenth life, in a location he wishes to keep secret. Paradoxically for a contemporary artist in this media-crazed era, Connors sees fame as an obstruction for his work.

"Everything would be much simpler if I was still a nobody, like the first times. I mean, yes, money makes it all much easier, but to be known (and you would be surprized at just how many random people stop me and ask, 'aren't you that crazy artist guy that crashes cars?') is not only an obstacle to my project, it's also very annoying. Because at the end, what I'm doing here, never mind the galleries and the collectors and the museums, is still living my life the only way I know: by suffering, falling and getting back up again. Like everyone else does, in the last analysis."

Like everyone else does. Maybe it's the fact that there is something we can all relate to behind his incredibly outrageous project, that makes his "wrecked lives" so absolutely compelling.

(From the New York Times, February 5, 2004)

2005-04-06T15:45:00.000-05:00

Eme Jota levanta, sin poner mucha atención, la bocina del teléfono público. Del otro lado del auricular una voz masculina, entre de locutor de infomercial y empleado de línea telefónica pornográfica, anuncia como quién lee en voz alta un cuento en la escuela primaria:
-- La cabina teléfonica en la que te encuentras
está a punto de ser embestida por un trailer.

La morte di un canaglia

2005-04-02T17:54:00.000-06:00

Porco dio! Ma cos'è tutto 'sto casino?

La unica razon para no celebrar,
es que van a poner otro.

La montaña rusa emocional

2005-03-15T13:53:00.000-06:00

Después de todo este pretender que no pasa nada, basta un mail para disolverme de nuevo en lágrimas. Verónica fue a Caracas y se cortó el pelo. Mientras recorro sus aventuras de las manos de sus palabras en el correo más largo que probablemente haya escrito nunca, voy deshilchándome hasta que de mí no queda sino una madeja emocional sin mucho sentido.

Llamarla no hace sino detonar la supernova emocional.

Y allá vamos de nuevo.

(Aunque a decir verdad, la montaña rusa esta vez comienza a parecer una espiral ascendente.)

Disculpa

2005-03-13T15:54:00.000-06:00

Lo siento nena, no sabes cuanto.

He llegado a la conclusión que te conocí en la vida equivocada.

(Aunque nunca creí que eso fuera posible.)

L'ultima di Flavia

2005-03-12T08:34:00.000-06:00

Ahora Flavia ya no me habla.

(That is, until further notice)

La pregunta, desde luego, es si debería yo agradecerle por ahorrarme problemas.

(Por más que desearía yo que más bien me los diera)

Congresso a Venezia

2005-03-07T15:49:00.000-06:00

Spiagge nevicate ed un congresso così pazzesco da farle sembrare sottosurrealiste. Il film più artificialmente falso mai mostrato al palazzo del cinema, con sceneggiature da fare Bollywood arrossire e fotografia in technicolor. E poi, temperature sottozero fra cinici e nostalgici di tutte le cose sbagliate.

(Eppure, Venezia, in un certo senso, e stata più bella questa volta).

Laura's blog and the industrial relationship complex

2005-03-07T15:44:00.000-06:00

Today I read Laura's blog.

And I cried.

Not only because it's damned well written

(as always)

but because, in some way, I've been and I am where she is.

(The industrial relationship complex)

Oh, did I forget to mention it? Veronica's over. Waiting, a million miles away for a goodbye too painful to get myself to writing it.

And, meanwhile, I can just pretend to avoid her and convince myself that this is the best option of a future.

(What a wimpy afterlife)

Natural Born Photographer

2005-02-23T19:44:00.000-06:00

If everyone documented their lives as Linda does (and certainly if they had lives as interesting as Linda's), the world would be a slightly better place.

Retomar las galerias - Un performance y medio para revolucionar el arte

2005-02-22T18:00:00.000-06:00

:: uno ::

La publicidad mató al arte. Los artistas se volvieron todos copywriters y art directors, dentro o fuera de la galería, vendiendo las virtudes de las toallas femeninas con alitas o la condición de existencia postmoderna en occidente. Y por ello, es hora de retomar los museos, de llevarles de vuelta el arte... o de caer en el intento.

