Friday, October 31, 2008
Case studies
One of the workshops in today's Global Concerns session was on Religion and AIDS. The students who organised it made a short presentation of the topic and then divided us into groups and presented us with different hypothetical cases for us to discuss. The groups were as diverse as possible, the idea being that we would be coming to these issues from different religious and cultural backgrounds.
The first case was as follows: You're about to get married with a girl. Before you do, however, she's raped by her uncle, who infects her with HIV. What do you do?
The first to speak was Allen, from S., who said he'd quit her immediately, as the rape showed that her family was not a good one. Then Albert, from N., said that this was a topic the answer for which much depended on where one was in the world. In countries with some resources, for instance, the HIV medicines available are so good at diminishing the virus' count in the blood that one may have sex and conceive children with an infected person, without the virus being transmitted to neither the fetus nor the partner. Safar, from P., said she would not shove the woman aside, but would continue to be a close friend and support her, but that the health situation would mean that marriage was out of the question.
In the second case the situation was similar: a committed couple, with one of its members having infective sex with someone else. This time the action had been voluntary, an incidental fling with an unknown person who turned out to be a carrier.
In this instance everybody in the group was very quick to point out that HIV wasn't nearly as central an issue as betrayal. Most agreed that they would break up the romantic aspect of the relationship, but that they would try to get over disappointment and whatever other difficult emotions the incident might have brought up and continue to be of support to this person. Some openly admitted that they wouldn't be able to help breaking off all contact.
Later we got a little bit off-track and went back to the first comment of the whole session, Allen's idea that the crimes of one person cast shadows on all their family. Some of us admitted that we had encountered similar attitudes in our own societies, but pointed out that we considered it quite old-fashioned and inhuman (or irreligious) in its lack of compassion... Allen admitted to this, but also made it very clear that his original reaction reflected the general view in his society. I then privately remembered the accounts of a couple of acquaintances of mine from that country, people who referred to the "good families" of possible romantic interests of theirs.
The unfairness of this view is the strongest impression i've been left with from this workshop.
Anyway, someone else finally took us back to the issue of AIDS, drawing a parallel between "dishonorable" actions of individuals tainting whole families and the social stigma usually attached to people sick with AIDS resulting in the shunning not only of themselves, but of their relations.
Although the consideration of these cases made for interesting ethical exercises, i'm still not sure how they tied to religion. Much more interesting were the arguments about the duplicity of certain religious groups, which with their "Hate-the-sin-and-not-the-sinner" philosophies are happy to set up aid centers to care for infected people, but oppose the use of protection such as condoms, which would help prevent infection in the first place. Most everybody agreed that avoiding promiscuity was better protection yet, but that denying condoms to those who could or would not live by such a rule was equivalent to condemning the supposedly beloved sinners.
At one point in our discussion, Phumi from S. mentioned how in her country the problem was more cultural than religious, as people believed that using condoms was simply a denial of their national identity.
We truly are a mixed (up) species, aren't we?
The first case was as follows: You're about to get married with a girl. Before you do, however, she's raped by her uncle, who infects her with HIV. What do you do?
The first to speak was Allen, from S., who said he'd quit her immediately, as the rape showed that her family was not a good one. Then Albert, from N., said that this was a topic the answer for which much depended on where one was in the world. In countries with some resources, for instance, the HIV medicines available are so good at diminishing the virus' count in the blood that one may have sex and conceive children with an infected person, without the virus being transmitted to neither the fetus nor the partner. Safar, from P., said she would not shove the woman aside, but would continue to be a close friend and support her, but that the health situation would mean that marriage was out of the question.
In the second case the situation was similar: a committed couple, with one of its members having infective sex with someone else. This time the action had been voluntary, an incidental fling with an unknown person who turned out to be a carrier.
In this instance everybody in the group was very quick to point out that HIV wasn't nearly as central an issue as betrayal. Most agreed that they would break up the romantic aspect of the relationship, but that they would try to get over disappointment and whatever other difficult emotions the incident might have brought up and continue to be of support to this person. Some openly admitted that they wouldn't be able to help breaking off all contact.
Later we got a little bit off-track and went back to the first comment of the whole session, Allen's idea that the crimes of one person cast shadows on all their family. Some of us admitted that we had encountered similar attitudes in our own societies, but pointed out that we considered it quite old-fashioned and inhuman (or irreligious) in its lack of compassion... Allen admitted to this, but also made it very clear that his original reaction reflected the general view in his society. I then privately remembered the accounts of a couple of acquaintances of mine from that country, people who referred to the "good families" of possible romantic interests of theirs.
The unfairness of this view is the strongest impression i've been left with from this workshop.
Anyway, someone else finally took us back to the issue of AIDS, drawing a parallel between "dishonorable" actions of individuals tainting whole families and the social stigma usually attached to people sick with AIDS resulting in the shunning not only of themselves, but of their relations.
