CRISIS - Nothing New

Being in Berlin I had a chance to visit the Jewish Museum, hosted inside the wonderful building designed by Daniel Liebeskind like an open wound in the soil and in the soul of a city made of scars and cuts that could never be healed. While in there I had a strange feeling of déjà-vu.

The museum seeks to tell the story of the people of Abraham since the very beginning, following their continuous migration until reaching what we today call Germany.

The most interesting section of this historic path is the one that's closer to us chronologically. The one that tells of the last century and of the attempts of the Jewish people to seek integration and acceptance in German society until National Socialism took control and led to the bursting of WWII. Narration in the museum does not stop there but goes on with describing new attempts to integration, to a new life after the Holocaust.

It seems that general conditions in Germany, in Europe and in the whole Western World, right before WWII, were not at their highest point (especially since the 1929 crisis had left deep wounds in those countries' economies) generating the obvious search for the responsible ones for such drop.

When things go wrong we have the tendency to easily point our finger, we need to identify the causes or, better said, blame someone. The simplest path in the process of distributing responsibility is always the witch hunt, that seems to repeatedly find new life in history, only through different forms or shapes. Witches this time would be the Jews, considered the cause of Germany's poverty and lack of jobs.

The different, the immigrant, the one who steals from the local, a global economic crisis, general unhappiness and fear of the future. To top all this a spreading ignorance and the consequent rising of extreme right wing political parties.

I am positive I am not the first one to think of this nor say anything about it but I believe it's not a bad idea to be repetitive when it comes to it.

My question is one and simple: does it ring a bell?

THE DAY STEVE JOBS SAVED MY LIFE

The day started with the wrong foot. And I have all the right to say so since that same foot, a few hours later, would be broken... this is how it went.


I am home trying to configurate my MobileMe application on my shiny iPhone 4. I am sure I am doing the right thing by taking one step ahead in the Apple world. While I play with my mobile and my MacBook to synchronize the two, the only one button of the former stops working. Relaxation techniques soon come in handy. Breathing deeply makes the whole shock lighter to bare. 


I try rebooting, re-installing the operative system, nothins works. I access google maps in search of the nearest Apple Store. Not really "nearest" but I find one. I arm myself with patience and take a metro ride to it. The journey seems to last hours but I take it as a test and start preparing myself for iPhoneless days.


I finally reach the giant shopping center where the Apple Store is and start looking for it. As in every respectable fairytale help only shows up at the end. So did the store, located at the furthest end of the mall.


As I see it from far away I have to refrain myself from running to it. I take control of my actions and calmly approach the Mecca.


It is all white and shiny. The color only cleanness has. It is a big open space. Sounds seem to soften or disappear. My attention focuses straight away on the Genius Bar, the help desk, at the end of the long path I need to walk to get to it.
The feelings that overwhelm me can only be expressed in white. 


I am attracted to the Genius Bar as if I were hypnotized. While I cross the store I cannot focus on what is around me but I perceive perfection in the forms of MacBook's, iPad's, iPod Touch's and their holy gadgets. I understand there are other people, many, but cannot fully see them.


I keep walking straight and head directly to the counter with the despair and hope of a truly devoted customer. I am stopped by a woman with a peace bringing device in her hands. She asks what I need and she checks me in for an appointment after only three minutes.


I don't have to wait very long before my name is called. I put the iPhone in the hand of a stranger that I am entrusting with a piece of my heart with the hope typical of the faithful.


"The phone is actually broken, he says, it'll be quicker for me to replace it rather than have you wait a long time before having it back. Your information will be lost".


I accept his words like a dogma.


In only 5 minutes I am already walking out of the store. I have my new device in my hands, a new iPhone without the bumps and scratches I caused on the other one, a second chance to perfectly shaped happiness.


I want to run out, I am afraid they will change their mind and realize what a mistake it was to entrust me again with such privilege. I am as excited as a baby on Christmas day.


Once I am home I connect it to my laptop to find out no information was lost and that everything was stored into iTunes. With one click all the info is back on my new phone.


Later the same day I would go performe in one of Barcelona's most central theatres. One hour before the show I would mark a jump, land, slip, and crack a bone in my foot. The morning after I would get surgery to my right foot and be given lots of "still" days. Thanks to my Apple devices time has flown by since and I have not had time to be bored or have terribly depressing thoughts about being a dancer with a broken foot.


I thank Steve Jobs's genius for this and his bars all over the world.
And forgive me Steve for I have sinned, because I have not stood in line the day the iPad2 came out in stores. But that is only because I actually cannot stand, yet.

BLACK SWAN - I am Winona Ryder

Just a few days ago, during a ballet class, I realised my shoulders were covered in scratches. Not recalling a catfight nor a night of aggressive sex I started wondering whether I was living the Black Swan Syndrome. I immediately started wondering whether I was turning into the black swan itself or becoming Natalie Portman in the role of the Black swan. Delirious thoughts followed.


I hated Black Swan. I think I have expressed this opinion since the first day I saw it. I won't go through details cause I will risk to bore myself.


But just a few days ago I had an accident on the job (slipped and broke my foot) and had to be hospitalised and go through surgery for a new shiny stepping tool.


