Amapolas' Backup Text

*March 28 2002, Thursday

Waiting for my son to be born. He should have been born by now, but there are

no signs of delivery yet. I'm eager, dull, low-spirited and pessimistic. I know

I shouldn't worry, but I do. My mother taught me to worry --incessantly,

dramatically, rather absurdly. Not that she wanted to or that I resent her...

But I was with her as a child all the long evenings when my father hadn't come

back yet and we were there just waiting for him to arrive. He earned his living

as a sales representative, and as such he spent most of his time in the road,

in a time (the mid-seventies) when no mobile phones were known. My mother was

very much distressed when half past nine PM had struck and he wasn't back home

yet. But she didn't suffer either silently or expressionlessly, and I was there

by her side, soaking up all her restlessness positively silent and

expressionless. I grew up constantly worrying about my father's delays,

worrying as a child worries --with terror, in solitude. Anxiety is now a key

component of my personality. I only hope being intelligent enough not to pass

it on my son, when it comes out, if it comes out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*April 26 2002, Friday

He finally came out, alas, on April the fourth in very rough weather. Alike

unpleasant days followed that very one, making it frustrating not being able to

take the baby out to the street for a walk.

I don't know any popular children songs like the ones my mother used to sing to

me when I was a child. That's a problem now, because I don't know what to sing

to my son when trying to appease him or when playing around with him.

But then one day we woke up and the sun was there! The song came to my lips

almost instinctively, and with Mika in my arms while dancing around I began to

sing it aloud to him...

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say it's all right

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter Little darling, it feels

like years since it's been here Here comes the sun, here comes the sun and I

say it's all right

To my delight and surprise, Mika was responsive to the song --he seemed to like

it. Did that mean my problem was solved? I tried some other beautiful Beatles

songs, and again the response was good -- they're so melodic, have such a clear

sound, are so apparently easy and unpretentious, that I think they're

completely suitable for babies. I winamped him Blackbird, Hey Jude, Cry Baby

Cry (this one I didn't mean him to take it verbatim), Golden Slumbers, I Wanna

Hold Your Hand...

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces Little darling, it seems like

years since it's been here Here comes the sun, here comes the sun and I say

it's all right

Now the song's become a classic also, and above all, between us. And while

he'll grow up unaware of all this, I'll grow older happier with the memory of

his little head over my shoulder whenever he happens to fall asleep to the

voice of old Harrison celebrating, well, life in itself.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*May 28 2002, Tuesday

This morning I've taken Mika to a very nice square here in Palma. I love the

place because of its placidness and its rather lonely character,

notwithstanding the fact that it's located right at downtown. It's an ample but

cosy space, with a remarkable double line of low trees forming a way which it

reminds me of an agora's stoa. At one side of the square there is a brushed

piece of empty ground. Such spaces have always caught my attention in such a

way that I actively search for them when walking the streets of a city --they

stand out as a wild challenge to the usually rational vulgarity of the

buildings surrounding them. Closing the square by the south there is the back

side of Palma's oldest grammar school --very much looking like the one I went

to in my hometown.

Sat in a bench while reading the last pages of Somerset Maugham's The Narrow

Corner, with Mika placidly slept in his buggy by my side, wheels blocked, I've

thought about how simple my life has become since my son was born —mornings

I take care of him, afternoons I go to work. Anything else is unimportant. Two

months ago I wouldn't have allowed myself to idle around like this. Today I

rejoice while doing it. The pleasure of reading a good book in a beautiful

place with your son by your side, the sun shining, and no further assignments.

My cousin Eva María, a very recent mother too, told me some days ago that she

wanted her son Román to learn how to make his own life easy, as that was the

only way for him to get to understand life in full complexity.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*September 12 2002, Thursday

A dear friend of mine says he needs time to assess our friendship, which he

calls 'slippery'. In the meantime, he doesn't want to communicate with me. I

wonder if he's aware of the fact that our friendship is our communication,

mainly computer-mediated --take away email, and little is left, other than the

good will and the good remembrances. What he must be assessing, I wonder as

well. Our friendship is not very demanding, in the ordinary way: we don't see

each other very much, we live very independent lives, and we seldom ask favours

each other... It can't be that he thinks that by putting an end to our

friendship he'll be liberated from many obligations he doesn't want to bear

anymore. I might think that his main concern is about confidence. First: Am I

worthwhile the trouble of speaking to me about him? And second: Am I

trustworthy enough not to take advantage of whatever he tells me? Well, that

could be. But I'm more inclined to locate the problem elsewhere: that he's fed

up with me, actually, and has no interest whatsoever in keeping on knowing

about me.

His last email was so astoundingly childlike and humourless that I think

there's an underlying cause for his dislike about me he's not fully aware of,

so that he needs a putative motive to refer his discontent to. What it is the

real problem, I don't know. Why the hate element in the love-hate pair every

friendship is inevitably made of has taken now the lead, I don't know. I feel

that from some time now he's been a little uncomfortable with my being around

(virtually). Well, it happens sometimes: you simply get tired of people you

formerly liked. Perhaps that's what he needs time to discover: whether he's

happier without my being around, virtually and eventually physically.

And that's very unfortunate for me. I miss him, already. Things which would go

all the way from my mind to his and would come back enriched to me, must remain

unsaid now. I lose, but does he gain?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*January 9 2004, Friday

After the clock had finished announcing the new year's entry, and after she had

complied with the rituals attached to the occasion, I noticed Julia discreetly

slipped off to the room Mika was placidly sleeping in, to kiss him happy new

year. Nobody else realized she was absent while she was; she said nothing when

she came back to the party --that's Julia's way. But it was so tender an act,

so basic and intimate a celebration, that I got moved. No doubt hers are the

true colors of love.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Wednesday, September 15, 2004

Aside from the anxiety about his health, I'm having the greatest of times with

my boy. He was all I needed to be happy, now I know. It's real fun to be with

him and watch him grow older, by the day. I'm excited about the future; I

wouldn't like to die today.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

FUN, SUN, BEACH, AND PEACE OF MIND

*Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Oh my god, today's just one of these days, when you can't avoid thinking you're

a failure and that your life's a waste... And your music sounds awful, the

computer crashes and the good spirits of the day before seem lost forever, till

the next day or next hour when everything's fine again...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Friday, April 22, 2005

Just for the sake of recording: Mika made today his first ever complex

grammatical mistake --the typical one resulting from transposition of function

between parts of the sentence. He was playing with a stick in the manner of a

fishing rod when he spoke out he had just caught a big fish with the 'pesca de

canyar'!

Next landmark will be when he'll first get socially embarrassed for future

instances of that same mistake. Hope I'll be reporting it here as well.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Saturday, April 23, 2005

About tramps, two stories.

It's not unusual here for homeless people in winter to take refuge and spend

the night at one or another of the roomy, covered, weather-isolated sundry

downtown cash dispensers. They get there and spread their rugs and blankets all

over the place, making themselves at ease, frightening away with their mere

presence any unsuspected bank client who happens to get there.

In my way back home from work I usually go past one of the tramps' favourites

spots, that of La Caixa. I was in the point of hardly noticing them anymore

when one evening I had to step back to check whether what my side vision had

perceived was true or not... and to my amused commotion, I found out my senses

hadn't betrayed me —there he was, the guy, comfortably lying over his

cardboards, cushioned in blankets and reclined upon the wall, while having an

obvious agreeable conversation... through his mobile phone!

--

One gets so used to the humble, low-headed, sometimes mutilated, politically

correct beggar you invariably find at the gates or the stairs of every Catholic

church in town that when you find one, as I did yesterday, who specifically

asked for two euros, and when ignored retorted not loudly but perfectly

audible, 'i si no que te fotin pes cul', cannot avoid feeling quite an

appreciation for him...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*28-4-2005

THERE ARE NO ALIENS IN THE INTERNET

Estic llegint (encara) les Confessions d'en Rousseau. Diu:

Els diners que es tenen són l'instrument de la llibertat; els que es

persegueixen ho són de la servitud. Heus aquí per què estalvio i no desitjo

res.