Esta vez no se trata de convertir un migitorio en obra de arte confundiéndolo con el resto, sino de llevar el arte a las galerias, que con el tiempo, han diventado sólo fabricas de migitorios.

Y de llevarlo les guste o no.

Sería probablemente la primera vez que un espacio dedicado al arte reprimiera deliberada y conscientemente una operación de indudable caracter artístico.

:: y medio ::

El terrorismo invade los museos. ¿Qué pasaría si ese miedo ciego que inculcan las clases poseedoras de repente se fundiera con la realidad en el más sutil de los modos?

En este caso, la galería es recreada como escena del atentado. De una parte del museo a otra, súbitamente el espectador se enfrenta a un esqueleto arquitectónico con los muros enegrecidos y las varillas al descubierto, plagado de pedazos de obras de arte aleatorias, permanentemente sumergido en el humo y, sobre todo, salpicado de cuerpos... milagrosamente enteros y cuidadosamente dispuestos.

Mientras el espectador avanza y la ilusión se evapora, la galería se descubre como un espacio ocupado por el performance, por una especie de happening instalación que ocurre mientras hayan visitantes. Es entonces que el espectador recibe su turno y debe colocarse en el puesto que le es cuidadosamente asignado, como víctima de la explosión inexistente, para esperar nuevos espectadores.

De ese modo, el museo, la última de las certezas del arte, es brutalmente profanado.

2005-01-01T06:31:00.000-06:00

Y la esfinge preguntó entonces:
¿Cuánto dura, exactamente, el presente?

Tsunami

2004-12-28T16:43:00.000-06:00

Ves con horror absoluto, entre las lágrimas, la destrucción como nunca creíste que fuera posible.

Y entonces, te das cuenta de que en realidad es la misma historia de siempre. Países que no pueden pagar la tecnología que les hubiera permitido prevenir 14 horas y no 14 segundos antes. Ciudades de cartón y lámina condenadas a ser sepultadas por el olvido y las enfermedades curables una vez que el agua se ha ido. Muertos que aún en vida ya tenían negado un futuro y un nombre.

La naturaleza mata,
pero el capitalismo mata más.

Navidad

2004-12-24T16:30:00.000-06:00

Lo único malo de regresar a pasar navidad con la familia es que hay que pasar navidad con la familia.

Foto del Futuro [1999.2004]

2004-12-22T18:53:00.000-06:00

(Hace cinco años llegué por primera vez a Milano y hoy, por primera vez, la dejo.)

Vives en Milano entre videoclips sobre blue screen que podrías tirar en automatico, un departamento como no puedes ni imaginarlo y un italiano aún parcial pero ya lleno de inflexiones, dobles sentidos y malas palabras (y como lo predijiste, te encanta el Parco Sempione, aunque rara vez lo visitas).

En cambio, Mariel vive en Nueva York con su esposo y Marcela vive en Madrid. No estás con ninguna de las dos (y de hecho no las ves desde hace más de 6 meses) pero a ambas, de algún modo, las traes tatuadas adentro.

El amor de verdad, sin embargo, lo tiene guardado una muchacha venezolana que te enloquece como no te ha enloquecido nadie nunca. Paradójicamente, sin embargo, nunca han realmente vivido juntos en la misma ciudad.

Eres cinco años más viejo. Y aunque deberías ser cinco años más listo, en realidad estás más inseguro sobre todo de lo que estabas en esa época. Extrañarás la determinación con la que solías vivir todo, guardando detrás de ella una esperanza de que, al final del día, en realidad si has aprendido algo. De que, cinco años después, el camino que seguiste, del todo imperfecto e impredecible, cinco años después, no está tan mal después de todo.

Milán es más frío de lo que recuerdas.

Y tu estás donde jamas te hubieras imaginado.

