The alter ego.

As you know, l'm quite keen on comic books. Especially the ones about superheroes. I find the whole mythology surrounding superheroes fascinating. Take my favorite superhero, Superman. Not a great comic book. Not particularly well-drawn. But the mythology... The mythology is not only great, it's unique. Now, a staple of the superhero mythology is, there's the superhero and there's the alter ego. Batman is actually Bruce Wayne, Spider-Man is actually Peter Parker. When that character wakes up in the morning, he's Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spider-Man. And it is in that characteristic Superman stands alone. Superman didn't become Superman. Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he's Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent. His outfit with the big red "S", that's the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears - the glasses, the business suit - that's the costume. That's the costume Superman wears to blend in with us. Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent. He's weak... he's unsure of himself... he's a coward. Clark Kent is Superman's critique on the whole human race.

Kill Bill Vol. 2 (2003), Quentin Tarantino.

Though things like this make me sick.

I want somebody to share the rest of my life, share my innermost thoughts, know my intimate details. Someone who'll stand by my side and give me support, and in return, she'll get my support.

She will listen to me when I want to speak about the world we live in and life in general. Though my views may be wrong (they may even be perverted) she will hear me out and won't easily be converted to my way of thinking. In fact she'll often disagree, but at the end of it all, she will understand me.

I want somebody who cares for me passionately with every thought and with every breath. Someone who'll help me see things in a different light; all the things I detest I will almost like.

I don't want to be tied to anyone's strings; I'm carefully trying to steer clear of those things. But when I'm asleep I want somebody who will put their arms around me and kiss me tenderly.

Though things like this make me sick, in a case like this I'll get away with it.

Somebody (Depeche Mode), Martin L. Gore.

The tip of the spear.

Gentlemen, you are the top 1% of all naval aviators: the elite, the BEST of the best. We'll make you better. Fly at least two combat missions a day, attend classes in between, and evaluations of your performance. Now in each combat sequence you're going to meet a different challenge. Every encounter is going to be much more difficult. We're going to teach you to fly the F-14 right to the edge of the envelop, faster than you've every flown before, and more dangerous. Now, we don't make policy here, gentlemen. Elected officials, civilians, do that. We are the instruments of that policy. And although we're not at war, we must always act as though we are at war. We're the tip of the spear. In case some of you wonder who the best is, they're up here on this plaque on the wall. The best driver and his RIO from each class has his name on it. And they have the option to come back here to be Top Gun instructors. You think you're name's going to be on that plaque?

Top Gun (1986), Tony Scott.

The ability to bullshit.

It was the oddest, most unexpected thing. I began writing what they call a Mission Statement for my company. You know -a Mission Statement- a suggestion for the future. What started out as one page became twenty-five. Suddenly I was my father's son. I was remembering the simple pleasures of this job, how I ended up here out of law school, the way a stadium sounds when one of my players performs well on the field... I was remembering even the words of the late Dicky Fox, the original sports agent, who said: The key to this job is personal relationships. Hey, I'll be the first to admit it. What I was writing was somewhat "touchy feely." I didn't care. I had lost the ability to bullshit. It was the me I'd always wanted to be.

Jerry Maguire (1996), Cameron Crowe.

Inspiración.

-La inspiración acude cuando se pegan los codos a la mesa, el culo a la silla y se empieza a sudar. Elige un tema, una idea, y exprímete el cerebro hasta que te duela. Eso se llama inspiración.

El Juego del Ángel, Carlos Ruiz Zafón.

Simple y pura biología.

-Está en nuestra naturaleza sobrevivir. La fe es una respuesta instintiva a aspectos de la existencia que no podemos explicar de otro modo, bien sea el vacío moral que percibimos en el universo, la certeza de la muerte, el misterio el origen de las cosas o el sentido de nuestra propia vida, o la ausencia de él. Son aspectos elementales y de extraordinaria sencillez, pero nuestras propias limitaciones nos impiden responder de un modo inequívoco a esa preguntas y por ese motivo generamos, como defensa, una respuesta emocional. Es simple y pura biología.

El Juego del Ángel, Carlos Ruiz Zafón.

Todo es un cuento.

-Todo es un cuento , Martín. Lo que creemos, lo que conocemos, lo que recordamos e incluso lo que soñamos. Todo es un cuento, una narración, una secuencia de sucesos y personajes que comunican un contenido emocional. Un acto de fe es un acto de aceptación, aceptación de una historia que se nos cuenta. Sólo aceptamos como verdadero aquello que puede ser narrado...

El Juego del Ángel, Carlos Ruiz Zafón.

Hair grows even after you're dead.

Imagine you go away on a business trip one day and when you come back home your children have grown and you never made your wife moan, and people make you nervous. You'd think the world was ending and everybody's features have somehow started blending. And everything is plastic, and everyone's sarcastic, and all your food is frozen; it needs to be defrosted.

