miércoles, 5 de junio de 2013

Erasmus disease symptoms:


- you meet so many people you can't remember all of them
- Mondays are the new Fridays, Tuesdays are the new Fridays, Wednesdays... and so on
- you come to a point where you don't speak Spanish, English, German or Italian anymore, but all of them (which is, actually, a modern version of Sanskrit)
- what happened last night? Becomes your motto
- your fridge might be empty, but there will always be there a beer and a piece of cheese (??)
- maybe you don't learn the language of the country, but there's a word that you will: beer (or sör, whatever)
- do you remember what it is to iron your clothes? Me neither.
- what are all these people doing at my home?
- doing the laundry only works when you do not have any more clean underwear
- staying home is NOT an option
- “I should cook something… nope.” And then pizza
- your parents love you more now
-  you start doing things like singing in public, taking off your bra in the middle of a disco or carrying underpants in your handbag without any remorse
- you just point at a random place in the map around your city and think “So there is where I will be spending my weekend…!”
- your lifestyle starts including meeting new friends at 5 am while eating kebap or something

- you get depressed while thinking about what your life will be like next year

And so on, honeys. Please, add your owns ;)

domingo, 2 de junio de 2013

Blame it to the alcohol

La noche de ayer no sé ni por dónde cogerla, en serio. Ahora mismo tengo una resaca letal, un sueño que muero y estoy a un tris de que se me caiga la cabeza en los cereales y morir ahogada en muesli con nesquik (imaginaos que cadáver tan antiestético quedaría...).
La culpa es de Elena, siempre de Elena. Ya cuando salgo por Vetusta con ella y con Dudu siempre me acaban liando, pero ahora se confirma, porque llegó el jueves y no ha tardado ni una semana en liarme. Menos mal que íbamos de tranquis, amigos, porque si no igual nos deportan...
Una, que con toda su buena intención decide sacar a su amiga por ahí para enseñarle algo de cultura nocturna, que la lleva a cenar pizza y Somloi (no se pregunta lo que es, se come y a callar), que la arrastra a Morrison's Opera para empezar la noche tranquilamente y que encima lleva chupitos de vodka en el bolso (para darle la chispa de la vida, ya sabéis)... Pues así empezamos, pero acabar acabamos muy diferente.
Nos vamos a Morrison's, donde Elena queda fascinada por el lugar, el trenecito que pasea por el techo encima de la barra y el miedo que da la gente cantando al karaoke. Pedimos la primera, vemos a la gente cantar, se nos sientan enfrente dos tíos que no paran de girarse y mirarnos en plan acosador psicópata (chicos, un consejo, hay formas y formas de mirar a una chica: aunque esteis buenos, si sonreís como violadores la angustia sigue ahí). Pedimos la segunda, siguen los psychos estos ahí. Pedimos la tercera, se piran y vienen a sentarse dos tíos macizorros (y no psychos), pero con nosotras. Ahí, en plan sutil. Eran de una despedida de soltero y los amigos andaban por ahí moñándose a tope por las esquinas y dando berridos de becerro en celo por el micro del karaoke. Os diré que si vais por Budapest y conocéis a un Niklaus rubio, de metro ochenta más o menos, con los ojos azules e ingeniero, ya es colega, así que con alegría.
Anduvimos por ahí un rato, bailamos, me guiñó el ojo Jabba el Hutt (huí despavorida) y marchamos al exterior.
Y, amigos míos, ése fue el error: no se va al Instant. No, mal, mal, mal, nunca, MAL. Sobre todo después de un chupito de vodka y 3 cervezas. Yo quería que Elena lo viese, quedase fascinada y ya, pero nos quedamos y eso está MAAAAAAAL. Pedimos otra cerveza (mal) y nos apalancamos en el futbolín, y entonces pasa por nuestro lado como 3 veces el mismo tipo hasta que se acerca con la típica entrada de "¿Españolas? ¡Yo también!". Valenciano. Se llamaba Nemecio. No, no es broma, de verdad: Nemecio. Tenía 24 años, así que tampoco es que viniese de la época de la guerra, ¿sabéis? Nos contó que solía presentarse como "Nemo, como el pez. Pero no Nemo, Neme".
Pobre hombre, le vacilé tanto las dos horas que estuvo con nosotras que creí que me iba a entrar una hernia. Vosotros me conocéis, para que yo piense que me estoy pasando vacilandole a alguien... Haceos la idea. Y no por lo del nombre, no os equivoquéis, por todo: por Juego de Tronos, por Harry Potter, porque no vocalizaba, porque era valenciano, porque me tocaba ( y a mí no me gusta que me toquen, ¿por qué me tocan?)... Dios, me metí con él lo que quise y más, pobre Nemecio... No paraba de repetirle a Elena "Esta tía me odia, ¿a que sí? Me odia, me odia. La voy a matar, la voy a matar porque me odia..." etc.
Y salgo del Instant porque Elena se quedó atareada con Nemecio. Salgo con un cigarrillo en la mano y me para un rubio y me pide otro. Se lo doy y quedamos fumando en la puerta (las 5 de la mañana, ya de día pleno y tal): que es sueco, que está de viaje, que su vuelo sale dentro de dos horas... Se nos acerca Sueco 2, moreno y guapo, comiéndose un kebap ("This has cinnamon, check it" y me lo pone debajo de la nariz ¿?). Luego llega Sueco 3, un armario de 2x2, cantando a Alicia Keys (le pregunté y me dijo que era un fetiche). Sueco 1 empieza a preguntarme de donde soy, "Spain", "Don't believe you, you speak good English! And you have accent, you're American", "No, Spanish", y coge y llama a Sueco 2 y le pregunta que de dónde cree que soy, y el otro que de San Diego.
Claro, tío, ¿no ves la cara de California surfer girl que tengo?  Tuve que enseñarles el DNI. Estos escandinavos...
Pero Sueco 1 no se achanta y utiliza "Meter ficha", no es demasiado efectivo: "I know you're gonna say no, but I like you, maybe we can go home together...".
Esta soy yo:
PENSAMIENTO: Yo me voy a mi casa a dormir, tú haz lo que quieras, chaval