(Aunque en realidad eres todo lo feliz que se puede ser en este mundo de mierda)

so that you have it clear...

2004-11-09T18:07:00.000-06:00

(escrito un 26 de febrero, el del 2002, para ser precisos)

No importa cuantos días, semanas o años pasen, cuanto tiempo estés junto a alguien, cuanto proclames que tal o cual persona es el amor de tu vida, cuantas fantasías sexuales y sueños de tu infancia compartas, cuantas imágenes guardes o intercambies, cuantos cafés, cuantas películas de terror y cuantas montañas rusas atravieses o cuantas playas y cuantos libros recomiendes...

...a la única persona que vas a conocer de verdad es a tí mismo.

CCTV en Londres

2004-10-18T13:58:00.000-05:00

"For your peace of mind, you are being monitored."
"If you see an abandoned bag, immediately alert the police."
"We have a database of all the houses with digital TV installed. Just so you know."
"What are you going to sacrifice to pay a £1000 fine?"
"Before you spend that money on your kid or your partner, have you checked if it alters your tax credits?"
"It's so easy to get fined."

El agora mediatica londinense parece una version [obviamente cliché] de 1984 para la era del CCTV.

[para no hablar de su thunder dome como campo de refugiados y sus falsas alternativas cuidadosamente coreografiadas]

Y pese a todo, le arranque a sus calles unas ganas locas de producirle a la historia un centenar de orgasmos simultaneos en un millar de idiomas.

After the iesef, us.

17:10 GMT-Temple Station

2004-10-18T10:10:00.001-05:00

17:10 GMT
Temple Station

I AM NOT AN LSE STUDENT

16:16 GMT-Tate Modern

2004-10-18T09:16:00.000-05:00

16:16 GMT
Tate Modern

WITH THE RIGHT EXPLANATION, EVERYTHING CAN BE TURNED INTO ART

GUIDE TO MY LIFE /01/

2004-10-11T10:22:00.000-05:00

:: Serazzi, ANGIE (märyànsjella)
mty, mty
- n_n!, tukks

Subversiva, a su modo (lo que se intuye ya desde su mirada). Enamorada del amor, pero tan tímida como sólo puede serlo una fan de Our Lady Peace con pulseras de picos en neopreno. Tremendamente promiscua en su SMSear, generoso, además, en emoticons que nadie ha visto nunca pero que, por alguna razón, resultan tremendamente claros. Italianisima si no fuera por su obstinación involuntaria a aprender el idioma y su impecable regiomontano saplicado, però, de un inner-language que ahora le regala a todos. Conoscedora del underground y el cult movie según hollywood y de los placeres más perversos que puede otorgar la PS2. Sueña con la licantropía, pero de lo único que está afectada es de una adicción floja a Wearwolf the Apocalypse y de un extraño virus que le permite dibujar creaturas con dientes tan largos como sus corazones.

En breve, una Lilith light (antitesis obligada de una Eva semipunk)

--Clas. AA (con subtítulos en un inglés impecable pero americano)

Otoño en Milano o las Mariposas-Modelos

2004-09-24T20:19:00.000-05:00

En septiembre, Milano anuncia su otoño no con mariposas, sino con modelos de pasarela (facilmente reconocibles por sus figuras sutiles y alienadas, la ropa y los acentos que nunca combinan y los photobooks bajo el brazo).

Así, a ver a quien convencen que son las almas de los muertos.

Milano

2004-09-08T18:11:00.000-05:00

Tengo que admitirlo: me gusta mucho Milano.

Cierto: seria mejor en una ciudad con el doble de areas verdes y la mitad del graffiti mal pintado, con peliculas subtituladas y centros comerciales plenos de aire acondicionados y supermercados, con librerías en inglés o sistema de Amazon, con autobuses nocturnos y un centro o dos de la vanguardia contracultural Europea (y ciertamente sería mejor si de verdad alcanzase a decifrar los secretos de este país que sólo adivino en mi religiosa dosis diaria de periódico y transporte público).