Well maybe you should just drink a lot less coffee, and never ever watch the 10 o'clock news. Maybe you should kiss someone nice or lick a rock or both. Maybe you should cut your own hair cause that can be so funny, it doesn't cost any money and it always grows back. Hair grows even after you're dead.

The Ghost of Corporate Future, Regina Spektor.

Train of thought.

Leonard:What did Penny mean, "you'd make a cute couple"?

Sheldon: Well, I assume she meant that the two of you together would constitute a couple that others might consider cute. An alternate, though somewhat less likely interpretation is that you could manufacture one. As in, "Oh, look, Leonard and Leslie made Mr. and Mrs. Goldfarb! Aren't they adorable?

Leonard:
If Penny didn't know that Leslie had already turned me down, then that would unambiguously mean that she, Penny, thought I should ask her, Leslie, out, indicating that she, Penny, had no interest in me asking her, Penny, out; but because she did know that I had asked her, Leslie, out, and that she, Leslie, had turned me down, then she, Penny, could be offering me consolation - "That's too bad, you would have made a cute couple..." - while thinking, "good, Leonard remains available.

Sheldon:
You're a lucky man, Leonard.

Leonard:
How so?

Sheldon:
You're talking to one of the three men in the Western Hemisphere capable of following that train of thought.

Leonard:
Well, what do you think?

Sheldon: I said I could follow it, I didn't say I cared.

The Big Bang Theory, Season 1.

Sagittarius.

Penny: I'm a Sagittarius, which probably tells you way more than you need to know.

Sheldon:
Yes, it tells us that you participate in the mass cultural delusion that the sun's apparent position relative to arbitrarily defined constellations at the time of your birth somehow affects your personality.

The Big Bang Theory, Season 1.

Chance.

You have about as much chance of going out with Penny as the Hubble Telescope has of finding that at the center of each black hole there's a little man with a flashlight trying to find the circuit breaker.

The Big Bang Theory, Season 1.

La entrada número 200.

Sí, otras 100 entradas más. Y una vez más vuelvo a escribir. Tardé mucho tiempo en postear esta entrada, casi un mes, porque quería hacer algo especial para esta ocasión (por alguna convención que desconozco, todo número redondo es digno de algún tipo de festejo o distinción). Evalué la posibilidad de volver a mostrar algún texto mío, pero nada era digno de tal merecimiento. Y durante todo este tiempo, si bien me encontré con varios textos que merecían aparecer en este blog, quería que la entrada 200 me representara de alguna manera. Y hoy, por esas cosas del azar, me volví a cruzar con un cuento que leí hace muchísimos años, y releí hace otros tantos muchos años. Un cuento que me fascinó desde mi infancia y que me marcó de alguna manera, ya que lo recuerdo como el primer cuento por el cual sentí algo mucho más fuerte que el simple placer de la lectura. Un cuento que me despertaba pasión, admiración, felicidad, y tristeza al mismo tiempo. Un cuento que recuerdo como el primer gran final de una saga que haya leído. Un cuento que comenzaba así:

Tomo la pluma con tristeza para redactar estos pocos párrafos, que serán los últimos que yo dedicaré a dejar constancia de las singulares dotes que distinguieron a mi amigo el señor Sherlock Holmes. Me he esforzado, aunque de una manera inconexa y, estoy profundamente convencido de ello, del todo inadecuada, en relatar como he podido las extraordinarias aventuras que me han ocurrido en su compañía desde que la casualidad nos juntó, en el período del Estudio en Escarlata, hasta la intervención de Holmes en el asunto de El Tratado naval, intervención que tuvo como consecuencia indiscutible la de evitar una grave complicación internacional. Era propósito mío el haber terminado con ese relato, sin hablar para nada del suceso que dejó en mi vida un vacío que los dos años transcurridos desde entonces han hecho muy poco por llenar. Pero las recientes cartas en que el coronel James Moriarty defiende la memoria de su hermano me fuerzan a ello, y no tengo otra alternativa que la de exponer los hechos tal como ocurrieron. Soy la única persona que conoce la verdad exacta del caso, y estoy convencido de que ha llegado el momento en que a nada bueno conduce el suprimirla. Por lo que yo sé, sólo han aparecido en la Prensa tres relatos: el que publicó el Journal de Geneve el día 6 de mayo de 1891, el telegrama de Reuter que apareció en los diarios ingleses el día 7 de mayo y, por último, las cartas recientes a que antes aludí. El primero y el segundo de estos relatos son sumamente lacónicos, en tanto que el último tergiversa por completó los hechos, según voy a demostrarlo. Me toca a mí el contar por primera vez qué es lo que verdaderamente ocurrió entre el profesor Moriarty y el señor Sherlock Holmes.

Arthur Conan Doyle, "El problema final", Las Memorias de Sherlock Holmes.

Polite.

You shouldn't think that just because I'm looking at you while you're talking to me, that I'm necessarily listening to or caring about what you're saying. It's just something I do to be polite.