També diu, parlant d'un cosí amb el qual va passar bona part de l'infantesa, en

un comentari que reproduesc perquè copsa una realitat singular i íntima que sé

del cert que també trobaríem, si cercàvem, en qualque moment del nostre passat:

No ens hem tornat ni a escriure ni a veure mai més. Es una llàstima: era d'un

caràcter essencialment bo: estàvem fets per a estimar-nos.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*30-4-2005

Patrimonio. Una historia verdadera ('Patrimony. A true story', 1991), d'en

Philip Roth no és una novel.la extraordinària, però el seu caràcter biogràfic,

amb una remarcable, obscena sinceritat (a l'estil d'Experiència, d'en Martin

Amis, que és molt superior), i la intel·ligència clara del seu autor la fan

interessant, i de vegades, estimable.

Camí de casa de son pare per comunicar-li la seva (de son pare) malaltia fatal,

Philip agafa la sortida d'autopista equivocada —en una equivocació que no

sap si atribuir enterament a la casualitat— i arriba al cementeri on hi ha

enterrada sa mare:

Lo que demuestran los cementerios, al menos a las personas como yo, no es que

los muertos estén presentes, sino que ya se han ido. Ellos se han ido y

nosotros, por el momento, aquí estamos. Esto es fundamental y, por inaceptable

que resulte, muy fácil de entender.

Analitzant el comportament de son pare l'endemà mateix de la mort de la seva

dona, Philip observa que:

Fue el primitivismo de mi padre lo que más sorprendido me dejó. Allí solo,

vaciando los cajones y los armarios de mi madre, parecía impulsado por un

instinto que quizá pudiera considerarse natural en una fiera o en un salvaje,

pero que iba en contra de todos o casi todos los ritos mortuorios que la

sociedad ha ido creando para mitigar la sensación de pérdida en quienes

sobreviven a la muerte de un ser querido. Y sin embargo, también había algo

casi admirable en esta resolución despiadadamente realista de admitir, al

instante, que ahora ya era un viejo que vivía solo y que las reliquias

simbólicas en modo alguno podían sustituir a quien había sido su auténtica

compañera durante cincuenta y cinco años. No me pareció que fuera por miedo al

poder espectral que pudieran poseer las cosas de mi madre por lo que quería

desembarazar de ellas su casa, sin dilación —enterrarlas ya—, sino más

bien porque se negaba a eludir el más brutal de todos los hechos.

Ja mort Herman Roth, Philip té un somni, jo diria que profund:

El sueño me decía que —ya que no en mis libros ni en mi vida—, al menos

en mis sueños yo seguiría siendo para siempre el hijo niño de mi padre, con la

conciencia de un hijo niño, y que él seguiría vivo no sólo como padre mío, sino

como padre, en permanente juicio de todas mis acciones.

Llegiré altres coses d'en Philip Roth. He sentit a dir que la seva millor

nove.la és Portnoy's Complaint, 'El lamento de Portnoy'. No cal dir que agrairé

qualsevol recomanació o comentari que, a través del botó de 'Comments', qualcú

tengui l'amabilitat de fer.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*02-04-2005

Al final del llibre primer, tot fent referència al mestre gravador que, per mor

del seu comportament tirànic, va desviar Rousseau de practicar la professió per

sempre més, Jean-Jacques se lamenta, profundament, així:

'Abans d'abandonar-me a la fatalitat del meu destí, permeteu-me que giri un

moment els ulls sobre el que m'esperava de natural si hagués caigut a mans d'un

mestre millor. No hi havia res més convenient per al meu humor, ni més adient

per fer-me feliç que l'estat tranquil i gris d'un bon artesà, en certes

classes, sobretot, tal com és a Ginebra la dels gravadors. Aquest estat, prou

lucratiu per a donar-me una subsistència còmoda, i no el suficient per a fer

una fortuna, hauria limitat la meva ambició per a la resta de la meva vida i,

tot deixant-me un oci honest per a conrear gustos moderats, m'hauria fet restar

a la meva esfera, sense donar-me mitjans per a sortir-ne. Amb una imaginació

prou rica per adornar amb les seves quimeres tots els estats, prou potent per a

transportar-me, per dir-ho així, al meu grat de l'un a l'altre, no m'importava

gaire de debò en quin fos. No hi podia haver gaire distància entre el lloc on

era i el primer castell a Espanya que no pogués saltar amb la imaginació.

D'això se'n dedueix que l'estat que més em convenia era el més senzill, aquell

que provocava menys maldecaps i menys cura, aquell que deixava l'esperit més

lliure; i aquest era precisament el meu. Hauria passat al si de la meva

religió, de la meva pàtria, de la meva família i dels meus amics una vida

tranquil·la i dolça, la que convenia al meu caràcter, en la uniformitat d'una

feina del meu gust i d'una societat d'acord amb el meu tarannà. Hauria estat un

bon cristià, un bon ciutadà, un bon pare de família, un bon amic, un bon obrer,

un bon home en tots els sentits. Hauria estimat la meva condició, l'hauria

honorada potser, i després d'haver passat una vida obscura i senzilla, però

igual i dolça, hauria mort possiblement al costat dels meus. Aviat oblidat,

sens dubte, això no obstant, m'haurien plorat tant de temps com s'haurien

recordat de mi.

En lloc d'això... Quin quadre he de presentar? Ah!, no anticipem les misèries

de la meva vida; ja ocuparé a bastament els meus lectors amb aquest tema tan

trist.'

Això és commovedor, o almenys així ho sent jo, i em fa pensar en mi mateix, no

pas perquè em vulgui comparar amb en Rousseau, és clar, sinó perquè vivint jo

la vida modesta i ordenada, de felicitat casolana per la qual ell se'n delia,

la inquietud, el petit desassossec, guaiten per la finestra oposada, la de

l'excel·lència intel·lectual no aconseguida, la del reconeixement públic, la de

l'estatus social que no he gosat perseguir...

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Last evening I saw The Ring. Please don't go on reading if you plan to see it

since this entry is a complete spoiler for the film.

And good grief, I got scared! The film isn't perfect at all —the middle

part, where the story develops, it's lame and unimaginative; the recourse to an

undisclosed dream, cheap; and they don't know what to do with the (already

archetypical) paranormal child in the end. But the movie's beginning is indeed

terrifying, due to two remarkable facts. First, the simplicity of the plot

—you see a particular video tape, get a phone call the very moment it ends

announcing you're done... and you die in seven days, period. Second, while

they're looking at the tape, you're seeing it, too, full screen... And you

can't avoid some perspiration at the thought of the phone ringing, right then,

by your side...

And then, when everything seems to indicate they're going to resort to the

expected presumedly unexpected big end fright, they don't... Instead, they

manage to get to a more refined, startling, and funny finale, where the tape

itself is, how could I put it, a kind of forgiving meme with those who get it

copied... and a ring indeed.

I'll see part two tonight. I'll let you know...

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Sunday, May 08, 2005

'PLEASE DON'T ARRANGE TO HAVE ME SENT TO NO ASYLUM'

Rousseau exposa la seua gran màxima de moral. I ho fa convincement, perquè hi

va arribar gràcies a, o per culpa de, son pare. La cosa va així:

Mon pare no solament era un home d'honor, era un home d'una probitat segura, i

tenia una d'aquelles ànimes fortes que generen gran virtuts; a més, era bon

pare, sobretot per a mi. M'estimava amb tendresa; però estimava també els seus

plaers, i altres gustos havien refredat una mica l'afecte paternal, d'ençà que

vivia lluny d'ell. A Nyon s'havia tornat a casar [...] Mon pare envellia i no

tenia cap bé per a sostenir la seva vellesa. Teníem, mon germà i jo, alguns

béns de ma mare, la renda dels quals va anar a parar a mon pare durant el

nostre allunyament. [...] Aquesta és també la raó per la qual, tot i anar-lo a

veure sovint, després de la meva fugida, vaig rebre d'ell sempre carícies de

pare, però sense gaires esforços per retenir-me.

I continua per arribar a on volia:

Aquest comportament d'un pare, la tendresa i la virtut del qual he conegut molt

bé, m'ha fet fer unes reflexions sobre mi mateix que han contribuït força a

mantenir-me amb el cor sa. N'he tret aquesta gran màxima de moral, l'única

potser d'ús pràctic, la d'evitar les situacions que posen els nostres deures en

oposició als nostres interessos i que ens mostren el nostre bé en el mal

d'altri [...]