Although the consideration of these cases made for interesting ethical exercises, i'm still not sure how they tied to religion. Much more interesting were the arguments about the duplicity of certain religious groups, which with their "Hate-the-sin-and-not-the-sinner" philosophies are happy to set up aid centers to care for infected people, but oppose the use of protection such as condoms, which would help prevent infection in the first place. Most everybody agreed that avoiding promiscuity was better protection yet, but that denying condoms to those who could or would not live by such a rule was equivalent to condemning the supposedly beloved sinners.
At one point in our discussion, Phumi from S. mentioned how in her country the problem was more cultural than religious, as people believed that using condoms was simply a denial of their national identity.
We truly are a mixed (up) species, aren't we?
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Revolutions
I don't believe in revolutions. It's just that they have too much of that: they tend to make things revolve, go in cycles. Look at the French and American revolutions, past lunges at freedom and equality in countries whose governments today rule primarily for the benefit of rich corporations; look at the Cuban revolution, already stumbling and being worked against by the exiled outside and the disillusioned inside.
If you have a revolution, it's very likely that in 30, 50 or a 100 years you will have a counter-revolution (except that the counter-revolutionaries would call it a revolution, too). The part of society that you stomped on during your revolution will grow in the dark, under the grooves in your soles, and no matter how heavy your feet are, they'll eventually shoot up branches and destabilize you till you topple. Even if you killed the last one of "them", even if their views were indeed responsible for a lot of unhappiness in your society, the violence you used legitimizes any future violence against you.
This is not to say that I don't see the need for change. In the particular case of our modern global society, where the greed for profit takes advantage of such obsolete ideas as national identity and local pride to blindside people into supporting policies that devastate their neighbors and, ultimately, ruin their own future, change is imperative.
But there are alternatives to violence. There have to be. A change of regime is not enough. We need to change the mode of historical change.
If you have a revolution, it's very likely that in 30, 50 or a 100 years you will have a counter-revolution (except that the counter-revolutionaries would call it a revolution, too). The part of society that you stomped on during your revolution will grow in the dark, under the grooves in your soles, and no matter how heavy your feet are, they'll eventually shoot up branches and destabilize you till you topple. Even if you killed the last one of "them", even if their views were indeed responsible for a lot of unhappiness in your society, the violence you used legitimizes any future violence against you.
This is not to say that I don't see the need for change. In the particular case of our modern global society, where the greed for profit takes advantage of such obsolete ideas as national identity and local pride to blindside people into supporting policies that devastate their neighbors and, ultimately, ruin their own future, change is imperative.
But there are alternatives to violence. There have to be. A change of regime is not enough. We need to change the mode of historical change.
Friday, October 24, 2008
The Story of Stuff
Check this out:
En español: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THGlNspyXDc
Or in English: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLBE5QAYXp8
En español: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THGlNspyXDc
Or in English: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLBE5QAYXp8
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
On bloggin and facebooking
I feel almost furtive writing here again. Most of the bloggers in my contact list have abandoned the blogging arena, their latest entries dating back to sometime in 2007. They are happily facebooking around, now. There's even a blog application over there, and i've indeed tried it, but there's too much traffic, too many buttons and links... Not to deny the merits of facebook nor anything (i mean, it's almost replaced e-mail for me) but as far as blogging goes, facebook seems like the easy way out. Instead of making an effort to knead your thoughts together, you can simply get away with a one-liner answer to the "what are you doing right now?" question on top of the main page. It's quite distracting.
Here, instead, the cybernetic air is purer, one has more space to breathe. Been thinking of taking my blog up again for a while now, and yesterday i posted my first entry.
Here, instead, the cybernetic air is purer, one has more space to breathe. Been thinking of taking my blog up again for a while now, and yesterday i posted my first entry.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Almost a lynching
I watched the saddest video today.
One can basically see this thief, or rather, the crowd that surrounds him when they catch him red handed, apparently trying to pick the pockets of an elderly man in my hometown in Argentina. They're talking to the thief and among themselves as they wait for the police to arrive, everything caught on camera by someone who gets there running, obviously desperate to capture the action. It's a summer day, short sleeves and bermuda shorts all around.
The thief is kneeling in a corner (you see him later), but at first you can only hear his voice: "I haven't done anything. Nothing happened." There's fear in it, and his Spanish is quite different from that of his captors, all from a different class, quite united against him. One of them, a guy younger than me, probably another regular passer by on his way somewhere when detoured by the fracas, says: "Let's kill him. Let's hang him from a tree and burn him. It's your fault that in this country we are in the situation we are." Literally.
The old man wants at him, too, but a couple of guys nearest the thief luckily make sure nobody touches him til the police arrives. When two officers finally do, they're greeted by general applause, and some irony. "Los bicivoladores", someone mutters, as they dismount from their bikes. Finally we see the thief, a slight, dark haired man on his knees. One of the policemen pulls the guy's hands back and cuffs them; his face is shoved against the wall. The crowd begins to disperse, and the video ends here.