"At least let me take you home in a cab", ya claro, ahora mismo te digo donde vivo, dame un segundo... Si además Sueco 2 me contó que en 3 horas cogían el vuelo de vuelta...
El caso es que cogí y me volví a casa dando un paseo con luz de día por la calle.
Entonces, cuando ya estoy en casita y me dispongo a echarme y caer en coma, me llama Elena "Tía, no me abre la puerta de casa". Muero. Coitus interruptus, rollus cortatus. Claro, el tío a su casa y Elena a la mía. Ha estado sobando en la habitación de al lado hasta hace media hora y se acaba de marchar con una cara de resaca que era reflejo de la mía propia. 

Noche completita en Budapest. Necesito agua y patatas fritas. O macarrones con queso. 
Empieza a notarse de verdad que sólo me quedan 17 días, supongo que es el momento de hacer todo lo que sea para que no queden espinitas clavadas. Livin' la vida loca (la cantaron ayer en Morrison's, creo que era una señal). 
Muchos besos de vuestro Culo de Coco ;)

miércoles, 29 de mayo de 2013

Essay(2)

New and last essay, honeys. Hope you enjoy :)

Alien iconography in Doctor Who (2005-present): a matter of fears and likes

            Doctor Who is well known for being one of the longest TV series broadcasted. Even after a break, it restarted in 2005 and kept being one of the greatest hits on the English television; its episodes always develop unpredictable plots and have shown us all kind of creatures through time and space. We might think this is a question of imagination and luck, but we would be simplifying the scriptwriter job; if we keep on watching it and it’s still able to make us feel anything (fun, love, fear, sorrow) it’s because its writers know very well how to play with our minds. I don’t mean they are trying to drive us crazy (although sometimes it looks like that), but they certainly know well how to make the crowd sympathize or fear somebody.
            In the first place, we have the Doctor, the main character that defines himself as a mad man with a box. He is a time lord, an alien race that looks completely human, feels like a human and, in fact, as far as we know, has a life circle quite similar to humans in the beginning: through many episodes, the Doctor gives hints about how Gallyfreyan kids are born and raised, quite similarly to us. A time lord seems to be pretty normal to us, they are made time lords by spending a huge time looking into the Untempered Schism, which shows the entirety of the Time Vortex and the power that time lords have and that’s the point in which they differ from humans. They have achieved immortality by regenerating themselves when their bodies are too damaged, and immortality has always been one of the greatest ambitions for Humanity, so even that makes him attractive for us.
He has a thing for the Earth and humans in general (“Oh, humans, I thought I’d never get done saving you.”) and carries a human or at least half-human companion with him. He’s the last one of his species, completely free to come and go, but he still keeps a clear moral that pictures the virtues our society defends: kindness, peace, knowledge, courage, love... The only thing that can put him away from actual humans is the fact that he has two hearts and is about one thousand years old; he is eccentric and childish, indeed none of this makes him disgusting to any human he meets; instead, it makes the public feel some kind of tenderness because in so many aspects he is like a child: innocent, and innocence is something that must be protected. Here we can see the clearest example of how well scriptwriters know the public. It is always easier to make us sympathize with an alien creature as long as it is friendly and human-like.
Then we have the other main alien races: daleks, cybermen, weeping angels, silences, oods and silurians represent a wide range of possibilities, from fears to social conflicts, and their physical forms help to deepen into them. It’s not only about if they are ugly or nice (though this is important), but also about how sometimes something that looks harmless can become quite dangerous and take us unaware. Is it a metaphor of life? Maybe.
We could talk about daleks and cybermen jointly, as far as both of them represent different forms of the cyborg idea: daleks are a super intelligent alien race set into machines that make them letal, cybermen are steel men created by a human mind that use the heads of people as their organic component. Both of them have faced the Doctor a few times (daleks are, in fact, time lords’ biggest enemies and responsible for time lord’s extinction), always trying to take over the Earth and use humans to create more of them (cybermen) or destroy Humanity to get a new place to live in (daleks). Daleks seem to be way more dangerous because of their intelligence and lack of feelings. They are cold hyperrational creatures, unable of any empathy, although they haven’t always been like that; we know they were better once and compare it to what they’ve become and maybe spot our own future. If we only observe their appearance, we have to admit they don’t really look terrifying (“Without your gun you're a tricycle with a roof.” says the Doctor in episode 7x01) and they continuously claim they want to “Exterminate!” so there’s no possible doubt about their intentions. What makes them terrifying? Their history. They were like us once, but their whishes of improving themselves drove them into the complete loss of any kind of feeling, turning them into heartless brains. On the other hand, we have the cybermen, whose only interest is multiply their number so they can take over the Earth because their creator (originally human) compelled them to do so. Here we can see both sides of the same coin: with our continue struggle to be better, stronger, cleverer, we may end up being like daleks or cybermen (that depends on if we keep on thinking by ourselves or if we let someone else, more powerful or smarter, manipulate us). Will we go as far as this? Are we already going by developing things like eugenics, bionic devices, robots or even Google glasses? Those two aliens symbolize (very extreme) possibilities of future for us and are supposed to make us wonder about the morals that should be developed beside scientific achievements.
The weeping angels have turned out to be one of the creepiest aliens created by the Doctor Who scriptwriters. Opposed to daleks and cybermen, weeping angels appear for the first time on season 3 of the modern series and their origin is still uncertain. Many theories develop the idea of them being time lords that have fallen in disgrace, but their creator (Steven Moffat) hasn’t agreed with that. The only thing we know about their origin is that they are old, really old, older than our world, and that they definitely come from another part of the Universe. If we judge by their looks, we might think they are not very scary: weeping angels seem to be statues portraying angels with their eyes covered as if they were crying (in following episodes we find out that almost any statue can be one of them, regardless of their form), though later we discover the real reason why they don’t look straight: as long as somebody is looking at them, they cannot move, so they don’t risk to look into each other because that would doom them forever. The problem is that they are quick, very quick, and blinking may mean your death, because their touch will send you backwards in time to let them feed on your temporal energy. The only way to keep them from attacking you is to stare constantly at them, otherwise they’ll send you back in time again and again until no temporal energy is left in you and you die. The motto “Don’t blink” the Doctor repeats in every weeping angel episode has become one of the scariest sentences according to the fans.