Sports Night. Season 2, Episode 2, "When Something Wicked This Way Comes".

Fifteen Minutes of Fame.

To quote Andy Warhol, "Everybody has fifteen minutes of fame."
To quote myself, "I wish they didn't".

Mick Mars, The Dirt.

Last looks.

Because we have a moment here, let me tell you that I have recently become a secret connoisseur of 'last looks'. You know the way people look at you when they believe it's for the last time? I've started collecting these looks.

Elizabethtown (2005), Cameron Crowe.














For WetGirl.

Too great to be gone forever.

Disco will never be over. It will always live in our minds and hearts. Something like this, that was this big, and this important, and this great, will never die. Oh, for a few years - maybe many years - it'll be considered passé and ridiculous. It will be misrepresented and caricatured and sneered at, or - worse - completely ignored. People will laugh about John Travolta, Olivia Newton-John, white polyester suits and platform shoes and people going like *this*, but we had nothing to do with those things and still loved disco. Those who didn't understand will never understand: disco was much more, and much better, than all that. Disco was too great, and too much fun, to be gone forever! It's got to come back someday. I just hope it will be in our own lifetimes.

The Last Days of Disco (1988), Whit Stillman.

The end of the end.

In any case, this is how all our stories begin, in darkness with our eyes closed, and all our stories end in the same way, too, with all of us uttering some last words -or perhaps someone else's- before slipping back into darkness as our stories of unfortunate events come to an end.

A Series of Unfortunate Events, "The End" Book the Thirteenth, Chapter Thirteen, Lemony Snicket.

Born yesterday.

But the three siblings were not born yesterday. Violet was born more than fifteen years before this particular wednesday, and Klaus was born approximatley two years after that, and even Sunny who had just passed out of babyhood, was not born yesterday. Neither were you, unless of course I am wrong, in which case, welcome to the world, little baby, and congratulations on learning to read so early in life.

A Series of Unfortunate Events, Book The Tweltfh "The Penultimate Peril", Lemony Snicket

The beginning of the end.

Dear Reader,

You are presumably looking at the back of this book, or the end of the end. The end of the end is the best place to begin the end, because if you read the end from the beginning of the beginning of the end to the end of the end of the end, you will arrive at the end of the end of your rope.

This book is the last in A Series of Unfortunate Events, and even if you braved the previous twelve volumes, you probably can't stand such unpleasantries as a fearsome storm, a suspicious beverage, a herd of wild sheep, an enormous bird cage, and a truly haunting secret about the Baudelaire parents.

It has been my solemn occupation to complete the history of the Baudelaire orphans, and at last I am finished. You likely have some other occupation, so if I were you I would drop this book at once, so the end does not finish you.

With all due respect,
 

Lemony Snicket.

A Series of Unfortunate Events, Book the Thirteenth "The End", Lemony Snicket.

Después de todo.

Y te subís al último tren de la noche, acompañado por el resabio de unas copas, una leve euforia y una pizca de melancolía. Y entre tema y tema que suena en tus oídos, te das cuenta que después de todo, tu vida no está tan mal.

Rooms.

I'm gonna base this moment on who I'm stuck in a room with. That's what life is. It's a series of rooms. And who we get stuck in those rooms adds up to what our lives are.

House M.D., One Room, Episode 12 Season 3.

We sell cigarettes.

People, what is going on out there? I look down this table, all I see are white flags. Our numbers are down all across the board. Teen smoking, our bread and butter, is falling like a shit from heaven! We don't sell Tic Tacs for Christ's sake. We sell cigarettes. And they're cool and available and *addictive*. The job is almost done for us!

Thank you for smoking (2005), Jason Reitman.

The voice of God.

Metatron acts as the voice of God. Any documented occasion when some yahoo claims God has spoken to them, they're speaking to me. Or they're talking to themselves. Human beings have neither the aural nor the psychological capacity to withstand the awesome power of God's true voice. Were you to hear it, your mind would cave in and your heart would explode within your chest. We went through five Adams before we figured that one out.

Dogma (1999), Kevin Smith.

Cada tanto una puerta se abre.

Las puertas han sido el tema de este último programa. Las misteriosas puertas que comunican momentos de nuestra vida, habitaciones de nuestro corazón y puertas que permanecen siempre cerradas, de modo que algunos sectores del alma jamás se comunican.
Yo les deseo a todos ustedes que alguna de esas puertas que están cerradas con candado se abran aunque sea por un rato. Vivimos, le decía yo hoy a un amigo que me hizo un entrevista, casi siempre solos y encerrados. Cada tanto una puerta se abre, un puente se establece. No les deseo yo una vida de puertas abiertas porque es insoportable, pero sí que cada tanto en medio de esa soledad se abra la puerta y se asome una cabeza amiga y diga “hola”. Pero esos milagros solo suceden en dos ocasiones: en ocasión del amor y en ocasión del arte. Ojalá que todos ustedes tenga momentos de amor y momentos de arte.

