F. Hollande concuerda con JVM en eliminar el fuero

Hollande dijo en su debate "para todos los actos cometidos interiormente, no habrá más de protección, ¡nada!" (en francés "pour tout les actes commis interieurment il n-y-aura plus aucune protection, rien!" minuto 1:43 del video 1.

JVM dice "vamos también-y es una de mis propuestas-a eliminar el fuero a toda la clase política sin excepción" minuto 11.16 del video 2.

Video 1. Debate entre F. Hollande y N. Sarkozy 2 de mayo de 2012, minuto 1:43

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Grz4lU1VWQ&feature=relmfu

Video 2. Debate entre los tres candidatos (¡perdón quatro!), 6 de mayo de 2012, minuto 11.16

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UTQp0K5ICaw&feature=BFa&list=UUrXSqMqMof70DyQDPQT-aGg

¡Grande Josefina, Chapeau Hollande!

Mis opiniones sobre el debate

Vázquez Mota—sin duda—la mejor. Propuestas firmes y buen ataque. Pero demasiada firmeza, si quieres deslindarte un poco de la “mano firme” de Calderón bromea un poquito, libérate, tómate un tequila antes del próximo debate (nomás no vayas a mentar madres), quítate ese acento de político. De todos modos debatiendo le ganas a PN (incluso con los ojos vendados y hasta borracha). Tus propuestas son buenas enfócate más a ellas y no a ser mujer.

López Obrador ¡Habla más rápido por favor! Me encantó tu ataque al copete. Saliste como el más humano de los candidatos. Pero tus propuestas populistas apestan ¿bajar las gasolinas? Por favor eso nomás nos va a joder más.

Peña Nieto: ¡ay que menso estás! “se me acaba el tiempo, no te contesto”. Pfff tu no fuiste a debatir tu fuiste a recitar tu guión. Por favor no ganes, ah y ¡¡¡ya deja de chillar!!! Si vas a ser presidente, no llores si te atacan. Me das asco y pena ajena.

Quadri. Muy mal, el debate es un ejercicio po-lí-ti-co y es para que los políticos se peleen. Si no te gusta, vete. Es más: vete ya, nadie te pela. Deja de hacer largos los debates. Aunque tus propuestas son buenas, tú no lo eres y solo quieres salir en la tele. Desiste. Aaa y ¿¿¿“segundos pisos de cuota”??? ¿o sea que se construyan vías exprés por doquier? Pfff.

Del debate en sí. Pésimo formato, el que perdió es el IFE. ¿Por qué publicó las preguntas un día antes? eso solo favorece a lo que pasó: en vez de réplicas vimos las propuestas de cada uno. Para el próximo debate las preguntas deben ser secretas. Pero así Peña Nieto menos iría ¡Qué vergüenza IFE!

Elecciones mexicanas 2012

El tema me interesa, por lo que estaré posteando mis comentarios de este proceso electoral.

Fudge faith

The Hunger Games Trolling

Music against homophobia

Everyone blogs about music, so why shouldn’t I? It will be a light refreshment since it seems that my last posts are almost entirely devoted anti-homophobia activism. Is not that I want to go to the streets and yell to everyone “stop the hatred” but I’ve been recently touched (not literally, or was I?) by a delicate subject. So I’ll try to make a mash-up (using the word mash-up fits perfectly) of those things: music and stop H8.

Since my last visit to the motherland I had very interesting conversation with one my favourite girls (If you read this, just take the compliment don’t make me repeat it to your face). She is one of the most interesting people to have a conversation with, she’s very savvy (perhaps sometimes too much) and our interests are very similar. Even if we differ radically in many other subjects—notably homeopathy and pfff family constellations… oh! Oh! And fucking Twilight—I like to believe that our mutual open-mindedness lets us be good friends and have a strong respect for each other. 

As I was saying I listened to her. And I was zealous when I found out that this recommendation was much better than the sparkling-vampires fiasco. I even felt like my puberty grew again while I was avidly devouring every episode of all two-and-a-half seasons of the teenager musical Glee. If you’ve seen it you know that one of the main sub-plots is homosexuality during puberty with all what is around it: bullying, hatred and identity crisis. That explains my recently fervour for the cause and leads us to the second theme of this post: music.

I’ll try not to spoil anything but during the—to my taste—best scene of series, my favourite character (exceptionally portrayed by Max Adler) does something radical perfectly paced while Blaine (Darren Chris) covers this song. The song’s called Cough Syrup from Young The Giant. I don’t know if what moved me is the intensity of the lyrics or the richness of the portrayal. Whatever the case download it now purchase it legally: Cough Syrup from Young The Giant. I wouldn’t dwell—however—on the rest of the album, not worthy.