Si. Em declar rousseaunià en aquest punt. De fet, sempre m'ha causat una certa

confusió moral l'actitud d'aquells, per exemple, que després d'una tragèdia

familiar (la mort d'un fill, posem por cas) s'hi dediquen amb cor i ànima a

l'obtenció d'una indemnització milionària. La mateixa incomoditat que em

produeix, també per exemple, sentir la coneguda cançó d'en Clapton, Tears in

heaven. posted by Eduard at 19:35

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Sunday, May 15, 2005

'COLLECTING TEARDROPS IN A PAPER CUP'

I asked my friend J890 to start a blog. He replied he considered it many times

in the past but never made his mind up about it... Well, read what he has to

say about it and judge, first, if I should have let his thoughts only known to

him and me:

He estado pensando un poco sobre ello y tengo algunas ideas iniciales, pero aún

están inmaduras.

Por una parte, un blog tiene (o puede tener) una componente de diario personal,

algo que ya de entrada siempre he sido reticente a comenzar, aún no sé por qué.

Un diario personal, así como cualquier escrito que uno se guarda para sí mismo,

es (o puede ser) un espacio íntimo y libre de creación, muchas veces de

reflexión, en mi caso también de estructuración y maduración de ideas, o

incluso lo más lejos que pueden llegar algunos pensamientos o sentimientos

íntimos. Así, un diario personal tiene como atractivos, por una parte, el puro

placer de la creación (porque escribir es crear), por otra, el beneficio del

ejercicio de reflexión al que te obliga, y finalmente, un incalculable valor

documental para uno mismo. A menudo me he sentido incapaz de recordar cómo me

sentía o qué pensaba en cierta época de mi vida, y eso puede ser muchas veces

una gran pérdida (o quizá no) para el desarrollo o la autoconsciencia de uno. O

simplemente para recordar en qué año fue uno a Argentina y que vio/sintió

cuando allí estuvo, o que errores cometió en cada momento de su vida y que

lecciones aprendió de ellos. Guardo los mensajes que envío y las cartas que

escribo, pero no siempre lo he hecho, y tampoco queda almacenado de una forma

cómoda de recuperar o buscar, y siempre hay grandes lagunas. Un diario personal

bien estructurado en un blog puede cubrir todo eso.

Por otro lado, un blog es público, lo cual añade a todo lo anterior el morbo,

la incertidumbre y la inquietud del potencial de éxito y de fracaso, así como

una mezcla de orgullo y humildad. Añade nuevos objetivos potenciales: el de ser

útil o placentero para otros, lo que puede traducirse en beneficios

adicionales: el placer de ayudar o gustar, el del reconocimiento, o simplemente

mejorar la comunicación con las personas próximas al dejar a la luz detalles de

uno mismo que en el día a día quedan ocultos, algo que tanto temo como deseo,

etc...

Invitar a otros a conocer mi blog me incomoda: me resulta al mismo tiempo un

acto de humildad y una falta de modestia. Es una de esas cosas que uno quisiera

que sucedieran pero sin propiciarlas activamente. Un blog me hace sentir más

vulnerable, igual que al principio de mi relación con KB35 me sentí vulnerable

porque podía ver como ella empezaba a saber más de mí que nadie, cosa que por

otra parte deseaba. Y si lo pienso con detenimiento sigue siendo así: soy más

vulnerable porque KB35 podría hacerme más daño que nadie, aunque seguramente

también me siento aliviado por haber compartido ciertas cosas con ella.

En fin, para los que, como yo, son tímidos, introvertidos y encuentran en la

escritura un espacio olvidado, anárquico y personal de placer, creación,

destape y crecimiento interior... un blog es un "ni contigo ni sin ti" ;-).

The second question you should decide: can the world afford such a loss of

talent? Please vote via comments whether he should immediately start his blog

or go on depriving humanity of his genius...

And alas! What I say of J890 I could say as well of T422...

PS. J890 words reproduced with permission. First names masked. posted by

Eduard at 21:02 0 comments

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Sunday, May 22, 2005

'Ain't nobody but me gonna lie for you, gonna die for you'

Hay que razonar con los niños

Fernando Savater's El valor de educar is a very good essay (with the only

exception perhaps of the epilog, not so for its contents but for the

patronising tone). At the end, Savater includes a selection of excerpts --and

three of them are exceptional. The first one belongs to Locke (Header, above,

to Savater):

Quizá pueda asombrar que recomiende razonar con los niños y sin embargo no

puedo dejar de pensar que es la verdadera manera en que hay que comportarse con

ellos. Entienden las razones desde que saben hablar y, si no me equivoco,

gustan de ser tratados como criaturas razonables desde mucho antes de lo que

suele imaginarse. Se trata de una especie de orgullo que hay que desarrollar en

ellos y del que hay que servirse tanto como sea posible, a modo de poderoso

instrumento para conducirles.

Pero cuando hablo de razonamientos entiendo solamente los que se refieren a la

inteligencia y están al alcance del espíritu del niño. Nadie supone que pueda

argumentarse con un niño de tres o ni siquiera de siete años como con un hombre

maduro. Los largos discursos y los razonamientos filosóficos asombran todo lo

más y confunden el espíritu del niño, pero no lo instruyen. Cuando digo que hay

que tratarlos como a criaturas razonables, entiendo pues que debéis hacerles

comprender por la suavidad de vuestros modales y por el aire tranquilo que

conservaréis hasta en vuestras reprimendas que lo que hacéis es razonable en sí

mismo, al mismo tiempo que útil y necesario para ellos; que no es por capricho,

por pasión o por fantasía por lo que les ordenáis o les prohibís esto o

aquello. Eso están perfectamente capacitados para comprenderlo y no hay virtud

ni vicio de los que no puedan entender por qué la una se les recomienda y el

otro se les prohibe: lo único que hace falta es elegir las razones apropiadas

para su edad y para su inteligencia, y exponérselas siempre claramente y con

pocas palabras. Los principios sobre los que reposan la mayoría de los deberes

y las fuentes del bien y del mal del que brotan tales principios no siempre es

fácil explicarlos ni siquiera a hombres hechos y derechos, cuando no están

acostumbrados a abstraer sus pensamientos de las opiniones comúnmente

recibidas. Con mayor razón todavía los niños son incapaces de razonar sobre

principios un poco elevados. No sienten la fuerza de una larga deducción. Las

razones que les convencen son razones familiares, al nivel de sus pensamientos,

razones sensibles y palpables, si puedo expresarme así. Pero si se tiene

consideración de su edad, de su temperamento y de sus gustos, nunca se dejará

de encontrar motivos de ese tipo que puedan persuadirles. Y si no se encontrase

otra razón más pertinente, lo que siempre comprenderán y bastará para

apartarles de una falta de las que pueden cometer es que esa falta les

desacredita y les deshonra, que os disgusta.

(JOHN LOCKE, Algunos pensamientos sobre educación, sec. VIII)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

5/26/2005 10:35:00 AM

Listen to this little, harmless, laughable, almost poetical instance of

parental frustrated aspiration projected onto the offspring, of mine:

In due time, my son will discover the almost-hidden small collection of unused

but beautiful math books I got some years ago, before I gave up any hopes of

majoring in Mathematics. He'll be fascinated and will read them up through

sleepless nights, and that will be the starting gun in his way to become the

genius mathematician of the century.

N.B. Mika, if you ever read this, and you happen to be a healthy, happy

woodcutter, have not doubt I'll be the proudest and merriest of parents ;-)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Sunday, May 29, 2005

'They tell you not to hang around and learn what life's about'

Objetivos de la instrucción pública

The second excerpt I'll reproduce from among the ones Savater kindly shares

with the reader comes from Condorcet. It's obvious what is superb about the

text —its extraordinary precision, succinctness, and lucidity. I'm sure X66M

will enjoy it as much as I do, regardless of our small discrepancies on public

education.

Ofrecer a todos los individuos de la especie humana los medios de proveer a sus

necesidades, de asegurar su bienestar, de conocer y ejercer sus derechos, de

entender y cumplir sus deberes; asegurar a cada uno de ellos la facilidad de

perfeccionar su industria, de capacitarse para las funciones sociales a las

cuales tiene derecho a ser llamado, de desarrollar en toda su extensión los

talentos que ha recibido de la naturaleza, y de este modo establecer entre los

ciudadanos una igualdad de hecho, y hacer real la igualdad política reconocida

por la ley: tal debe ser el primer objetivo de una instrucción nacional y,

desde este punto de vista, constituye para el poder público un deber de

justicia.

(CONDORCET, Informe y proyecto de decreto sobre la organización general de la

instrucción pública, 1792)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Thursday, June 02, 2005 'LA MáS PROHIBIDA DE TODAS LAS FRUTAS'

Signs I'm growing old

I'll rather remove from my playlist a high-pitched song I'm fond of, just

because of its stridency, than an ordinary song I don't specially like, just

because it's not loud.