Alejandro Dolina.

Three New Yorks.

There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born here, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter — the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. […] Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness; natives give it solidity and continuity; but the settlers give it passion.

Here is New York, E.B. White.

The only one.

You’re the only one I cry for, the only one I try to please. You’re the only one I sigh for, the only one I die to squeeze. And it gets better everyday, I play, with you it’s such a scream. Yeah it gets better everyday, I say, with you it’s so extreme. Yeah, it gets wetter everyday, I stay, with you it’s like a dream.

The only one, The Cure.




20.06.08 MSG - Cured.

Cut here.

But how many times can I walk away and wish "If only..."
But how many times can I talk this way and wish "If only..."
Keep on making the same mistake
Keep on aching the same heartbreak
I wish "If only..."

But "If only...."
Is a wish too late...


Robert Smith, Cut Here, The Cure.

A un día...

Hugh Gallagher's 'College Essay'

3A. ESSAY: IN ORDER FOR THE ADMISSIONS STAFF OF OUR COLLEGE TO GET TO KNOW YOU, THE APPLICANT, BETTER, WE ASK THAT YOU ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTION:

ARE THERE ANY SIGNIFICANT EXPERIENCES YOU HAVE HAD, OR ACCOMPLISHMENTS YOU HAVE REALIZED, THAT HAVE HELPED TO DEFINE YOU AS A PERSON?

---

I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I manage time efficiently. Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row.

I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.

Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I'm bored, I build large suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, after school, I repair electrical appliances free of charge.

I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening wear. I don't perspire. I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail. I have been caller number nine and have won the weekend passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat 400. My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me.

I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. I have performed several covert operations for the CIA. I sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me.

I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid. On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a mouli and a toaster oven. I breed prizewinning clams. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, I have performed open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis.

But I have not yet gone to college.

Notes from the pulpit.

I am not qualified to speak about God. I am going to speak about advertising. That is something I believe in. When I mention that I am in advertising, people's instinctive reaction is that you are trying to sell people things the don't want.

They regard advertising as being a bit distasteful. I am no more distasteful than you. Yes, of course, I am selling. But so are all of you.

You are hustling and selling or trying to make people buy something. Your services or your point of view. Tupperware parties, for example. They are selling.

You clean your car to sell it, showing it to its best advantage. People even put bread in the oven to make their houses smell nice when they are trying to sell them. The way you dress when going for an interview or a party, or merely putting lipstick on. Aren't you selling yourself?

Your priest is selling. He is selling what he believes in. God.

The point is we are all selling.

We are all in advertising.

It's part of life.



It's not how good you are, it's how good you want to be. Paul Arden.

Fail.

Fail. Fail again. Fail Better.

Samuel Beckett.

The rebel.

"Life conspires to beat the rebel out of you."

Alex Bogusky.

Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein.

Today... today, you find yourselves equals. For you are all equally blessed. For I have the pride, the privilege, nay, the pleasure of introducing to you to a knight, sired by knights. A knight who can trace his lineage back beyond Charlemagne. I first met him atop a mountain near Jerusalem, praying to God, asking his forgiveness for the Saracen blood spilt by his sword. Next, he amazed me still further in Italy when he saved a fatherless beauty from the would-be ravishing of her dreadful Turkish uncle. In Greece he spent a year in silence just to better understand the sound of a whisper. And so without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you, the seeker of serenity, the protector of Italian virginity, the enforcer of our Lord God, the one, the only, Sir Ulllrrrich von Lichtenstein!

A Knight's Tale (2001), Brian Helgeland.

Everybody lies.

It's a basic truth of the human condition that everybody lies. The only variable is about what. The weird thing about telling someone they're dying is it tends to focus their priorities. You find out what matters to them. What they're willing to die for. What they're willing to lie for.

House MD, "Three Stories", Season 1 Episode 21.

Where the birds always sing

The world is neither fair nor unfair. The idea is just a way for us to understand. But the world is neither fair nor unfair. So one survives, the others die and you always want a reason why.
But the world is neither just nor unjust. It's just us trying to feel that there's some sense in it.

Where the birds always sing, Robert Smith.

Not anymore.

Innocent? Is that supposed to be funny? An obese man... a disgusting man who could barely stand up; a man who if you saw him on the street, you'd point him out to your friends so that they could join you in mocking him; a man, who if you saw him while you were eating, you wouldn't be able to finish your meal. After him, I picked the lawyer and I know you both must have been secretly thanking me for that one. This is a man who dedicated his life to making money by lying with every breath that he could muster to keeping murderers and rapists on the streets! A woman... so ugly on the inside she couldn't bear to go on living if she couldn't be beautiful on the outside. A drug dealer, a drug dealing pederast, actually! And let's not forget the disease-spreading whore! Only in a world this shitty could you even try to say these were innocent people and keep a straight face. But that's the point. We see a deadly sin on every street corner, in every home, and we tolerate it. We tolerate it because it's common, it's trivial. We tolerate it morning, noon, and night. Well, not anymore. I'm setting the example.

