Activist Sunday

A new week has started with the announced changes. I've started my labor day at 05:52 hours, and will keep it up to 15:36 hours. Kind of feels like a blessing, though I can see around all those who choose the 06:00 hours schedule playing "The Lion", a.k.a., yawning wide. The change so far has gone pretty much unnoticed, and side from the few morning birds here and there, people still get mostly at 07:00 hours (though some have the 07:00 hours entrance and still make appearance at 08:00 hours, with an excused perfectly lined and pulled entirely from yesterday's True Blood episode), and the elevators... well they keep letting people pool at the doors, with their usual rudeness, skipping floors or getting stuck here and there. Silence is also more resonant now, for some reason, though I haven't figured out why is so.

To start this particular week, I had an amazing charge-up experience yesterday. I did activist work. Yep. There was a peaceful protest walk programmed by the Movement Against Open-Pit Gold Mining in Crucitas, a rural area of the provice of Alajuela in Costa Rica, carpeted with old-grown forest (or primary forest), which has been brutaly cut off endangering protected species such as  the  yellow almond tree, but also the Great Green Macaw. The mining is being sought both by the past Administration (Arias, 206-2010), and the Canadian Gold Mining enterprise, known here as Industrias Infinito. The community near which the Mine has been planted struggles with high levels of poverty and Government abandon. The mine offers them a solution to unemployment, though in the best of cases the created jobs would last only 10 years, after which the mine would pack up their belongings and leave a deforestated, poisoned land.

Though on first glance it seems like a good opportunity (bear with me and lets pretend it seems so), truth is that several things are off with the picture. Let's start with the fact that it isn't actually the job of a foreing company to build roads and give computers to schools (those that do not protest against the mine, of course), and procure jobs, but of the Government. I mean that's why the whole SME (Small and Medium Enterprises) programs and hedge funds have been created for, and that's why there's a Law and a Bank Ruling - managed by the BNCR and the BPDC -  in this regard. But then, okay, let's say we believe in the good and greatness of FDI (Foreing Direct Investment) and, yes, why not let a company go there and make jobs and help the population of the region out of the slums. Sure, but then, is a mine the only company willing to go there and do the job? When you could have hotels and other touristic and recreational businesses there, or agriculture oriented enterprises that would stay in the area for long, protect the nature and the endangered species and if they leave, they won't leave behind a poisoned footprint?

Here in Costa Rica there was already an attempt to do an Open-Pit gold mine in Miramar of Bellavista in the province of Puntarenas. Okay, in case we have forgot, I'd like to remind you that this type of mining uses cyanide to lixivate gold from the stones. Yes, cyanide, like that super-poison 007 has to take if he's compromised. That chemical that can kill a man in 30 seconds flat. You're dead before you hit the floor, and all that. The amount of a grain of rice can kill a man. In this project 80 million tons of cyanide will be used. The cyanide would be left in a pool, protected from the soil by a membrate. Top nitch technology keeps it from any accident happening. Yes, only that top-notch tech didn't keep the membrane from ripping in Miramar and lands and rivers around got poisoned.

In the protest of yesterday, Nicaraguan and Panamaian activists joined us (after being held up in the borders, as it was said they had no right to enter the country since they were going to partake in a protest and such a thing was forbidden to foreigners), and talking to them I learned that they had suffered the same misfortues and more. Farmers got sick and died due to chrome poisoning, but the company denied it. In Petaquillo, Panamá, a Canadian gold mining company's mine had also a rupture on the membrane holding the cyanide , poisoning the waters of ponds and rivers nearby. Fish turned up dead. The company said it was the local people who fished and then threw the unsold fish into the pond. Perhaps it would be important to notice that the local people fished in the sea, and sea fish are different from river and pond fish, and all the dead fish were river fishes.

It also happens that a Canadian company opened a mine in Rumania, at Transylvania, known as Rosia Montana. Disaster again as the membrane ripped and cyanide flood a valley. Left you the link if you wish to check.

So, in a world lashed by climate change, where forests are our way to survive, where eco-friendly sustainable solutions are sought, where the European Union forbids open-pit mining with cyanide, this country, claiming democracy, development and "peace with nature" tries to usher in an open-pit cyanide gold ming against the wishes of the 85% of the population, risking also crossborder ecological damage. All for a handful of jobs that might last 10 years, though Miramar's didn't, nor those in Panama, where the company closed leaving workers unpaid when the price of gold dropped, claiming there wasn't gold in the mine.

The walk was tiring, as I was up since 06:00 and the walk went from 07:00 to 11:30, but I feel happy and recharged about it. It was good to walk with others, share experiences and thoughts, feed on the words, hopes and wishes of those struggling with us, not giving up. It was heartwarming to see, to experience the support of people who came out to greet us, the drivers who slowed down and honked or rolled their windows down and cheered with us, bid us strenght and endurance, as their hearts walked with us.