Sin embargo, su seductora familiaridad, su complejidad enigmática, la dosis tremenda de estilo per capita, sus bares abiertos todos los días, sus cafés negrísimos de noventa centésimos y su población inmigrante conspiran para hacerme caer rendido ante ella.

Tengo que admitirlo: me gusta mucho Milano.

(Y sobre todo, me gusta la óptica que tengo cuando miro desde aquí).

Collectivizing beautifull words

2004-09-03T15:14:00.000-05:00

Today I read Laura's blog. And besides from reminding me how English can actually be something obscenely beautiful (instead of a fractured machine tool you sometimes use to try to drill your thoughts into the minds of persons you don't share anything else with), it also made me feel and think in ways that would seem unconceivable since last week. As dark and twisted as it seems, it's full with a hope and a will that only people like us can have. And that's what is so damn beautiful about Laura and the things we search.

Blogs like Laura's show that we can collectivize beautiful words.

It's terribly sad, however, to realize that we cannot collectivize her intensely beautiful way of feeling.

Ultimo dia

2004-08-27T16:32:00.000-05:00

Hoy, Milano amaneció un poco más llena bajo un sol esplendoroso y un cielo incomprensiblemente azul.

(Yo, en cambio, amanecí con ella entre mis brazos.)

Al principio, me pareció que el clima se burlaba con sarcasmo de su partida. Pero, después de mucho pensarlo, más bien me parece que conspiró, con nosotros, para evitar derramar lágrimas.

(No que yo haya tenido mucho éxito en ese sentido)

Sobrevivencia

2004-07-20T15:06:00.000-05:00

Otra vez Milano.

Sobreviví al auto manual. Y sobrevivi a ese último beso en el área de embarques de Orio al Serio.

Ahora hay que ver si sobrevivo su ausencia.

Otra vez Milano

2004-07-20T15:00:00.000-05:00

La ciudad adquirió una familiaridad desconocida en mi ausencia y ni siquiera tuvo la gentilesa de advertírmelo antes de que llegara.

Parecería imposible encontrar a La Toscana en este enredo furioso de transporte público y bares sin sillas y, sin embargo, lo logro.

Todo adquiere claridad.

Los momentos duran un instante. En realidad los vivimos para acabar guardándolos sólo como memorias.

Y, la memoria de esos cinco días que nos regalamos es enorme.

Gigantezca.

Como si la Toscana hubiera sido hecha exclusivamente para que yo recordara esos momentos.

Atardecer

2004-07-19T08:31:00.000-05:00

El sol incendia el corazón del Chianti, convirtiéndolo en un universo de colores desconocidos en el que parece imposible no estar enamorado.

Pero lo que me ata a ella no es eso.

Ni el perfume envenenado con vainilla que disparan su cabello y sus sonrisas.

Ni el vértigo producido por las casas desmedidamente hermosas, los castillos del siglo XIII y las voces que susurran los secretos eróticos de hadas e íncubos.

Para nada.

Sin embargo, justo en este momento, en el que el bosque diventa inescrutáblemente seductor y la Toscana entera diventa una metáfora de la felicidad incomprensible, el sol, su perfume y el vértigo conspiran para que crea en la eternidad, la publicidad y todas las mentiras hermosas del mundo.

Y, mientras creo, la amo todavía más.

Mucho más de lo que creía.

Chianti in Greve

2004-07-15T18:54:00.000-05:00

Hoy vamos a ver el atardecer armados de panes, vinos y quesos. Y, después, vamos a quedarnos dormidos, embonados, viendo películas tontas.

Llamada nocturna

2004-06-30T16:45:00.000-05:00

Hoy, llamé (en italiano) a un montón de hostels (a las 11 de la noche) en Napoli (con el acento diferente) para reservarle un sitio a Verónica (que más bien quisiera que se viniera a vivir permanentemente conmigo).

Insisto. Tiene el poder mágico de hacer que las cosas sucedan.

