So....end of the year....let's start the pa~~~~rty!!!!!!!!
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Thursday, December 31, 2009
Why did I cry over one there's no need to cry for?
To finish the year, a very nice song, so we all can start the new year with a smile
That girl has an amazing voice....
Happy New Year 2010!!!!
That girl has an amazing voice....
Happy New Year 2010!!!!
Bolshoi, スゴ〜〜〜い!!!!
Yesterday night I went to the ballet at the Teatre Victoria in Parallel. The Bolshoi was in town! I must confess I'm not a great fan of ballet, nor that I know much about it, though I've heard a great deal of its music since most of the most important ballets are Russian, and I really love Russian music, specially this from the beginning of the XX century.
I was totally and absolutely impressed! My beloved Ch., who loves ballet and was the main reason why I went there, was jumping in the seat with emotion while watching it. She said that they were amazing, the best she had seen so far. I was mostly astonished by some of the modern coreographies, since I still can't get much into the most classic ones, with those guys dressed like prices in manga stories, with ribbons and blouses.
Among the collection of pieces of different ballets they showed, I heard one that was very easy to recognize, Spartacus. Despite they performed a different scene, I prefer the adagio in Spartacus, where the slave dances with his wife Phrygia, in the woods, while fleeing from the Roman legions of Crassus. Watching and listening to Khachaturian performed by the Bolshoi is kind of listening to the Bible recited by God itself, I guess: the very same source of it all!
Ballet has a more icy sister, I mean, figure skating, of which Ch. is also a great fan. Her favorite is Mao Asada (真央浅田), but I prefer Kim Yu-Na, the Earth angle that is flying among the notes of Scheherezade. As known, Scheherezade was delaying her execution due to her infidelity by telling one thousand and one stories to her husband in the Arabian nights. This blog is kind of the same thing. Hope being as entertaining!
I was totally and absolutely impressed! My beloved Ch., who loves ballet and was the main reason why I went there, was jumping in the seat with emotion while watching it. She said that they were amazing, the best she had seen so far. I was mostly astonished by some of the modern coreographies, since I still can't get much into the most classic ones, with those guys dressed like prices in manga stories, with ribbons and blouses.
Among the collection of pieces of different ballets they showed, I heard one that was very easy to recognize, Spartacus. Despite they performed a different scene, I prefer the adagio in Spartacus, where the slave dances with his wife Phrygia, in the woods, while fleeing from the Roman legions of Crassus. Watching and listening to Khachaturian performed by the Bolshoi is kind of listening to the Bible recited by God itself, I guess: the very same source of it all!
Ballet has a more icy sister, I mean, figure skating, of which Ch. is also a great fan. Her favorite is Mao Asada (真央浅田), but I prefer Kim Yu-Na, the Earth angle that is flying among the notes of Scheherezade. As known, Scheherezade was delaying her execution due to her infidelity by telling one thousand and one stories to her husband in the Arabian nights. This blog is kind of the same thing. Hope being as entertaining!
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Life is Chaos, Love is Cosmos
Yesterday evening, I witnessed in front of my very eyes how an old English lady's purse was stolen while she was trying to get on the train at Sants Station. The guy was supposedly trying to help her to get on the train with all her luggage but he swiftly slid a hand into her bag. She only noticed it once on the train, and that was too late.
I tried to help the old English lady yesterday. They were two old married couples with no command in any language but English. She was about to cry, her hands were shaking, and her face looked totally shocked. Besides, the guy who was trying to help her describing the pickpocket to the train official was making a pretty poor translation of the thief's features. British accent is kind of tricky sometimes.
Later, I met this professor at University whom I'm collaborating with. He has a new PhD student and we had to talk about some worthwhile ideas to develop in his doctoral thesis. The new student is from Egypt and has just arrived in my city with his wife, who is also pursuing another PhD. Not that surprisingly, he was also stolen his laptop before going through the arrival gate at BCN airport. He said that this was no good signal, but I think he should take it as a new beginning, without looking behind.
Before I could get home without having been myself stolen, though, I had to dodge a guy in the middle of the highway who had crashed his car against the dividing barrier. It was a rainy and darker than a wolf's throat evening, yesterday's. Hopefully, at home, my beloved Ch. was waiting for me, as sweet as ever. She had been crying; this I could tell from her eyes. I comfort her in the best way I know, until she could smile again, and then we had a very pleasant night.
Life is most of times on the verge of being dramatically catastrophic, which I can assure from my own experience. So, what really matters at the end of the day? To me, getting an absolutely true, unselfish, and loving embrace. Nothing else, nothing less. The rest, just sterile pastime and scum.
I tried to help the old English lady yesterday. They were two old married couples with no command in any language but English. She was about to cry, her hands were shaking, and her face looked totally shocked. Besides, the guy who was trying to help her describing the pickpocket to the train official was making a pretty poor translation of the thief's features. British accent is kind of tricky sometimes.