I was humbled by the people who had walked for a week from the conflicted area of Crucitas, the village of Coopevega, where the Mine reings strong and bullies the population and bids them to bully the protesters, and yet they stayed strong and walked to save life and nature.

The movement wasn't all that big, and after living the massive protests against the CAFTA, this one seemed to me rather small, and yet, 85% of the population's hearts walked with us, and we felt that.

It was an amazing experience, even if after it my legs hurt like hell.

Flexible Schedule

One of the promised perks of this Glass Tower in which we have been locked, is the Flexible Schedule. Yeah, sounds great, right? Advanced, proactive, result-oriented, groundbreaking and simply "Google". Well, don't let the shiny veneer fool you, because it's not. The whole concept is pretty much like this stiff, stupid machinery taking the same old, outdated presentation and offering it in five new flavours. So, you still have to work 9,6 hours a day, still have only 45 minutes to lunch, now FIXED to a given time of the day, whether you are hungry or not, depending of the flexible schedule you've been assigned to.

The "five flavours" include starting the working day from at 6:00 6:30, 7:00, 7:30, 8:00 and 9:00, if I'm not mistaken. Naturally the times of getting off the clock go from 15:36 to 18:36. So, flexible? Not really. You are held AGAIN to a new schedule. So it's not flexible as in "you enter any time from 6 to 9 and work your 9,6 and leave sometime between 15:36 to 19:00." Oh no! That would open the door to no control, and with no control what would all those lazy, incompetent people do, who like to think they boss over others, and excersize such an idea with pety measures?

A friend of mine called the 9,6 "butt-hours" because it was entirely inconsequent what you did as long as you sat them down at your cubicle or office or assigned work post.

Then again. count your blessings and take what you can. I, for my part, will, and thus from Monday on I'll be going to work at 6 am. Why? Because I'm already early and I want to go home early too, not to mention that by getting to the office at 6 am, I'll have an hour more to prepare for any meeting, as no meeting is really held before 8 am, or 7:30 in the most extreme cases.

Sure, I won't be traveling with Smurf and Smurfette anymore, but, hey, I'd be going home one hour earlier!

Fly Away

More often than not, my mind tends to fly away with all kinds of ideas and other crazy fantasies. Other than the eventual three-week-lasting-story that plays over and over in my mind (and boy, are those awesome!), sometimes I get these ideas about something that would be good to put in a book. Such is the sudden idea to write a book about people and pets, in the line of the post I did the day before yesterday... or so on. Not that it wouldn't be a fun idea, but it wouldn't be scientifical, and sure a lot of stupid people would be whining because they have dogs but "are not needy" or have birds but "are not psychos fixed on asphixiating others with their manners" or any other matter. Then, of course, there's the thing that I am a catperson, a quite passionate catlover and that might make me biased towards this beautiful kind. So, even if I state and disclaim the non-scientifical base of the book, there will always be some moron willing to bitch and complain about it.

Then, well, there's the fact that I don't know much about owners of other pets, like reptiles and rocks and wicked stuff, so the book would be quite incomplete.

The thought, however, is quite entertaining, imagining each chapter and the things I could say about this or that pet-lover character.

It doesn't come as a surprise that such amusing ideas come precisely when I should be concentrating on other matters, such as the thesis. Yes, it's getting to my nerves again.

This time the tutor specifically refused to meet us at the one hour both Mile and I can get to the University. No, this man specifically selected an hour when Mile and I are still working. The s.o.b. Since we can't, he suggested we talk it over on the phone. Uhum. Couteroffer was presented today: "How about the e-mail?". The dude is allergic to the e-mails, and I guess it has to do with the fact that we could then have on paper his observations and bring them up again if he changes his mind and sends other suggestions.

Oh well, another day in the struggle.

I've got Quoted

Yes! I! Me! I've got quoted, and by no other than someone who's opinion and advise I hold quite high. ^_^ Should I elaborate on how honored I am? ^_^. Dr. Frank Buck quoted in a post the last paragraph of a comment I left on a previous post of his that really got to me. The post in question was about Checklists and how life can be made so much easier if you keep checklists.

 The post in question, "It's a Matter of Life and Death...Literally", takes off talking about a book, titled "The Checklist Manifesto", but quickly jumps to the preception on the matter of the blogger, who explains that checklist can not only be reused, but also passed over to others.

