Archive for 31 marzo 2006

Dave Chapell

marzo 31, 2006

Realmente me gustan algunas canciones de R. Kelly debo admitirlo pero después de escuchar la opinión de Dave Chapell, uno de los cómicos más interesantes que he conocido gracias a interminables tardes de días sin nada que hacer como hoy. Dave Chapell es un cómico afroamericano, o sea negro de lo más divertido que nos ha regalado un país al que no le tengo demasiado respeto en su totalidad, aunque hay que decir que es entrañable… Estados Unidos es … hay que quererlos… ¿como mirarle a la cara a un bebé sin quererlo? ¿Cómo no querer a un perrito recien nacido?

I wanna piss on you, canción cojonuda que podéis repasar en http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4kBWNjtT50

byeeee, love the lyrics

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docu

marzo 29, 2006

¡Que suerte la mía! Mañana decidimos en mi grupo de prácticas sobre qué haremos un documental. El gran inconveniente es que hay dos grupos en uno. A mí me llama cada vez más el documental y quería hacer un tema serio… ya no sé ni cual…
Ahora la nueva opción es hacer un documental creativo sobre una persona que sale de su casa, compra un kit de pesca e intenta conseguir pescar algo. uaaaau que divertido! que creativo! ni siquiera es una pizca absurdo a lo grande.
La segunda opción está en el seguimiento de una prostituta transexual de la zona del campo del Barça… bueno, no está mal, pero no sé que es lo que puede aportar…
Y la más votada por todos el investigar la vida de Josmar… quise hacer un videoclip, un remake de Thriller de Michael Jackson, pero fué un desastre… así que no lo terminé. Demasiado dinero invertido, para un resultado mediocre… 😦 Ahora encima docu sobre la estrella…

la muerte del cine

marzo 28, 2006

clase de historia, vanguardias, new american cinema, años 50 y 60, confrontaciones abiertas con la Nouvella Vague que te parece tan poco rompedora…

y dicen que el cine muere, que no tiene nada que decir.
se pinta sobre el negativo, de manera aleatória o eso dicen, ironía para los que ven a los animadores.
Thoreau y Witman años antes les describen lo esencial, lo vibrante, imágenes táctiles.

y cada vez que veo una peli de esos rompedores, que hacen cine para sí mismo y para amigos que entienden esa sensibilidad.

cada vez más cercano a un diario personal, un weblog… un videolog.

the best night in years

marzo 27, 2006

maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the film I’m watching right now, but last saturday night was more than nice. I passed the night with my first girlfriend, with the first real one.
a woman worth loving… something Jack Nicholson says to her after the first night. (actually he says a woman worth loving..booo)
well, that’s what I felt… she surprisinly connected around 11pm and we finished talking at 9am.
she from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil me from Barcelona, Spain.
suddenly we were talkin about why we broke up, how she recognized how bad she treated me, how all her friends were amazed when she, in a afternoon party talking about their first times, described how safe, free of fears, tranquile she felt.
a weekend after seeing Brokeback Mountain, I climbed over the overall bad critique between filmstudents in my faculty, and shared with her the idea of having a place, only belonging to both of us. she hated the idea of it being Malta, so she proposed Angra dos Reis, but this was too close to Rio for me… we finally agreed in the middle of the Atlantic in Fernando de Noronha…
a neutral territory, something a bit distant to her boyfriend, the only one after me… I can’t say the same, but anyway.
we spoke of the past, and when the sun came out and maybe because of beeing sleepy the situation became a bit strange after being funny, erotic, melancholic it became a bit resentful and bitter.

dreaming of how it could have been… well, lot’s of people think this is a bit masochistic, although I believe you have to live happyness and sadness 100% to be able to say: Yes, I have the guts to live conscient of the experiences you go throug…
dreaming of how it could have been didn’t make me feel better, but it was worth it.

nicholson and keaton will always have Paris…

Give peace a chance… Pásalo!

marzo 23, 2006

Desde el País Vasco y la red, aquellas personas que luchamos por la
paz estamos tratando de aportar nuestra ilusión a la esperanza de paz
nacida ayer: encendamos una vela a las 00 horas de hoy.
¡Pásalo!

On Authenticity 2

marzo 21, 2006

amoldarse o no? que es ser uno mismo, pero eres también en relación a otros. Hablar con alguien por un motivo en concreto o mejor buscar un interés en común? vaya vaya, que lío…
desesperación fué el primer paso para huir de la soledad. pero la desesperación ahuyenta. la diferencia entre enamorarse y amar. enamorarse puedes ser peligroso, adictivo, desesperante, fuente de insomnio…
tratamiento: tranquilidad?