Se7en (1995) David Fincher.

The Flight of our dreams

... so rapid is the flight of our dreams upon the wings of imagination...

The Three Musketeers, Alexandre Dumas.

You haven't lived.

Love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without. If you don't start with that, what are you going to end up with? Fall head over heels. I say find someone you can love like crazy and who'll love you the same way back. And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I'm not hearing any heart. Run the risk, if you get hurt, you'll come back. Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love - well, you haven't lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven't tried, you haven't lived.

Meet Joe Black (1988), Martin Brest.

The Summer of 1959.

I was twelve going on thirteen the first time I saw a dead human being. It happened in the summer of 1959—a long time ago. But only if you measure in terms of years. I was living in a small town in Oregon called Castle Rock. There were only 1281 people, but to me it was the whole world.

Stand By Me, Rob Reiner (1986).

Decenas de poemas.

Y lloré con la almohada mi estúpida plegaria, y me tragué con vinos una desolación tras otra, perdido en la intemperie que suele ser mi abrigo. Y escribí decenas de poemas que convertí en canciones deplorables.

Adolfo Castelo, Revista TXT, Año 1, Número 35.

The mind is its own place.

Farewell, happy fields, where joy forever dwells!
Hail, horrors! Hail infernal world!
An thou, profoundest Hell,
receive thy new possessor
-one who brings a mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place,
and itself can make a Heaven of Hell,
and a Hell of Heaven.

Paradise Lost, John Milton.

Miserable.

You're gonna be miserable. At home, at work, somewhere. The goal in life is not to eliminate misery. It's to keep misery to the minimum. Someone's gonna be miserable sometime. Accept it. That's how I stay so happy.

House MD, Season 4, Episode 5 "Mirror mirror".

Mrs. Robinson.

For god's sake, Mrs. Robinson. Here we are. You got me into your house. You give me a drink. You... put on music. Now you start opening up your personal life to me and tell me your husband won't be home for hours. Mrs. Robinson, you're trying to seduce me.

The Graduate (1967), Mike Nichols.

You were a tomato!

MICHAEL DORSEY
Are you saying that nobody in New York will work with me?

GEORGE FIELDS
No, no, that's too limited... nobody in Hollywood wants to work with you either. I can't even set you up for a commercial. You played a *tomato* for 30 seconds - they went a half a day over schedule because you wouldn't sit down.

MICHAEL DORSEY
Of course. It was illogical.

GEORGE FIELDS
YOU WERE A TOMATO. A tomato doesn't have logic. A tomato can't move.

MICHAEL DORSEY
That's what I said. So if he can't move, how's he gonna sit down, George? I was a stand-up tomato: a juicy, sexy, beefsteak tomato. Nobody does vegetables like me. I did an evening of vegetables off-Broadway. I did the best tomato, the best cucumber... I did an endive salad that knocked the critics on their ass.

Tootsie (1982), Sidney Pollack

Success.

All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence; then success is sure.

Mark Twain.

Second Chance.

When the Washington Sentinels left the stadium that day, there was no tickertape parade, no endorsement deals for sneakers or soda pop, or breakfast cereal. Just a locker to be cleaned out, and a ride home to catch. But what they didn't know, was that their lives had been changed forever because they had been part of something great. And greatness, no matter how brief, stays with a man. Every athlete dreams of a second chance. These men lived it.

The Replacements (2000), Howard Deutch.

Fermín Romero de Torres III.

Mire, Daniel. Las mujeres, con notables excepciones como su vecina Merceditas, son más inteligentes que nosotros, o cuando menos más sinceras consigo mismas sobre lo que quieren o no. Otra cosa es que se lo digan a uno o al mundo. Se enfrenta usted al enigma de la naturaleza, Daniel. La fémina, babel y laberinto. Si usted la deja pensar, está perdido. Recuerde: corazón caliente, mente fría. El código del seductor.

Fermín Romero de Torres, en La Sombra del Viento (Carlos Ruiz Zafón).

Fermín Romero de Torres II.

La televisión, amigo Daniel, es el Anticristo y le digo yo que bastarán tres o cuatro generaciones para que la gente ya no sepa ni tirarse pedos por su cuenta y el ser humano vuelva a la caverna, a la barbarie medieval, y a estados de imbecilidad que ya superó la babosa allá por el pleistoceno. Este mundo no se morirá de una bomba atómica como dicen los diarios, se morirá de risa, de banalidad, haciendo un chiste de todo, y además un chiste malo.

Fermín Romero de Torres, en La Sombra del Viento (Carlos Ruiz Zafón).

Fermín Romero de Torres.