Friday, March 16, 2007
This was wednesday...
...from 7:00 am till 5:30 pm. 560 damajuanas.
Uncle Oscar & sodium metabisulblahblah, cousin Caro
carrying damajuanas, cousin Alberto corking, and aunt
Nilda filling them up.
Aunt Nilda & her labels.
LA ÍRIDE, Malbec Roble (proud we are, yes)
And, tomorrow... harvest & new wine making!
Uncle Oscar & sodium metabisulblahblah, cousin Carocarrying damajuanas, cousin Alberto corking, and aunt
Nilda filling them up.
Aunt Nilda & her labels.
LA ÍRIDE, Malbec Roble (proud we are, yes)And, tomorrow... harvest & new wine making!
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Bottle washing and family reunion
An intense weekend. First, on saturday, my dad and i got up at 7:00, filled a thermos with hot water for mate, bought some hot "tortitas" and drove to the winery. We joined my uncle Oscar and cousin Osvaldo there, who were already washing bottles. The bottles in question are special ones; their equivalent in Norway would be the 3 liter wine boxes, except that these bottles have capacity for 5 liters instead. They look just like this one on the left, little plastic basket and all. In my translation i've called them "bottles", but they look more like jugs, don't they? Anyways, the spanish word for them is "damajuanas", which would literally translate as "ladyjanes". This isn't an english word at all, but it's more fun to say i spent saturday washing lady Janes (lady Jane's what?) than to say i spent it washing bottles.Thing is, each time you sell a lady Jane filled with wine, you get back an empty one from the customer. That way, wineries don't need to be buying new lady Janes all the time. You simply remove the old labels, wash it inside and out, fill it with wine, stick a new label, and voilá! Lady Jane is again ready to pour.
Sounds simple, but it has its method. First you fill many vats with warm water and soak the lady Janes in them, bottoms up, so that the labels soften up and become easier to remove. You move from one vat to the next, with a scouring pad for the recalcitrant bit of paper and a penknife to get rid of the plastic capsules. You also need a special tool to remove the occasional piece of cork from lady Jane's insides.
After that, each lady Jane gets its insides washed by a special machine (operated by hand) that shoots high pressure jets of a solution of water and caustic soda. Then they go through another vat in which they are rinsed inside and out and their baskets are checked and replaced, if necessary. Finally, they go through the special machine once more, except this time they get only water, in order to make sure that all the caustic soda is completely removed. Finally you pile them up, and they are (almost) ready to be filled.
On saturday we managed to prepare thus 600 lady Janes, which we'll fill this wednesday. We'll use the special washing machine once more, this time with a solution of water and sodium metabisulphite (a sanitizer). By means of a pump, this solution will also be made to run through the pipes that will be used to transfer the wine from the tanks to the dossifier, also operated by hand. We'll cork them with another machine, put plastic capsules on top, seal them with heat, hand glue the labels, and stack them. It'll be another long day, but it's fun: everybody jokes and chats, we pause around noon, drink mate, eat some sandwiches...
Sunday was lighter, but very "familiar", too. Got together for lunch with a few uncles and cousins... Here's some pics:
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Vendimia
Vendimia is the spanish word for grape harvest. It signifies the action, but it is also applied to the time of year in which grapes are picked. In Mendoza, that time is now, and for the few weeks that vendimia lasts, it dominates everything. Each district has its own vendimia celebration through january and february, and then finally in early march there are parades with floats in the capital city. There's a traditional pageant in which a "vendimia queen" is chosen, a gay pageant that mimics it, fireworks, an artsy show in an amphitheater, wine parties everywhere...
Paralell to all this, local news talk about disagreements between grape growers and wine makers about what the fair price of grapes should be. The weather can play foul, too: sometimes you're about to begin harvesting, and your grapes are hit by hail, which may knock off as much as 90% of your production...
Right after the 2001 crisis my dad and his brothers pooled together the savings left from the disappearance act managed by the Argentinean banking system at that time and started a tiny winery. Years before they'd bought a couple of hectares of near desert land in Maipú; now they put it to use by building a shed to house the fermentation tanks and other equipment made by one of my uncles at the metalurgical workshop he works at. On the rest of the land they planted some vines (Malbec, Cabernet Sauvignon and even a little Chardonnay) that are cared for, on a rotational basis, by each of the associates. A cousin made a website to publicize the business and voilá... they had a vacuum cleaner that's been sucking in money since then. Since the production capacity of the place is so small, their strategy has been to make real good wines, but still, our enologist says that time is needed, that creating a market for a wine is a slow process... This year it seems they might in fact break even...
Anyway, the nice thing about this little winery is that the whole family gets together during vendimia. We pick our own grapes and, assessed by an enologist, we even make our own wines. Of course, i say "we", yet living abroad, this will be the first year i'm part of all this. I'm really excited about it, and i'll keep you updated.