But if what you’re looking for is a good album from beginning to end, to listen as you would read a book. Run quickly to your nearest pirate bay iTunes store and download Megalithic Symphony from AWOLNATION. They offer 52 delicious minutes of joyous yet hard-enough indie rock. Yikes! There I was thinking that 2011 had nothing musical to offer, it just happens that the heads-up came a little late (thanks Max; not Adler, another Max).

Next highlight: Little Talks from Of Monster and Men. Very Björk-ish and Röyksopp-ish or perhaps nothing similar, well you know how difficult to interpret Nordics can be (thanks Pene). Furthermore, on the very-confortable-music-department check Gotye and his Somebody That I Used to Know (thanks Juan and Tom).

To close this topic: if you’re thinking of committing suicide because you’re having a rough time please remember that it does get better, just think of music and how if your dead you’ll never be able to listen to another song again, simply put: don’t do it, you’d regret it. Take me for instance: tomorrow I’ll celebrate pansexuality and music with the sweet transvestite fromTranssexual Transylvania. Can’t hardly wait. 

Customized Publicity FAIL

I’ve been complaining for a while about the fact that we get personalized publicity and search results. Thanks to the power of Google we’re evermore exposed to buy stuff specifically designed for us. But this time, facebook, you got it wrong! In your face, sucker!!!

While on my paid work hours break, I decided to check facebook. I must confess, I recently bought my shoes through an ad there, so in spite of my do-not-hit-Like-on-anything-on-facebook policy they are doing their homework and convinced to spend my Swiss sweet francs. But in your face Zucker(berg) you got this one wrong. They were trying to sell me… wait for it… wedding invitations. Can you believe it? Wedding H. Invitations!!!!

Well this abomination set my 10-watt light bulb into the verge of exploding. It got me thinking that in the near future we are going to receive specifically the right publicity exactly aimed at each of us. And it is bound to be correct. I bought a pair of shoes because I got a tiny shoegasm at the moment I saw them. Why didn’t facebook send me the most absorbent menstrual pads (God knows I need them) but instead insist on selling me condoms “almost for free” and well… shoes.

I insist. Google knows me. Facebook knows me. How? I don’t have any idea but it scares de baby cheessus out of me. Right about then, the second question popped out. This erroneous publicity reminded me of how misogynous Google can be. For those of you who do not read my facebook updates, I leave this picture as a memento.

Yes, it’s probably an unintended bug, but what if the people—or lines of code—steering publicity… and search suggestions… and twitter’s “you should follow”… and Amazon’s “people also bought”… and etc. are exactly that: misogynous, or homophobes or even worse: religious.

Publicity is something we cannot avoid. We cannot close our eyes while checking facebook or gmail and we also can’t pay for their services, and these people know it. Where does that leave us? We have first to judge even especially the publicity we get and urge Google to deactivate these kinds of filters. We do not want Big Brother—corporate or governmental—to tell us what we want. We want to get uncensored internet from all sides, we want ALL sides of internet to prevent the dystopia SOPA is trying to achieve. Even if that means growing up thinking menstrual pads are actually shoulder pads and they are capable of sucking a whole river dry.   

Suzanne Collins and Ransom Riggs

(Fuck shit, which language to use? The objects of this post are both pieces of English literature… wait! Better said: pieces of literature in English because they’re both American. But those who recommended them are Spanish-speakers; they both read English, however. And the other people who might actually read this post AND read the books are of a mix of both languages. As I said Fuck it! I’m gonna write this in English because the authors most likely don’t read Spanish) 

Those two objects are two novels. The Hunger Games (vol.1) and Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. I’ll talk about them don’t worry, shortly but I will. But about both: read them! Both are worth every penny, but take into account that I bough THG on a paperback and Miss Peregrine’s on hardcover. If it were the opposite wouldn’t dare to say so.  So! Let’s get this post rolling.

About The Hunger Games. I haven’t been so hooked to a book since Harry Potter 7 (well except maybe with Peter V. Brett’s Demon Cycle). It’s a delicious page-turner. It has it all: the overwhelming sensation of despair, oppression, unfairness—even slavery if I might venture—mixed with that feeling of there’s-a-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel. It is without a doubt a cocktail of emotions. Memorable books are just like good presentations, it doesn’t really matter what their content’s are: what’s important is how they make you feel.

I got to admit. I was looking forward more to a post-apocalyptic book and less to the story of an unfair economic system with a very sadistic tool for masses control. Two words on that. First: it is worth to note that if you increase the scale, the system described by Collins bears an astonishingly resemblance our own current neoliberal system: just replace the word “district” with “developing country” and “capitol” with “north”… just fodder for thought. Second: in spite of what the author may say, the Hunger—but mainly death—Games* very suspiciously resemble Koushus Takami’s 1999 Battle Royale. Does it smell like S.O.P.A. somewhere?

