(In brackets)
Ambivalence is taking a (very) brief hiatus, due to (some) matters that need to be taken care of (did that sound too Godfatherish?). Lynch is in town. My (very own) bachelorette party is on its way for Saturday. I have a translation to give in by Friday. Work at the office has (inmenseley) built up on these last days. All this means my posts are sleeping in between imaginary brackets until i can get back to the (ambivalent) reality. I will miss you too.

Blond doll
This city cannot get any warmer. I feel sidewalks may start melting any minute now. I never thought i'd actually look forward to my air conditioned office.

Last Friday afternoon, in a heroic act of brave shopper, i had a little stroll to look for my 'magical marrying shoes', despite the heat and the fact that it was early so many stores were still closed. No excuses for a true shoe hunter on a September Wedding Project.

After a couple of closed shops i landed in front of a window featuring cute strass sandals, where three women were discussing the dimensions of a heel on one of the shoes.

One of them was outstanding. She wore a very minidress, tight, lime green tones, combined with extremely tanned legs and vertigo white heels. She was bright blond and wore several coats of make up. She was definitely one of those traffic stoppers. Men openly gazed at her.

Two workers from a construction site nearby stepped out of a building to download their cement bags. I was standing next to them when one of them commented on the blond girl. His friend looked in her direction and said "she's no different from my daughter's barbie doll".

Sunday smile

Visual effects







A bit like organizing the drawers of a huge wardrobe, i've been running through ambivalence, fixing bits and pieces, and i've collected a lot of my photos, put them together in one place, and tagged them for your eyes only. Homes, faces, places and portraits. I can calmly state that my life has definetely changed after the arrival of my digicam. Smile.

The boy
This boy likes yellow. He likes all things bright. I suspect he also likes photos. He has multicoloured energy that takes him all over his city -gorgeous Québec- and lets him have a strong presence in my memories even though it's been so long.

The boy is fast, talkative and sweet. He is impatient and malicious. He is full of courage and he chainsmokes his way in and out of long conversations. The boy is called Martin, he's no longer a boy and has recently overcome his greatest fear: planes.

The boy is my twin brother, born on the same day of the same month of the same year. Different continent. Same bloody smile and taste for life. We met on a cold morning in an ugly school building, circa September 1989. The Berlin Wall was still there and we were just 15. We spent enough time together to become some sort of parallel family.

I went back to see the boy seven years after my first visit. He never made it here due to his amazing flying phobia. I needed a freaking brilliant reason to get him to Madrid and i found it a few months ago. After involuntarily 'training' in four different airplanes, the boy has decided to jump on a fifth one to attend our wedding.

P.S.: I've been wishing for this to become reality since february. Here's the written proof.

One remaining rule
I'm such a child. I need a little 'pick me up' after letting all the comments slip away on me like that. I didn't feel like crying when i found out this morning, but i was incredibly close to rolling on the floor and kicking imaginary dwarfs around me. Believe me when i say the word childish.

Can you have nostalgia for the words spoken by others in cyber-post-it mode over two years? I guess i can. I'm still amazed at how much i cling to time. Anyway, my pick me up: I'd like to have a party right this minute, just to get over my fit, but i'll speaking about parties is my only option right now. Plus i don't see a DJ in this office.

Juan is having one soon. A birthday party, in this case. I think most of you are invited. I won't be able to attend, for reasons that will be shortly unveiled. But i digress.

Parties used to be my speciality. I'm a party professional with over 15 years of experience in the field. I must say technique, environment and drinks have sufferend a strong evolution process since the first time.

1. The early gatherings were dominated by high school friends, underground music for alternative teenagers and martini with lemon cocktails. The motto of those parties was 'my parents are gone for the weekend'. There was some dancing, a lot of passed out bodies and food consisting on chips. From 10.00 pm til the next day, since most of the guests stayed over.

2. The faculty years were also intense. In our case, and since we no longer had to lie to our families or get into a house to get stoned and drunk out of our minds, parties were an excuse to dress up. Fond memories include Morgana, Six and myself as black widows (both the spider and the sexy lethal chick concepts), sipping regular drinks, i.e., rhum or whiskey w/coke.

3. Years have gone by, experimenting has started to fade out and parties are held at bars and other exquisite joints. Home gatherings in our thirties are now a matter of six to sixteen people, passionate conversation on politics, complicated recipes or plain sexual gossip and cocktail dresses. Drinks frequently become gin and tonics, champagne sorbet or mojitos.