Checklists are something quite simple and requiere no big investiment, nor any college degree or a weekend to plan them out, and they can be applied to basically anything and everything in life. They are not a sign of "lesser intelligence" as some suggest, or "getting senile", nor a "contraption to limit creativity", but a tool to make sure you are set. Because, lets face it, rich or poor, smart or dumb, young or old, truth is that we all are prone to forget. Checklists, like Dr. Buck says, "make the remembering for us".

Some checklists, short ones, can be made into a mantra (some rhythmic letany) you can keep in mind, like this one I had in the 90' in Hungary for before leaving home: "wallet, keys, student ID". At the door I repeated this mantra and checked I had all of them. It saved me a few times from leaving with one of these items! However other checklists can be a bit more complex or your don't use them so often in order to memorize them, so you may want to fetch pencil and paper, or open a New Document in your computer, PDA or phone and scribble up your personalized list.

There's no particularly recommended way to do so, but just whatever works for you. For instance, in my case I use Excel for my recurrent checklist (like my famous packing list), and all others go into my cellphone or a slip of paper.

My friend Dragonfly-cr, Organizer Maxima, has prepared a few of them (I have seen them!) to make sure certain delicate procedures get done right. sure, the one I saw was HUGE, with over 60 (was it 60?) items that should not be forgotten during the procedure in question.

Checklists can be used as a roadmap to do something, but I wouldn't say they "limit creativity", because the point of a checklist isn't to tell you what to do, but what not to forget. If you want to go creative, go creative, BUT the checklist reminds you of the things that must get done, the task that must get completed, whether you want to do it hopping on one leg and singing at the same time, or just sticking to the basics.

If you still think that checklists are a waste of time, please think for a moment about those times when you forgot something important, perhaps because you were really busy with other things. Wouldn't be great if you would be reminded to check the validity of your passport before flying, when you still had the time to fix it, and not one hour before the taking off of the plane? Wouldn't be great if you would have checked you did had the keys to the office while still at home, and not five minutes before you have to go to that important meeting, and your laptop with the presentation is locked for life in the office? Wouldn't be just dandy if you would remember to tell the mechanic about that sound the motor was doing las week at the usual check up, instead of being reminded in the middle of heavy traffic, running late to work by a car that decided to pull a Union move and strike right now? Wouldn't be awesome to remember at the store that you need toilet paper, and not remember WHEN in the toilet?

See? Checklists are good. Embrace them and pass them on.

Pets Tell on Their Owners

There are some researches on the matter of the relationship of people to pets and how these reflect on different aspects of people. As joke, there's also the saying that people and their pets eventually start looking alike. Well, I would be flattered if that were so, but it is not, as I'm still not blond, blue eyed and elegantly fashionable like Hyperion. However, by observing different people and the pets they choose, I have come to a few empirical conclusions of my own, which I will share for all of you to smile, meditate on or run the other way and as far as possible from that interested party with the tell-tale pet.

Though people can have all kinds of pets, from rocks to dragons, here I'll consider only the four classic pets: cats, dogs, birds and fish. Why? Because aside from a weirdo who had a bat for pet and a friend who has a zoo with everything from dogs to endangered species, I don't know enough people to draw conclusions on other types of pets. These are not scientifically proven theories, and a lot of people can show this types of behavior without the given pet or the given tendency. Also, the factor that must be considered here isn't the pet the person has, but the pet the person wants.

Cats: Of course I was going to start with my favorite! Well, cat lovers choose an incredibly beautiful, independent animal for companion. These people would prefer around them independent people with the tendency of not being around all the time. They can be affectionate and physical, but don't stay there for long. To relate to a cat person is to prepare, that, as the cat, this person might fell off the grid for periods of time and then reappear as if nothing has ever happened.  Cat lovers are "contradictory" because they love to share time with their friends, but also cherish their solitude and actively seek it. They can appear antisocial from time to time, and they don't give a fuck about it. They make decisions by themselves and expect others to do so. Cat persons also have the tendency of having a Plan B for most things in life. They can deal with dependant people, but won't do it happily.  They can go pensive often, and stare at people in silence without sharing their thoughts, which annoys others because they think the cat person is thinking they are stupid... and often they aren't wrong.Get bored quite quickly, and are also prone to procrastination and lazying around. Homely or globetrotters, they aren't usually sportsmen, unless you consider watching the sports on TV. The couch, the bed or a lazyboy are their favorite places.

Not the best match for people who like to do a lot of things with others.