Paralell to all this, local news talk about disagreements between grape growers and wine makers about what the fair price of grapes should be. The weather can play foul, too: sometimes you're about to begin harvesting, and your grapes are hit by hail, which may knock off as much as 90% of your production...
Right after the 2001 crisis my dad and his brothers pooled together the savings left from the disappearance act managed by the Argentinean banking system at that time and started a tiny winery. Years before they'd bought a couple of hectares of near desert land in Maipú; now they put it to use by building a shed to house the fermentation tanks and other equipment made by one of my uncles at the metalurgical workshop he works at. On the rest of the land they planted some vines (Malbec, Cabernet Sauvignon and even a little Chardonnay) that are cared for, on a rotational basis, by each of the associates. A cousin made a website to publicize the business and voilá... they had a vacuum cleaner that's been sucking in money since then. Since the production capacity of the place is so small, their strategy has been to make real good wines, but still, our enologist says that time is needed, that creating a market for a wine is a slow process... This year it seems they might in fact break even...
Anyway, the nice thing about this little winery is that the whole family gets together during vendimia. We pick our own grapes and, assessed by an enologist, we even make our own wines. Of course, i say "we", yet living abroad, this will be the first year i'm part of all this. I'm really excited about it, and i'll keep you updated.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
At last!
Been in Argentina for a bit over a month now, and it's taken me this long to get a connection at home, even though i ordered it the day after i arrived. Petulant as i may sound, things do move at a totally different pace in here. I'd forgotten about that, and for that reason among others, i've been feeling a bit out of place. This feeling, rather than internetlessness, has been the real cause of my blogging silence... That and a summer flu, a trip to the countryside... and a sense of being speechless in the face of tragedy.
Anyway, i'll start light, with some pictures from my trip to Malargüe, in southern Mendoza. First, though, a little tableau i witnessed today in the city center:
A toy store on a corner, a man dressed as Barney the dinosaur in front of it. He's chatting with a pretty, young woman who holds a baby in her arms. Barney's mouth is open, and through a slit at the back of it the man inside looks out into the world. What he doesn't see is the 7-or-8 year old boy who comes running from behind him, grabs the tail of his screen hero, and begins to pull it around heedless of his mother's calls. Barney is in shock. He tries to look back, but his thick plushy body has no neck to speak of. Finally the man thinks of pulling Barney's head off of his own, glares at the boy and says: "Qué te pasa, culeau?" (literally: "What is it, you ass-fucked one?"). Maybe it was too hot inside that suit.
So, here's the pics:
These formations are near the Atuel canyon, in San Rafael. We decided not to carve any presidents' faces here, for obvious reasons.
Agua del Toro Dam, with mom & dad.
Valle Hermoso, Malargüe.
Laguna de Llancanelo.
Flamingos at Llancanelo.
Sigh! I did miss all of this, after all...
Anyway, i'll start light, with some pictures from my trip to Malargüe, in southern Mendoza. First, though, a little tableau i witnessed today in the city center:
A toy store on a corner, a man dressed as Barney the dinosaur in front of it. He's chatting with a pretty, young woman who holds a baby in her arms. Barney's mouth is open, and through a slit at the back of it the man inside looks out into the world. What he doesn't see is the 7-or-8 year old boy who comes running from behind him, grabs the tail of his screen hero, and begins to pull it around heedless of his mother's calls. Barney is in shock. He tries to look back, but his thick plushy body has no neck to speak of. Finally the man thinks of pulling Barney's head off of his own, glares at the boy and says: "Qué te pasa, culeau?" (literally: "What is it, you ass-fucked one?"). Maybe it was too hot inside that suit.
So, here's the pics:
These formations are near the Atuel canyon, in San Rafael. We decided not to carve any presidents' faces here, for obvious reasons.
Agua del Toro Dam, with mom & dad.
Valle Hermoso, Malargüe.
Laguna de Llancanelo.
Flamingos at Llancanelo.Sigh! I did miss all of this, after all...
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Fra Bergen...
First entry of the new year...
Speaking of which, have you ever wondered why the formula is "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year" but not "Happy Christmas and Merry New Year"? Not that finding an answer to this would be very relevant, but still, one wonders... Perhaps what people are really saying when they exchange this words is simply "Hey, I'm thinking of you at this time" (for whatever reason that may be).
Anyway, am in Bergen right now. These last 20 or so days have definitely included some variety. On my way to Valencia from Tromsø, stopped in London and met with Gerardo, a friend from my own years as a UWC student. Since i practically wheezed through the city, we didn't have time for more than one afternoon together, but we did have a couple of beers and a nice chat. Weird thing, the way it goes with old UWC friends when they meet again. We hadn't talked in quite a while and we have both obviously changed very much since our highschool days, yet it was easy to reconnect. Cheesy as it may sound, i still believe that what we shared in those two years was so fundamental that it will always form a kind of link with my mates from that time, no matter how long the intervening months or years stretch (roll your eyes all you want).