5. Though authentic selfhood has as its prerequisite the ability to achieve a stable identity irrespective of company, the evening had developed into an inauthentic attempt to locate and shape myself according to Chloe’s desires. What did she expect from a man? What were the tastes and orientations according to which I should adjust my behaviour? If staying true to oneself is deemed an essential criterion of moral selfhood, then seduction had led me to resolutely fail the ethical test. Why had I lied about my feelings towards a delicious-looking of wines, prominently advertised on a blackboard above Chloe’s head? Because my choice had suddenly seemed inadequate and crude next to her mineral thirst. Seduction had split me into two, into a true (alcoholic) self, and a false (aquatic) one.

6. The first course arrived, arranged on plates with the symmetry of a formal French garden.
“It looks too beautiful to touch,” said Chloe (how I knew the feeling), “I’ve never eaten grilled tuna like this before.”
We began to eat, but the only sound was that of cutlery against china. There seemed nothing to say: Chloe had been my only thought that at this moment I could not share. Silence was a damning indictment. A silence with an unattractive person implies they are the boring one. A silence with an attractive one leaves you certain it is you who are impossibly dull.

7. Silence and clumsiness could perhaps be forgiven as rather pitiful proof of desire. It being easy enough to seduce someone towards whom one feels indifferent, the clumsiest producers could generously be deemed the most genuine. Not to find the right words may ironically be proof that the right words are meant (if only they could be said). When, in that other Liasons, the Marquise de Merteuil writes to the Vicomte de Valmont, she faults him on the fact that his love letters are too perfect, too logical to be the words of a true lover, whose thoughts will be disjointed and for whom the fine phrase will always elude. Language trips up on love, desire lacks articulacy (but how willingly I would at that moment have swapped my constipation for the Vicomte’s vocabulary).

8. Given my wish to seduce Chloe, it was essential that I found out more about her. How could I abandon my true self unless I knew what false self to adopt? But this was no easy task, a reminder that understanding another requires hours of careful attention and interpretion, teasing a coherent character from a thousand words and actions. Unfortunately, the patience and intelligence required went far beyond the capacities of my anxious, infatuated mind. I behaved like a reductive social psychologist, eager to press a person into simple definitions, unwilling to apply the care of a novelist to capturing the polyvalence of human nature. Over the first course, I blundered with heavy-handed, interview-like questions: What do you like to read? (“Joyce, Henry James, Cosmo if there’s time?”), Do you like your job? (“All jobs are pretty crap, don’t you think?”), What country would you live in if you could live anywhere? (“I’m fine here, anywhere where I don’t have to change the plug for my hairdrier”), What do you like to do on weekends? (“Go to movies on Saturday, on Sunday, stock up on chocolate for getting depressed with in the evening.”)

9. Behind such clumsy questions (with every one i asked, I seemed to get further from knowing her), there was an impatient attempt to get to the most direct question of all, “Who are you?” (and hence “Who should I be?”). But such a direct approach was naturally doomed to failure, and the more bluntly I pursued it, the more my subject escaped through the net, letting me know what newspaper she read and music she liked, but not thereby enlightening me as to “who” she was – a reminder, if ever one needed it, to the “I’s” capacity to elude itself.

10. Chloe hated talking about herself. Perhaps her most obvious feature was a certain modesty and self-deprecation. Whenever the conversation led her to talk on the subject, Chloe did so in the harshest terms. i would not simply be “I” or “Chloe”, but ” a basket-case like me” or “the winner of the Ophelia award for quiet nerves”. Her self-deprecation was all the more attractive for it seemed free of the veiled appeals of self-pitying people, the double-take self-deprecation of the I’m so stupid/No, you’re not variety.

11. Her childhood had not been pleasant, but she was stoic about the matter (“I hate childhood dramatizations that make Job look like he got off lightly”). She had been born into a financially comfortable. Her father (“All his problems started when his parents called him Barry”) had been an academic, a professor of law, her mother (“Claire”) had for a time run a flower shop. Chloe was the middle child, a girl sandwiched between two favoured and faultless boys. When her older brother died of leukaemia shortly after her eighth birthday, her parents’ grief expressed itself as anger at their daughter who, slow at school and sulky around the house, had obstinately clung to life instead of their darling son. She grew up guilty, filled with a sense of blame for what had happened, feelings that her mother did little to alleviate. She liked to pick on a person’s weakest characteristics and not let go – so Chloe was for ever reminded of how badly she performed at school compared to the dead brother, of how gauche she was, and of how disreputable her friends were (criticism that were not particularly true, but that grew more so with every mention). Chloe had turned to her father for affection, but the man was as closed with his emotions as he was open with his legal knowledge, which he would pedantically share wit her as a substitute, till adolescence when Chloe’s frustration with him turned to anger and she openly defied him and everything he stood for (it was fortunate that I had chosen the legal profession).