Dogs: Well, doglovers are energic. Think of an energizer bunny. Yep, those are them, at least  in spirit. A dog person likes, in fact LOVES to be needed. Dog people are not the type of people who like to be alone, though some like to keep "dangerous" dogs around to be left alone. However even these need a sort of social circle, a pack, a team to belong to, and thus form it with the always faithful dog. Dog lovers are often people who like to do a lot of thing and keep themselves occupied at all times. Sure they can kick it back... for 10 minutes, then they must jup up from their place and go for a sandwich, check the fridge, walk the dog, make a call, you name it. They are drawn towards people who need others, and often automatically offer themselves to take over a task, spoken out or not. Love to help and do it like others breathe: it comes natural. Can easily become overwhelmed with all the things they have taken on, and that can make them grumpy, yet still they can't stop helping, or not keeping a promise. They may procrastinate, may forget to do something they promised, but if it is present in their mind either they do it or will get grumpy for not being able to fulfill the promise. They are prone to be REALLY physical. Like NFL tackle down physical.

Not the best match for people who needs to "breath" often.

Birds: Bird people are peculiar. They are the kind that cherish others as if their acquintances were a rare treasure the world would want to snatch away. Bird people tend to keep distance. Physical contact is often soft and delicate. Prone to display or be lashed by jealousy, seek always for ways to secure those they are interested in, either by limiting them, or by keeping at bay the rest of the planet. Yearn for freedom but fear it at the same time. Not really sports people. Quite dedicated, though to what they do. They are perfectionists usually and enjoy the process of taking things a step further, making them even better.

Bird lovers often tend to be shy, appreciative of aesthetic features, where beauty is mainly dominated by delicate elements. They tend to expect perfection and seek stability  in most aspects of life. Dream or like to travel, but often feel deeply rooted in their hometowns, thus even if they travel to the moon, they will always come back home, where they feel not only belonging but also save. Something odd I've seen in bird people is their tendency to be more defensive than owners of other pets. Maybe even the cannary owner has the soul of a falcon?

Not the best choice to people who likes to explore, who love change.

Fish: Ah, the elusive fish lovers! These are quite a type. Loners, they are the type that like to watch. Take care instinctively, but are almost a ghost in your life. Economically speaking, they are Adam Smith's Invisible Hand. Make things happen, and don't interfere with the lives of others. Quiet and mysterious, they are prone to notice details, features, but don't really see the people themselves. Their focus usually is in something else. Mingle well with others, but are the kind that would sit at the office and do it's job quietly while others hover around the coffeemaker chatting (dog lovers usually). Calm, cool collected people, but not very expressive. They have their own thoughts, they know them and that's enough. For them "expression" is overrated. Not very physical, and I mean, even less than bird lovers. They just don't need to go there, it's not in their nature. They are, however, incredibly visual.

Not the best choice for talkative personalities.

One thing common to pet owners of any type, and tell you a lot about the person, are those who transform or dress their pets. Okay, any pet but a fish. So far I have never seen a single person dress a fish or change it's haircut. Sure, sure, poor pet gets cold and all that crap. Someone who transforms the pet in any way, is a person prone to expect and even force transformation upon others. I mean, if you live in a freaking cold place like... Yukon, why on Earth would you insist on a Chihuahua dog? The Chihuaha is bound to get cold in that Hyne forsaken place. You wanna dog, you get a husky. But you get a Chihuahua and dress it up for the cold. You transformed the dog, disrespected it's natural needs and adjusted them to yours. You do that to a dog, and you expect us to believe you won't do that to a person?

And the transformation of the person can go from "move to the location that's more convenient to me" to "dress, speak and think the way I find proper for your position in my life". It can be also dressed in a "I do this because I care for you", like pressing you to go on a diet when you don't want to, when there's nothing wrong with you but because "I want you to feel better about yourself, and be as beautiful as you can be". Sound familiar.

So, look around, analize your pet, analize yourself, and that girl or guy you like... yeah, so what does he or her would love to take to the vet? I mean, sure, this is all empirical and I could be wrong. Totally, but one thing is sure: everything we do, we say and we choose tells about us, even our pet selection. So start paying attention.

Body

It is not an unheard phenomenon to find a woman complaining about her body. Well, now a days it's not an uncommon scene to find anyone do so, man, woman, senior citizen, child. It is a widespread illness, this constant discomfort with one's body. Everybody needs to "eat healthy" (which basically means self-torture with all kinds of uber-expensive yet entirely tasteless crap cardboard and foam foods), and excersize (that means pay hyper-expensive gyms and buy all kinds of expensive machines that crowd spaces and make rooms look really ugly, though the advertisement always tell you that you can store it under the bed. How big do they imagine is the space under the bed, and how many things are you supposed to store there?) and deny yourself of all the good, delicious things in life that make Life more than Life, an Outwordly Experience. And all for what? For a body you may never have, an ideal that always seem two steps ahead, always out of your reach. because let's be honest, you are never too thin, once you've started chasing that dream, nor are you too muscled up, if that's the carrot you want to get.