The Gerardo i remembered was very carefree and somewhat cynical... The one i met now said he was worried about the time he had "wasted", but a little less pessimistic, less guarded with his emotions (and he's living in England! go figure...). Physically, he hasn't changed much, and he still has the same quirky sense of humour i remember. It is good to know he's out there, you know? Do you ever get that feeling about distant friends? That you don't need to talk to them all the time -- not even so often, but that it makes you happy just to know that they are alive.
And then, Valencia. Spent almost two weeks with my brother Leandro and his wife, Celia. I love those two. They're really in love with each other.
Speaking of which, have you ever wondered why the formula is "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year" but not "Happy Christmas and Merry New Year"? Not that finding an answer to this would be very relevant, but still, one wonders... Perhaps what people are really saying when they exchange this words is simply "Hey, I'm thinking of you at this time" (for whatever reason that may be).
Anyway, am in Bergen right now. These last 20 or so days have definitely included some variety. On my way to Valencia from Tromsø, stopped in London and met with Gerardo, a friend from my own years as a UWC student. Since i practically wheezed through the city, we didn't have time for more than one afternoon together, but we did have a couple of beers and a nice chat. Weird thing, the way it goes with old UWC friends when they meet again. We hadn't talked in quite a while and we have both obviously changed very much since our highschool days, yet it was easy to reconnect. Cheesy as it may sound, i still believe that what we shared in those two years was so fundamental that it will always form a kind of link with my mates from that time, no matter how long the intervening months or years stretch (roll your eyes all you want).
The Gerardo i remembered was very carefree and somewhat cynical... The one i met now said he was worried about the time he had "wasted", but a little less pessimistic, less guarded with his emotions (and he's living in England! go figure...). Physically, he hasn't changed much, and he still has the same quirky sense of humour i remember. It is good to know he's out there, you know? Do you ever get that feeling about distant friends? That you don't need to talk to them all the time -- not even so often, but that it makes you happy just to know that they are alive.
And then, Valencia. Spent almost two weeks with my brother Leandro and his wife, Celia. I love those two. They're really in love with each other.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Brain
Brain seems to have gone into hybernation. Didn't think the lack of light would affect me in any way, but apparently it has. Not that am depressed nor anything, but my sleeping pattern's become... well, patternless. Was never very solid to begin with, you'll say; totally agree, but it's never happened that i go to bed at 11:00 am and wake up at 4:00 in the afternoon, then take a nap from midnight till 1:30. That was today. Put the hours of the day in a shaker glass and then spill them on the table, and you have my waking cycle over the last three or four weeks.
Brain's very silent, too. Probably snowing a lot in there as well. Got to shake it up a little.
Got to finish packing first, though. Then take a shower. Cab's coming to pick me up in a few hours and then it's ha det bra til Tromsø. Will be in London till the 23rd, and then on to Valencia.
Ooh! Brain just woke up. Thinking of the seventh commandment. Just looked it up on wiki, and it says "Do not commit adultery". When i went through catholic catechism as a child, though, it was "Do not covet the woman of your neighbor".
Catechism classes were mixed. Boys and girls from 6th and 7th grade had them after school, every wednesday. Two years, and then you were ready to take the first communion. Must have been strange for the girls. For them the seventh commandment was not an admonition against adultery, but against lesbianism with married women. Gay boys like me, on the other hand, were scot free: it sounded like that commandment in particular had no bearing on us. Not that coveting a married man is much fun, anyways.
At any rate, the message is clear: whatever your sex and sexual orientation, adultery is a no-no. That's to say, if you're married, do not sleep with married people other than your own spouse. Any other sex partner must be unmarried.
Isn't semantics an amazing thing?
Brain's very silent, too. Probably snowing a lot in there as well. Got to shake it up a little.
Got to finish packing first, though. Then take a shower. Cab's coming to pick me up in a few hours and then it's ha det bra til Tromsø. Will be in London till the 23rd, and then on to Valencia.
Ooh! Brain just woke up. Thinking of the seventh commandment. Just looked it up on wiki, and it says "Do not commit adultery". When i went through catholic catechism as a child, though, it was "Do not covet the woman of your neighbor".
Catechism classes were mixed. Boys and girls from 6th and 7th grade had them after school, every wednesday. Two years, and then you were ready to take the first communion. Must have been strange for the girls. For them the seventh commandment was not an admonition against adultery, but against lesbianism with married women. Gay boys like me, on the other hand, were scot free: it sounded like that commandment in particular had no bearing on us. Not that coveting a married man is much fun, anyways.
At any rate, the message is clear: whatever your sex and sexual orientation, adultery is a no-no. That's to say, if you're married, do not sleep with married people other than your own spouse. Any other sex partner must be unmarried.
Isn't semantics an amazing thing?
Friday, December 08, 2006
"Panic"
Just read the script of this amazing play by Mika Myllyaho. My first encounter with finnish literature (in translation, of course) and have definitely NOT been disappointed. A bit like "Women on the edge of a nervous breakdown", but with men instead of women. Would really love to seen this acted...