Noche de sabado solitaria @ Milano

2004-06-30T16:41:00.000-05:00

Hay un montón de ragazzi mexicanos sentados en el lobby de la residencia, prestos a saltar a un bar desconocido apenas se quiebre el frágil protocolo que los colocó allí en primer lugar.

Hablan mi mismo idioma. Estudian en la misma escuela. Y, sin embargo, somos completamente diferentes, no porque Milano ya no sea un destino vacacional sino mi hogar, sino por la certeza de que le pertenezco al mundo; no porque yo haya vivido una vida más interesante, sino porque estoy dispuesto a hacerlo.

Me gusto más conforme adquiero lugares por placer y no por simple destino.

Al borde del resto de mi vida (2)

2004-06-14T01:07:00.000-05:00

Si no me voy a Italia, no pasa nada, pero si me voy a Italia...

He descubierto que el vértigo es producto de ver con demasiada claridad un parteaguas en mi vida (de esos que tan frecuentemente se encuentran ocultos).

Y es que, como si se tratara de un Aleph borgiano, este parteaguas me revela al mismo tiempo todos los demás. ¿Que hubiera pasado sí? Y mientras me vence el sueño, las dimensiones paralelas se extienden infinitas.

Al borde del resto de mi vida (1)

2004-06-14T01:05:00.000-05:00

Imaginate que caes en picada de una montaña rusa hacia una vida completamente diferente. No es tiempo de voltear hacia atrás. Sonríe. Van a tomarte la foto del futuro.

Ultimo dia en el DF

2004-06-13T07:53:00.000-05:00

Hoy es un buen día para despedirse.

La tarde es suave y cálida, el cielo deviene azul y amplio y la ciudad se ha vestido brevemente de claxons y banderas azul y oro (tras la victoria, en penalties, de los Pumas en la final del futbol mexicano).

Y, mientras tanto, soy presa de una extraña mezcla de gripe, nostalgia anticipada en honor de la vida que se me deshace ante los ojos y un deseo incontrolable de lanzarme de cabeza al futuro.

No es triste. Es más bien definitivamente sobrecogedor.

Soñando a vmar

2004-05-19T00:01:00.000-05:00

Verónica está de rumba. No me cabe duda. Y yo aquí, sentado, escuchando mi disco de Alanis Morrisette nuevo quisiera gritar como cuando apagas el no break con el pie a punto de terminar el brillante capítulo de tu brillante novela que nada brillantemente no has guardado, o como cuando *tienes* que llegar *ya* a algún sitio y se cayó el segundo piso del Periferico, o como cuando es el fin del mundo y la ropa que dejaste en la secadora sigue húmeda.

Pero no. En cambio, espero dócilmente (en este estado semivoluntario de prisionero de un espacio-tiempo rígidamente líneal) a que en la pantalla del teléfono aparezca Unknown Number y por el auricular se filtre su voz armada de su acento sin eses ni jotas para contarme alguna aventura maravillosa y darme besitos.

¡Adivinó, querido expectador! ¡Así es! Me encuentro locamente enamorado.

Cristopher Lee, las revistas para mujeres y los saunas de madera

2004-05-18T23:46:00.000-05:00

Me gustan los vampiros.

Realmente no sé por qué, pero me encantan. Cuando era chico, me robé no sé de donde una revista con un reportaje sobre Cristopher Lee. Tal vez la compró mi mamá en el supermercado o estaba por alguna razón desconocida en la casa, pero enfatizo que me la robé, porque la hice mía y, para demostrarlo, la coloqué entre los cómics pequeños de Editorial Novaro y el álbum de estampas de Batman. Allí estaba. Mi primera revista para mujeres, inexplicablemente perdida entre gente vestida en armaduras de titanio y adamantio o trajes de spandex de moléculas inestables.