The weeping angels represent psychological fears, much more personal than the previous ones. Scriptwriters are now playing with a few different fears: on one hand, fear of wasting time and dying without living at all, on the other hand, fear of the possibility of living creatures among us and being observed without us knowing it (they are literally living stone). The last one could be included in the list of paranoids that we can find among science fiction works. Besides, weeping angels in all kind of variations have always being a symbol of death, a very common one during World War I, when they got very popular to decorate the tombs of the fallen ones.
            Right next to the weeping angels, we may analyze silences. Again we find a new alien race that appears for the first time in the modern series and that plays with our minds in a very similar way. Silences’ main characteristic is that you only remember them as long as you are looking at them. How can humans possibly fight invaders that cannot even be remembered? And it’s not only them what you forget, but also anything that might be said or done while you’re seeing them, although it leaves traces in your mind that might let you remind the shadow of an idea, as if it were your own (a very subtle way of brainwashing, so to call it). Without our memories, we are in constant danger and don’t know it and they are stealing little parts of ourselves. They confess to have been ruling the world for centuries, manipulating and controlling people into their whishes. Right next to this kind of behavior, another question is raised: are we still ourselves without our memories or induced into somebody else’s wishes? Leaving aside the fact of the alien invasion, here the show plays with another fear that has become very common in the last twenty years because of the increase of Alzheimer disease; how can we fight an invisible enemy?
            Oods raise a very different situation. They are not enemies of the human race (or time lords), they a pacific and kind of child-like alien race who’s been born to serve. They need to have somebody telling them what to do, otherwise they pine away and die; they are also born with their brains out of their heads, so they must be pacific. They are one of the most confusing races in the show, because their exterior look is humanoid but they have tentacles on their faces and that, most of the times, bring the Doctor’s companions to mistake when they thing oods are dangerous. Oods also possess a high sensibility, they have a telepathic bound among their race and can express their pity by singing. Are they really inferior to human or equal but have developed their capabilities in a different way? I mean, humans develop intelligence and rationality more than anything else, but oods may have done the same with their empathy: they feel happy when the people around is happy, so they want to help and that is translated for humans as a way of servilism. Do we have the right to treat them as slaves?
            Here we can see a parallelism with most of the colonizations in History, like when Spanish people arrived to America for the first time: at the beginning, natives only wanted to be kind and then we took advantage on that. Is it the same with the oods? Rose Tyler (first Doctor’s companion in the new series) is kind of suspicious about the way humans understand and treat oods. When oods appear in the series again, Donna Noble (new companion) also gets astonished of how cruel humans can be with them; at this point, we get to see how oods may not be violent but they really know how to take care of themselves, contrary to the idea exposed by humans. They serve because they want and humans end up paying them with cruelty.
            Finally, we have the silurians. Silurians set a very different situation: they are not aliens, we are. They are a race that was habiting the Earth years and years before humans appeared and when we did, they found themselves forced to go into the planet to be able to keep on living. That’s why they start being really aggressive when we first meet them and then turn out to be a very human-like race willing to negotiate with us about the possibility of going back to the Earth surface. I think the circumstances around this encounter are quite interesting for us, because they are represented as humanoid lizards and that’s supposed to creep us, but when you really come to think about it, they are nothing but the previous step right before us. We are creepy for them too (one of them openly says so) because we are for them the same as some posthuman possibilities are for us. Both races are just two different steps of Evolution and, in this case, we are the invaders, we are the aliens and it’s our iconography the one that is disgusting.
            Apart from these main cases, there are a few more I’d like to talk about too. In first instance, Cassandra[1]. Cassandra is, at some point of the future, the last human being, although there’s almost nothing about her that we could recognize as human; her vanity has made her put herself through so many different types of plastic surgery that the only remaining part of her is a piece of plain skin with eyes and mouth. This could be considered as a posthuman possibility: no improvement that we can recognize, just the (very extreme) result of a very common obsession nowadays.
Right next to her, and as another way of going for humans, we have the Nestene duplicate[2] of Rory (one of the Doctor’s companion): it’s a plastic version of a human whose personality stays just like the original one and doesn’t know that it’s a robot, but finds out when the main software makes all the duplicates start to kill and he accidentally shoots his girlfriend Amy. It’s such a perfect copy that nobody around him knows he isn’t real, not even himself, and this could fit the paranoia theme of classic science fiction.
            Sontarans[3] are a very clear (and critic) representation of another popular fact of scientific progress: eugenics and cloning. This race is meant to be warriors, pure warriors: they are born with the fighting desire inside and it’s not specifically said how they reproduce, but since they do it by millions with the only intention of being part of a huge army and they are “born” directly as grownups, we can imagine that they don’t do it the traditional way.
            Vashta Nerada[4] is a very different type of alien race. They look like dust particles when you see them floating around in the air thanks to sunshine, but they usually gather compounding huge shadows to attack people. They are also known as air piranhas, because they eat any kind of flesh just like the marabunta would. Actually, I see them more like marabunta than piranhas (here we have another buglike type of alien, but also some kind of psychological fear representation: shadows, the darkness and what is in there that we can’t see). The only way of staying safe from them is always to keep an eye on the shadows. The second scariest motto created by Doctor Who is “Count the shadows”, referring to this alien.
            Human perspective could be our conclusion since we are all human (or so I hope). Generally speaking, the first reaction of humans (unless you’ve already travelled with the Doctor for so long that very few things can really impress you) is to feel scared. That’s a very normal reaction when you’re facing something unknown and that doesn’t look like anything you’ve seen before, but most of the times if we still feel scared after a while is because we can recognize a part of humanity in it, usually the worst part. If we watch alien invasions, wars or behaviors we can conclude that they do not look so different from us, although it looked like that at the beginning. Playing with the looks is the simplest way of scaring the audience and it may work on a concrete group (like the youngest spectators), but what scriptwriters do to really frighten grownups is to go one step beyond and create aliens that represent deeper fears or possible evolutions, those which are terrifying because they attack directly the most basic instinct: survival, by not letting us perceive reality as it is actually, or because they show how we are developing a hyper rational way of thinking and taking advance on whatever surrounds us.