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
La complainte du progrès
Hehm... I'm just noticing my last posting was about complaining... Well, this one is about a lament. Haven't felt like blogging in the last few days, but was organizing my music this morning and came across this song by Boris Vian: perfect to fill in some space and deaden that sense of guilt...
Autrefois pour faire sa cour
On parlait d'amour;
Pour mieux prouver son ardeur
On offrait son coeur.
Maintenant c'est plus pareil.
Ça change, ça change...
Pour séduire le cher ange
On lui glisse à l'oreille:
Ah Gudule, viens m'embrasser, et je te donnerai...
Un frigidaire,
Un joli scooter,
Un atomixer
Et du Dunlopillo.
Une cuisinière
Avec un four en verre,
Des tas de couverts
Et des pelles à gâteau!
Une tourniquette
Pour faire la vinaigrette,
Un bel aérateur
Pour bouffer les odeurs,
Des draps qui chauffent,
Un pistolet à gaufres,
Un avion pour deux...
Et nous serons heureux!
Autrefois s'il arrivait
Que l'on se querelle,
L'air lugubre, on s'en allait,
En laissant la vaisselle.
Maintenant, que voulez-vous,
La vie est si chère...
On dit: "rentre chez ta mère"
Et on se garde tout.
Ah Gudule, excuse-toi, ou je reprends tout ça...
Mon frigidaire,
Mon armoire à cuillers,
Mon évier en fer,
Et mon poêle à mazout.
Mon cire-godasses,
mon repasse-limaces,
Mon tabouret-à-glace
Et mon chasse-filous!
La tourniquette
À faire la vinaigrette,
Le ratatineur dur
Et le coupe friture.
Et si la belle
Se montre encore rebelle
On la ficelle dehors,
Pour confier son sort
Au frigidaire,
À l'efface-poussière,
A la cuisinière,
Au lit qu'est toujours fait,
Au chauffe-savates,
Au canon à patates,
A l'éventre-tomates,
À l'écorche-poulet!
Mais très, très vite
On reçoit la visite
D'une tendre petite
Qui vous offre son coeur...
Alors on cède
Car il faut qu'on s'entraide
Et l'on vit comme ça
Jusqu'à la prochaine fois!
Autrefois pour faire sa cour
On parlait d'amour;
Pour mieux prouver son ardeur
On offrait son coeur.
Maintenant c'est plus pareil.
Ça change, ça change...
Pour séduire le cher ange
On lui glisse à l'oreille:
Ah Gudule, viens m'embrasser, et je te donnerai...
Un frigidaire,
Un joli scooter,
Un atomixer
Et du Dunlopillo.
Une cuisinière
Avec un four en verre,
Des tas de couverts
Et des pelles à gâteau!
Une tourniquette
Pour faire la vinaigrette,
Un bel aérateur
Pour bouffer les odeurs,
Des draps qui chauffent,
Un pistolet à gaufres,
Un avion pour deux...
Et nous serons heureux!
Autrefois s'il arrivait
Que l'on se querelle,
L'air lugubre, on s'en allait,
En laissant la vaisselle.
Maintenant, que voulez-vous,
La vie est si chère...
On dit: "rentre chez ta mère"
Et on se garde tout.
Ah Gudule, excuse-toi, ou je reprends tout ça...
Mon frigidaire,
Mon armoire à cuillers,
Mon évier en fer,
Et mon poêle à mazout.
Mon cire-godasses,
mon repasse-limaces,
Mon tabouret-à-glace
Et mon chasse-filous!
La tourniquette
À faire la vinaigrette,
Le ratatineur dur
Et le coupe friture.
Et si la belle
Se montre encore rebelle
On la ficelle dehors,
Pour confier son sort
Au frigidaire,
À l'efface-poussière,
A la cuisinière,
Au lit qu'est toujours fait,
Au chauffe-savates,
Au canon à patates,
A l'éventre-tomates,
À l'écorche-poulet!
Mais très, très vite
On reçoit la visite
D'une tendre petite
Qui vous offre son coeur...
Alors on cède
Car il faut qu'on s'entraide
Et l'on vit comme ça
Jusqu'à la prochaine fois!
On Children
One day when i was a kid of 8 or 9 my mom came back from the grocer's shop and recited this poem to me and my brothers. She had written it on the backside of her shopping list, having copied it off a poster on one of the shop's walls while she was waiting for her turn. You know, one of those tacky posters with a sunset on the background and some text written in curly letters. It happened to be a fragment of Khalil Gibran's "The Profet":
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
These lines stayed with me for a long time, but it was only a couple of years ago, when a student lent me Gibran's book, that i discovered where they came from. The makers of the poster at the grocer's shop of my childhood had not bothered to mention the author, as i saw myself when it was my turn to go shopping. Yet, their spanish translation was faithful enough that when i came across the fragment in english, over 20 years later, i recognized it.