People then have gone blaming just about anything and everything about being the way they are, or why they fall to the other side of the equation and blow up into inhumanly HUGE fat proportions. Oh, it's because of the air, it's because the low quality of food, it's because fast food is cheaper than healthy food, it's because the city is built the way it is, it's because of the chemical products in the food, it's because of the stress, it's because of the genetics, it's because it's impossible for you to do it alone and you need pills. Well, when I was a kiddo, I remember in my school - a small little suburban school attended by middle-low class children - there was only one fat kid. She was a girl in our grade, in our class, and everybody - because kids are like that - stared at her and her chubby limbs and body, and many teased her for that. Back then we were all tiny little bone bags, who played all day on the street and burned all their energy playing seek-n-hide and tagged and other games that requiered us to run all day long.

Today most kids in school are twice as chubby as this girl from our class, and truth is that all inventions and all aspects of life are arranged so that we don't have to move that much. Mobile phones keep us from running to answer, remote controls make the TV easy because you don't have to get off you behind to turn it on, off, change the channel or adjust the volume. Internet bring you entertainment to your seat, so you don't have to go out and walk or pedal a bit on a bike that actually moves and takes you from one place to another.

It doesn't help either that the ideal of women went from a healthy, curvy Marilyn Monroe (picture from the movie Niagara), to the skeletical models of today, who look more like a spider or a sick refugee than a woman. This, enhanced by the massive media attack, with also tons and tons of "personalized advertizing" being poured onto people by the 24/7 cable and satellite channels, more than 1000 to choose from, and the websites and social sites flashing banners about getting thin, promoting the consumist, fashion and external opinion dependant culture, drives thousands and thousands of people to regard themselves as inadequate.

Well, it is time to break with the cycle. First thing people need to understand is that life is to be LIVED, and living life doesn't necesarily means to suffer it. Through the ages people has been tricked into suffering. In the Middle Ages people were expected to suffer, embrace suffering and seek suffering as a way to ensure salvation after death. Now, when we look back at it, we think "how stupid!". However now people also happily, WILLINGLY enter and seek suffering for another "better life after", and after again as elusive as the actual life after death. Some people's bone structure just won't allow them to slim into a boney Somalian refugee shape, some will always be wiry, and never swell up into Mr.T. and yet they deny themselves from what they want and spend fortunes and what makes them unhappy, while chasing wild gooses and blue unicorns.

I'm not slim, let's be honest, and to some people's standards I'm down right fat. Yep, I'm a 9, though lately measures have shrinked again and it seems that Levi's believe that I'm somewhere between 11 and 14. I've aged and put up some weight. Now I'm around 66 Kg insteand of the usual 60 Kg. And you know what? I don't give a fuck about it because I'm healthy and that's my healthy weight. I eat what I like, and don't go around building on salads and cutting on chocolate. I'm 34 and I live my life the way it makes me happy. Want more? I didn't need a diet to get a boyfriend, boyfriend who is still with me, loving me and adoring me like I was human chocolate for more than a year, two years this next New Year. I've a great jogb for whiyh I didn't need dental whitening or plastic boobs. I'm accomplished, happy, and yes, I've pushed myself in what matters: work, study, not with food and excersizing. But then that's me. I not only accept who I am and how I look, but I LOVE IT! and that makes the difference.

Embrace yourself, love yourself, don't accept who you are with resignation, but with joy. This is you, and you are a HUGE bundle of miracles and endless possibilities. Now go out there, be happy and concentrate in what really, really matter, because shaping your body for the maggots of the cementery is really Stupid.

In Thoughtful Arrest

Sometimes life brings you moments - long or short - packed up with many tasks and many errands and many, many places to run to, many matters to attend, and so you may find yourself at the end of the day stretched out in your bed, drained of all will and strenght, turning tired eyes to something you love, something you'd love to do or occupy yourself with, but can't even muster enough energy to conjure a move to slide closer to it. This is not an unusual happening in my life, and it happens on and off, and sometimes it's not a matter of enough organization or not in your life, it's a matter of being drained.

A few weeks ago I retook the reading of Miller's Tropic of Cancer, and once again, just as it happened the first time, I found myself, yet again taken away, kidnapped by my daily life and it's many tasks and matters and issues, big and small, and unable to rip a few minutes and a cup of energy to read. Miller keeps walking with me, safely tucked away in my bag, placed on my nightstand every night waiting for that cup of energy when the minutes muster to gather up or waiting for the minutes when the energy has been summoned.

And so I have plotted and strategized and awaited to the very last lunch hour again to escape into the emptied diner and set myself in a table and read my 45 minutes away. Have escaped to nearby diners and restaurants to avoid any coworker that might decide to feel "pity" for me and keep me company, effectively ruining my reading time with unrequested kindness and thoughtfulness.