Signs I've become a father

Now I find myself in the other side of the lyrics, and find them a little bit

unfair. Because, Roger, we're in fact old; and because we're wise, too, we'll

let them criticize, but not hanging around too much, won't we? And if teachers

tell our sons to stop their play and get on with their work, isn't that right?

Making good boys of them, isn't that fine?

I can see you in the morning when you go to school Don't forget your books, you

know you've got to learn the golden rule, Teacher tells you stop your play and

get on with your work And be like Johnnie. too-good, well don't you know he

never shirks

- he's coming along!

After School is over you're playing in the park Don't be out too late, don't

let it get too dark They tell you not to hang around and learn what life's

about And grow up just like them. Won't you let it work it out

- and you're full of doubt

Don't do this and don't do that What are they trying to do?- Make a good boy of

you Do they know where it's at? Don't criticize, they're old and wise Do as

they tell you to Don't want the devil to Come out and put your eyes

Maybe I'm mistaken expecting you to fight Or maybe I'm just crazy, I don't know

wrong from right But while I am still living, I've just got this to say It's

always up to you if you want to be that want to see that want to see that way

- you're coming along!

(Supertramp, School)

And then there is the girl leaving home. I had always been fond of her —her

determination and courage. Not anymore. Yes, Paul manages to depict their

parents as nasty, shallow, and materialist, but he disdains they had never a

thought for themselves, sacrificed most of their lives. And she... far away,

meeting a man from a motor trade, isn't that really scary?

Wednesday morning at five o'clock as the day begins Silently closing her

bedroom door Leaving the note that she hope would say more She goes downstairs

to the kitchen clutching her handkerchief Quietly turning the backdoor key

Stepping outside she is free

She (We gave her most of our lives) Is leaving (Sacrificed most of our lives)

Home (We gave her everything money could buy) She's leaving home after living

alone for so many years. Bye, bye

Father snores as his wife gets into the dressing gown Picks up the letter

that's lying there Standing alone at the top of the stairs She breaks down and

cries to her husband Daddy, our baby's gone Why would she treat us so

thoughtlessly How could she do this to me

She (We never thought of ourselves) is leaving (Never a thought for ourselves)

home (We gave her everything money could buy) She's leaving home after living

alone for so many years. Bye, bye

Friday morning at nine o'clock she is far away Waiting to keep the appointment

she made Meeting a man from a motor trade

She (What did we do that was wrong) Is having (We didn't know it was wrong) Fun

(Fun is the one thing that money can't buy)

Something inside that was always denied for so many years She's leaving home,

bye, bye.

(The Beatles, She's leaving home)

I wonder, who will write the songs for us lonely, neglected, despised parents?

posted by Eduard at 10:17

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Friday, June 03, 2005

'LIVING IS EASY WITH EYES CLOSED'

About the French and Dutch rejection to the so-called EU Constitution:

It's the elitism, stupid! posted by Eduard at 23:20 0 comments

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Saturday, June 04, 2005

Innocència: no pensar més enllà d'uns minuts del present. posted by Eduard at

10:34

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Sunday, June 05, 2005

'Before you go to sleep say a little prayer'

No agobiar escolarmente a los hijos

El darrer fragment del llibre de Savater (el títol d'aquesta entrada és seu,

com també ho eren els altres citats) em va produir una mena de shock:

Al rendimiento escolar de nuestros hijos solemos darle una importancia que es

del todo infundada. Y esto no se debe más que al respeto por la pequeña virtud

del éxito. Debería bastarnos que no se quedaran demasiado detrás de los otros,

que no se hicieran suspender en los exámenes; pero no nos contentamos con esto;

queremos de ellos el éxito, queremos que den satisfacciones a nuestro orgullo.

Si van mal en la escuela, o sencillamente no tan bien como nosotros

pretendemos, alzamos de inmediato entre ellos y nosotros la barrera del

descontento constante; adoptamos con ellos el tono de voz irritado y

quejumbroso de quien lamenta una ofensa. Entonces nuestros hijos, hastiados, se

alejan de nosotros. O quizá les secundamos en sus protestas contra los maestros

que no les han comprendido, los declaramos, al unísono con ellos, víctimas de

una injusticia. Y todos los días les corregimos los deberes, nos sentamos a su

lado cuando hacen los deberes, estudiamos con ellos las lecciones. En verdad la

escuela debería ser desde el principio, para un muchacho, la primera batalla

que tiene que afrontar solo, sin nosotros; desde el principio debería estar

claro que ése es su campo de batalla propio, donde no podríamos darle más que

una ayuda del todo ocasional e irrisoria. Y si ahí padece injusticias y resulta

incomprendido, es necesario dejarle entender que eso no tiene nada de raro,

porque en la vida debemos esperar ser continuamente incomprendidos y entendidos

mal, y ser víctimas de la injusticia: lo único que importa es no cometer las

injusticias nosotros mismos.

Los éxitos o fracasos de nuestros hijos los compartimos con ellos porque les

queremos mucho, pero del mismo modo y en igual medida que ellos compartirán, a

medida que vayan creciendo, nuestros éxitos y nuestros fracasos, nuestros

contentos o preocupaciones. Es falso que tengan el deber para con nosotros de

ser aplicados en la escuela y de dar en ella lo mejor de su talento. Su deber

para con nosotros, ya que les hemos proporcionado estudios, no es más que

seguir adelante. Si lo mejor de su talento no quieren dedicarlo a la escuela,

sino emplearlo en otra cosa que les apasione, sea su colección de coleópteros o

el estudio de la lengua turca, es asunto suyo y no tenemos ningún derecho a

reprochárselo, ni mostrarnos ofendidos en nuestro orgullo o frustrados en

nuestra satisfacción. Si lo mejor de su talento no parece que por el momento

tengan deseo de emplearlo en nada, y se pasan los días en el pupitre mordiendo

el lápiz, ni siquiera en tal caso tenemos derecho a regañarles mucho: quién

sabe, quizá lo que a nosotros nos parece ocio son en realidad fantasías y

reflexiones que mañana darán fruto. Si lo mejor de energía y de su talento

parecen desperdiciarlo, tumbados en un sillón leyendo novelas estúpidas o

frenéticos en el campo jugando al fútbol, tampoco esta vez podemos saber si

verdaderamente se trata de un desperdicio de energía y de talento, o si también

esto, mañana, en alguna forma que ahora ignoramos, dará sus frutos. Porque las

posibilidades del espíritu son infinitas. Pero no debemos dejarnos atrapar,

nosotros los padres, por el pánico del fracaso. Nuestros enfados deben ser como

ráfagas de viento o de temporal: violentos pero pronto olvidados; nada que

pueda oscurecer la naturaleza de nuestras relaciones con los hijos, enturbiando

su limpidez y su paz. Estamos aquí para consolar a nuestros hijos, si un

fracaso les ha entristecido; estamos aquí para consolarles, si un fracaso les

ha mortificado. También estamos aquí para bajarles los humos, si un éxito les

ha ensoberbecido. Estamos aquí para reducir la escuela a sus humildes y

angostos límites; nada que pueda hipotecar el futuro; un simple ofrecimiento de

herramientas, entre los cuales es posible elegir uno del que disfrutar mañana.

Lo único que debemos tener en cuenta en la educación es que en nuestros hijos

nunca disminuya el amor a la vida. Eso puede revestir diversas formas, y a

menudo un muchacho desarrollado, solitario y esquivo no carece de amor por la

vida, ni está oprimido por el pánico de vivir, sino sencillamente en estado de

espera, atento a prepararse a sí mismo para su propia vocación. Y ¿qué otra

cosa es la vocación de un ser humano, sino la más alta expresión de su amor por

la vida?

(NATALIA GINZBURG, Las pequeñas virtudes)

Això és saviesa.

I com que tanta saviesa no podia ser producte de la casualitat o de l'atzar,

vaig pensar que em convenia fer una ullada al llibre d'aquesta autora, per mi

desconeguda. Per fortuna el vaig trobar i l'he llegit. Es italiana i té un

talent per l'escriptura formidable, escandalós. I escric a la manera de Pla

perquè a Pla em recorda —i a Highsmith, i a Somerset Maugham. Stay tuned.

posted by Eduard at 22:20

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Wednesday, June 15, 2005

'Apartem els núvols que ens amaguen la claror'

Què hi ha a la base del desordre? La peresa.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Monday, June 20, 2005

'Esta forma tan cobarde de no decirnos que no'

Wonderful first day of beach yesterday evening at Peguera. I was joyous to see

how Mika's grown up —in size as well as in ways of doing— since the

previous summer.

