Wonderwall.

So. Im writing out of boredom. Not to make you feel bad or anything. Ok, this was my day. After I gave you a ride I returned home and fell asleep. I don’t really remember if I had any dreams, but I think so. When I woke up I was thinking of oreo cookies. REAL BAD. So I went and got some. Oreos got me thinking about Orion. And when I start thinking about stars I know my mind can wonder for hours. And it did. Now the problem is that, since I slept a lot, I can’t sleep now. Which sucks, because now I will stay up all night. Well, no, it does not suck so much. Probably I will read all night, which is pretty much ok. I also feel like taking a walk... actually thats just what I’ll do. I don’t even know if Im gonna send you this. Maybe I’ll put it in my blog so next time you see it, there is a text in english. And not only SOME text in english, but one specially taylored for you. Well, since other people are probably going to read this now, it shouldn’t get too personal. I’m shy.

The first half of the day went like this. At about 9 in the morning I was a awoken by a cellphone message from Mike, my good old friend in the far North. The ringing and the rumbling of the phone in my desk made a pretty awkward noise, and it took me a second to realize what it was. Anyway, I took my phone and became puzzled by my friend’s message. “Today I woke up hungry for a brunette”; it read. Of course, he is no cannibal, and his literary figure was more than clear. It was funny to think that, 1300km North from where I was, Mike was starting his day with a sex-craving, and a very specific one too. I wonder if he got any. After that, I fell asleep again. Then my phone started it’s ringing and rumbling all over again, and I had time to wonder whether it might be Mike again, perhaps feeling like sharing more of his early morning thoughts. But no, this time it was my girlfriend asking me to help her with an exam/homework/thing. Being the gentleman I am, I was unable to say no. I took a shower and went to her place, to gladly find that she had already done most of the exam, and that practically all of it was correct. She still had some things to take care of, so we decided to meet later and eat together.

Then I went back home. Shortly after, she arrived at my place and we watched the Sweden Vs Paraguay game. We ate and then I gave her a ride home. When I returned, I felt aslpeep, and now I’m writing out of boredom, not to make her feel bad or anyth—wait I’m having a deja-vu here. It some how feels like I had already said that... Have I become traped in a never-ending vortex of senseless-selfrepeating madness!?!?!
Eh... no, it seems not. Ok so basically I didn’t do much today, and the lady who was supposed to call me for a translation job (bitch) didn’t called. I still have some hope she will call and we can come to an acceptable fee. I mean, I do need the money. And she needs the translation, I think.

Now, on a different subject. Lets talk about wood. Yes, wood. A good old wood-talk, thats right. I like pine wood. But I like the forests better, and people shouldn’t cut trees down if until they are a certain size and should always plant more trees than they cut. And have a permit. Thats it. Thats my wood-talking.

I suck at wood-talk.

All Stars.

Hace tiempo que no escribía acá. Han pasado muchas cosas en mi vida últimamente, pero una descripción concienzuda sería tediosa, a pesar de estar salpicada de momentos cursísimos. He conocido mucha gente interesante, y ciertamente hay un par de sagas que merecen ser contadas, como el reto que resulta leer Memín Pingüin a una sueca. Hoy comenzó el mundial, así que por el próximo mes el fútbol es la cosa más importante del planeta (y por ende, si nos ponemos evidencistas, del universo conocido) (y si nos ponemos geocentristas, del universo a secas).

Hoy pensé en la moda retro. Bueno, de hecho estaba pensando en los valores inherentes que se le atribuyen a las nociones estéticas, y la forma en que son criticadas. Concluyo que como en casi todo, los retrofílicos se pueden dividir en apocalípticos e integrados. Está el retro-camp y el retro-kitsch. Comenzaré por el segundo, por que me parece más común y mas divertido.

El retro-kitsch le confiere alguna cualidad noble al pasado, y siente auténtica nostalgia por los 60s, aun si nació en los 80s. Viste ropa anticuada (que paradójicamente, está de moda) a manera de protesta y busca regresar a la autenticidad perdida; idealiza algunos aspectos de una época e ignora otros. Nadie extraña a Nixon. Piensa genuinamente que pertenece a una minoría, y que su manifestación en honesta y válida; e incluso quizá lo sea en cierto modo. Es éste regreso a la inocencia lo que le motiva.

El reto-camp, por otra parte, se burla del retro-kitsch o de la época que éste añora. Como todo lo camp, éste medianamente mordaz individuo también está seguro de estar saliéndose con la suya; se ve a si mismo en posición de burlarse de los demás y en su mente es un bribón consumado. ¡Pilluelo! Desde luego, muestra un entusiasmo desmedido en su pasión en turno, y quizá gaste más que el auténtico retrófilo, por que, por supuesto, compra su ropa en tiendas de marca.

Se me ocurre ahora un tercer tipo, el que solo está interesado en la moda. Podría incluso no saber que las playeras con el cuello de otro color y los pisos en ajedrez eran lo último en 1954-pero eso no importa. Lo que le importa es que esas camisas están en su tienda favorita y que alguien en el último reality show usa una. Ninguna ideología ni manierismos afectados y pretenciosos, nomás verse bien.

Mañana: On Chick Flicks!