Then again today, while surfing on the net, i found Sweet Honey on the Rock's musical version of the text, and it brought the memory up again.
My mom did not have the opportunity to go to school beyond the 6th grade. She had to work from a very young age, and her parents couldn't afford, or didn't think it important enough, to educate her beyond elementary school. All her life she's had to fight against the disadvantages this meant for her. Her lack of a formal education could have made her deny it to us, perhaps, or become so obsessed with it that she pushed us towards the "good and profitable" fields of study, ways of life, worldviews...
Yet she and my dad always made it clear that we could choose what we wanted, even when it was obvious they didn't understand our choices. When i told them i was going to study literature they must have been scared shitless: that really is a starvation sentence in a small town in Argentina. When i came out to them (rather, when they figured out i was gay), the notion must have gone against everything they were brought up to believe, yet they dealt and are dealing with it. Two of their three children have emigrated, and the third will probably do so next year. If we miss them, i can't imagine how they must miss us.
Of course, parents have their own ideas about life and what's right, and you live by those when you're little... When you start to get older, some of their values and points of view have stuck to you, and even if you see things differently, there's a time when you're still sensitive to their preferences... Some of those you spend years trying to shed off, only to discover they've crept back on you when you least expect it.
I think about my mom going into that grocer's shop and coming across that poem on the wall. It must have truly spoken to her beliefs, for her to come back so excited and read the poem to us so enthusiastically.
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
These lines stayed with me for a long time, but it was only a couple of years ago, when a student lent me Gibran's book, that i discovered where they came from. The makers of the poster at the grocer's shop of my childhood had not bothered to mention the author, as i saw myself when it was my turn to go shopping. Yet, their spanish translation was faithful enough that when i came across the fragment in english, over 20 years later, i recognized it.
Then again today, while surfing on the net, i found Sweet Honey on the Rock's musical version of the text, and it brought the memory up again.
My mom did not have the opportunity to go to school beyond the 6th grade. She had to work from a very young age, and her parents couldn't afford, or didn't think it important enough, to educate her beyond elementary school. All her life she's had to fight against the disadvantages this meant for her. Her lack of a formal education could have made her deny it to us, perhaps, or become so obsessed with it that she pushed us towards the "good and profitable" fields of study, ways of life, worldviews...
Yet she and my dad always made it clear that we could choose what we wanted, even when it was obvious they didn't understand our choices. When i told them i was going to study literature they must have been scared shitless: that really is a starvation sentence in a small town in Argentina. When i came out to them (rather, when they figured out i was gay), the notion must have gone against everything they were brought up to believe, yet they dealt and are dealing with it. Two of their three children have emigrated, and the third will probably do so next year. If we miss them, i can't imagine how they must miss us.
Of course, parents have their own ideas about life and what's right, and you live by those when you're little... When you start to get older, some of their values and points of view have stuck to you, and even if you see things differently, there's a time when you're still sensitive to their preferences... Some of those you spend years trying to shed off, only to discover they've crept back on you when you least expect it.
I think about my mom going into that grocer's shop and coming across that poem on the wall. It must have truly spoken to her beliefs, for her to come back so excited and read the poem to us so enthusiastically.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Complaint
I saw this poster on a bus, and took a picture.
It's basically an add from the consumers' council here in Norway. The card says:
"To Vinedal Catering:
RE our wedding,
we just wanted to say that
THE FOOD SUCKED!
................Camilla & Anders"
And then the caption underneath goes:
"DISSATISFIED?
The Consumers' Council will help you."
Heheheh. Made me smile.
It's basically an add from the consumers' council here in Norway. The card says:
"To Vinedal Catering:
RE our wedding,
we just wanted to say that
THE FOOD SUCKED!
................Camilla & Anders"
And then the caption underneath goes:
"DISSATISFIED?
The Consumers' Council will help you."
Heheheh. Made me smile.
Not fair!
US policies cost Latin America years under dictatorships, economic & social crises... and all Argentina manages to get back is Barbara Bush's purse and cell phone??? Which, rather than being shared, the pickpocket will surely keep -- that is how politics always works in Argentina, anyway.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Mary
Ok, back to one of my pet topics. Seriously, i don't do it on purpose, but just now i found myself thinking about religion... and the virgin Mary.
Why was it so important that Jesus' mother was a virgin? Would either of them have lost any sacredness if she hadn't been? I mean, that a virgin conceived god's son is not so spectacular, given that he is almighty and all... Wouldn't it be even more miraculous if Mary hadn't been a virgin, people had known it, and still they had accepted Jesus as the son of god?
Also, i'm wondering, why couldn't god have used Joseph's sperm to fertilize Mary? If he didn't, did he cause her egg to have a full set of 46 chromosomes, rather than the normal 23? Or was her egg just a regular one, and god just made 23 additional chromosomes to simply appear inside it? What were the genes in god's Y chromosome, for instance? I mean, i know Jesus is the spirit made flesh, but the instructions to make flesh are contained in DNA, which is matter... Did god concoct his own kind of DNA just on the spot, at the moment of Jesus' conception, or did he copy it from someone else, from people already living or who had lived in the past? If the first, it would really be interesting to see how god's DNA looks like; if the second, who did he pick as model/s?