[1] Doctor Who (2005-present) episodes 1x02 and 2x01.
[2] Doctor Who (2005-present) episodes 5x12 and 5x13.
[3] Doctor Who (2005-present) episodes 4x04 and 4x05.
[4] Doctor Who (2005-present) episodes 4x08 and 4x09.

domingo, 5 de mayo de 2013

El que lee mucho y anda mucho...

Hallo, meine liebe Kinder!
¿Cómo están ustedes? Yo agobiada. Llevo un mes procrastinando y procrastinando hasta llegar a hacer de ello un arte y ahora tengo que enfrentarme a las consecuencias. Menudo truño, colegas, con el finde que he tenido estoy yo como para ponerme a analizar poesía vanguardista o preparar actividades de gramática... Pero bueno, como dijo Jack el destripador, vayamos por partes.
Hablemos primero de Szeged, preciosa ciudad húngara donde pasamos el Día del Trabajo un intrépido grupo de vagos y maleantes (véase Sziszi, Inma, Rocío y Áron, su compañero de piso y recientemente adquirido nuevo miembro). Ésta es Szeged:

(A ver, yo no prometí ningún paisaje)

La verdad es que fue un día estupendo, agotador y caliente hasta decir basta. Pillamos mercadillo y festival, pasamos por un aquapark (donde odié a casi todo el mundo por estar fresco en el agua), vimos una sinagoga que parecía el hogar de todos los fantasmas judíos, comimos helado, pasamos calor, comimos aros de cebolla, vimos un edificio inspirado en una tarta de bodas, comimos patatas fritas, deambulamos por sus calles, tomamos la fresca junto a la fuente central, paseamos el río, comimos bollos con queso y descubrimos que los húngaros también tienen sentido del humor (y uno muy culto, todo hay que decirlo):



Por otro lado, menos cultural pero igualmente entretenido, tuvimos el fin de semana. Creo que más o menos, y en términos de Skype con Cris, podría resumirlo de la siguiente manera:
- Viernes por la noche: Inma y yo bajándonos dos jarras de sangria en el Vázquez, donde fuimos cortésmente invitadas a una ronda de chupitos de vodka + otra jarra de sangria, lo que nos condujo a socializar con un grupo del equipo técnico de la Seat, que estaba de viaje de trabajo, y con los que acabamos cantando el Amante Bandido de Miguel Bosé (por cierto, si alguno os pregunta, yo tengo 14 años).
- Sábado por la noche: exhibicion de swing, tras la cual fuimos Inma y yo (que ya somos como una entidad, por lo visto) comiendo patatas fritas por la calle a recoger a nuestras amigas cultaz Sziszi y Rocío, que salían de la ópera + concierto de guitarra en el mismo Vázquez (dos jarras de sangría + una ronda de copitas de sangría, chupitos de vodka y unas croquetas de cortesía -yo cada vez estoy más segura de que quieren emborracharnos-) + cerveceo en un bar tecno donde bailamos una hora y pico antes de desear la muerte, una ducha y una cama.

