Face it
The face of the boy is just another face among the tired crowd that fills the subway. It's a Thursday evening after work and i can see sleepy eyes, shy smiles and the odd sneezey nose travelling beside me on the train. The face of the boy stands out while he concentrates on reading his book, and i can't help but stare at him intensely. He is so beautiful, i feel i'm at a museum exploring a painting, or worshiping the new season arrivals at a Soho boutique.

I take a detour on my way home to see how the recently opened chocolate store is coming along, and i run into a friendly face. I smile and forget about my anxiety to sleep, i indulge into some interesting talking and then i go back to the place i'm calling home.

Then it hits me. I see my face in the giant mirror and i know there is something that needs to be taken care of. My pride gets a little shattered and i close my eyes for maybe a minute. While i wonder how i let it all happen in a wink of an eye, i see a parade of faces marching on the catwalk of my mind. I'm being ambivalent again but this time i don't want to live in confussion.

I'll just have to face it.

Would anyone like to join me tonight? I'm going ghost hunting...

Untidy soul
Sometimes i have to stop listening to the music inside my veins and tune into other swings. Some times such as this one.

I wish i could slip into something more comfortable, like a brand new skin that would protect me from the icey winds that are trying to blow Madrid away; a different body that would let me run faster from all things unnaturally cold.

And sleep, just close my eyes and let the autumn live in a stormy dream.

Gray thinking
Allthough i'm dressed in red and my cheeks are pink from the cold, i'm feeling a little blue. Black and blue.

The countdown



I can hear the wind blowing its way through the buildings of the city, i can feel the imaginary crows flapping around my roof, i can smell the pumpkin cream my friend Lynch will probably be tasting in New York.

It's that time of the year again, and though i don't have a party to go to, a custome to wear or even a single Halloween tradition in Madrid, i know the spirits are somewhere trying to spook me out.

My favourite holiday of the year is on its final countdown. I cannot wait to get the chills.

Party when you're winning
Which of these celebrities did i swing with last night? That's an easy one, folks, since Ozzy isn't planning on touring around Spain these days and Marilyn won't get here til December 4th (please Lovely V have me talk to it!!!!). Robbie Williams was b-r-i-l-l-i-a-nt last night, boys and girls, but so were my friends.

Whoa, what a beautiful and energizing concert. Robbie danced his ass out and ignored the fact that his stomach was making its way out of his gay-looking-from-Benidorm-or-something shirt and despite the army of Shakiras who lap danced around him.

I don't have a voice this morning, probably because i left it back at the venue: i didn't know a single lyric but i hailed the man and screamed every time he asked the audience to show him their love: "Madrid, it's good to have you"...

The night ended with an Argentinian singer telling me about his six-month old baby and the fact that he lives in a studio with two pianos and a keyboard. And then, of course, the alarm clock did nothing to get me out of bed this morning. Dream when you're winning, right?

Recording time
(via Sherry)

Ten years ago...
- I was 19.
- I was meeting some of the most important people in my life at university.
- I had spent a very peculiar summer at a country house with huge windows and lots of peace.
- I was living on my own at an apartment owned by my father.

Seven years ago...
- I was 22.
- I went back to Québec and saw Martin. I smiled so much that summer…
- I dyed my hair orange.
- I used to draw and write a lot more than now.

Five years ago...
- I was trying to recover from the worst time of my life after Luis’ accident.
- I started working at the newspaper.
- I moved in with my friend Morgana.
- I reinvented myself.

Three years ago...
-I was 26.
-I was living with Tom.
- I was doing regular trips to Ikea.
- I was happy.

Two years ago...
- I was 27.
- I was attending the gym on a regular basis.
- I was trying to figure out what to do with all areas of my life.
- I needed a major change.

One year ago...
- I was 28.
- I was living in El Escorial.
- I was running in five directions at the same time.
- I was dreading the cold winter.

Today...

- I am 29 –30 coming up real soon.
- I am living in a studio.
- I got up early this morning and didn’t smile.
- I read five pages of my book ‘Hey Nostradamus’, by Douglas Coupland while i was on the subway.

Tomorrow...
- I will meet someone I’m not particularly keen on seeing.
- I will do some grocery shopping if I find the time.
- I will make an important phone call… always tomorrow!
- I will wake up looking forward to the weekend.