Acabé por aprenderme todo su contenido, buscando entre sus páginas algo más acerca del Conde Drácula según Terence Fisher (o según quién fuera). La revista nunca me lo entregó, pero en cambio me enseñó la palabra chic. Justo al terminar el reportaje sobre Lee, había un anuncio de Cablevisión (que en esa época venía totalmente de Estados Unidos, pero sanitizado de comerciales) desmesurada y extrañamente presuntuoso en el que podía verse a un aristócrata hecho de lápices de colores y tinta justo encima del copy: “Cablevisión, para la gente chic”.

Y, por alguna razón, asocio todo esto con un sauna de madera.

Pase lo que pase, nunca olvides que ya has sido todo lo feliz que puede ser uno

2004-04-20T00:19:00.000-05:00

Mi blog es ya sólo ella. Y su magia. Y su recuerdo. Y su certeza. Pase lo que pase, nunca olvides que ya has sido todo lo feliz que puede ser uno.

te amo, al punto de olvidarme de cómo se sentía la vida cuando no eramos el uno del otro (mientras seguimos, desde luego, sin ser de nadie)

Despues de su partida

2004-04-20T00:12:00.000-05:00

Hoy la ciudad y mis sábanas intentan con torpeza acostumbrarse a su ausencia.

Y sí, aunque la noche se siente fría y aguda, sin la brisa marina con olor a vainilla que emanan sus sonrisas y su piel, el futuro se siente mucho más brillante.

[Y quién escribe esto es una vez más el amor como nunca se había creído posible]

Tenochtitlan

2004-04-16T20:15:00.000-05:00

Hoy fuimos a Tenochtitlán. Subimos la piramide de Quetzalcoatl y después vimos peleando a un perro completamente negro contra otro completamente blanco.

Verónica tiene el poder mágico de hacer que las cosas sucedan.

Esperandola en el DF

2004-04-13T14:24:00.000-05:00

A la prisión de nuestra certeza mutua, ahora tenemos que añadir la condena de las demoras en los aeropuertos.

Dreams can come true indeed

2004-03-01T23:13:00.000-06:00

Nueva York te cambiará la vida de un modo que ni siquiera te imaginas. Y tres días después de regresar, tratando de ponerle orden a esa avalancha de nostalgia, amor desbordante y malteadas de vainilla que es tu cabeza, mirarás hacia el futuro desafiante. Tiene que haber las barras de chocolate, los amaneceres, las ciudades. Simplemente tiene que haberlos.

1 de Marzo

2004-03-01T23:03:00.000-06:00

Hoy es el primer dia de marzo. Veronica me preguntó por la universidad de Italia. Intentamos chatear con video pero no se pudo. Acabé diseñándole, en cambio, la primera de las no postales.

El mundo entero huele a futuro
(y yo a ratos creo que podria morir extrañándola)

Tres peliculas

2004-01-25T00:47:00.000-06:00

Llorando, enamorado y contagiando del más extraño efecto Stendhal, tomo una decisión irreparable:
Sólo tengo que hacer tres películas en mi vida:

La primera, sobre el amor desbordante, el amor intenso, inaplasable, hermoso. El amor que huele a futuro. El amor de las lágrimas dulces. El principio de todas las cosas.

La segunda, sobre la muerte irreparable, la muerte inóspita, inesperada, helada. La muerte que sabe a pasado. La muerte de las lágrimas heladas. La pérdida absoluta.

La tercera, sobre aquello a lo que he decidido dedicarle mi vida. Aquello en lo que estarán encuadrados el amor y la muerte cada vez que me sucedan.

Sun and Wind Burnt Lips

2004-01-20T01:51:00.000-06:00

Hoy Laura leyó eso, distraida y en voz alta, de un protector labial que encontró sin que se sepa muy bien por qué.

Y, en parte porque me recordó a Verónica y en parte porque se me hizo extrañamente relevante, decidí que va a ser el título de mi próxima novela.

