¡Oy, madre mía, esto es la guerra!

Saturday evening I came to the realisation that bus users like packing together on the front half of the bus, leaving the back half almost empty... and I don't mean they don't stand in the corridor at the back of the bus: they even leave empty seats, preferring to travel like cattle at the front, bearing the stench of salami, perspiration or any punctual emission that could unexpectedly happen, while sighing and quietly complaining of the discomfort of public transportation.

Today I've suffered it again on bus 82 from Moncloa to the School of Telecommunication. People that got on the bus kept pushing, struggling to make their way through the crowds that didn't move an inch, especially those in the middle of the bus, behind whom a big expanse of nothingness could be seen that would remain unperturbed.

When a large group of people got off at the Chemistry stop, a woman walked towards the back of the bus and said, relieved, "¡Oy, madre mía, esto es la guerra!" (oh, my God, this is war). Yes, an everyday war that could instintively be eased with a little bit of common sense.

I love you, mi vida

"I love you mi vida, i-e-o

Desgarra mi vida y pártela en dos

Que tiemblan mis días, si todo es mentira

Sintiendo tu amor, sintiéndote amor"

El sábado por la noche -madrugada del domingo- se desveló la canción que representará a España en el festival de Eurovisión, que este año se celebra en Helsinki. La preferida por una gran mayoría de comunidades autónomas fue "I love you, mi vida" en la versión interpretada por el grupo Nash. Mientras veía ese programa, la franja de seis centímetros de ancho en medio de la pantalla de mi ordenador empezó a parpadear y terminó completamente negra. Después se volvió blanca, negra con líneas azules, negra con líneas rojas y, ya el domingo por la noche, con Pearl Harbor, de todos los colores: un sentido canto gay en un día no particularmente especial.

El sábado sobre las nueve y media voy subiendo por la calle de Buenavista de vuelta del MediaMarkt, donde devolví la antena defectuosa y miré el precio de la Wii, 249€, el mismo que el del Saturn de Plenilunio y el de una tienda de videojuegos de la zona de Embajadores: ¡ya basta de pactar los precios! Al final no fui al Saturn, como le había anunciado a Iulius esa mañana: la larga siesta que me tomé, motivada tal vez por el cansancio que me provocó la extensa caminata en busca del Mercadona de Ribera de Curtidores, que no sé si existe porque no llegué a verlo al final a pesar de recorrérmela de cabo a rabo -y es más larga de lo que me pensaba-, no me dejó tiempo para tanto.

Delante de mí, por Buenavista, iban caminando cogidos de la mano una madre y un niño de unos cinco años:

- ¡Jové, cuántos cubos de basura! -dice el niño-. ¡Anda, échate p'allá!... Es que no me gusta el olor de la basura.

Y cuánta razón tenía. Por su estatura, los olores de los contenidos de cada cubo le estarían golpeando de lleno en las narices.

- Pues no -respondió ella.

A colourful place

11:10pm. I emerge from the metro station: Lavapiés Square spreads out in front of me. A girl twirls fire pois facing a juggling boy, to whom she talks amiably. Passers-by cross the dimly-lit triangular square on all directions as I keep on walking, taking in the scene. A bunch of drunk men laugh just a couple of metres away, three of them sitting on a bench, unaware of the four boys who play football behind them at the apex where Calle de Lavapiés and Calle del Olivar come out into the square. Everything is surrounded by the old-fashioned street lamps and the beautiful, warmly-coloured façades of the restored old buildings. And then and there I think of coloured balls bouncing down Calle del Ave María, subsequently flooding the square (have you finally understood how much I want a Bravia?), and how capable this city is to surprise you when you least expect it, to make you fall in love with it again when you'd thought the romance was over.

(http://www.mikiamano.com/blog/wp-images/bravia.jpg)

"Madrid is a dirty city and that is not an insult to anyone"

Fernando Sánchez Dragó apologised yesterday for his "unfortunate" comments the day before in 20 Minutos with the following words: "Madrid is a dirty city and that is not an insult to anyone. It's a definition. Or, at any rate, the historic centre is dirty, which is where I live. There are cigarette butts, dog poo, sometimes human poo, pieces of paper dropped everywhere..." (20 Minutos, 21/02/2007). I don't understand why people were so indignant at his words, I must agree with him. If Madrid were as clean as Germany, it would be, without question, the best place to live in the world. Yet it is a good place to live...

Chris, show Iulius a few pictures of Madrid. I'm sure he'll want to come here as well!!

South Korea in Madrid

On the occasion of a new edition of the International Contemporary Art Fair (ARCO) having South Korea as guest country this year, the President and First Lady of South Korea have visited Madrid, being welcomed by Hyundai/Kia Motors on Calle Bailén in the following way:

(detail)

(smog from Plaza de la Almudena yesterday morning)

(Towards Gran Vía/Plaza de España with the ubiquitous smog)

(not alone all of a sudden)

ARCO'07, which closed yesterday, has been extremely successful. The Korean exhibits did especially well and were almost sold out... I heard this on Canal 24 Horas (TVE news channel) yesterday, where, incidentally, I saw Ana Lorenzo, a Galician reporter that used to be in my English class at the university :) What a surprise!!

People don't work on Sundays

I couldn't sleep well this weekend either. Perhaps I was too excited about trying a new digital TV tuner card I borrowed from El Corte Inglés [ :) ] on Friday evening after signing the contract with the broadband and phone provider ONO. The aerial in my building hasn't been optimised for digital television reception (yet) and I could only get MUX 58 (770 MHz) [two new national channels] and 50 (706 MHz) [four new local channels], although the latter channels vanished as the weather improved and I was left with just two more channels in all [click here for a list of all the digital channels in Madrid]. I tried to increase my channel list by buying two indoor aerials, neither of which could find any digital signal at all. All they could detect was an analog channel with Latin American preachers hollering and singing for money. I wonder whether my subconscious can perceive that "one" signal that gets into my flat and it perturbs my sleep.

I saw a sticker at a bus stop in Moncloa this morning. I thought it was funny and took a picture of it.

People do NOT work on Sundays!

Acknowledgment of ALL SUNDAYS and holidays as LEGAL HOLIDAYS: appropriate criminal sanctions for those entrepreneurs who deliberately violate the right of every worker to leisure, family and divine worship.

Traditionalist Workers Movement

Traditionalist Communion - www.carlismo.es

PS. My laptop's screen is damaged and it's out of warranty. A 6cm-wide vertical band appeared in the middle of the display yesterday evening. My workmate Tania, who worked for Dell in the past, suggested several reasons for it, and it turned out to be the worst scenario. I might need to buy a new display for no less than 900 euros -labour not included- (about the same price as a 26" Sony Bravia LCD TV screen - mmmh). Tomorrow I'm taking the laptop to a specialist. Hopefully I'll know for sure what's wrong with it and whether it can be fixed - and whether it can get worse if I don't do anything.

PPS. This weekend I saw Boris Izaguirre at Fnac Callao, Valery Karpin at the El Corte Inglés car park at Nuevos Ministerios and the shooting of two films (maybe two scenes of the same film) on Calle de Alberto Aguilera and Plaza de Cibeles :)

Día Mundial de la Cursilería

Me sumo a la propuesta lanzada anoche por Sánchez Dragó en Diario de la Noche para que la ONU instaure en este día el Día Mundial de la Cursilería. La verdad es que si no me lo llega a recordar ni me habría dado cuenta de que hoy es algo. Tampoco le di mucha importancia a que ayer fuera martes y trece. Parece que estos asuntos que en su día daban pie a largas conversaciones han dejado de tener interés.