Thus I have mastered to break a bit of my day, a slab of my energy for Miller, take him out of my bag, spread him open and have his crude ways flow around me.

Haven't finished reading him yet, but I am absolutely enraptured by him and his style. A thing one must understand about his book is that it isn't a story. There's no time linearity, no chronological order, no story or happenings to follow, but rather a journal of thoughts, thoughts happening with no particular array, with issues and topics dictated by the mood. The elongated chapters and the ongoing developping of the particular thought isn't for the modern reader that requires predigested, bites cut neatly into small pieces, that happen and conclude in less than 1,5 pages. Miller lets his thoughts run on the morals of Parisian whores on and on for pages and extracts from his swirling of the topic a magnificent, simple principle: whores should behave like whore. Don't pretend to be what you are not, and no matter what you do, love your freaking job.

For chapters then fehe details the matters of his daily life, his never ending hunger, his striking poverty, the leeching and depending on the charity of people he despises, whom he looks for, and whom he coaxes into giving him money, a place to stay and/or money. The thoughts here are rich, as he evidently, in the eyes of the outsider is a veritable parasite, always preying on friends and family for the things he needs without actually considering the possibility of working to support himself. Ungrateful, seeking only whom to use, whom to pester for money to spend on whores. Whose food to eat, whose booze to drink. And in his own words, without him making any remark on the matter, you come to the conclusion that he's an annoying person you don't want to cross paths with, a lazy begger of the worse kind, who not only sneaks up to you for food, money and shelter, but also expects you to then allow him all the liberties he wishes for. Support with no responsabilities acquired.

But then, from his unapologetic point of view, you realize the cicle in him. He hates his benefactors, despise them for expecting something in return - and these he accuses of making a slave of him, and can't wait to break from their chains -  or for expecting nothing. These later ones he despises for the charity they give to him, holding them basically for saint wannabes. And as he leads this life of leeching, of dependance from others to lead his own life, to have someone to bitch about, he's hit with a fundamental truth, an epiphany of life: Stop expecting a miracle to change your life, because that miracle may never come.

He decides here to go with the flow instead of bitching and constantly living in dissatisfaction, and accept what he has in front of him.

Whatever his decision, though, it was a thought I lifted up from the book, as there's so many people in the planet waiting idly for a miracle to happen in their lives to change their lives, to take them out of their misery and into a life of happiness. Some expect to win the lottery, others expect to get a handsome inheritance, and the most common of these expectancies, is that seen often among women, where they expect for the Prince Charming to come to their lives, marry them and change their lives to finally live happily ever after. What if the miracle happens and it is unpleasant? You don't win the lottery, but you get robbed, you don't get an inheritance but the IRS comes after you for tax evasion, your Prince Charming is a douchebag who likes to beat up women, cheats all around, gives them no money and lock them in the kitchen, pregnant and barefoot. Then what?

Reflecting on my former elementary school classmates, it isn't hard to realize that life, in the end, is the result of our decisions, the decisions we make in the present to which we have conducted ourselves through the decisions of our past. Do you wish to keep postponing big decisions, do sheer nothing or take shortsighted decisions while expecting an external force to change YOUR life?

The peaceful realization also came to me that, self-help and motivational books are not only a farse, but also a joke on intelligence, as the best thoughts and realizations don't come from such worn, partialized, tendentious pages, but from every book, if you are truly open to their inlaid philosophy and you can distinguish between what works and what doesn't do it for you.

What Can You See

An English penpal of mine asked me in her first letter to tell her how the Sun was. This because she told me that England hardly sees any sun, and it would be nice to know that there's a place where you can actually see it. I looked around me, in the Glass Tower I work in, and I didn't see the Sun. I walked to the window with my phone and clicked a few frames for my friend.

It is a general mistaken idea in the minds of the North, that in here, close to the waist of the planet exists the land of the Eternal Sunshine, with white-sand beaches and aquamarine waters bursting of colorful fish. Well, no. Have you heard of "rainforests"? Well, why do you think the "rain" word is part of it? Because it needs rain, requires rain, rain is vital for it's existence. Thus these rainforests must grow on rain-rich lands, which brings us to conclude that these are, indeed, rain-rich lands. Ergo, you can't look out of the window and capture a picture of the Sun at any minute, except, maybe during the dry season, when the rain is much less often. However, well, right now we are deep in the rainy season, with sights like the one you can see in the picture to the left.

Out of Hyne knows what impulse, I started taking pictures from different angles, taking advantage of one of the perks of being forced to spend 9,6 hours of my day in this Glass Tower. These are some of the pictures I kept taking.