Vive Dios que yo nunca me acosté con una mujer menor de edad, y no por falta de ganas u oportunidades; que hoy me ven ustedes en horas bajas, pero hubo el día en que tuve presencia y gallardía como el que más, y aún así, por si acaso y me daba en la nariz que eran un poco golfas, exigía cédula de identidad, o en su defecto autorización paterna por escrito para no faltarle a la ética.

Fermín Romero de Torres, en La Sombra del Viento (Carlos Ruiz Zafón).

(RED)

What we choose to buy.

A t-shirt can change the world.
What we collectively
choose to buy
or not to buy
can change the course
of life and history
on this planet.


Gap t-shirt, Product (Red) Campaign.

Mr. Glass.

Your bones don't break, mine do. That's clear. Your cells react to bacteria and viruses differently than mine. You don't get sick, I do. That's also clear. But for some reason, you and I react the exact same way to water. We swallow it too fast, we choke. We get some in our lungs, we drown. However unreal it may seem, we are connected, you and I. We're on the same curve, just on opposite ends.

Now that we know who you are... I know who I am. I'm not a mistake! It all makes sense. In a comic, you know how you can tell who the arch-villain's going to be? He's the exact opposite of the hero, and most time's they're friends, like you and me. I should've known way back when. You know why, David? Because of the kids. They called me Mr. Glass.

Unbreakable (2000), M. Night Shyamalan.

Those in the water.

Once, man and those in the water were linked. They inspired us. They spoke of the future. Man listened and it became real. But man does not listen very well. Man's need to own everything led him deeper into land. The magic world of the ones that lived in the ocean... and the world of men... separated. Through the centuries, their world and all the inhabitants of it... stopped trying. The world of man became more violent. War upon war played out, as there were no guides to listen to. Now those in the water are trying again... trying to reach us. A handful of their precious young ones have been sent into the world of man. They are brought in the dead of night... to where man lives. They need only be glimpsed... and the awakening of man will happen. But their enemies roam the land. There are laws that are meant to keep the young ones safe... but they are sent at great risk to their lives. Many... do not return. Yet still they try... try to help man. But man may have forgotten how to listen...

Lady in the Water (2006), M. Night Shyamalan.

The burden.

The weight of the world
   is love.
Under the burden
   of solitude,
under the burden
   of dissatisfaction

   the weight,
the weight we carry
   is love.


Song (excerpt), Allan Ginsberg.

Quarrel.

I had a lover's quarrel with the world.

Robert Frost's epitah.

The key word.

Love. Fall in love and stay in love. Write only what you love, and love what you write. The key word is love. You have to get up in the morning and write something you love, something to live for.

Ray Bradbury.

The trick.

That's 'cause we all wanna be problemless. To fix ourselves. We look for some magic solution to make us all better, but none of us really know what we're doing. And why is that so bad? That's all we humans can do. Guess. Try. Hope. But, Justin, just pray you don't fool yourself into thinking you've got the answer. Because that's bullshit. The trick is living without an answer. I think.

Thumbsucker (2005), Mike Mills.

Come again.

Come again,
sweet love doth now invite,
thy graces that refrain
to do me due delight.
To see, to hear,
to touch, to kiss,
to die with thee again
in sweetest sympathy.

Come again,
that I may cease to mourn
through thy unkind disdain
for now left and forlorn.
I sit, I sigh,
I weep, I faint,
I die, in deadly pain
and endless misery.

Come Again, John Dowland.

Kinda sad.

There comes a time when you need to make a huge mistake in order to see yourself with perspective. It's kinda sad, but that's how people mature.

Nana, Ai Yazawa.

The massacre of the Shaolin Temple.

Once upon a time in China, some believe, around the year one double-aught three, head priest of the White Lotus Clan, Pai Mei, was walking down the road, contemplating whatever it is that a man of Pai Mei's infinite power contemplates - which is another way of saying "who knows?" - when a Shaolin monk appeared, traveling in the opposite direction. As the monk and the priest crossed paths, Pai Mei, in a practically unfathomable display of generosity, gave the monk the slightest of nods. The nod was not returned. Now was it the intention of the Shaolin monk to insult Pai Mei? Or did he just fail to see the generous social gesture? The motives of the monk remain unknown. What is known, are the consequences. The next morning Pai Mei appeared at the Shaolin Temple and demanded of the Temple's head abbot that he offer Pai Mei his neck to repay the insult. The Abbot at first tried to console Pai Mei, only to find Pai Mei was inconsolable. So began the massacre of the Shaolin Temple and all sixty of the monks inside at the fists of the White Lotus. And so began the legend of Pai Mei's five-point-palm-exploding-heart technique.

Kill Bill: Vol. 2 (2004), Quentin Tarantino.

Self-absorbed

I know, I get that. But if it is 'cause of me, maybe I can talk her out of it. Except for the fact that I can't ask her if it because of me without sounding totally self-absorbed. And I'm not self-absorbed, right Ryan? Me? Me? Me?

The O. C. Season 1, The Goodbye Girl.

No more guys.