Later, I met this professor at University whom I'm collaborating with. He has a new PhD student and we had to talk about some worthwhile ideas to develop in his doctoral thesis. The new student is from Egypt and has just arrived in my city with his wife, who is also pursuing another PhD. Not that surprisingly, he was also stolen his laptop before going through the arrival gate at BCN airport. He said that this was no good signal, but I think he should take it as a new beginning, without looking behind.
Before I could get home without having been myself stolen, though, I had to dodge a guy in the middle of the highway who had crashed his car against the dividing barrier. It was a rainy and darker than a wolf's throat evening, yesterday's. Hopefully, at home, my beloved Ch. was waiting for me, as sweet as ever. She had been crying; this I could tell from her eyes. I comfort her in the best way I know, until she could smile again, and then we had a very pleasant night.
Life is most of times on the verge of being dramatically catastrophic, which I can assure from my own experience. So, what really matters at the end of the day? To me, getting an absolutely true, unselfish, and loving embrace. Nothing else, nothing less. The rest, just sterile pastime and scum.
Now Fuck Off and Die; You Fucked Up Slag
These two scenes are great. Clive Owen, I bow to you!
Because I'm a fucking caveman!!
That's the spirit. Thank you. Thank you for your honesty.
Now fuck off and die - you fucked up slag.
I'm just not big enough to forgive you...bastard.
Because I'm a fucking caveman!!
That's the spirit. Thank you. Thank you for your honesty.
Now fuck off and die - you fucked up slag.
I'm just not big enough to forgive you...bastard.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
And yet, Human Communication is...
So, to you, language is more than just a means of communication?
Oh, of course it is, of course it is, of course it is, of course it is. Language is my mother, my father, my husband, my brother, my sister, my whore, my mistress, my checkout-girl. Language is a complimentary moist lemon-scented cleansing-square or handy freshen-up wipette. Language is the breath of God. Language is the dew on a fresh apple; it's the soft rain of dust that falls into a shaft of morning light as you pluck from an old bookshelf a half-forgotten book of erotic memoirs. Language is the creak on a stair; it's a spluttering match held to a frosted pane; it's a half-remembered childhood birthday-party; it's the warm, wet, trusting touch of a leaking nappy; the hulk of a charred Panzer; the underside of a granite boulder; the first downy growth on the upper-lip of a Mediterranean girl. It's cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot.
Nite, nite...
Oh, of course it is, of course it is, of course it is, of course it is. Language is my mother, my father, my husband, my brother, my sister, my whore, my mistress, my checkout-girl. Language is a complimentary moist lemon-scented cleansing-square or handy freshen-up wipette. Language is the breath of God. Language is the dew on a fresh apple; it's the soft rain of dust that falls into a shaft of morning light as you pluck from an old bookshelf a half-forgotten book of erotic memoirs. Language is the creak on a stair; it's a spluttering match held to a frosted pane; it's a half-remembered childhood birthday-party; it's the warm, wet, trusting touch of a leaking nappy; the hulk of a charred Panzer; the underside of a granite boulder; the first downy growth on the upper-lip of a Mediterranean girl. It's cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot.
Nite, nite...
Police and Trials...Funny World
Police...
Trials...
I have a friend, a very good friend, who is a police and works at a Justice Court. Here, he can be seen pushing an attacker away from a murder.
When he was young, we all said he resembled Huge Laurie in Blackadder.
As he always says, if ever in a trial, plea you don't know anything nor anybody, and that you were drunk and under the influence of drugs. Otherwise, that could be the punishment!
Trials...
I have a friend, a very good friend, who is a police and works at a Justice Court. Here, he can be seen pushing an attacker away from a murder.
When he was young, we all said he resembled Huge Laurie in Blackadder.
As he always says, if ever in a trial, plea you don't know anything nor anybody, and that you were drunk and under the influence of drugs. Otherwise, that could be the punishment!
Monday, December 28, 2009
Baggy Trousers or Arabian Nights in Barcelona
E. didn't know much, she said, but wanted to learn a lot, and faster. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, and she did it very much. She thought she had good communication skills, but missed the basic rule: imagine yourself on the other's point of view. She just wanted to make her point, being different; in some way, defiant.
So, she bought some baggy trousers in a weird and dark shop in Gracia, with an odour of Arabian Nights mixed with smoke of new-age incense. Her mother had some prejudices towards Islam, resulting perhaps to her long exposure to such culture or, probably, due to her lack of any exposure at all. She would become scared to listening any Muslim music, like if it was a curse Allah was casting upon her.
E. bought such baggy trousers like unconsciously stating to her mother, "hey, mom, I wear a piece of Islam between my legs!" What a brave girl she was, she probably thought. Besides, that would raise her status as an experienced explorer among her friends, another notch she could brag about after her safari in Barcelona. Experiencing foreign cultures was part of the curricula, as dressing local costumes, eating local gastronomy or practicing dances and mating rituals.
The funny thing, though, is that such trousers were not, not even by far, Arab, Islamic, nor Muslims, but Indian, from India. The shop appeared not to be so alternative as expected and was just another branch of a chain, selling the same kind of clothes that can be found everywhere in the neighborhood. Being alternative has nowadays become mainstream, and there are many kinds of disguises for those who want to taste a pinch of exoticism in BarcelonAventura!!