This of course meant accepting to be replaced in the show my company is representing now with incredible success in one of Barcelona's finest theatres.


While I cheer for my colleagues' triumph, the heavy medications (high doses of morphine) I have been taking to relieve the pain of the broken bone have made me quite sensitive about having to be stuck on a bed while others are enjoying applauses.


So it is only thanks to tranquillizers that I finally understand that I have no chance of being Natalie if not Miss Winona Ryder herself. 


I am diagnosed with the WR Syndrome, the one that drives you nuts cause you can't do tombé-pas-de-bourrée-pirouette and makes you jealous of your innocent replacement. As Winona I am in a hospital and cannot leave the bed (doctors said I can't move). I haven't stabbed myself in the face yet but as I said I am already full of scratches. I am jealous, sad and angry.


So my question is: is it time to retire, suicide or have I been watching too many movies?

SEX AND THE CITY - Computers, Exclusivity and Integralism

On episode 8 of the 4th season of Sex and the City Carrie experiences her first computer crash (I thought Mac were not supposed to break down but anyway...). She panics... and calls the boyfriend intervention who causes a complete shutdown of the machine.


World war desesperation occurs. 


I imagined myself in the same situation. I don't mean being a 35 year old curly blonde newyorker, I mean witnessing my laptop's death. I'd freak out. Being slightly more tech-savvy than Carrie I'd probably try a few tricks before asking specialised support from a technician but basically I'd feel lost.


Not only would all my data be gone forever but my entire life, my memories, my bank account numbers, my passwords, photos of my lovers past and present and souvenirs of all sorts would just be erased in the elapsed time of a second. Which led me to think that I rely too much on this box I actually treat like a son, protect as a home dog, that I rarely and unwillingly put into someone else's hands and that I (read carefully) share a bed with.


My boyfriend has more than once complained about the invading presence of technology in our relationship and has not welcome the arrival of a second child, my iPhone 4. The two kids together mean the world to me and I don't think I have spent a day without them since I have had them. The cinderella of the family, my iPod nano, is in line for retirement. But that is a different sad story and it's not what I now want to discuss...


So Carrie is at the Mac shop talking to the technician and finds out PC users are not compatible with Mac machines. The news strikes down like a final verdict. If there were any doubts about her relationship with Adain, the very clear separation in the computer world between windows and apples made them a certain fact.


So I wonder whether this applies to my life and my boyfriend's. Is my technology influencing the way I relate to people. Can there be or will there be a discrimination in the tech world?


One of my favourite magazine (WIRED) is of the opinion that internet and technology will save the world. I would like to think that as true. But did we consider how exclusive some of those machines are becoming? Not only the prices of some (like mine) are not accessible by everyone but the features and the application they come with are definitely setting them apart from the rest. There are things only iPhone 4 can do that no other smartphone can. And iPhone 4 now uses a microsim which just makes it easier to keep using phones with microsim, of which there are not many yet.
Wanna make a free call with Viber? you gotta have an iPhone!
And this is just the tip of the iceberg.


My children are setting me apart from the rest and my being a Mac person is isolating me from all other users. Is the "genius bar" at the apple stores just the embryo of what bars will really be like? you can't get in unless you have an Apple product at the very least?


I am writing on my shiny titanium MacBook and am aware of the fact that I would probably give my life to preserve its (or should I say HIS?). I have definitely passed the limit. I am a Mac integralist.

DEXTER - I am Dexter

I am Dexter. I feel the need to kill. I remain still at night to catch my victim by surprise. Waiting for the right moment. I avoid any noise. I approach slowly, in the light as in the dark. My weapon is heavy and can strike from a distance.


I am Dexter. I do not stop until I see the red fluid splashed on the wall, on the pillow, on the furniture. I need blood as the victim needs that of others.


I am Dexter, I strike upon those who have struck. My revenge is inevitable. It lands on those who offend with the anger of those who have suffered. I cannot rest until I achieve my goal. I spend sleepless nights to avenge myself and others.


Like Dexter, I erase all traces of my crime. I do not leave anything behind and act in absolute secrecy.


My name is Dexter, and I will not find peace until I get them all extincted, those damn mosquitoes!


P. S.: Last night, January 10, 2010 - Barcelona - Spain, I killed three of the local mosquitoes.

WELCOME HOME

About 300 years ago writers, philosophers and artists from all over Europe travelled to Italy to discover its beauty and live and breathe centuries of art and culture. With their slow carriages they crossed an entire continent, riding for many weeks, facing the unexpected with the goal of being repaid by southern treasures.


I travel regularly to Italy, to go back home. I turn on my Mac, I connect to the internet, I visit a couple of websites to search for the lowest fare and puff when once again Ryanair beats any other company when it comes to cheap fares.


We all agree. The initial enthusiasm for the company that introduced low-cost flights in Europe has died long time ago. Today Ryan means stricked rules and insidious footnotes that hide behind every contract line. I would not be surprised to find out that a team of psychologists are already studying the typical travel stress caused by flying with the yellow and blue airline.


