I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself
sábado, febrero 13, 2010
domingo, enero 31, 2010
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
domingo, marzo 30, 2008
Warning: Gravity is "Only a Theory"
No lo he leido por completo pero las primeras perlas son para mear y no echar gota:
The Universal Theory of Gravity is often taught by Gravitationalists in public schools as a "fact." It is not a fact. It is not even a good theory.
Is gravity universal? Maybe. Maybe not. No one has measured gravity for every atom and every star. And gravitationalists are not attempting to remedy this lack of experiment evidence, afraid of failure, no doubt. It is undeniably a religious belief that gravity is universal.
Circular reasoning or elliptical reasoning?
According to gravitationalists, gravity is a force between objects with mass; Lines of gravitational force are straight. Gravity does not make objects spin in circles or ellipses. But planets are observed to move in elliptical orbits around the sun. Trying to dodge this contradiction, gravitationalists turn logic on its head and claim orbits somehow prove gravity. Circular reasoning and elliptical reasoning are common among gravitationalists.
Y más. La teoría del diseño inteligente de la gravedad. Nunca pensé que vería algo así.
sábado, marzo 22, 2008
Tras el capítulo x08: Meet Kevin Johnson en el que se nos relatan las aventuras de este "nuevo" personaje, tenemos un parón de un mes en La Serie.
Va bien realizar valoraciones y recapitulaciones, tal y como nos ofrece el nydailynews:
Los 8 peores momentos
Los 15 mejores momentos
Resaltemos que el logo utilizado para describir lo peor es el de la estación la Hydra (la que ocupó buena parte del inicio de la Tercera temporada, donde la serie tomó el camino de una penitenciaria semialienígena con la introducción de personajes de los que nunca más se supo) y el utilizado para lo mejor es el de la Swan (La maravillosa escotilla, con su Apple II, sus 108 minutos, los números, Desmond, la Lockbsesión, el descubrimiento de Henry Gale, el momentazo Michael).
Mi top five de Lost, así a bote pronto es (sin orden, únicamente los 5 mejores):
-s02E01: Los 3 primeros minutos tras la larga espera, son de los mejor que se ha emitido nunca por una televisión. Las escenas cotidianas de un desconocido, con música setentera y la irrupción de la sorpresa y el desconcierto y el siempre presente momento Lost.
-s04E05: Reciente, genial, seguramente el mejor capítulo de Lost. Y el momentazo final, muy emotivo.
-s03 Finale: Cuando todo cambia, la forma que tenían para explicarte las cosas ya no es la misma y descubres un secreto que no esperabas que te fuesen a revelar tan pronto.
-s01E18: El de Hurley, el de los números.
El quinto, está por llegar, LoL.
Publicado por spin a las 18:34
jueves, marzo 20, 2008
Esta mañana (estoy de vacaciones) he visto como se transformaba en 2º nivel de SuperSaiyan el bueno de Son Gohan. Asco de doblaje en castellano ya que no apareció en ningún momento este temazo (y los nombres, el doblaje de los diálogos y las voces dan pena):
Hasta el Cèlula mola muchísimo más en català.
Tanto el perfecto...
... como el no tan perfecto
martes, marzo 18, 2008
lunes, marzo 17, 2008
domingo, marzo 16, 2008
viernes, marzo 14, 2008
No era consciente ni de la existencia del vídeo ni del personaje. Ahora veo a una divinidad nórdica, al mismísimo Thor bailando al ritmo del techno con banda sonora del divino amigo de los niños.
¿Cómo describir la majestuosidad del Techno Vikingo con palabras? Es un súper-héroe, perseguidor de la injusticia, azote de los asalta-muchachas. Su temible Dedo Intimidador haría huir a cualquier ejército. Cuando crees que el techno Vikingo no puede darte más aparece la magia. El baile del Techno Vikingo no tiene parangón, es pura energía.
domingo, marzo 09, 2008
Every axiomatic (abstract) theory admits, as is well known, an unlimited number of concrete interpretations besides those from which it was derived. Thus we find applications in fields of science which have no relation to the concepts of random event and of probability in the precise meaning of these words.---A.N. Kolmogorov
sábado, marzo 01, 2008
El de la derecha siempre me ha encantado (es el Ulises de Lost), pero el de la izquierda es para mí la gran revelación. Con una luz rosa bien calibrada -o una misteriosa isla en quiensabedonde-, ¿quién quiere un Delorean?
Este capítulo bien merece una revisión, un análisis profundo y 3 ó 4 visionados frame a frame de ciertos momentos -esa libreta-.
No solo hay un plan maestro, sino que lo que parecían tramas secundarias de ciertos efectos de la isla se tornan la esencia misma del misterio. La review de Mac de esta semana sabe a poco, así que habrá que volver a La Fuente, tan peligrosa y fascinante como siempre.