I think some of the innocent party spirit is lost, but one rule that will always apply: The person hosting the party will always get a certain amount of tension building up in his/her mind, at least 15 minutes before the arrival of the first guest. Denying this evidence is like trying to convince me you're not a little scared of getting trapped in an elevator.

The day the comments died
Bye bye all my comments are gone, drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry...

(Introducing Blogger comments and losing two full years of your words in one second. Deep sigh.)

Gurus and byproducts
I went to this very cool place to sign in for a narrative fiction workshop. Both Trix and Dixie had shown interest in it, and i talked F into getting in too. 'At least it will force us to write something', he muttered thoughtfully over the phone. If all of us are finally admitted into the course, we'll definitely take over it.

My reasons to look forward to the workshop are obvious: i have the time, it's not expensive, i've never been to one and i can't wait for someone to actually help me out with my writing. I guess i need a guide. That applies to many fields in my life. Which makes me think we urgently need to create the 'life coach' role.

While i was having a quiet beer with Juan and company the other day, we discussed the increasing offer of professional coaches in companies. Basically, this is a person who shows up wearing a kick ass suit, flashes a smile and instantly justifies whatever uncomfortable decision his/her client is about to make.

More or less the same thing my work colleague does at his other job as a Personal Trainer. He takes stressed executives running, has them stretch a couple of muscles and listens to their life stories. He becomes bored and richer after each session. He is the relaxing guru, a byproduct of the nineties.

I can see it's exactly the same role over and over. Juan's friend reassures confused workers. My coworker reassures tired minds. I'm looking for someone to reassure my initiative to write. The new millennium gurus have many faces for the same mission.

Now all i need is to find the perfect pair of party shoes for the SWP. Summer sales coaching, anyone?

The making of a flower
Just when i least expected it, i discovered i do have green fingers after all. The gardenia is in bloom. And i can't believe this quite amazing process is taking place in our little hectic living room. I feel the same way i did when i was eight years old and my silkworm turned into a butterfly (to die a while later, alas).






Wow.

Speed II
So this happened again this morning.

Devoted to Jim
I fell in love with Roberto Benigni when i discovered him in 'Down by law' (memorable lines include "there's no rrroom to swing a cat" and "if looks could kill, i would bee ded"), and i gave Wynona a second chance after watching her in 'Night on Earth': Jim Jarmusch's films make the world a much cooler place.

So now he has finally made a long film out of the 1996 'Strange to meet you' feature. One of my favourite directors has put together most of my favourite people in a movie about some of my favourite vices.

Coffee and cigarettes will give you brilliant eye rolling by Meg and Jack White, trademark conversations by ohmygod Iggy Pop and Tom Waits, plus the incredible screen presence of the greatest Cate Blanchett. I simply can't believe i haven't seen this film yet.

New clicks in town
For those of you out there who read in Spanish, please let me introduce you into the life of D in the it walks format.

Other newcomers include Juan's e-life and, perhaps one day, the much awaited return of Rubiageek.

Shitty Tipper Database



The aching feet.
The weather changes on the terrace.
The dirty looks of certain male customers.
The nasty looks of certain female customers.
The humiliation of spilling an entire gin and tonic over an innocent balding head.
The money missing from my tips.
The drug smuggled in whiskey boxes.
Ana Obregon asking for diet coke. Every single night.
The same songs in the same order.
The constant tiredness despite my 17 years of age.
The bonding with the other waiters from the port.
The girl who asked for an 'alcoholic blue cocktail, please'.

It all came back after visiting Kiss my Bitter Ass (via Petite Claudine). One of those not-to-be-missed webs. Trust me on this one.

Content
(...) And this is the advice they gave me
"You must not try to be too pure
You must fly closer to the sea"
So I'm walking through the desert
And I am not frightened although it's hot
I have all that I requested
And I do not want what I haven't got

By Sinéad O'Connor

I feel content today. As in (Pronunciation Key) [con·tent2] Listen: [ kn-tnt ] 1. adj. Desiring no more than what one has; satisfied.

Staying in

Write on
Somebody in Yahoo! Mail decided to clean out the closet, and now my inbox looks spacious and organized.



I'm guessing this is the answer to folks up in Google, who recently launched Gmail, the one and only Huge and Free Mail Account for Geeks.



In any case, and since i have the intention of keeping both mails, i'd like you to note that your attachments are more welcome than ever. As long as you don't spam me with the tedious fwds, darlings.