Ahí lo tenéis. ¿Qué os parece? Y mis padres creyendo que yo venía aquí a estudiar... Lo más culto que he hecho esta semana ha sido ir a ver Madame Butterfly a la Ópera el martes por la noche (con Inma, cómo no). Eso sí, ahora me estoy cagando en mi yo del pasado por dejarme con este marrón de tareas pendientes que necesita solución como que YA.
Habrá que ponerse al tajo.
Y vosotros deberíais estar estudiando, panda de haraganes. Besos para todos ;)

martes, 16 de abril de 2013

Buon viaggio!

Lo pondría en croata, que fue el primer sitio, pero aún no he desarrollado ese talento.
Pues eso, mis queridas criaturas, viajar, viajar, ¡viajar! Primero Croacia, luego Italia y luego... ¡la Luna es el tope! (por lo visto)

Me marché con las Falsas Granada a Croacia, con 8 horitas de tren que casi supieron a poco... ¡mentira! Pero llegamos, y nos hicimos muuuuuy amigas de la pobre muchacha de la Posta a la que atormentábamos al menos una vez al día durante los 4, casi 5, días que estuvimos allí. Vimos Zagreb, que es como la ciudad fantasma en Pascua (parece ser que la gente es muy religiosa, y no hace falta que lo juren). Para encontrar sitios donde cenar había que hacer un máster, pero hambre no pasamos (¿hambre? ¿Nosotras? Ya, claro, y qué más...). De hecho, creo que ahora yo solita ocupo toda mi cama.
El caso es que vimos Zagreb (una hora + cementerio, no es una ciudad muy grande), que es bastante interesante y donde se puede fumar en los bares, así que mientras otros se pelan el culo de frío en Oviedo para echar un piti, tomar una cerveza es apañao allí.
Y al día siguiente... fuimos a los lagos, Plitvice, el parque natural, previa parada en Rastoke que es como Hobbiton pero con mucha más agua:


Plitvice es una pasada. Si tenéis oportunidad, DEBÉIS ir, pero evitad escalar cataratas gigantes a 4 grados, porque os pasará como a nosotras: os calaréis 5 capas de ropa de las cuales una será un plumas, se os congelará el tuétano, acabaréis perdidas en lo alto del monte, pensaréis en llamar a Salvamento y caminaréis una hora y media hasta el refugio de montaña para sentaros junto al fuego bebiendo café y brandy. Y el camarero se partirá el culo en vuestra cara al veros ateridas y bebiendo lingotazos.


Volver en tren supondrá de nuevo una odisea con los controles de pasaportes y fronteras (son unos paranoicos de flipar), cambios de tren a autobús y de vuelta al tren porque hay vías cortadas, además de hacer amigos en los trenes que se acoplarán a vosotros durante todo el viaje contándoos batallitas-fantasmas de su año Erasmus. Fácil, sencillo, para toda la familia.

Por otro lado, para contrastar con el tiempo invernal croata, un fin de semana en Milán. Estas son las ventajas de que otros amigos también anden de erasmus por el mundo: ir a verlos en plan pequeño viaje vacacional. Bueno, imaginad, me marché para allá con un catarrazo que te mueres después de la jornada de deporte extremo en Croacia (se lo pegué a la pobre Lu, que espero sabrá perdonarme) y no hice más que empeorarlo con el helado indispensable del primer día (eso sí, con heladeros como ése... bueno, yo seguiré con la garganta destrozada hasta el fin de los días). También hubo pasta por un tubo, cócteles de ginebra, italianos guapos, italianos feos y muy pocas horas de sueño.
Milán es pequeño pero matón, merece la pena pasearlo tranquilamente, sobre todo si hace el sol que nos hizo a nosotras, que se te derretían hasta las muelas. El barrio de Brera los sábados por la mañana tiene un ambientazo, está lleno de arte y de olor a comida rica rica. El Duomo es una pasada, ahora ya entiendo por qué tiene la fama que tiene. Y así todo, incluso aunque haya matones negros que llamen puta y lesbiana a la dependiente de la tienda en que trabajan de seguratas.
Turín también está genial y se puede ver en un día. El parque del Castillo es precioso para pasear a última hora de la tarde, con guapos chicos italianos que os persigan haciendo footing, como a nosotras. Hace calor y los hombres te hablan como si creyesen que no los entiendes. ATENCIÓN, ITALIANOS: hablamos italiano, e incluso aunque no lo hablásemos, somos españolas: podemos entenderlo con facilidad.