ARI
I fired him for stealing pens. Why do I care about Josh?

EMILY
Well, now he’s an agent at Triad. And he’s the one who gave the boys Queens Boulevard.

ARI
That’s why no more guys! You fire a guy you create a rival. You fire a woman you create a housewife.

Entourage, Season 1, Busey and the Beach.

If I could have all those things.

I wanna be with her more, I wanna be with her all the time, and I wanna tell her things I don't even tell you or mum. And I don't want her to have another boyfriend. I suppose if I could have all those things, I wouldn't really mind if I touched her or not.

About a Boy (2002), Chris Weitz/Paul Weitz.

If you ever get lonely.

Never take it seriously, you never get hurt. Never get hurt, you can always have fun. And if you ever get lonely, you just go to the record store and visit all your friends.

Almost Famous (2000), Cameron Crowe.

Las malas compañías.

Y si la Magdalena pide un trago, tú la invitas a cien que yo los pago. Acércate a su puerta y llama si te mueres de sed, si ya no juegas a las damas ni con tu mujer. Sólo te pido que me escribas contándome si sigue viva la virgen del pecado, la novia de la flor de la saliva, el sexo con amor de los casados.

Joaquín Sabina, Una canción para la Magdalena.

Y sin embargo.

Y me envenenan los besos que voy dando y sin embargo cuando duermo sin tí, contigo sueño.

Y sin embargo, Joaquín Sabina.

Life.

Your life is an occasion. Rise to it.


Mr. Magorium Wonder Emporium (2007), Zach Helm.

Shenanigans.

I mean, I'm already pregnant, so what other kind of shenanigans could I get into?

Juno (2007), Jason Reitman.

Total agony.

SAM
I know I should be thinking about Mum all the time, and I am. But the truth is I'm in love and I was before she died, and there's nothing I can do about it.

DANIEL
Aren't you a bit young to be in love?

SAM
No.

DANIEL
Oh, well, okay, right. Well, I mean, I'm a little relieved.

SAM
Why?

DANIEL
Well, because I thought it would be something worse.

SAM
Worse than the total agony of being in love?

DANIEL
Oh. No, you're right. Yeah, total agony.


Love Actually (2003), Curtis Hanson.

It pricks.

Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

Willieam Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, Act 1. Scene IV.

Look hard enough.

At times the world can seem an unfriendly and sinister place, but believe us when we say there is much more good in it than bad. All you have to do is look hard enough. And what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events, may, in-fact be the first steps of a journey.

Lemony Snicket's Series of Unfortunate Events.

Para no recordar.

Toda alegría no es más que un olvido momentáneo de la tragedia esencial de la vida. Puede uno reírse del cuento de los supositorios, pero éste es apenas un descanso en el camino. Uno juega, retoza y refiere historias picarescas, solamente para no recordar que ha de morirse. Ese es el sentido original de la palabra diversión: apartar, desviar, llamar la atención hacia una cosa que no es la principal.

"El Fantasma", Alejandro Dolina.

One of those guys.

I wish I could be one of those guys who doesn't call, the kind of guy that gets broken up with and appears not to give a shit. He doesn't make an ass out of himself, or frighten anybody, and this week I've done both of those things.

High Fidelity. Nick Hornby.

I shouldn't be listening to pop music.

Sentimental music makes you nostalgic and hopeful at the same time. Marie's the hopeful part. Laura's the nostalgia part. These things happen. They happen to men, at any rate. This is why I shouldn't be listening to pop music.

High Fidelity, Nick Hornby.




PD: Sí, estoy monotemático.

I just don't think I'll ever get over you.

But I don't want you thinking I don't get asked to dinner 'cause I'm here to say that I sometimes do. Even though I may soon feel the touch of love, I just don't think I'll ever get over you. If I lived till I was 102, I just don't think I'll ever get over you.

I just don't think I'll ever get over you. Colin Hay.

Leave me alone.

And if you have to leave I wish that you would just leave, 'cause your presence still lingers here and it won't leave me alone. These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real, there's just too much that time cannot erase.

My Immortal, Evanescence.

I step to the edge.

So I walk up on high and I step to the edge to see my world below. And I laugh at myself as the tears roll down, 'cause it's the world I know. It's the world I know.

The world I know. Collective Soul.

Or if it's true.

...and it's alright if you're undecided or if you're scared that you might like it or if it's true; I ache for you.

Ache For You, Ben Lee.

Everybody cries.

When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone, when you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on. Don't let yourself go, 'cause everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes.

Everybody Hurts, R.E.M.

All we got.

ANDREW LARGEMAN
Fuck, this hurts so much.

SAM
I know it hurts. But it's life, and it's real. And sometimes it fucking hurts, but it's life, and it's pretty much all we got.

Garden State (2004), Zach Braff.

The woman I loved.