Life is an exciting drama
Following Juan's suggestion, i've decided to let a machine tell me what type of personality i have, which already says a lot about it, methinks.

ENFP - "Journalist". Uncanny sense of the motivations of others. Life is an exciting drama. 8.1% of total population.

Take Free Myers-Briggs Personality Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

According to my random answers given right after my second cup of coffee, calmness is the strongest of my values, whereas detachment would be the weakest.

Is calmness a nicer way of saying lazy ass?

Washed out day
After all my ramblings in the recent posts, i don't feel like talking today. Perhaps it's the air conditioning in the office, cutting to my spine as the morning grows stronger. Or maybe it's the usual Monday blues. Or the fact that my hormones have declared themselves on Japanese strike.

Other options include yesterday's sleepless night, half waiting for Pablo to get home from work, half waiting for my extreme tiredness to kick into my mind. I remember looking at the alarm clock on my bedside table stool (!), watching the hours flow by. 2am. 3.15am. Must sleep.

I spent a good part of the night watching a rental film. The latest Bertolucci: The Dreamers. It's good. It's sweet and sour. When it was over i flicked through the extras and discovered it was getting really late.

This morning everything looks washed out. Especially my face in the mirror. I just need another cup of coffee, right?

Let's go
I don't have any trips planned in the near future, even though the summer is already hitting on all of us. Even if we should be looking forward to a honeymoon. But my new freelance status and the lack of clear perspectives is keeping me on land for the time being.

Still, the word journey is so exciting it makes me travel in my mind, and i run around Central Park, i follow Kurt into the jungle in Tanzania, i let a smokey train uncertainly take me to an unknown station. Journey is a great word. This is why i've accepted this week's Photo Friday.

Click on the picture and let yourself go.

Me and my telly
TV is not that bad. I came up with this conclusion yesterday afternoon, as i made myself comfortable on the couch and proceeded to doze off with the post-lunch documentaries.
But, alas, i was captured by the screen.

The program was about scientists recovering coral reef somewhere in Bali, using something that looked like cables and tying them around them to create a protected area. The guy was explaining that their next step, once the coral started to grow back strong, was to get the local fishermen and talk them into becoming ocean farmers.

See, apparently fish are instinctively attracted to coral and, instead of capturing them, it would be a great if they could hold them up and raise them, just like farmers do with hens and cows.

The world climate changes are fucking up the planet and these people are acting up, being flexible with the alternatives left for this planet. I loved that idea.

Hours later i watched TV again and saw a skinny girl carrying around a hidden camera and going to all sorts of clinics to lose weight. Some five out of six presumed doctors told her she needed to lose a few stones and one even went as far as suggesting liposuction. Put you money where your mouth is.

It was fun and interesting to watch telly yesterday. I proved you can be entertained without starlets screaming at each other, without involuntarily learning who's given a blow job to whom -sure, it was morbid for a while, but... honestly, enough is enough-, without all that rage and frivolousness hypnotizing the viewer.

Part of it
Some days, when i manage to leave the apartment early enough to catch my bus, i like to indulge in the three minute walk that takes me to my stop from the front door.

This is Sol, the very heart of Madrid, surprisingly calm at 8.20 am, despite the multicoloured traffic going in every direction. Also despite the armies of workers and students being burped out of the Metro exit, walking with sun glasses and briefcases, sandals and morning papers, yet not screaming or yelling or laughing furiously.

I take my three minute break as a private ritual before embracing the office day waiting for me, some fifteen stops ahead. I walk with my eyes half closed because i'm still sleepy, because the sun is falling strongly on the pavement. My eyes are also half open because i'm beginning to follow the rattle and hum of the city, because come rain or shine, i'm always loving what i see.

Following my own little path, i feel a certain peace and confidence. I say to myself: 'This is my place'. It's an odd sensation of property: you've walked around Sol so many times in your life that starting your day right there makes you somehow part of it all.

I guess you'd get the same feeling when you're a newyorker and you can hear your own high heels tapping on Times Square at 4 in the morning. The masses are gone and suddenly the world famous spot is yours. Just because, well, you've around long enough.

Feeling observed?
Carlos and Lucas, Ona's twins, intensely watch her mum while enjoying an end of spring stroll down at the park, followed by a nice lemonade break with aunties Trix and Uma. Double cuteness.

The Grotesqués
The girls are back, and they're on a mission. Alaitz and Elena, also known to their audiences as 'Las Grotesqués', are about to launch their new show called Sometimes i see closets (to be read whispering). Believe me, you will hear their names in the not-so-distant future.