My trip to Italy begins with the preparation of a hand baggage which must be strictly 20x40x55 with a maximum weight of 10Kg. Unfortunately I do not own Ryanair officially approved suitcases. I pray that my 24x24x50 hand-bag does not raise suspicions at the boarding gate.
The night before the flight I dream of airport controls comparable to Nazi inspections.


I fortunately remember to print my boarding pass at home and avoid paying a mandatory fine of €40 for last minute check-in. Courtesy of Ryanair.


At the airport I do everything possible to disguise my luggage while I carefully scan the equipment of the other passengers. I watch the flight attendants while determining who can pass the luggage test and embark without paying surcharges.
I pass.


The flight is a continuous sale: duty free products, lottery tickets, car rentals, shuttle transfers to and from the airport and much more. A hostess draws the attention of distracted and bored passengers by promising her colleague Paul will demonstrate the use of the aircraft's sauna and jacuzzi. A moment of silence is followed by general laughter, followed by new chatting indicating loss of attention during the instructions for emergency conduct code.


We get to Rome later than scheduled. Luckily I spare myself the 45 minute wait at the luggage belt. Courtesy of Italian Airports.
By the time to I get out the police closes Ciampino airport for unknown reasons. The arrival of firefighters and ambulance follows. I am just glad I am not trapped inside.


I miss the bus to Rome city centre because of my flight's delay and dare to go look for another one. I am assaulted by Roman ticket sellers who lie about the departure time of their bus to Rome.
When the bus finally arrives about 70 passangers rush towards the entrance of the vehicle. With a little wrestling (Al Cogan style) I get on board.There's still a couple of empty seats. We are not moving till the bus is filled like an egg.
Meanwhile, competitor lines arrive. The three cars are parked and now filled with paying passengers.
Everybody checks out the window to make sure their vehicle will be the first to leave the airport.


I am exhausted, frustrated, in Italy since half hour and already wanting to leave. I hate Rome, Romans, Italians.


The bus finally leaves. We get out of Ciampino Airport. On my left side I can see some Roman ruins in the fields. They stand out in the night, lit up in warm orange lights. Above them a few stars. I am calm again. Suddenly I remember why I'm in Italy, what Italy means. I feel like Goethe, like Ingres. I feel good.


At least until I get to Termini where I hop on bus 105 and the inhuman stench pervading my lungs makes it impossible to breathe until my destinantion.


Welcome home. Welcome Home.

SEX AND THE CITY 3 - The only logical sequel

It would be too easy to criticize a film that is a simple show off of all the billions collected in recent years thanks to six very successful seasons and an equally engaging sequel. Rivers of ink have already been poured to trash it, I don't want to add more.


That's why I decided to imagine another sequel, a SEX AND THE CITY 3, which now seems the only natural consequence of the recent number 2.

In fact during this second movie we are already warned that sooner or later the topic of motherhood will be touched by the couple Carrie-Mr. Big and that the luxurious apartment (that would sleep 25 let me remind you) will soon be invaded by screaming creatures.

In the third chapter Carrie changes her mind. She realizes that a child is absolutely necessary to ensure that her collection of haut couture, packed on more layers inside a walking closet that's as big as my house, does not become part of the Salvation Army 2030 collection.


In the opening scene we see Carrie enter the dressing room and talk to a pair of Manolo Blahnik that beg her to reconsider her views on childbirth or at least ensure a future on the feet of an Upper East Side resident.

Carrie is undecided. The thought that a child can reduce her skirts the way Charlotte's children did to their mom's upsets her much. But it is Mr. Big who swaps on the fatherly side once he realises the world is in desperate need of another creature with a massive head just like his.


The problem is that in the third chapter Carrie is about 50, which means Samantha is bound to be turning 60 soon.


The artificial insemination seems to be the only solution. Charlotte give her best to persuade Carrie to undergo such harsh treatments by trying to sell her her children or then at least take them for free. Carrie refuses since the babies, after 10 years, are still crying.

Samantha is not Samantha anymore. Of the one we knew not even a hair is left. Everything has now been replaced by implants previously belonged to Asian girls bought on the black market. To ensure that she would continue to "feel something down there" she has installed a powerful electronic device that can be activated via SMS. 

Miranda is the only one leading a quiet life, still in love with Steve, happy to be in Brooklyn and at peace with her body and her taste for sober clothing. In the third chapter Miranda finally realises she has nothing in common with her friends.


Charlotte does not want to hear about children anymore. After the outburst in Abu Dhabi with Miranda she is no longer able to play the loving mother's role. Her daughters brought her to alcoholism and we witness the rehab at a center where she sees again all her former lovers.


Clothes for the third volume have kindly been offered by the Michael Jakcson Foundation who decided to sponsor the entire production after they saw Samantha's red dress from the second movie with the silver spikes on the shoulders.

Just for a change in Sex and the City 3 the girls visit Tokyo. Miranda goes around repeating Konichiwa and Samantha complains about the size of the penises of the Japanese people. Charlotte is the organizer of the transfer (anything to get away from her family) and that's where Carrie receives Big's call who begs her to proliferate.

THE END

P.s.: I can easily imagine number 4: Sex and the Viagra.