12. Of past boyfriends, only hints emerged over the meal: one had worked a motorcycle mechanic in Italy and had treated her very badly, another, who she had mothered, had ended up in jail for possession of drugs, one had been an analytical philosopher at London University (“You don’t have to be Freud to see he was the daddy I never went to bed with”), another a test-car driver for Rover (“To this day I can’t explain that one. I think I liked his Birmingham accent”). But no clear picture was emerging and therefore the picture of her ideal man forming in my head needed constant readjustment. There were things she praised and condemned within sentences of each another, forcing me into a frantic rewriting of the self I wanted to suggest. At one moment she seemed to be praising emotional vulnerability, and at the next, damning it in favour of independence. Whereas honesty was at one point extolled as the supreme value, adultery was at another justified on account of the greater hypocrisy of marriage.

la chica del tripode 2

marzo 21, 2006

la ví y no supe que decir de ella la primera vez. ahora sé que estudia la especialidad de documental. es graciosa. es cubana y tiene alguna relación con nueva york. dijo que no puede competir con mi argentino-alemán con abuela cubana.
le pregunté si era salvadoreña, me recuerda a una salvadoreña.
me dijo que doy pistas… jejeje… solo porque en mi camiseta ponía. I AM A VIRGIN (this is a very old t-shirt)
sonrisa cautivadora.

Is there any future for German youth?

marzo 18, 2006

rodando documentales sobre temas de importancia social, te das cuenta que comparado con un ejemplo cercano como Francia, en los que los jovenes se manifiestan por cuestiones importantes como su futuro.

 Aqui tengo, “gracias a dios”, la posibilidad de grabar unas entrevistas a jovenes que quieren emborracharse.  Bieeeeen!

But “botellón” is not enough, think of the hangover next day! What’s up with the education responsibles, with the music industry and the violent Hip-hop for underaged, the hope our parents put on us….

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NhqKaR_GitM&eurl=

Tempos de menino de Domingo Pellegrini

marzo 17, 2006

Fazia muito tempo que eu nao lía um livro em portugues. Acho que faço mais erros que nunca, mas adorei ler este livro, numa manhazinha sem classe.
Lembrei da voz do meu professor de portugues, do muito que ele fazia trabalhar a gente… ele dizia: – Em trinta minutos voces tem que ter acabado os cinco exercícios.
No começo era dificil, e com o tempo ia se transformando numa competiçao.
Ele morreu, e tinha historias extranhas da sua morte, que se morreu de Aids outra era uma doença que perdía muito peso. Ficou cinza e morreu. Todos acabamos adorando o senhor Humberto. Eu lembro que sabía os textos dos ditados de memoria e às vezes me dizia se tinha erro na palavra que eu estava escrevendo. Também escreví meu primeiro livro, bom livrinho de trinta páginas com ele.
Lendo o livro achei pequenas anotaçoes que nao consegui descifrar, já que poderíam ser qualquer coisa. No fim do livro, eu me explico o que significa Q.H., Q.G. e Q.F. O hagá significa informaçao da personalidade dos personagens. A gé significa onde acontecem as coisas e a efe significa informaçao das características físicas das pessoas.
Lembrei também das vezes que iamos à praia desde Sao Paulo. Na casa do consulado, grande, mais muito grande, no jardím acho que podería caber máis de 15 carros. As janelas com teia de ferro contra os pernilongos, a piscina na frente da porta… essa casinha em Guarujá. Baixavamos em carro desde Sao Paulo pela Serra do Mar, perto de Santos, acho que nao digo besteira e se dizer pesso perdao.
Uma vez lembro de ir com a irma da nossa empregada, a Elvira. A irmazinha devía de ter alguns anos mais do que eu, e com o tempo, foi me contando do que era um beijo, o que era namorar. Nossa senhora, eu acho que fiquei doidao sonhando com o que fosse possível acontecer. Passejar pelas avenidas, matando baratas gigantes.
Em casa, brigas com os pais, jogar com carros teledirigidos, nadar na piscina, bodyboard na praia… nao lembro das coisas positivas das minhas vivências no Brazil. Nao muito…

desgana, descuido, desencuentro, des

marzo 16, 2006

cansancio, talvez motivado por el clima, por el semestre pasado, por no saber librarse de una situación de stress autoinflingida.
ayer descansé, no soy el único que nota el aire que debería ya dejar de ser humedo y frio, para dejar paso a ese reflujo de hormonas primaverales. housekeeping interno.
desinvernalizarse. si creo que esa es la palabra.

ruedo el lunes que viene, no tengo actor, ni actriz, ni localización, ni la certeza de poder usar muebles viejos de una dexailleria.