Anyway, let's freak E.'s mom out a little with this music, a version of Springsteen's Worlds Apart played by a Syrian orchestra and sung in Catalan by Maria del Mar Bonet, the beautiful Majorcan singer, of deep and dark eyes and hair. What a nice mixture of flavors!
"Acompanyen els estels el camí que hem inventat
El teu cor amb el meu cor, per damunt dels mons apart"
"The starts go along the path we have invented
Your heart with my heart, above such worlds apart"
I used to listen to this song in Japan, out loud in my car while coming back from work, just to scare that kind of people and also to feel the salty taste of the Mediterranean in my mouth, the same taste one experiences when swimming in her or while eating fresh clams at El Serrallo in Tarragona.
So, she bought some baggy trousers in a weird and dark shop in Gracia, with an odour of Arabian Nights mixed with smoke of new-age incense. Her mother had some prejudices towards Islam, resulting perhaps to her long exposure to such culture or, probably, due to her lack of any exposure at all. She would become scared to listening any Muslim music, like if it was a curse Allah was casting upon her.
E. bought such baggy trousers like unconsciously stating to her mother, "hey, mom, I wear a piece of Islam between my legs!" What a brave girl she was, she probably thought. Besides, that would raise her status as an experienced explorer among her friends, another notch she could brag about after her safari in Barcelona. Experiencing foreign cultures was part of the curricula, as dressing local costumes, eating local gastronomy or practicing dances and mating rituals.
The funny thing, though, is that such trousers were not, not even by far, Arab, Islamic, nor Muslims, but Indian, from India. The shop appeared not to be so alternative as expected and was just another branch of a chain, selling the same kind of clothes that can be found everywhere in the neighborhood. Being alternative has nowadays become mainstream, and there are many kinds of disguises for those who want to taste a pinch of exoticism in BarcelonAventura!!
Anyway, let's freak E.'s mom out a little with this music, a version of Springsteen's Worlds Apart played by a Syrian orchestra and sung in Catalan by Maria del Mar Bonet, the beautiful Majorcan singer, of deep and dark eyes and hair. What a nice mixture of flavors!
"Acompanyen els estels el camí que hem inventat
El teu cor amb el meu cor, per damunt dels mons apart"
"The starts go along the path we have invented
Your heart with my heart, above such worlds apart"
I used to listen to this song in Japan, out loud in my car while coming back from work, just to scare that kind of people and also to feel the salty taste of the Mediterranean in my mouth, the same taste one experiences when swimming in her or while eating fresh clams at El Serrallo in Tarragona.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Name of a Rose....
Stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus
Yesterday's rose endures in its name, we hold empty names.
and Adso regretted:
"...I never knew, nor ever learned, her name."
nor ever asked my name...
Yesterday's rose endures in its name, we hold empty names.
and Adso regretted:
"...I never knew, nor ever learned, her name."
nor ever asked my name...
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Day of Warth, Day of Mourning....
Day of wrath! O day of mourning!
See fulfilled the prophets' warning,
Heaven and earth in ashes burning!
Confutatis maledictis,
Flammis acribus addictis:
Voca me cum benedictis.
While the wicked are confounded,
doomed to flames of woe unbounded
call me with thy saints surrounded.
See fulfilled the prophets' warning,
Heaven and earth in ashes burning!
Confutatis maledictis,
Flammis acribus addictis:
Voca me cum benedictis.
While the wicked are confounded,
doomed to flames of woe unbounded
call me with thy saints surrounded.
Revenge, the Pleasure of the Wise
La vendetta, oh, la vendetta
È un piacer serbato ai saggi;
L’obliar l’onte, gli oltraggi,
È bassezza, è ognor viltà.
Coll'astuzia, coll’arguzia
Col giudizio, col criterio
Si potrebbe ... Il fatto è serio:
Ma, credete, si farà.
Se tutto il codice devessi volgere.
Se tutto l'indice dovessi leggere
Con un equivoco, con un sinonimo
Qualche garbuglio si troverà.
Tutta Siviglia conosce Bartolo:
Il birbo Figaro vostro sarà!
Monday, December 21, 2009
Bon Nadal i Bones Festes!
Merry Christmas and a Happy 2010!
Però, sobretot, hi ha d'haver-hi, hi ha d'haver-hi un caganer!
Però, sobretot, hi ha d'haver-hi, hi ha d'haver-hi un caganer!
No us en oblideu mai més!
En un Pessebre, hi ha d'haver-hi un caganer.
ps: some explanations, by Stephen Fry
Però, sobretot, hi ha d'haver-hi, hi ha d'haver-hi un caganer!
Però, sobretot, hi ha d'haver-hi, hi ha d'haver-hi un caganer!
No us en oblideu mai més!
En un Pessebre, hi ha d'haver-hi un caganer.
ps: some explanations, by Stephen Fry
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