In either case, what kind of genetic traits did he pick over what others? Knowing how fractious people are, isn't it a bit careless to make the redeemer of all humankind look like the members of one group in particular? It'd have simplified things if he'd included a disclaimer, something like "don't fight guys; it was a random process; i did it with my eyes closed -- he just happened to come out male and caucasian".
Why was it so important that Jesus' mother was a virgin? Would either of them have lost any sacredness if she hadn't been? I mean, that a virgin conceived god's son is not so spectacular, given that he is almighty and all... Wouldn't it be even more miraculous if Mary hadn't been a virgin, people had known it, and still they had accepted Jesus as the son of god?
Also, i'm wondering, why couldn't god have used Joseph's sperm to fertilize Mary? If he didn't, did he cause her egg to have a full set of 46 chromosomes, rather than the normal 23? Or was her egg just a regular one, and god just made 23 additional chromosomes to simply appear inside it? What were the genes in god's Y chromosome, for instance? I mean, i know Jesus is the spirit made flesh, but the instructions to make flesh are contained in DNA, which is matter... Did god concoct his own kind of DNA just on the spot, at the moment of Jesus' conception, or did he copy it from someone else, from people already living or who had lived in the past? If the first, it would really be interesting to see how god's DNA looks like; if the second, who did he pick as model/s?
In either case, what kind of genetic traits did he pick over what others? Knowing how fractious people are, isn't it a bit careless to make the redeemer of all humankind look like the members of one group in particular? It'd have simplified things if he'd included a disclaimer, something like "don't fight guys; it was a random process; i did it with my eyes closed -- he just happened to come out male and caucasian".
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Marcelo Tinelli & the Mapuche
Not the name of a rock group, i'm afraid.
Marcello Tinelli: a famous Argentinean TV presenter and comedian.
The Mapuche: the only indigenous group that, although seriously decimated and marginalized, managed to preserve its culture and language in Patagonia.
Marcello Tinelli: has bought thousands of acres in the Patagonic province of Chubut.
The Mapuche: 30 families live in this land, part of a community of around 700 individuals who, although there for centuries, still have no legal possession.
Marcello Tinelli: wants to build a mega tourist center (it would have a Mapuche name).
The Mapuche: have to go.
The argentinean government: does nothing, of course.
The argentinean media: not a peep.
Money: talks!
More info:
Universidad de Quilmes: http://extramuros.unq.edu.ar/03/art_moira_millan_3.htm
Marcello Tinelli: a famous Argentinean TV presenter and comedian.
The Mapuche: the only indigenous group that, although seriously decimated and marginalized, managed to preserve its culture and language in Patagonia.
Marcello Tinelli: has bought thousands of acres in the Patagonic province of Chubut.
The Mapuche: 30 families live in this land, part of a community of around 700 individuals who, although there for centuries, still have no legal possession.
Marcello Tinelli: wants to build a mega tourist center (it would have a Mapuche name).
The Mapuche: have to go.
The argentinean government: does nothing, of course.
The argentinean media: not a peep.
Money: talks!
More info:
Universidad de Quilmes: http://extramuros.unq.edu.ar/03/art_moira_millan_3.htm
Friday, November 17, 2006
Recruiting campaign
Just checked my yahoo & msn accounts, and there's these new US army adds everywhere. A new recruiting campaign:
"Climbing a mountain is strong.
Landing a helicopter on a mountain is Army Strong!
There's strong... And there's Army Strong!"
Just google "Army Strong" to read more about this, if you're interested. I just wonder... Do they mean strong as in "brute force"? Have they thought of trying with other adjectives, too?
"Jumping off a bridge is dumb.
Jumping off a bridge because somebody tells you to is Army Dumb!
There's dumb... And there's Army Dumb!" (Unless you're into bungee jumping, of course).
Or what about this other one?
"Killing is wrong.
Collateral damage is Army Wrong!
There's wrong... And there's Army Wrong!"
But no, only strength in mentioned. Again, no creativity, no flair... The curse of the military!
"Climbing a mountain is strong.
Landing a helicopter on a mountain is Army Strong!
There's strong... And there's Army Strong!"
Just google "Army Strong" to read more about this, if you're interested. I just wonder... Do they mean strong as in "brute force"? Have they thought of trying with other adjectives, too?
"Jumping off a bridge is dumb.
Jumping off a bridge because somebody tells you to is Army Dumb!
There's dumb... And there's Army Dumb!" (Unless you're into bungee jumping, of course).
Or what about this other one?
"Killing is wrong.
Collateral damage is Army Wrong!
There's wrong... And there's Army Wrong!"
But no, only strength in mentioned. Again, no creativity, no flair... The curse of the military!
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