The Moulin Rouge. A night club, a dance hall and a bordello. Ruled over by Harold Zidler. A kingdom of night time pleasures. Where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of these was the one I loved. Satine. A courtesan. She sold her love to men. They called her the "Sparkling Diamond", and she was the star of the Moulin Rouge. The woman I loved is... dead.

Christian (Ewan McGregor), Moulin Rouge! (2001), Baz Lurhmann.

Longing.

Christian, you may see me only as a drunken, vice-ridden gnome whose friends are just pimps and girls from the brothels. But I know about art and love, if only because I long for it with every fiber of my being.

Toulouse Lautrec (John Leguizamo), Moulin Rouge! (2001), Baz Luhrmann.

So screwed.

MATT ALBIE
Was there something you came to see me about?

DANNY TRIP
Yes.

MATT ALBIE
What?

DANNY TRIP
We don't need to do it now, but at some point I'm going to need you to level with me about Harriet. I need to know how big of a problem it's going to be.

MATT ALBIE
It's not going to be a problem at all.

DANNY TRIP
It will if you are still in love with her.

MATT ALBIE
I'm not. I'm not. Danny, I love her talent. The woman's got millions of fans but there are maybe fifty guys in town who know how good she is and we're two of them. I admire her. I'm knocked out by her talent. And I like it when she makes me laugh, and I like making her laugh, which isn't easy to do, so it's gratifying. She's undeniably sexy. I like it when she smiles at me, and a couple of other things, but that's it.

DANNY TRIP
Oh my God, we are so screwed.

MATT ALBIE
I know.

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Episode 2, The Cold Open.

Bairdmen.

Out of order, I show you out of order. You don't know what out of order is, Mr. Trask. I'd show you, but I'm too old, I'm too tired, I'm too fuckin' blind. If I were the man I was five years ago, I'd take a flamethrower to this place! Out of order? Who the hell do you think you're talkin' to? I've been around, you know? There was a time I could see. And I have seen. Boys like these, younger than these, their arms torn out, their legs ripped off. But there isn't nothin' like the sight of an amputated spirit. There is no prosthetic for that. You think you're merely sending this splendid foot soldier back home to Oregon with his tail between his legs, but I say you are... executin' his soul! And why? Because he's not a Bairdman. Bairdmen. You hurt this boy, you're gonna be Baird bums, the lot of ya. And Harry, Jimmy, Trent, wherever you are out there, fuck you too!

Scent of a Woman (1992), Martin Brest.

So, who wants me?

Hello, sick people and their loved ones! In the interest of saving time and avoiding a lot of boring chitchat later, I'm Doctor Gregory House; you can call me "Greg." I'm one of three doctors staffing this clinic this morning. This ray of sunshine is Doctor Lisa Cuddy. Doctor Cuddy runs this whole hospital, so unfortunately she's much too busy to deal with you. I am a board certified diagnostician with a double specialty of infectious disease and nephrology. I am also the only doctor currently employed at this hospital who is forced to be here against his will. But not to worry, because for most of you, this job could be done by a monkey with a bottle of Motrin. Speaking of which, if you're particularly annoying, you may see me reach for this: this is Vicodin. It's mine! You can't have any! And no, I do not have a pain management problem, I have a pain problem... but who knows? Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm too stoned to tell. So, who wants me?
And who would rather wait for one of the other two guys?
Okay. Well, I'll be in Exam Room One if you change your mind.

Dr. Gregory House (Hugh Laurie), House M.D., Season 1, Episode 3.

The world is not small.

You can run far; you can take your small precautions,
but have you really gotten away?
Can you ever escape?
Or is the truth that you do not have the strength or cunning
to hide from destiny?
That the world is not small, you are.
And fate can find you anywhere.

Heroes. Season 1, Episode 8: Seven minutes to midnight.

Dignity.

There's no such thing! Our bodies break down, sometimes when we're 90, sometimes before we're even born, but it always happens and there's never any dignity in it! I don't care if you can walk, see, wipe your own ass... it's always ugly, always! You can live with dignity; you can't die with it!

Dr. Gregory House (Hugh Laurie), House M.D., Pilot.

Hank hates you all.

Hell-A Magazine blog number 1. Hank hates you all. A few things I've learned on my travels through this crazy little thing called life. One, a morning of awkwardness is better than a night of loneliness. Two, I probably won't go down in history, but I will go down on your sister. And 3, while I'm down there it might be nice to see a hint of pubis. I'm not talking about a huge 70's Playboy bush or anything. Just something that reminds me that I'm performing cunnilingus on an adult.

Hank Moody (David Duchovny), Californication, Season 1 Episode 2.

English garden.

Would you care to sit with me for a cup of English tea?
Very twee, very me, any sunny morning.
What a pleasure it would be chatting so delightfully,
nanny bakes fairy cakes
every Sunday morning.

Miles of miles of English garden,
stretching past the willow tree.
Lines of hollyhocks and roses listen most attentively.


English Tea, Paul McCartney, Creation and Chaos in the Backyard.