 


Así, como resumen. Ahora no sé qué será lo siguiente que os cuente, pero espero que sea algo surrealista, que quitando escaladas de cataratas, negros agresivos y persecuciones de deportistas, hace mucho que no me pasa nada raro y eso me da miedo. Ya sabéis lo que dice Moody: ¡alerta permanente!
Besos para todos y patadas a la gocha.

martes, 19 de febrero de 2013

SciFi essay

Hi, I know, I'm writing in English! That's new. And I'm not bringing a new episode of this eccentric year abroad, that's new too. No, I'm bringing you my essay. Nobody gives a fuck, I know, but while I was writing it I found out that there wasn't much information about this, so I'm posting it just in case that anybody else turns out to find themselves in same situation.
Here you have a comparative essay between The Hunger Games and Ender's Game. Hope you like it.
I'm such a freak, I know.
Love.


Childhood in a post-apocalyptic world
            Growing up in the normal world is already a hard task, but doing it with a post-apocalyptic background just stinks. The apocalypse changes people, that’s unavoidable; when there’s nothing left but a bunch of ruins and the survivors have to work harder than ever to live one more day in a hostile environment, the good old uses that we used to know have nothing to do there anymore. Grown-ups can stand it, but children are usually a collateral damage. Suddenly, they find themselves lost in a completely new world where they might not even have parents to take care of them, and they have to get used to it quickly if they want to survive. Even if they still have a family and a place to live in, they just have to accept that times have changed and it’s rarely for good.
            Ender’s game and The hunger games display very different points of view of what childhood in a post-apocalyptic world can be, but they share a common topic: how to exploit one of the most prolific resources they have, childhood. Children imply innocence, creativity, energy, but also a weak spot in society, something that, by instinct, must be protected by adults. In both novels we can see how the powerful and important people use all of this as a means to an end.
            In both novels there’s been a war, but the worlds are different: Ender lives in an intergalactic world where the humans have defeated twice, with a great effort, an alien race that they barely understand; on the other hand, Katniss lives in a devastated but not so-far-from-us North America where there has been a civil war among humans that has ended up by dividing the territory in twelve districts ruled by the main city, the Capitol, where the winners live their rich and wonderful lives, without minding the poverty and misery that prevail in the districts.
            Obviously, these two different depictions of the end of a war set two completely different worlds to live in and, of course, children are not seen the same way. Once we’ve spent a few pages with Ender and Katniss, we can see that their lives are totally different, but by the end of the books we may establish some coincidences between them. Ender is a genius, he is extraordinary and that’s what will drive him to the top, his life is also way better in most of the senses: he has a family, he studies, he has fun in his own way, his life is way more normal than Katniss’. She is a normal girl (given the circumstances) who lives her own day-a-day war: her father has died, so she has to hunt to feed her mother and little sister, which is actually illegal, and doesn’t attend school anymore. There’s nothing remarkable in her, she’s just a survivor, as many others around her (her best friend also hunts to feed his family, so we can see that not even this is extraordinary).
            For both characters there’s a turning point: Ender leaves to go to a special school where he will be trained for war, to keep on defending the Earth from possible alien invasions, and it’s there where he will show all his potential and how talented he is, which will mean success and, consequently, his innocence and childish spirit will be taken from him little by little. By the end of the book, we’ll see that there’s nothing left of that kid that got into the academy in the beginning. In The hunger games, Katniss is already 16, which means that she has been sorted to take part in The Hunger Games for the last four years, but now her sister is chosen and, to save her, she will volunteer to do exactly the thing that has been scaring her and every kid around since they turned twelve. We can see that, while this turning point means something good for Ender, at least partly because he will have the chance to learn and develop his extraordinary skills and intelligence, for Katniss it is almost a death sentence, but she faces it with determination just to protect her family. In both cases, even though they are way too different, we witness how these two characters grow up, leaving childhood behind, and this is another important spot: how circumstances force the children to mature faster and earlier than we do nowadays.
            Besides this, we can see what childhood actually means for people: in Ender’s game, children are possible future soldiers and strategists that might help defending the planet from the evil creatures outside and this is taken so far that they even stop caring about children’s humanity anymore. Thanks to their imagination, intelligence and non-corrupted-yet minds, they are powerful foes for the possible invaders, because kids don’t think the same way adults do. It’s true that the Government takes them away from their families, but at least they receive some kind of instruction, although they are sent to the battle afterwards, they are not completely defenseless; also, the reason why the kids are brought away from their homes is sold as reasonable: they are getting prepared to fight for their world, their people. In The hunger games, children are seen as a tool, a way to manipulate the people and remind them that the Government has the power and the control so far that they can even take their daughters and sons to death just to entertain the population. By the end of the book, Katniss is considered as a threaten by the Government and a revolutionary sign by the people, and this is will rule her life from now on, she will be the sign of revolution. These points of view may seem different at first, but actually everything can be reduced to how children are seen only as a weapon, as much for war as for peace.
            Besides this, we can also check another important thing: the training. As I said before, Ender and his mates are trained, taught and instructed, they are not just sent to fight without any weapon. If some kids prove to be extraordinary in any sense, as Ender is, their skills are developed and admired, people can see something good in them. In Katniss’ world they don’t; she proves to be a great archer, but the only way she had to train was illegal and neither the Capitolium nor the peace agents that are supposed to keep the peace in the districts would have seen anything good in that. Indeed it is considered as dangerous, because she’s able to defend herself from attackers and that gives her some kind of power. When she arrives to the Games and proves to be an excellent hunter, people are amazed, but not the organizers nor the watchers: they turn to be worried, because she has obviously learnt on her own and, since she comes from a poor district, she might turn out to be a problem.