Lately, it seems as if having children learn to swim the early the better (at

one, two, or three years-old) is the parents' mission number one —swimming

pools crowd with toddlers. But one figure I'd like to know — the ratio of

swimmers versus not swimmers who drown every year. I'd venture the ratio be

greater than one — that people who can swim drown more often than those who

cannot, just because they take far greater risks.

If my guess is true, and you add to that how many infections children get at

swimming pools; the horrible whiff of hot air when you go inside covered pools;

the disgust and dangers of filthy shower floors; and how far away, as a rule,

swimming pools are from home, I think my son will learn to swim from me, at the

beach, when he'll be seven or eight years old. Surely he'll swim as clumsily as

I do... Good enough, though, to survive a mere capsizing and bad enough to dare

chance those silly red flags...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Thursday, June 23, 2005 What crisis?

I don't rush anymore to answer the phone in dismay, if Júlia and Mika are at

home at night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Tuesday, June 28, 2005 'Aprendre que en certesa res no tinc si no m’ho

dónes'

'Cuidaet a l'eixir', my grandfather used to say to me every time I rushed with

the bike to the gates; 'El meu xiquet', with a big smile, whenever he greeted

me. He was a tender, grumpy, kind-hearted man. I managed to have all my

elementary school' arts and crafts' assignments made by him —while my

brother did my paintings— and so they made a good-for-nothing anti-handyman

of me, but what the hell? They saved me a lot of trouble back then, and I'm

thankful. I remember with special fondness what at the moment and many years

from then I saw as an incredible feat. The teacher had ordered to have all and

each of our 'regletes' marked with our names. There were hundreds, thousands,

millions of regletes in the box —my abatement was great, I was sure I

wouldn't be able to ever complete the task; and then, when come back from

school the following day, I found my name marked in all and each of them —

God, grandfather! Thanks for that, and for all your love, too.

posted by Eduard at 10:57

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Friday, July 22, 2005 'Acá está lindo'

Criatura dolcíssima... Es ben coneguda la història del poema; com Llach,

involuntàriament, en transcriure'l per musicar-lo transposà te per ve i

transformà així per sempre el 'jo t'inventava noms i altres carícies' pel

colpidor 'jo t'intentava noms'. Això i la tremenda força lírica dels versos, i

el fet, preciós per com indica humana complexitat, de ser-ne Fuster l'autor

—murri, malcarat, punyent, malsofrit, monstre de la raó— fan d'aquests

uns dels més bonics versos que mai s'han escrit en llengua catalana.

_______________

He sentit pena i alegria per Mika aquests dies... Alegria per veure com creix,

com madura el seu cervell. Pena perquè, a poc a poc, i per aquest mateix motiu,

va abandonant la felicitat sui generis de la infància i perquè això crea un

sofriment nou, que arriba per quedar-s'hi. Abans era desgraciat i plorava o era

feliç i reia, però això era tot —eren sentiments instantanis, actuals,

producte de situacions reals i concretes, singulars. Ara, per contra, és capaç

d'anticipar els esdeveniments, de situar-los en el futur i contemplar-los des

d'aquesta perspectiva; i clar, també d'experimentar potencialment, respecte a

ells, sentiments de por i d' inquietud, de recança. Benvingut a la vida, fill

meu, aquesta contínua ansietat...

_______________

Diu Savater a 'El valor de educar':

'A lo largo de la historia los moralistas han concentrado unánimamente su

mensaje en tres virtudes esenciales de las que se deducen con más o menos

facilidad todas las demás: el coraje para vivir frente a la muerte, la

generosidad para convivir con los semejantes y la prudencia para sobrevivir

entre necesidades que no podemos abolir'.

Estic molt d'acord amb les virtuts esmentades; tan sols alteraria l'ordre de

les dues primeres —generositat davant el fet de la mort (que evita que ens

repleguem completament dins de nosaltres mateixos, i que fa que, malgrat

saber-nos limitats absolutament en el temps, en donem als altres) i coratge per

conviure en societat, que això sí que té mèrit...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Sunday, September 11, 2005 This quiet corner at the shadow of the Internet

Mika comença l'escola dijous. La setmana passada, la mestra ens reuní per

explicar-nos com aniria tot i donar-nos les instruccions pertinents. També ens

va passar un petit qüestionari amb preguntes referents al caràcter, aficions i

altres aspectes semblants dels nostres fills. Una de les qüestions incloses era

la següent:

Quin aspecte li preocupa més de l'educació del seu fill/a?

Què dimonis, vaig pensar. Per què pregunten. I vaig contestar:

Que pares exorbitats, juntament amb professors desmotivats, en escoles

imprudentment infradotades, d'idearis romànticament disfuncionals, en un

marasme de lleis frívolament enactades i derogades, acabin aixecant un mur de

mediocritat que deixi, en una banda, el meu fill; i en l'altra, inexplorat, el

saber humà i la joia d'acostar-s'hi.

Però Júlia no m'hi va deixar presentar-lo. Així que vaig escriure:

Que li peguin i no se torni

:-)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Friday, September 30, 2005 'Dile a papá que me voy de la ciudad'

He vist i disfrutat l'entrevista que Joaquín Soler Serrano va fer a Josep Pla

l'any 76 dins la sèrie 'A fondo' de Televisió espanyola. Més enllà de comprovar

que és ver tot allò que Pla va escriure d'ell mateix —la timidesa, la manca

d'eloqüència, l'escassa fe en la humanitat—, i de constatar-ne l'humilitat i

la lúcida sinceritat amb què Pla s'hi descriu, allò que realment copsa i admira

—i que, potser paradoxalment, se fa evident veient-lo i escoltant-lo més que

no llegint-lo— és que es tracta d'un home, d’una banda, profundament

lliure; i de l’altra, desacomplexadament, naturalment, exclusivament català.

Ahir vaig sentir una bona definició de solitud —que ningú no pensi en tu.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Friday, October 14, 2005 'All apologies'

Hi ha dies que, no en sé el motiu, aconseguesc llevar-me les ulleres del donar

les coses per descomptat; aquests dies, que en són ben pocs, m'agraden i em

meravellen, i em fan caut i alhora orgullós de pertànyer a una gran

civilització, la que ha fet possible això mateix: que les ulleres de la

cotidianeïtat no ens deixin veure com és d'anormal que el meu fill sigui ara

mateix a escola, on uns estranys se'n cuiden i l'eduquen; que surti aigua de

l'aixeta i que la pugui beure; que obri la gelera i que estigui plena; que si

perd la feina o em pos malalt no em trobaré desemparat.

Es tan extraordinari, tot això, tan històricament excepcional, que podríem i

deuríem pensar, o saber, que no és l'estat natural de les coses; que la veritat

no està en l'ordre, sinó en el caos; no en l'abundància, sinó en la misèria; no

en la pau, sinó en la guerra. Que, com diu la lletra petita, rendibilitats

passades no garanteixen rendibilitats futures, i que, per tant, més ens val no

badar i perdre-ho. I en comptes d'això, de sentir-nos orgullosos, ben

conscients d'allò que hem fet, i sabedors de com ho hem fet i de com ho haurem

de seguir fent perquè no se'ns vagi en orris, negligim el passat, ens

avergonyim del present i renunciem, cada cop més, a reconèixer i assumir la

responsabilitat dels actes propis; comprometem el futur, tot lastrant-lo amb

els grans errors de la peresa, l'abús, la indolència i la pusil.lanimitat.

posted by Eduard at 11:45

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, November 15, 2005 'Aprendre per saber-se desprendre, vet aquí el vell

secret'

Once in a lifetime...

...these things happen :-)

I was about to leave for work when Mika said he wanted to drop by, later in the

afternoon. He's fond of coming to see me at work on Fridays since the place is

nice and there are some playground attractions nearby, but especially because I

usually have a cheap, little new toy for him in stock for when he comes by.

That day, though, I hadn't any —I felt the whole thing was going to become

awkward so I tried to convince him not to come, but to no avail. At last, I

agreed at his dropping by, but warned I had no toy to give him. If you're not a

parent and aren't used to offspring's disdain and secular ungratefulness you

won't fully appreciate the sheer elation I felt when he said it's alright dad,

I won't ask you for anything, we'll just play around with the old hen-shaped

rolling-stick and the balls, you and me, you with one ball, me with the

other...

posted by Eduard at 11:54

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, December 06, 2005 'Tidings of comfort and joy'

The Discontented Malefactor

A JUDGE having sentenced a Malefactor to the penitentiary was proceeding to

point out to him the disadvantages of crime and the profit of reformation.