Un capítulo como éste es por lo que merece estar escribiendo cuatro chorradas por capítulo cada semana. Mañana voy a rellenar esto de todo lo que me pida el cuerpo.
************************ESTO VA A CONTENER SPOILERS************************
Desmond's consciousness becomes entangled quantum state which oscillates in space and time in the same way that basic quantum mechanics tells us a bound particle in a mixed quantum state has a probability density which oscillates in space and time. The equations on
Daniel Faraday'sblack board seem to allude to this, particularly the text which reads: "Relative Quantum Mechanics. Temporal sloshing. Temporal double well."
Cuando Desmond aterriza en el barco y dice "I'm not here; this isn't happening", bien puede interpretarse como un cierto homenaje al grupo de Oxford Radiohead.
En un top five musical de despegues espacio-temporales de la conciencia, un par caerían en manos de Tom Yorke y compañía. No todo va a ser Mad World.
Respecto al tema de las constantes en los viajes en el tiempo y sus paradojas me ha gustado el comentario:
A Constant may be a person in both the current time and the "jump-time" to who the time-traveler can connect. The show's producers had always said that there was a reason characters appeared in each others flashbacks - a significant reason, it wasn't just accident. The writers have set it up so that the characters can be each other's constants.
Más detallitos: las capturas de la libreta de Dan Faraday:
domingo, febrero 24, 2008
Una nueva novela del MundoDisco cayó en mis manos. La primera de la saga de la Muerte, posiblemente uno de mis personajes preferidos de la saga. La Muerte del MundoDisco es una personificación antropomórfica de un hecho natural -el de morir- que adquiere comportamientos humanos, tiene un sirviente e incluso una hija adoptada en su casa -oscura como la noche- donde el tiempo no pasa. Decide contratar a un aprendiz, para tomarse un tiempo libre en el que filosofar y que éste se convierta en el marido de su hija. Las cosas no van del todo bien cuando el joven muchacho -perdón, Mort- decide alterar los sucesos de la realidad. Pero a pesar de esa distorsión de la realidad, la Historia siempre gana. ¿Sí?
Un par de citas que me hicieron gracia (a parte de la de La Monarquía y la velocidad de la Luz):
El somewhere es La Comunidad del Anillo.
"Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards because a refusal often offends, I read somewhere."
- I USHERED SOULS INTO THE NEXT WORLD. I WAS THE GRAVE OF ALL HOPE. I
WAS THE ULTIMATE REALITY. I WAS THE ASSASSIN AGAINST WHOM NO LOCK
- "Yes, point taken, but do you have any particular skills?"
-- Death consults a job broker (Terry Pratchett, Mort)
Para quien la haya disfrutado, aconsejo echarle un ojo a las anotaciones en la concha de gran A'tuin o en L-space. Es una forma de recrear la magia de analogías que consigue Terry Pratchett.
Lista de Libros del 2008
sábado, febrero 23, 2008
"I will, of course, be dead at some future point, as will everybody else. For me, this maybe further off than you think."
"I know it's a very human thing to say 'Is there anything I can do?' but in this case I would only entertain offers from very high-end experts in brain chemistry."
Terry Pratchett, en las declaraciones anunciando su forma prematura de Alzheimer
SO I'M A LITTLE EARLY AM I? I FORGOT TO LOOK AT THE LIST.
Más bromas encontradas por ahí:
...he'll die, come back as a Zombie, and continue writing Discworld for the next 400 years.
"Just because you're a zombie doesn't mean you're a bad person"
"... that there's a million-to-one chance they'll find a cure in time!"
And we all know that million-to-one chances happen nine times out of ten.
There may be a cure somewhere in The Luggage. Anyone brave enough to have a look?
Mr Pratchett, I just hope that all the gods (even the small ones) are looking out for you and keeping you and your family safe and healthy for as long as possible.
viernes, febrero 22, 2008
OH MY GOD JACK, YOU'RE GOING TO HELL.
Le añado un palote a los Oceanic Six, tenemos más revelaciones (brutales) de lo que pasará después, al que se le va la olla (La Olla Camino KEnya) se le va más a pesar incluso innovando en los métodos de extracción de información (Bauer Style: Enjoy your Breakfast), el James Ford tanto timador tanto timador y no es capaz de verlas (todas) venir con la Kate, Hurley en su línea de un par de líneas cachondas y Dan Faraday es el hombre memoria de pez.
Shift + A
Combinación mágica en Google Reader tras una semana sin BroadBand-Interneeeeeer.
PS: No utilizar sin la supervisión de un operador avanzado (por pasar de tanta información de Matrix) y una botella de whisky para olvidar que has dejado de leer tantos posts!