Then, yesterday as I was talking to a coworker of mine, a HUGE, BLACK column of smoke rose in the horizon, freigteningly thick. In seconds, like any morbid, metiche Latin, I ran to the window with my phone, and was closely followed by the closeby colleagues. Not even an earthquake moves that many people that fast. Quite scared, we, and people from other departments, gathered at the window trying to guess what was burning.

People from all over the floor suddenly gathered both in fear and morbid fascination, staring at the thick tube of smoke reaching high, thickening before our eyes rising like some sort of skyscrapper distorting the view. Then, out of the blue, in the silent view, an explotion of hisses from the gathered viewers anounced a new addition to the black smoke. As the column fattened visibly, from time to time huge flames sneaked between the crevices of the bubbly black. Higher than the buildings around, dark orange and red snakes that strangely had none of their natural glow. Flat, matte coloured fast fingers flared up vomiting thick gobs of more black smoke.

I clicked a few frames and soon tens of phones pulled out for the amateur reporter-on-the-road. Calls were placed to make sure loved ones were not in the vicinity, that they were sound and safe, and once that was stated, with morbid pleasure the spectacle was shared. Something is burning, and is burning BIG!

In the end it turned out to be the warehouse of a paint making company, whose warehouse - the same warehouse - burned out the same way in 2003. One would have thought they had learned their lesson.

I do intend to catch for her a few happy gimpses of Sun, so that maybe she can place her fingers on the image and get a bit of the heat it radiates down to the people, but those will be saved for a further post.

Lady in Waiting

In a cold, empty room we sit, cold and empty only with a bacon and avocato subway down the throat some two hours ago, swallowed in a rush with just a gulp of water. Waiting and waiting, not knowing when will I get out, when will I go home, not knowing if I'll have to do a presentation or only stay here and backup my boss. And here we are, rehearsing one time and again, and then again just in case and the information is flowing so damned redundant it mixes in my head like the conjugation of the verb "faire". Heard it so many times I just forgot how did it go. Fait, fait, faissons and services or something like that.

I've become a lady in waiting, and aging Festetics of sorts minus the appaling obsession with the master. A lady in waiting that steals minutes here and there to amuse herself, to do something productive while she's required to do this and that. A lady in waiting.

Never this expression has made so much sense to me than now. It is a position where waiting is the general expectation, where human time and effort is engaged only in waiting, in meaningless chatting to spend the idle minutes while someone else, the master, the important one swirls around in all important matters, collecting big decisions, making grand speeches and hearing self-gloating audiences. And all the meanwhile human effort engaged in this futile, dead waiting, where all worthy activity must be held tight under the mask of inactivity, tucked away, made in secret, as if activity itself were such a shameful thing.

The hour three of the waiting is coming near, reaching the human sculptures, the servants, the ladies in waiting, tucked away in the cold, empty room like dolls in a box.

Happy Mothersday!

Mothers' Day is a holiday in Costa Rica, and I mean a holiday full on holiday stuff. It gets red ink in the calendar, has stores preparing like crazy for it, and you don't have to go to work on mothers' day - unless, of course, you are employed in the private sphere in one of those low wage jobs, that shamelessly pays you under the minimum wage, and then the employer has the nerve to say that regulations to enforce minimum wage are meant to keep people unemployed - which is why I'm not particularly happy that today happens to be Sunday.

I'm still not keen on the whole mothers' day thing, particularly in a country that pulls such a celebration out of it, but forgets about Women's Day. The blatant chauvinism of this really gets to my nerves, since it suggests that women per se are not important at all, our struggle to be recognized as equals is meaningless, but motherhood - ah Motherhood! - is that one thing that makes a woman worthy.

I find it also quite phony the way everywhere there are slogans and commonplace lines tagged to commonplace pictures of women with babies and pregnant women along with "being a Mother is the greatest gift of all". Is it? Because most mothers I see with their offsprings look like they just want to give away or kill the little mongrels bouncing on them. The kids don't keep quiet, they are noisy, demand stuff, fight, throw temper tantrums... and I am not speaking of working mothers only, who excuse themselves with "having not enough time for this" and "doing their best", but also stayhome moms who would rather watch the tv or research his partner's phone and MSN contacts for possible evidence of cheating.

So it is a gift, or it's a burden, something planned to keep a man at their side, made so they have something to do, made so that they comply with social expectations, or just happened and didn't have the guts to kill the baby before it gets born, but brought it here and suffer his or her existence until the kid finally gets old enough to run out of the house and curse the day someone or something made him or her born from such a harpie.

