*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
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*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)
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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)
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*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
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*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
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*Saturday, June 04, 2005
Innocència: no pensar més enllà d'uns minuts del present. posted by Eduard at
10:34
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*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
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*Wednesday, June 15, 2005
'Apartem els núvols que ens amaguen la claror'
Què hi ha a la base del desordre? La peresa.
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*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...
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*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.
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*Tuesday, June 28, 2005 'Aprendre que en certesa res no tinc si no mho
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
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*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, duna banda, profundament
lliure; i de laltra, 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
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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
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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
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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
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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 Its bigger than you And you are not me The lengths that I
will go to The distance in your eyes Oh no Ive said too much I set it up
Thats me in the corner Thats me in the spotlight Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you And I dont know if I can do it Oh no Ive
said too much I havent 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 Im Choosing my confessions Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool Oh no Ive 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 Ive
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
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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
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*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 dunes 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 dexpressió, sense la qual no hi hauria societats
lliures i obertes. La reacció daquest 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 dun grup religiós. Les bases de les nostres
societats democràtiques es van construir al llarg de segles de tensió entre
làmbit religiós i làmbit civil. La preeminència de làmbit civil i
de les seves lleis sobre làmbit 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 lamenaça de la intolerància ens arriba des de
lislam, cedim el terreny llargament guanyat quan lamenaça 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 lAliança de Civilitzacions si aquesta aliança sha 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
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*Tuesday, February 14, 2006 'El día que yo fui feliz no me di cuenta y me
dormí'
Explica Pere Quintana Seguí a bitsenblocs perquè sha denllaçar i
sha désser 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 nhi ha moltes, daixò 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.
[...]
Lúnica manera daconseguir 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 larticle original, que deixar un comentari ràpid al
bloc. És probable que lautor 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
laugment 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
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*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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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.