Their première will happen sometime around June 15th, so if you are in Madrid this month, i strongly recommend you go to Teatro Alfil and find out for yourself what all the buzz is about.

Uma is retaking up her old task of culturizing this ambivalent weblog. Stay tuned for the summer updates on mesmerizing events such as Bisbal's tour and Robotics conventions.

Friends on a Sunday

Starring:



What happened:

The love post
I know where we're getting married.
I know where we're having dinner on our wedding day.
I know what i'll be wearing over my dress.
I know when we're getting married.
I know who's attending our wedding.
I know i'll have the coolest flower girls ever.
I know i can't wait for the big fun day.
I know i'm lucky.
I know i don't fall into the marrying kind
yet i know we're going to be very happy.

Come on, it's Monday and it's raining, let me spread the luuuuuuuv word, summer's only around the corner.

Shopaholic ties the knot
Trix had the day off and Ona was dying to go out to the park with her twins, so the five of us headed to the Book Fair. Someone has stolen the entire spring away from the city and the summer sun was behaving boldly yesterday. Trix looked like she'd been run over by August and the babies remained calm in their huge double stroller. We had beers and lemon frappé and a few laughs. Then the girls decided to buy me a present: 'Shopaholic ties the knot', by Sophie Kinsella. Trashy pageturner that i can't let down since last night. Stop laughing at me, Trix.

Just to prove i am not very different from the girl in the book and, after discussing the latest SWP details (wedding in the countryside, anyone?), i headed to a store with Trix.

I didn't get anything too glamorous, all the items in my basket were incredibly practical. This is my shopping list: (1) A comic book about a typical couple for Pablo, because i knew it will make him laugh and his laughter is contagious. Very contagious. (2) A recipe book. "I could by another one, but this is the only book which has helped me make delicious stews just by following the instructions", Trix said. I agree. You should try my apple chicken. We got two copies of the magical book.

We also got two copies of Bebe's first album, because it's good, because it's creative, because she writes her own stuff, because her new hit is far from stupid despite the summer atmosphere in the music industry and because she's a friend of a friend and we will certainly support her. I can't understand why you haven't run to your store by now.

My last 'practical' shopping item was the complete first season of Sex and the City, which, again, was a gift for Pablo. Because it's funny and sophisticated as hell, because, as my friend F described it, "watching those episodes is like receiving the Girls Evangelism for Men".

As the sun fell down over Madrid i landed at our apartment with two shopping bags and decided a wedding out of the city will be fun as long as we keep the party back in town. Shopaholic is certainly tying the knot.

Time out
She feels someone keeps taking up her time, and she doesn't notice until the tiredness runs over her body, capturing her mind and giving her cramps.

She doesn't know where her hours go, all those days that used to look like near future, where did April go? Is May still out there? She tries to grab the next fifteen minutes and then they disappear, too.

She slept for four straight hours on the couch yesterday, waking up to an empty head and wondering how it happened. She answers the phone and someone on the other side has already made plans for her, which will take up most of the weekend. She doesn't want to complain. But she doesn't want time to slip away like this. She guesses she's just getting older.

She can't have it all, this she knows. She'd like to have a fresh bouquet of hours to make the apartment shine, to have long talks with her boyfriend, to sit down and write, to have drinks with friends. She'd like that. And she's on her way to achieving it. But time isn't running fast enough.

Out of hand
The computer at home got infected. The one at work, too. I delete 6 of every 7 mails i receive. This is getting out of hand, my friends.

(Via Not Superwoman)

*Deep sigh*

Rock and sand
She is a woman of character. She gives opinions as easily as one blinks. She is firm. She has a strong body and a stronger mind. She is the one and only rock in my life. I can hold on to her whenever the wind blows a little wilder, whenever i get the shivers, whenever i need to feel reality again. She is my mother.

But that amazing woman is also a delicate person who can show her frailty once in a blue moon. That's exactly what happened last week. She had to go under surgery and things didn't go exactly as we expected.

While she was slowly recovering from the anesthesia, the rock turned into light sand for a split second. She held her hand out to mine, she tried to break into a smile. I was disarmed. Strength and sweetness blended into one.

The woman of character is back in town, enjoying the "relative repose" prescribed by her doctor. It's her birthday today, so the Mountain Family and myself are taking her out to dinner. The rock and the sand deserve the best.