            Some quotes in the books can also help us to understand the kind of moral and mentality people have. On one hand, we have the famous “Sometimes lies are more dependable than the truth” (Ender’s game), which I think it’s very illustrative; it makes us think about a society so corrupted in certain ways that the truth might mean nothing, so it’s not a surprise that kids are used as potential weapons in a war. Ender doesn’t trust anybody and adults, and especially teachers, are just a bunch of liars. It also submits the idea of how easy it is sometimes to find out the truth just by the contrary meaning of the lie (as when adults say “It won’t hurt” and you know perfectly well by it that it will). On the other hand, we have the repeated “And may the odds be ever in your favor” (The Hunger Games), which I find quite ironic if not irritating; this is the Hunger Games slogan, so to say, and every time children are selected to take part in the Games, this is the common thing to say; I think this is really ironic, because as they are “wishing” luck to the participants, what they are really looking forward to is a blood bath, and we can witness Katniss and some of her friends using it in a mocking way sometimes.
            Can we see some similarity between books and reality? Yes, we can, but we have to go a few hundreds years back in time. The way kids are trained and sent to the battlefield might be compared to the Ancient Greek and how Spartans raised their children:
In ancient Sparta, boys at aged seven years old left their homes and entered the public educational system. The goal of this system of education was to produce a well-drilled military machine composed of soldiers who were "obedient to the word of command, capable of enduring hardships and victories in battle.
The Spartan system of education was organized by the state and each boy was assigned to a group known as the agela. They lived in a communal style and were made to undergo a curriculum of training that was rigorous and often painful. Enormous discipline was placed on these children as they passed through the hands of teachers, gymnastic coaches and military instructors. The goal of this program was to produce men who were not only physically fit but psychologically disciplined. The Spartan male's education did not end till he reached the age of thirty. In this educational regime, literacy and the arts were not a priority.[1]
            We can also compare The Hunger Games system to the Ancient Rome and their ways of entertainment. Even the name of the space where the competition takes places is the same, arena, and everybody could attend it and watch. Children were taken there to witness the spectacle, not caring that it was extremely violent, and children that remain at home are compelled to watch THG on television as everyone else. Besides, kids are sent to fight as if they were war prisoners (aren’t they in fact?), anything can be sent by the watchers to attack them and make the show more interesting for people, and there’s a great variety of weapons set in the arena for them to use it besides the natural resources the participants can find in their displayed environment:
The majority of gladiators was either condemned criminals, slaves, prisoners of war or volunteers who signed up to do shows for a fee (…).
Various other weapons, women, and sometimes even dwarves were used in the games. Special types of "wild animal matches" (venationes) were introduced in the 2nd Century BC and became very popular. Such bouts included men on foot and on horseback, known as beastiarii, who were usually either criminals, prisoners of war, or trained and paid fighters. Beastiarii fought exotic animals, which eventually led to an extensive trade market.[2]
            All this factors have repercussions in the way Ender and Katniss understand their lives.
            In the beginning, we see that Ender is a very cultured person; he and his sister spend their time thinking about questions that not even the adults have in their minds and they start a philosophic revolution by exposing their conclusions where people can read and discuss them. It’s obvious, then, that, although they are kids, they already have some kind of maturity, a different way of seeing things and, of course, enough courage to put them to the test. Ender develops his skills in order to help his planet, but there’s a consequence that nobody has expected, although it could have been predictable just by checking his personal character, and that he explains it quite well in one quote: In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him. Those who trained him to turn him into a very effective weapon didn’t count on that and this is what will help Ender to keep his humanity. His newly evolved compassion will be a very important factor for the rest of his life and will change things that weren’t meant to change. His sensibility will help him understand a lot more about his mission or how to accomplish it in a different way than expected.
            Katniss evolution is a bit different. She’s introduced as an orphan fighter in the day-a-day. She has no time to philosophize about life nor war, she takes care of her family and silently begs for not being chosen to die in the Games (nor any of her beloved ones); actually, the only big thought that she transmits is how bad and cruel the Games are. However, by the time her sister is selected she volunteers, which shows us that she is not a kid anymore (at least not completely), because she has already developed that instinct grown-ups have about protecting the younger ones beyond the instinctive fear of dying. Although she tries to look tough and strong, along the story she shows a big compassion and even some kind of maternal instinct (anyway, she says she will never have children so she won’t have to put them through the annual torture of the Games her generation has to face), not just with humans but also with the animals she hunts (at some point, she says that she prefers to kill them quickly). But by the end of the Games, her toughness has started to become real; killing, almost being killed, seeing people dying and knowing that she will never be able to have a normal in-love relationship make her turn into an adult suffocated by responsibilities. That toughness she develops will be necessary and important in the next books, when she will become the face of the revolution and have to face a real war.
            I think we can conclude that Ender and Katniss live in quite diverse worlds but represent not so different perspectives. What they really show us is that it doesn’t matter how sick the environment can be around us as long as we know who we want to be; you might be forced to fight and kill, but you have to understand why and at some point, as Peeta says to Katniss before the Games start, Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to... to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games. The evolution from children to adults, their relationships and thoughts in these concrete post-apocalyptic situations help us by exploring parts of human behavior that would be taboo in any other circumstances. It’s evident that kids, their minds and lives, are the best weapons society can have, and that an event like the apocalypse can distort our ethics about it, but are these kinds of  approaches a warning for the future or a way to put the present to the test? In my opinion, authors always try to tell us more about the present than the future, so maybe we should start questioning ourselves.