Final comment. I read the first tome on a different edition as the second. The edition I’m reading now is delightfully written in British English, I know because printed is stuff like favour, centre, etc. (and the price is only written in £); but most notably because there are some words that are unspeakable for Americans: metre, kilometre, etc. It’s a shame that I don’t know if Suzanne Collins opted for the metric system but if she did, she just got like a 1000 extra points because—to my opinion—going metric on a Sci-Fi story only adds realism of the story (Matrix did it, remember?). Almost forgot: thanks Fiti for the heads up, good one!

Anyway, you are going to read it. Better do it now before the movie comes out. You will not regret it. Now allow me shift to Miss Peregrine. This book is not just a book. Right about now you should be going to your nearest Amazon bookstore and buy it. It is not as quick paced as the Hunger Games but honest word it’s a must. I dare not say a lot from fear of spoilers but do let me tell you: this work is creative. It is a new way of writing and it's a marvellous work altogether. The use of pictures—on a non-children’s book—is totally justified, you just have to keep reading to the very last page to agree with me.

But when it comes to criticising a book I’m never just a hollow flatterer. Let’s face it: Riggs’ fantasy is anything but new, with its exceptions, we’ve seen those powers a thousand times. But I guess is understandable (again: pictures! Ehem: end-of-the-book) Anyhow Congratulations to Mr Riggs and thanks to Moka for the heads up!

There you go, two good books to start our 2012.

*The Hunger But Mainly Death Games is the name of a parody book of the series.

Asimetrías, adicciones, libros

Este post es de lo más caótico. Está, te aseguro, cargadísimo de emociones. Pero las escondo bajo un desorden total de ideas puestas en papel so pretexto de escribir un post. No le vas a entender, pero quizás, como yo, lo sientas.

Sí, este 2011 que ya se fue se caracterizó por aquellas cosas que se van y regresan, que dejo y vuelvo agarrar, que no quiero o no puedo olvidar. Adicciones. Cada vez mi asimetría me es más clara, aunque la lleve desde que nací. Cada vez las emociones son más fuertes y cada año presento una lista de libros que leo.  Porque los libros que leo son los libros que soy. Y ahora mezclo todo. Todo el 2011 puesto en una licuadora bajo un título hechizo que lleva la palabra adicciones.

En efecto: el cigarro, esos deliciosos taquitos de cáncer que logran colarse en mis pulmones cada que hay un pretexto (vacaciones con cajetillas baratas).  Al estilo Julián Carax a quién no le he seguido la pista pero debería.  

Creo que mi lista de libros habla algo de estas adicciones ¿o de las asimetrías? Primero porque leer libros se ha vuelto una adicción, que se ha vuelto bastante cara. Bueno la verdad no, si traduzco los euros que le he invertido en respecto a las horas que me han dado, sale barata la cosa. Osea quiero gastar, pero no quiero. Quiero apoyar autores nuevos, lo bueno es que las copias piratas del interné, no me proporcionan—ni proporcionarán—el placer de sostener medio kilo de papel. Ni con Kindle ni iPad ni con nada.

La revelación del año fue sin duda Peter V. Brett, aunque debí haberlo hecho más tarde cuando ya haya terminado su ciclo de los demonios, porque la espera es bastante gacha. A ver qué tal me va con la trilogía de The Hunger Games, que le traigo muchas ganas y ya está terminada de escribir. Solo falta que los malditos de Amazon se apuren y me entreguen mis kilos de papel (update: ya llegó, ya me piqué).

Volviendo a lo de las adicciones pues resulta que yo no quería, lo juro, pero se atravesó un Target y me ofreció el resto de las novelas de Charlaine Harris con un jugoso descuento. Aunque a veces eche pestes acerca de estas crotch novels sigo siendo adicto a ellas. Sookie Stackhouse seguirá teniendo sentido del humor, y aunque sé que no le aportan absolutamente nada ni a mí ni al mundo, me hacen reír. Que a veces es tan necesario como leer un buen libro.

 No podía dejar pasar la oportunidad de leer lo más reciente de Brandon Sanderson, que aunque también le eche pestes soy adicto a Mistborn. Y en este caso, logró salvar su novela con lo gracioso que es uno de sus personajes ¡Enhorabuena Sanderson, me hiciste reír! Eso de salvar libros solo por su chistosidad podría llamarse el efecto Charlaine Harris.