"Your Honour," said the Malefactor, interrupting, "would you be kind enough to

alter my punishment to ten years in the penitentiary and nothing else?"

"Why," said the Judge, surprised, "I have given you only three years!"

"Yes, I know," assented the Malefactor - "three years' imprisonment and the

preaching. If you please, I should like to commute the preaching."

Ambrose Bierce, Fantastic Fables.

(Yeah... A good piece of advice for us conscientous parents)

posted by Eduard at 21:30

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday, December 08, 2005 'If you think the harmony is a little dark and out

of key, you're correct'

Ambrosies for everybody!

A Matter of Method

A PHILOSOPHER seeing a Fool beating his Donkey, said:

"Abstain, my son, abstain, I implore. Those who resort to violence shall suffer

from violence."

"That," said the Fool, diligently belabouring the animal, "is what I'm trying

to teach this beast - which has kicked me."

"Doubtless," said the Philosopher to himself, as he walked away, "the wisdom of

fools is no deeper nor truer than ours, but they really do seem to have a more

impressive way of imparting it."

The Conscientious Official

WHILE a Division Superintendent of a railway was attending closely to his

business of placing obstructions on the track and tampering with the switches

he received word that the President of the road was about to discharge him for

incompetency.

"Good Heavens!" he cried; "there are more accidents on my division than on all

the rest of the line."

"The President is very particular," said the Man who brought him the news; "he

thinks the same loss of life might be effected with less damage to the

company's property."

"Does he expect me to shoot passengers through the car windows?" exclaimed the

indignant official, spiking a loose tie across the rails. "Does he take me for

an assassin?"

The Kangaroo and the Zebra

A KANGAROO hopping awkwardly along with some bulky object concealed in her

pouch met a Zebra, and desirous of keeping his attention upon himself, said:

"Your costume looks as if you might have come out of the penitentiary."

"Appearances are deceitful," replied the Zebra, smiling in the consciousness of

a more insupportable wit, "or I should have to think that you had come out of

the Legislature."

A Causeway

A RICH Woman having returned from abroad disembarked at the foot of Knee-deep

Street, and was about to walk to her hotel through the mud.

"Madam," said a Policeman, "I cannot permit you to do that; you would soil your

shoes and stockings."

"Oh, that is of no importance, really," replied the Rich Woman, with a cheerful

smile.

"But, madam, it is needless; from the wharf to the hotel, as you observe,

extends an unbroken line of prostrate newspaper men who crave the honour of

having you walk upon them."

"In that case," she said, seating herself in a doorway and unlocking her

satchel, "I shall have to put on my rubber boots."

Alarm and Pride

"GOOD-MORNING, my friend," said Alarm to Pride; "how are you this morning?"

"Very tired," replied Pride, seating himself on a stone by the wayside and

mopping his steaming brow. "The politicians are wearing me out by pointing to

their dirty records with ME, when they could as well use a stick."

Alarm sighed sympathetically, and said: "It is pretty much the same way here.

Instead of using an opera- glass they view the acts of their opponents with

ME!"

As these patient drudges were mingling their tears, they were notified that

they must go on duty again, for one of the political parties had nominated a

thief and was about to hold a gratification meeting.

The Witch's Steed

A BROOMSTICK which had long served a witch as a steed complained of the nature

of its employment, which it thought degrading.

"Very well," said the Witch, "I will give you work in which you will be

associated with intellect - you will come in contact with brains. I shall

present you to a housewife."

"What!" said the Broomstick, "do you consider the hands of a housewife

intellectual?"

"I referred," said the Witch, "to the head of her good man."

Ambrose Bierce, Fantastic Fables

-- Posted by Eduard to Amapolas Trail at 12/08/2005 02:20:00 PM

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, January 13, 2006 'I mentres aprenc el preu d'un anhel'

All this fearful event of the fast-spreading avian flu has reminded me of this

short story by Patricia Highsmith. It would have graciously fit in her

collection of stories about animals-turned-revengers, The Animal-Lover's Book

of Beastly Murder, but for one reason or the other it wasn't included and was

shamefully left unpublished for life. Fortunately, Highsmith's editors rescued

it from their papers and published it after her death in Nothing That Meets The

Eye. Although it's an outstanding story, you're warned to read it at your own

risk.

Two Disagreeable Pigeons, by Patricia Highsmith.

posted by Eduard at 10:58 0 comments links to this post

---

One goes around doing his chores in an ordinary way in an ordinary day while

some music's being played at the computer, and sometimes, just a few, precious

times, one has to give up broom, brush and paint to stop, breathe and hear,

because something extraordinary, unexpectedly, has managed to break the dull

routine, and in so doing, find a way through your skin down to there where

weakness is kept. This is one of those songs, and that's happened to me just a

few minutes ago.

Powered by Castpost

Life is bigger It’s bigger than you And you are not me The lengths that I

will go to The distance in your eyes Oh no I’ve said too much I set it up

That’s me in the corner That’s me in the spotlight Losing my religion

Trying to keep up with you And I don’t know if I can do it Oh no I’ve

said too much I haven’t said enough I thought that I heard you laughing I

thought that I heard you sing I think I thought I saw you try Every whisper Of

every waking hour I’m Choosing my confessions Trying to keep an eye on you

Like a hurt lost and blinded fool Oh no I’ve said too much I set it up

Consider this The hint of the century Consider this The slip that brought me To

my knees failed What if all these fantasies Come flailing around Now I’ve

said too much I thought that I heard you laughing I thought that I heard you

sing I think I thought I saw you try But that was just a dream That was just a

dream

posted by Eduard at 10:07 0 comments links to this post

---

Nothing That Meets The Eye

Patricia Highsmith

Read on December 20, 2003

Es curiós comprovar com les narracions més antigues que són bones (The

Mightiest Mornings; Where the Door Is Always Open and the Welcome Mat Is Out;

In the Plaza; The Still Point of the Turning World) no es llegeixen amb tanta

suavitat i facilitat com les bones més recents (Man's Best Friend; Born

Failure; The Returnees; Two Disagreeable Pigeons; It's a Deal; The Trouble with

Mrs Blynn, the Trouble with the World). Segurament Highsmith va anar agafant la

tècnica i el seu estil propi amb el temps.

posted by Eduard at 09:55 0 comments links to this post

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, January 27, 2006

'All the lonely people, where do they all come from?'

AMBROSIES' LAST

A selection of fables from Ambrose Bierce, Fantastic Fables

The Faithful Cashier

THE Cashier of a bank having defaulted was asked by the Directors what he had

done with the money taken.

"I am greatly surprised by such a question," said the Cashier; "it sounds as if

you suspected me of selfishness. Gentlemen, I applied that money to the purpose

for which I took it; I paid it as an initiation fee and one year's dues in

advance to the Treasurer of the Cashiers' Mutual Defence Association."

"What is the object of that organisation?" the Directors inquired.

"When any one of its members is under suspicion," replied the Cashier, "the

Association undertakes to clear his character by submitting evidence that he

was never a prominent member of any church, nor foremost in Sunday-school

work."

Recognising the value to the bank of a spotless reputation for its officers,

the President drew his check for the amount of the shortage and the Cashier was

restored to favour.

The Devoted Widow

A WIDOW weeping on her husband's grave was approached by an Engaging Gentleman

who, in a respectful manner, assured her that he had long entertained for her

the most tender feelings.

"Wretch!" cried the Widow. "Leave me this instant! Is this a time to talk to me

of love?"

"I assure you, madam, that I had not intended to disclose my affection," the

Engaging Gentleman humbly explained, "but the power of your beauty has overcome

my discretion."

"You should see me when I have not been crying," said the Widow.

A Forfeited Right

THE Chief of the Weather Bureau having predicted a fine day, a Thrifty Person

hastened to lay in a large stock of umbrellas, which he exposed for sale on the

sidewalk; but the weather remained clear, and nobody would buy. Thereupon the

Thrifty Person brought an action against the Chief of the Weather Bureau for

the cost of the umbrellas.

"Your Honour," said the defendant's attorney, when the case was called, "I move

that this astonishing action be dismissed. Not only is my client in no way

responsible for the loss, but he distinctly foreshadowed the very thing that

caused it."