viernes, 1 de febrero de 2013

El encanto de los turistas

Queridos míos, hoy vengo para hablaros de una de las partes vitales de cualquier erasmus que se precie: el momento en que recibes la visita de tus amigos españoles. Es un punto maravilloso, ebrio y precioso de la experiencia, lo de recibir a tus amig@s implica volver a recorrer todos los puntos turísticos de rigor que ya visitaste al comienzo de tu viaje y, por supuesto, pillarte al menos una moña cada dos días.
Yo lo he llevado un poco más allá, porque los asturianos somos así: si hacemos las cosas las hacemos bien, y así comencé la visita de mis gochis A, L y C con una resaca implacable (bueno, he de decir que es que la noche anterior mi querida flatmate-futura-médica-alemana se despedía de Budapest para regresar a Leipzig y, claro, yo no podía perdérmelo, que para eso estamos los amigos). Las recogí al pie de un funicular un día de no demasiado frío (pongamos unos dos grados bajo cero a lo sumo) y con un paisaje cubierto de nieve. A, L y C iban, como buenas habitantes acostumbradas al clima tropical de Oviedo (en comparación, lo es, en serio), con al menos unas 3 capas de ropa sobre el cuerpo y la rubia se quejaba de que no sentía los pies dentro de sus carísimas Hunter (me desorino, iban super fashion que te cagas, y yo mientras con mis tracillas habituales).
Ni puta idea de lo que es el frío tienen, ni puta idea, que menos dos grados es un lujo incomparable (y los 9 grados que hubo hoy ya ni os cuento, miedo me da). Pero oye, nada quita la ilusión a los turistas, y a su favor he de decir que se quejaron poco (...). Pululamos por ahí, contra viento, marea, lluvia y nieve, y fuimos a parar a mi casa para repostar antes de que las sacase a cenar por ahí (fascinadas quedaron con lo barato que es comer y beber y lo raro de los bares). Así conocieron a la flatmate que se iba y al que se ha instalado en su cuarto: el italianini (le pusieron el mote sobre la marcha y el pobre hombre morirá con él), que no es que sea ningún derroche de encanto pero por lo menos no es como aquel extraño compañero de piso de Ágave. He de decir que ese día apenas nos moñamos, sólo nos achispamos animosamente con unas cervecillas de medio litro a la cena.
A la mañana siguiente me desperté junto a la rubia en una cama ajena y tardé un rato, no creáis, en recordar dónde puñetas estaba (en su aparta-hostel). No diré nada muy insigne del turisteo realizado, tan sólo un pequeño resumen del final de la tarde y la noche: alcohol.


Empezamos con los chupis, seguimos con champán, unas cervecillas y, para culminar, un palinkazo para el cuerpo que entró como agua al visitar el Instant. Ese día me acosté en mi cama (gracias a Dios). Y sola, que ya os veo las caras, gochus pervertidos.

El despertar del último día a mí me produjo media úlcera, ya os haréis una idea (y encima aquí que casi no bebo -parece lo contrario, lo sé, pero no es verdad; bebo más en Oviedo porque esa ciudad o estás borracho o de noche te deprime-) así que el plan fue medio tranqui, deambulando por la biblioteca y las calles, comiendo bocadillo y haciéndome ida y vuelta al aeropuerto para acompañar a estas gochis que ya se iban. Por cierto, las timaron un poco bastante en el tram porque la revisora les vio la pinta de guiris, vaya kurva apestosa la tia.
En fin, que this is life y así os la he contado. Sé que ahora os arrepentís de haber perdido el tiempo. Jejejejeje, jodeos, que en el fondo no tenéis nada mejor que hacer que leerme.
Frigobesos desde zonas criogénicas.

sábado, 19 de enero de 2013

Cuando tienes un día bueno...

Sweeties, en caso de que estéis interesados, que sepáis que ya está a la venta Querido Harry, el libro solidario compuesto por cartas escritas por fans a HP o a JK Rowling. Hay versión ebook y versión en papel, ambas a la venta aquí: http://www.bubok.es/libros/220660/Querido-Harry
Menos mal que Cris Granger me lo recordó, porque me publican una carta y si ella no me lo recuerda, ni lo pienso xD
Venga, sé que no soy Tolkien escribiendo, pero creo que si EL James consigue vender millones de su señor Grey, una pequeña colaboración por una buena causa no es para tanto (y recordad que me queréis porque soy fabulosa).
Gracias :)