Además hay otros libros que no puse en la lista porque A) no quiero compartirles mi literatura porno o B) los dejé incompletos C) las dos anteriores.  Quizás tampoco los pongo porque están justo a los extremos de mis dualidades, que como la mitad de estos párrafos, se sentirían fuera de tono por el exceso (o la falta de) emoción.

Lo que sí me decepcionó un tanto del 2011 fue la escasez de álbumes—de música—nuevos. Sin embargo, mi adicción a la música me llevó a ingerir una buena dosis de conciertos aunque el crédito vaya para el 2010.

Concluyo ya. Eufórico—he de admitir—porque sé que estas malditas-benditas adicciones no acabarán. Ni tampoco las adicciones a las personas a las que soy adicto. Ni a mis buenos y malos hábitos. Ni a mis dualidades y asimetrías. Ni la adicción a la sustancia, a la sustancia de la vida que hace que este viaje me guste tanto. 

	Título	Autor
1	Hielo Negro	Bernardo Fernández
2	The Painted Man	Peter V. Brett
3	The Desert Spear	Peter V. Brett
4	L’or de Brayan	Peter V. Brett
5	Dead and Gone	Charlaine Harris
6	Definitely Dead (SS 6)	Charlaine Harris
7	All Together Dead (SS 7)	Charlaine Harris
8	From Dead to Worse (SS 8)	Charlaine Harris
9	Dead and Gone (SS 9)	Charlaine Harris
10	The Alloy of Law	Brandon Sanderson
11	The Ecology of Commerce	Paul Hawken
12	El universo de al lado	Eduardo del Llano
13	El código cultural	Clotaire de Rapaille
14	1491. New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus	Charles C. Mann
15	How Bad are Bananas? The Carbon Footprint of Everything	Mike Berners-Lee
16	The Gospel of the Flying Spaguetti Monster	Bobby Henderson

Crap and Slime

I should definitely come up with a rating system for my posts, a way to tell readers if my post is worth reading or if it at least contains something of significance. Well this one is not one of those posts. You could continue your life as it was without remorse of missing one of my outstanding pieces of crap. Well this is post is partially about that, crap.

On my two plus years living in the old continent I’ve noticed some things in which Europeans are more sensitive that we, Mexicans. Two notable examples: the throne and the bathtub (The exception to the rule, if I may add, for Europeans are in other aspects much more tolerant than we are, e.g. body odour, but that is material for another post).

Let’s start with the crappier of the two. Europeans despise to sit on a can that has evidence of its previous user. As in contrast we Mexicans do not. Surely enough, during your time on this planet and after doing your business you have certainly left a singular line of brown sketched to it, or as we refer in our folkloric Mexican Spanish, the Crayola doodle (or “el cayolazo”).  We are more tolerant to a toilet with signature because it seldom happens; it is not that easy to leave your mark in a Mexican toilet. Two reasons for that, I believe the toilets in Mexico are either polished smooth to the n^th degree or… well European food is made of the same ingredients as the drawing crayons.

It is not uncommon to visit The Facilities in my country and not find the precious eraser (a.k.a. toilet brush). Be as it may, if you manage to leave your mark in a Mexican toilet then you have to options: be proud of your creation and let it mellow, or remove the evidence. But what if that eraser is not available? Well, then you leave it for the next user, whom most certainly will not make a big fuzz of it. Not in Europe. If you mark your toilet, you better clean it (there are even reminders everywhere).

The second fact is to rinse the place where you showered after you are done. It’s completely understandable… in a place where all showers are actually adapted bathtubs. Let me tell you, if you don't rinse your shower, in no time a grey slime made of foulness shall attach to the neighbouring drain. Again this does not happen in sunny Mexico.

It’s not that we have different cleanliness standards it’s just really that those things do not happen to us. Our showers are that: showers. It’s really difficult to find a house with a plastic filthy-water container. And the sieves are much larger, thus the water can escape leaving no residues, then a once-per-day cleaning shall suffice. Ditto for toilets. As I mentioned, our toilets do not stain so easily, thus a single shitty brush per household is enough for a daily rub to the white porcelain.

But if you ever do come to the house of a self-exiled Mexican with—by now—European standards don’t even think of leaving a Crayolazo on my precious porcelain corner or your foamy hair on the sieve of my filthy-water container. As I said, we do not—by any means—have slacker hygiene standards, it’s just that in Mexico we live in a magical place were we do not need to cover our tracks.     

Epilogue. Another characteristic of us Mexicans is that we love drama and as such, we tend to take everything personal. Therefore let it note that this post was NOT inspired by my last set of guests, who behave wonderfully. Instead it fount its inspiration when I refused to sit and send my package on an already scribed throne. 

Oh and I almost forgot. Yes, the word on the picture is one word, y’know thy ol’ German sticking words together.