"That is just it, your Honour," replied the counsel for the plaintiff; "the

defendant by making a correct forecast fooled my client in the only way that he

could do so. He has lied so much and so notoriously that he has neither the

legal nor moral right to tell the truth."

Judgment for the plaintiff.

Dame Fortune and the Traveller

A WEARY Traveller who had lain down and fallen asleep on the brink of a deep

well was discovered by Dame Fortune.

"If this fool," she said, "should have an uneasy dream and roll into the well

men would say that I did it. It is painful to me to be unjustly accused, and I

shall see that I am not."

So saying she rolled the man into the well.

The Man and the Viper

A MAN finding a frozen Viper put it into his bosom.

"The coldness of the human heart," he said, with a grin, "will keep the

creature in his present condition until I can reach home and revive him on the

coals."

But the pleasures of hope so fired his heart that the Viper thawed, and sliding

to the ground thanked the Man civilly for his hospitality and glided away.

The Lion and the Mouse

A JUDGE was awakened by the noise of a lawyer prosecuting a Thief. Rising in

wrath he was about to sentence the Thief to life imprisonment when the latter

said:

"I beg that you will set me free, and I will some day requite your kindness."

Pleased and flattered to be bribed, although by nothing but an empty promise,

the Judge let him go. Soon afterward he found that it was more than an empty

promise, for, having become a Thief, he was himself set free by the other, who

had become a Judge.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Tuesday, February 07, 2006 Liberating insignificance

Llegit a Libertad Digital:

Los jugadores de la selección española de fútbol cobrarán 540.000 euros cada

uno si ganan el Mundial de Alemania.

Una raó més perquè no guanyin, vet aquí...

posted by Eduard at 12:01

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Thursday, February 09, 2006 'But it seems a time of sadness is a time to

understand'

La Fundació Catalunya Oberta diu:

Aquesta darrera setmana, arran de les protestes en el món musulmà per la

publicació la passada tardor d’unes caricatures de Mahoma en un diari danès,

ha semblat que es feia realitat la famosa teoria del xoc de civilitzacions. La

reacció del món musulmà, dels seus sectors més integristes, dels seus règims

més dictatorials, ha posat en relleu les resistències a acceptar les normes

bàsiques que configuren les societats democràtiques occidentals. La resistència

a acceptar la llibertat d’expressió, sense la qual no hi hauria societats

lliures i obertes. La reacció d’aquest sectors musulmans no pot ser una

sorpresa per a ningú. Han aprofitat una excusa qualsevol per defensar el que

sempre han defensat: la lluita contra “els infidels”.

El que sí que sorprèn, i preocupa, és la reacció del món occidental. Des de

la Unió Europea fins als Estats Units, els màxims dirigents occidentals han

cridat a la “prudència” i al “respecte”. La prudència i el respecte

mai no sobren, però Occident no pot autolimitar la seva llibertat perquè un

determinat grup de persones se sentin ofeses. La prudència no ens pot dur a la

submissió als desitjos d’un grup religiós. Les bases de les nostres

societats democràtiques es van construir al llarg de segles de tensió entre

l’àmbit religiós i l’àmbit civil. La preeminència de l’àmbit civil i

de les seves lleis sobre l’àmbit religiós i les seves lleis és una conquesta

irrenunciable. Ho és quan es parla del cristianisme però ho ha de ser també

davant qualsevol altra religió. La llei, civil, ha de ser igual per a tots els

ciutadans. Siguin quines siguin les seves creences. Igual per a totes les

comunitats religioses.

No pot ser que ara, quan l’amenaça de la intolerància ens arriba des de

l’islam, cedim el terreny llargament guanyat quan l’amenaça intolerant

venia del cristianisme. Cal mantenir-se ferm siguin quines siguin les

pressions. De res no valen els reiterats discursos del president del govern

espanyol sobre l’Aliança de Civilitzacions si aquesta aliança s’ha de

basar en la claudicació de la civilització occidental, en la renúncia a la

llibertat que tants segles ha costat de guanyar. Davant els intolerants, davant

aquells que volen fixar-nos unilateralment el que és lícit i el que no és

lícit, no hi ha altra resposta que la defensa de la democràcia i la llibertat.

No hi ha altra resposta que la tolerància zero amb la intolerància.

I això està ben dit i per això ho reproduesc, i perquè la sang em bull i no

vull dir-ho de manera més visceral.

Siguem conscients —en aquestes coses ens jugam el ser o no ser. I siguem

valents, també.

Que quan saps que te poden fer explotar per no pensar com ells, no deixa de

tenir el seu mèrit.

posted by Eduard at 20:39

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Tuesday, February 14, 2006 'El día que yo fui feliz no me di cuenta y me

dormí'

Explica Pere Quintana Seguí a bitsenblocs perquè s’ha d’enllaçar i

s’ha d’ésser enllaçat, i me convenç:

La meva experiència em diu que molts blocaires no són prou conscients de la

importància que tenen els enllaços en aquest món. No són poc els blocs que

escriuen articles sense enllaçar a ningú i esperen amb els braços creuats que

els lectors arribin.

De motivacions per escriure blocs n’hi ha moltes, d’això en podríem

parlar en un altre fil, però, siguin quines siguin, en general ens interessa

que el que hem escrit sigui llegit pel màxim nombre de gent possible, encara

que no sigui el nostre bjectiu principal.

[...]

L’única manera d’aconseguir això és ser actiu i participar a les

converses de la xarxa. Si un troba en un bloc un article interessant que mereix

ser comentat, és millor escriure un comentari elaborat en el teu propi bloc, en

el qual enllaçarem l’article original, que deixar un comentari ràpid al

bloc. És probable que l’autor el primer article detecti el teu article

mitjançant serveis com Technorati.com, o gràcies a un missatge de correu

electrònic queli hauràs enviat, i que et contesti des del seu bloc, tot

enllaçant el teu article. Així, no només hauràs guanyat un enllaç, amb

l’augment de puntuació als cercadors i de visites que això comporta, si no

que també hauràs participat en una reflexió col·lectiva que sol ser sempre més

interessant que els curts i, en general, ànomis comentaris al peu dels

articles.

Gràcies Pere, tens raó. Anem per feina, idò.

Marta Contreras, la catalana del món, thinks aloud about friendship here and

asks what she should do about a (not so concrete) situation. She graciously let

my reply in, which went as follows:

>What should I do?

Stop thinking other people mustn't disappoint you. That's not saying people

should disappoint you, either :-) I mean it's a common but erroneous assumption

to think friends should never let you down; and that if they do, they're not

friends of yours anymore. Friends are not out there to please you or satisfy

you; you shouldn't force them to act the way you think they ought to act in

order to gain your favour...

Having said that :-) my take on your entry is that if you're in doubt about

that particular friend of yours, the friendship is over. You know who your

friends are, and friendship doesn't depend on phone calls or frequent

contact...

So start coming, links. And you Google guys, upgrade my pagerank, now! And you

my dear hasty visitors, my statcounter is telling me seventy five percent of

you spend less than five seconds in this place... Five seconds? Five secs when

you could do it in three and have a coffee on the remaining two? Please begin

considering not so lamely wasting your time here...

posted by Eduard at 17:37

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Tuesday, February 21, 2006

'I may be mad I may be blind I may be viciously unkind. But I can still read

what you're thinking'

El historiador David Irving es condenado en Viena a tres años de cárcel por

negar el Holocausto | elmundo.es

M'avergonyeix ser ciutadà d'un estat on també ser ignorant, imbècil o

malintencionat és delicte. Mal defensam les nostres llibertats si les anorream.

Si contra l'estupidesa malèvola no ens basta la ignomínia, i per contra ens cal

recórrer a l'eliminació física de la seva expressió i dels seus expressors, és

que hem començat a recórrer, perillosament i lamentablement, el camí de la

tirania.

Que se veu que ens ataca des de fora i des de dins, i ni ens n'adonam.

Al contrari, la celebram com a progressista.

posted by Eduard at 09:26

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, March 03, 2006 'Choosing my confessions'

Speaking about friendship, Ravi Mohan writes:

One Man Hacking: The Importance of Having Friends Who Disagree

...and it's difficult not to agree.

I'd just add two notes of caution... Remember being not too loud either about

1. Politics, because, in your friends' view, you're as good a person as you're

so leftist or rightist as them, or about

2. The entertainment business, aka The Arts (literature, film-making, music,

paintwork, etc.) because you'll be as intelligent a person as you conform to

their tastes (which, not incidentally, they don't usually regard as tastes, but

as statements of culture).