Class of 92
I went to a high school reunion last Saturday. It was the 25th aniversary of the institution and they decided to celebrate it big time. That means politicians doing some talking, accreditations being handed out, an open air paella offered to almost anyone and lots of chatting going on between old school mates. It was wild and fun and sad and alcoholic and sometimes it gave me shivers.

The prince and the choirgirl
Little M is the author of this incredible piece featured at the Mountain Family's refrigerator door. Big M has taken up piano as well as sax at school. They both take modern dance lessons now. Their education is walking on such a brilliant path...

New toy



Guess who got her own copy of Photoshop 7? After a week so awful i'm not going to go into details, it feels all right to have something new to play with at the laptop. Is 'Uma doubles' an ok title for this creation?

Don't miss Veronica
Now that the rain has stopped pouring over Madrid i shall take a minute to say something important: please do not miss this film for anything.

Such a beautiful way of telling a story, an amazing actress like Cate Blanchett and the fact that this Irish journalist was actually killed for going too far in her investigations makes the movie a true treasure.

I want life, all of life
So this is what I’m reading lately:

“(…) How can you respect that sort of weakness, how can you admire a human who consciously embraces the bland, the mediocre, and the safe rather than risk the suffering that disappointment can bring?”

“If desire causes suffering, it may be because we do not desire wisely, or that we are inexpert at obtaining what we desire. Instead of hiding our heads in a prayer cloth and building walls against temptation, why not get better at fulfilling desire? Salvation is for the feeble, that’s what I think. I don’t want salvation, I want life, all of life, the miserable as well as the superb. (…) I cannot believe that the most delicious things were placed here merely to test us, to tempt us, to make it more difficult for us to capture the grand prize: the safety of the void”.

‘Jitterbug Perfume’, by Tom Robbins. Bantam Books (Hardcover edition 1984, Paperback May 1990)

The best of both worlds
The office at the pool is quiet, as usual. Most of the workers are out having coffee and the few who are still in here are discussing salaries. The atmosphere in this place is so detached and cold that you lose your energy as soon as you walk through the door.

Back at the newspaper, things used to be different, although I still wonder if I’d trade one for the other on a permanent basis. Given the choice to remain here or return to the spider web area at the newspaper would put me in a very difficult position.

That’s why I won’t accept any of the options. Not for now. That’s why I want to keep the best of both worlds. That’s why I’m going to take up some writing while I continue with my job at the swimming pool. That’s why I should be deliriously happy for being able to juggle so many interesting things at the same time.

But somehow, I’m not. I wonder if it’s just plain fear.

Stuff you left behind
I was walking around the neighbourhood for a little while yesterday evening when i spotted the window of an old shop where they sell horrible men's clothes at scandalous prices.

In between cardigans and uncomfortable-looking shirts, i saw a sewing machine. It was black and it had small golden carvings all over it, and i assumed it must've been about 40 or 50 years old. It was very much the same as the one my Spanish grandmother used to have. It's funny how objects disappear from your regular life and how striking it is when you see them again over the years.

The same applies to shopping trolleys. I don't mean the ones you use when you're at the supermarket, but the kind you have at home and take to the vegetable and flower market on a Saturday morning.

I have one. It's red and not very good, but i love the idea of following our grandparent's traditions and i feel great when i fill up my trolley with tomatoes from the South of the country and a couple of litres of milk at the bottom.

At the weekends, my gay/fashionable quarter fills up with these wheeled artifacts until the sun goes down, which is when the 20th century stays home and the children of the futuristic night-clubbing go out, after a nice home-made meal that came out of their trolleys.

Always take the weather with you
Temperatures dropped dramatically today, proving that my mother, as usual, was right with her own private forecast. I was glad to have my feather double duvet with me this morning while i was informed that there were only 5º C out there.

I've been living in a daze of beautiful songs and sugared mojitos lately, so i don't really care if winter is making its way towards this city. I'm in tropical land, boys and girls, and i intend to stay there for as long as the breeze blows.

We've got a ticket to ride
LovelyV spent her last night in Rome wandering through incredibly dark streets. Our common friend An. just returned from Ibiza, the island that never sleeps, while Kurt is in Barcelona, recovering from his NYC break. Nick is back in Madrid after his restless trip around the north of Spain and Portugal and i'm trying hard to catch up on the hours i left behind at Saint Petersburg.

Is it my imagination or did the summer just end yesterday?