(si claro, un día de estos)

La maquina de los sueños

2004-01-15T01:34:00.000-06:00

Los japoneses inventaron una máquina que diseña los sueños. Lo escuché hoy en la radio. Y todo sería tan insoportablemente Philip K. Dick, si no fuera porque yo llevo tres semanas conectado a otra muchísimo mejor. Ama las barras de chocolate, acaricia las consonantes cuando las dice y va por la vida firmando vm.

(y yo, desde luego, estoy totalmente perdido en ella)

Foto del Futuro [1999.2004]

2004-01-06T18:16:00.000-06:00

Foto del futuro
(dirigida a mi mismo, en este mismo lounge de aeropuerto, hace 18 días ó "mi vida después de veronica")

Seoul/Incheon, 7/1 (2004)

Te propusiste ir llenando el blog desde donde se pudiera, en parte para recordar mejor tus vacaciones de lo que acostumbras, en parte para mantener actualizado de lo que te pasara a quien se dignara leerlo, en parte para escribir al menos un poco.

Pero no te preocupes. Te será imposible entre la falta de conexiones y la falta de inspiración y el hecho de que, por primera vez en tu vida, vas a entregarte generoso a una experiencia insólita en vez de soñar con ella.

La conocerás la noche del 24 de diciembre y para el 31 estarás enredado entre sus cabellos, soñando con la playa a la que ella quería que fueras.

Y luego sucederá todo. Vendrán las cartas cruzadas, y las canciones compartidas y la foto perfecta y las noches interminables y la banquita del centro comercial de Singapur y, finalmente, la despedida.

Te quiero. Yo también (porque, por más que lo intentes, no vas a poder poner en palabras lo que estás sintiendo en ese momento).

Y, mientras amanece en Seúl, tres días después, todo será extrañarla y pensar como diablos vas a hacer para regresar a tu vida como siempre, esa vida llena de depresiones y obstinación en la que no habían noches de año nuevo llenas de estrellas y champaña, en la que tu disco duro y tu mente no estaban llenos de fotos, en la que no te sentías así de vivo (aunque su ausencia te produzca una sensación inmensa de vacío).

Dreams can come true.
Nunca pares de vivir.

Seoul/Incheon, 19/12

2003-12-20T20:53:00.000-06:00

En Corea manejan a la derecha y leen empezando por la izquierda, pero, inexplicáblemente, van por las escaleras a la izquierda. Así que si uno sube escaleras eléctricas en el aeropuerto viendo como la gente habla por el celular, o pensando en recepcionistas de hotel o en protagonistas de videohome puede ser mortal.

* * *

Corea-Singapur. En el avión me mareo del carajo, no se sabe si debido a las turbulencias o a la intoxicación producida por la novela de Chuck Pallahniuk.

For the record, the weather today is uninspired, with traces of inmense boredom.

* * *

Singapur, 19/12

A diferencia de Seoul, Singapur es cálido y luminoso. Ese pantano de plagas, piratas y proxenetas transformado (por obra y gracia de la guerra fría) en máquina de pinball gigantezca, completa con dictadura militar y televisión satelital.

El aeropuerto me recibe con imágenes: los inmigrantes indios que hacen la limpieza, la niña malasia de ojos negros y enormes, el occidental rubio con la playera de Kung Fu, la hermosa edecán a la sálida, la viejita china con el gaffette amarillo.

Y afuera, en la máquina de pinball gigantezca, siempre hay alguien que gana algo a costa de estas personas.

Incheon/Seoul, Sudcorea - 18/12

2003-12-18T21:45:00.000-06:00

13 horas y esta maldita gripa. Termino el libro sobre Afganistan, veo y repienso Matchstick Men, me acabo la bateria del ipod y todavia me da tiempo de enamorarme de la protagonista de una especie de videohome que dan en las pantallitas de bussiness (que en KAL se llama Morning Calm). Desde luego, en ese enamoramiento platonico sufrido despues de 9 horas de vuelo, su gesto fue fundamental: sutil y sexy, como una mezcla de tres shots de indignacion falsa y dos gotas de haber tenido una revelacion tremendamente importante. El unico problema es que no tengo tiempo de resolver si el gesto es un producto afortunado de la pesima actuacion que caracteriza a los videohomes en todos los paises o si, por el contrario, es una genuina maravilla de moda entre las (ciertamente lindas) chicas coreanas. Trato de adivinarlo en la recepcionista del hotel (de la que, desde luego, tambien me enamoro unas horas despues), pero tampoco lo consigo. Y asi, entre recepcionistas de hotel y estrellas de videohome logro por fin conciliar el sueño.