And never, ever, think of giving them your sincere opinion when they've asked

you explicitly for it.

posted by Eduard at 09:48

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Amapolas Trail

Monday, March 06, 2006 'Her name was Magil and she called herself Lil But

everyone knew her as Nancy'

Epitafi

Take a look at:

ST Lite: Epitaph - 11

That's superb —Mr. Noone at his best.

Mine is no big deal indeed, but here it comes anyway:

Conte contat, conte acabat.

That is to say: Story told, story finished.

(Catalan-speaking parents with young boys will like it a bit better, I hope).

posted by Eduard at 21:08 1 comments

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

'I amb el somriure, la revolta'

Pistas: Estadísticas para el día internacional de la mujer

Thanks, Wonka, for counter-thinking (and counter-statisticsing) :-)

posted by Eduard at 10:56

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, March 10, 2006 Amapolas Trail 'Mai no he sabut dir-ne lo just del

nostre absurd'

Legitimwhat?

Never thought I'd have to quote this for the benefit of a religion other than

mine, but boy, times are a'changin'...

If one imagines oneself as a fully aware founder of a society, a kind of

combination of Moses and Machiavelli, one could ask oneself the following

question: How can the future continuation of the institutional order, now

established ex nihilo, be best ensured? There is an obvious answer to the

question in terms of power. But let it be assumed that all the means of power

have been effectively employed - all opponents have been destroyed, all means

of coercion are in one's own hands, reasonably safe provisions have been made

for the transmission of power to one's designated successors. There still

remains the problem of legitimation, all the more urgent because of the novelty

and thus highly conscious precariousness of the new order. The problem would

best be solved by applying the following recipe: Let the institutional order be

so interpreted as to hide, as much as possible, its constructed character. Let

that which has been stamped out of the ground ex nihilo appear as the

manifestation of something that has been existent from the beginning of time,

or at least from the beginning of this group. Let the people forget that this

order was established by men and continues to be dependent upon the consent of

men. Let them believe that, in acting out the institutional programs that have

been imposed upon them, they are but realizing the deepest aspirations of their

own being and putting themselves in harmony with the fundamental order of the

universe. In sum: Set up religious legitimations. (Peter L. Berger, The sacred

canopy, 1967).

(Thanks to Ryan for the revisiting of the old, extraordinary, admired

professor's book).

Which translated into Spanish says:

Si uno se imagina un fundador de sociedades consciente de ello, algo así como

una combinación entre Moisés y Maquiavelo, se podría plantear la pregunta

siguiente: ¿Cómo se podría asegurar la conservación de este orden institucional

establecido ex-nihilo? En términos de poder existe una respuesta obvia a esta

cuestión. Pero si se imagina que todos los medios de poder han sido

efectivamente empleados, todos los opositores destruidos, que todos los medios

de coerción se hallan en nuestras manos y han alcanzado un resultado positivo,

y que han sido tomadas todas las medidas razonables para la transmisión de

poder a los sucesores designados, quedará todavía por solucionar el problema de

legitimación, que resulta más urgente debido a la novedad y a la consciente

precariedad del nuevo orden. La mejor solución del problema sería la siguiente:

* Que el orden institucional sea interpretado de modo que oculte su carácter de

* algo construido.

* Que aquello que ha surgido de la nada aparezca asimismo como algo que había

* existido desde el

principio de los tiempos, o al menos desde el comienzo de este grupo.

* Que la gente olvide que este nuevo orden ha sido establecido por unos hombres

* y que su continuación

depende asimismo del consentimiento de los hombres.

* Que crean que, al proceder de acuerdo con los programas institucionales que

* les han sido impuestos,

no harán sino realizar las más hondas aspiraciones de su propio ser y ponerse

en armonía con el orden fundamental del universo.

En resumen: que se establezcan legitimaciones religiosas. (Peter L. Berger,

Para una teoría sociológica de la religión).

Now go and burn.

posted by Eduard at 09:12

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, March 17, 2006

NOTA: començar aquí 'Give credit... II'

'Y ese idiota se piensa que puede llamarme muñeca; soy capaz de jugar a ping

pong en su cabeza hueca'

(Christina y Los Subterráneos, Muertos o algo mejor)

GIVE CREDIT...

There are no aliens in the Internet (my own's).

'Please don't arrange to have me sent to no asylum' (Supertramp, Asylum).

'Collecting teardrops in a paper cup' (Supertramp, A Soapbox Opera).

'Ain't nobody but me gonna lie for you, gonna die for you' (Supertramp, Ain't

Nobody But Me).

'They tell you not to hang around and learn what life's about' (Supertramp,

School).

'La más prohibida de todas las frutas' (Joaquín Sabina, Una canción para la

Magdalena).

'Living is easy with eyes closed' (The Beatles, Strawberry Fields).

'Before you go to sleep say a little prayer' (John Lennon, Beautiful Boy).

'Apartem els núvols que ens amaguen la claror' (Lluís Llach, Cal que neixin

flors a cada instant).

'Esta forma tan cobarde de no decirnos que no' (Joaquín Sabina, Cerrado por

derribo).

'What crisis?' (Supertramp, Crisis, What Crisis?).

'Aprendre que en certesa res no tinc si no m'ho dónes' (Lluís Llach, Aprendre).

'Acá está lindo' (heard in the street).

This quiet corner at the shadow of the Internet (my own's)

'Dile a papá que me voy de la ciudad' (Christina y Los Subterráneos, Dile a

papá).

'Aprendre per saber-se desprendre, vet aquí el vell secret' (Lluís Llach,

Aprendre).

'Tidings of comfort and joy' (Simon and Garfunkel, Comfort and Joy).

'If you think the harmony is a little dark and out of key, you're correct' (The

Beatles, Only a Nothern Song).

'I mentres aprenc el preu d'un anhel' (Lluís Llach, A força de nits).

'All the lonely people, where do they all come from?' (The Beatles, Eleanor

Rigby).

Liberating insignificance (my own's).

'But it seems a time of sadness is a time to understand' (Supertramp, Lord is

it mine?).

'El día que yo fui feliz no me di cuenta y me dormí' (Christina y Los

Subterráneos, Ni una maldita florecita).

'I may be mad I may be blind I may be viciously unkind. But I can still read

what you're thinking' (Annie Lennox, Why).

'Choosing my confessions' (R.E.M., Losing My Religion).

'Her name was Magil and she called herself Lil, but everyone knew her as Nancy'

(The Beatles, Rocky Raccoon).

'I amb el somriure, la revolta' (Lluís Llach, I amb el somriure, la revolta).

'Mai no he sabut dir-ne lo just del nostre absurd' (Lluís Llach, Respon-me).

...WHERE CREDIT IS DUE (I)

posted by Eduard at 17:36

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday, March 31, 2006

'Here we are, me and you, feeling lost and feeling blue' (Abba, Happy New Year)

Mr Noone's Scattered Thoughts (L) has added a new section, Hat Off, where

subjective outstanding moments of literature get marked and celebrated. Read

his last one here.

It happens right now I'm reading Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn and I thought

Good grief — this is so damned good there's no way I can avoid writing it

down in Amapolas, a la Noone... So here it goes:

(Speaking about the old woman who takes care of him)

After supper she got out of her book and learned me about Moses and the

Bulrushers, and I was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and by she

let it out that Moses had been dead a considerable long time; so then I didn't

care no more about him, because I don't take no stock in dead people.

Pretty soon I wanted to smoke, and asked the widow to let me. But she wouldn't.

She said it was a mean practice and wasn't clean, and I must try not to do it

any more. This is just the way with some people. They get down on a thing when

they don't know nothing about it. Here she was a-bothering about Moses, which

was no kin to her, and no use to anybody, being gone, you see, yet finding a

power of fault with me for doing a thing that had some good in it. And she took

snuff, too; of course that was all right, because she done it herself.

Apaga y vámonos.

posted by Eduard at 09:22

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, July 26, 2006

Hi everybody. This is just an announcement that this site is discontinued. I'll

write elsewhere from now on. If you're interested, please email me and I'll

give you the URL. Thank you very much for your visiting Amapolas all through

these years; I wish you came by the other site, too, from time to time --I'd be

honored by your visit.

Bye and cheers, Eduard.

PS. You can find my email address on the right column at the bottom of the

page.