* * *

Seoul es frio y luminoso, como una cruza entre un Patchinko Parlor japones y un refrigerador. Los puestos ambulantes de comida no son modestos aparadores/cocina de lamina, sino verdaderos restaurantes con paredes y techos de lona naranja y puertas de acrilico. Y pese a todo, la gente atesta las calles de noche: las calles de este Tokyo en miniatura.

Hay gasolineras LG, bancos Daewoo y aseguradoras Samsung.

Y yo irremediablemente, tengo que pensar en el norte.

Los Angeles, EU - 16/12

2003-12-16T21:20:00.000-06:00

4 horas y dos usos horarios despues, inicia.

Los Angeles sigue siendo Los Angeles. En el aeropuerto, mi papa pelea con una agente de migracion que sospecha de mi visa y yo quiero esconderme en alguna parte. En erl fondo, el sueno americano convertido en un blanco, anglosajon y protestante oficial de migracion, trata a un grupo de ejecutivos coreanos que venian en el vuelo como el ejercito colonial de ocupacion trata a los iraquies.

Los Angeles sigue siendo Los Angeles. A lo lejos, desde la ventana helada del hotel pueden adivinarse Hollywood y Beverly Hills y los supermercados en huelga y los barrios y los ghettos y el parque con grafitti del que me hablo Laura.

Los Angeles sigue siendo Los Angeles. Lastima que en esta ocasion no tenga tiempo de verlo.

Mil gracias Iosiv

2003-12-11T00:26:00.000-06:00

Hoy tuve que escuchar en la radio a un emocionado reportero español dar todos los detalles sobre el sagrado enlace nupcial entre el excelentísimo principe de asturias felipe y doña leticia whatever.

Sí, una vez más: Mil gracias Iosiv.

Luchando

2003-12-11T00:25:00.001-06:00

"¿Consideras que eres feliz?"
"No, gracias. Simplemente estoy luchando..."

Corazon

2003-12-11T00:25:00.000-06:00

La cosa que traigo en el pecho a veces duele un chingo cuando hace frío, pero la verdad es que cada vez se parece menos a un corazón (y, con él, se fué también mi líbido).

(y lo más raro es que no tengo siquiera la fuerza para extrañarlos)

2003-11-20T02:47:00.000-06:00

Ambos se amaban, modesta pero hermosamente. En tan sólo seis meses ya habían compartido (aunque casi por accidente, es cierto) dos películas de Bergman, exactamente cinco orgasmos simultáneos y 15 minutos de fama en un extraño informercial de productos para depilarse.

Y hubieran sido felices para siempre, si no hubiera sido porque la vida de ella se parecía a un haiku...
...y la de él era más bien como un copy publicitario.

La agenda tematica sobre la existencia o cuando los medios no te dicen qué pensar de las cosas, ni qué cosas pensar, sino qué cosas sentir

2003-11-20T02:45:00.001-06:00

El frenesí de la vida urbana y la agenda temática sobre la existencia resultado de la conspiración entre los talk shows, las telenovelas y Hollywood, han dado como resultado una lista muy clara de lo que constituyen los altibajos de la vida. De algún modo, las audiencias han terminado adoptándola como suya, a pesar de que los dramones de esos personajes están lejísimos de su realidad cotidiana.

Chio (again)

2003-11-05T01:50:00.000-06:00

Es evidente que está jugando conmigo y a decir verdad creo que está jugando hasta consigo misma. Pero, con esos rayos púrpuras, ¿cómo diablos no voy a permitírselo?