Motherhood is not a gift, it's a state and not everybody is fit to it. Motherhood also is detached from carrying and giving birth to a child, as many women have kids but are less of a mother to them than any stranger, and then there are other people, men and women, who having no children of their own, for whatever reason, can be more of a parent, more of a mother to a child, a grown up person, an animal, than anyone else.

In my and my brother's particular case, we have been blessed with a Mom who is not only our natural birth mom, our genetic mom, but also a Mother to us. She has supported us to the best of her capabilities, has protected us the best she always could, and had time for us, so play, draw, study and tell us bedtime stories. My mom has never been frugal with kisses and hugs, in public or in private, and always knew how to say those delicious nothings that warm one's heart. You know, just sounds that have no meaning listed in a dictionary, but in the heart they mean "you are so precious to me and I love to to death and beyond".

Not every mom is like my mom, that's a fact, which is why I'm so happy that she's my mom.

I also have another mom, my surrogate.mom, so to say, who is my best friend's mom, Marcsi. She's my mom in Hungary. Like my real mom, she also loves me a lot, and I love her a really lot. She cares for me, and always has a kiss and a hug ready. Her smile is always so bright when you see her, and her bosom so warm you want to just be there for ever and never leave her embrace.

I had yet a third mom, who is my mom's twin sister. She never had children, but her knowledge and skills in being a mom surely put to shame those of many experienced moms.

To all my moms, as women who deserve our respect and admiration, Happy Mother's Day!

Writing on a Tight Time-Limit

This is so me. Really. Like I have all these days where I spend the day doing something without rush, I could, break off a bit of time and write in the blog, but when do I write? When I'm before a meeting, when my minutes are counted. Dude, you gara love me. Then again, truth is that, like most of my creative stuff, it works better and comes out better when I'm being time-pressed by other spheres of my life. An escape from an inminent reality? Probably.

Does it happen to any other blogger? I'm curious. And in general, I wonder what the general habits of bloggers are. How do they do it? What's their process? Has anyone else wonder about these matters? I guess there must be a blog out there on "Bloggers and What They Do When Blog and To Blog: Secrets and General Guidelines for Today's Blogger". Say, and what do people like to read when they scout blogs? Personally, what drives me more to a blog (though currently I'm reading only those I follow, and these basically belong to my friends) are the journal-type blogs. Sure, professional blogs can be quite awesome, but there's nothing like the richness of the personal blog.

Still remember the first "blog" I came across. It's impact lasts still. It was a matter of a moment, as I soon lost the link to it, but the memory has accompanied me all these years. It was a blog of white letters, black background (uhhh, any coincidence is just that: a coincidence), and the most astonishing thing about the whole deal was the first entry. It said something like "Today I came out. Yes, I'm a lesbian, and this journal will be about that." I found the whole thing astonishing and amazing out of this world and I wanted to tag the blog and keep reading it (you should see my Favorites! It rolls out like the Sacred Scroll!), but it was in the time when I had this retrograd computer at the office, that broke down on regular basis, froze on you and erased even archives you had saved.

When I first met blogs they weren't blogs, or at least not the ones I saw, but they were Journals. No, not really the livejournal - which brings to me mixed feelings - but down right journals, and it fascinated me - and still does - how people went online and put there, for anyone to read, their lives. I mean, why would anyone do that? Little would I know that I would end up doing the same. Life is funny that way.

This Last Week When I Was Out

It's been a week since I last wrote, and not few things happened in this week. First of all, there was the "building matter" and this time it wasn't another evacuation - though I would have really enjoyed that - but an article that appeared in the newspapers about the building and how Supercalifragilistic it is.  This, well, rose a lot of reactions, like some utterly stupid - there's no other word for it -  reader who wrote a comment at the electronic site of the paper saying that we "shouldn't be so lazy" and instead of waiting 45 minutes for the elevator, perhaps we "should climb the stairs". Yeah, why don't that s.o.b. come here and climb 16 flights in those stairs and see how he or she likes it? I mean, I would personally climb the stairs, and I was prepared to it, but I really, really need air, not to mention how unpleasant it is to work steated up. Dude, really, think before opening your trap.

To my surprise, I also found people IN the building upset about the article for an array of reasons. So said that such a note shouldn't have been published, that the problems we experience in the building are "absolutely normal" and proper of "a new building to which one has to get used to". Dude, the building was inspected before we moved in, tests were ran - so it was said - it took an extra month to receive it because it had to be corrected (the Fire Department requested for an external emergency exit, which hasn't been built yet, nor it looks like it would), and we get here and there's not a single day, since June 16th that something doesn't work? The freaking building is supposed to be smart! Or perhaps it is smart, but also spoiled and it's throwing a temper tantrum? (That, or the building is Smart. Yeah, Maxwell Smart.)

Also heard comments berating the publishing, saying that by venting this in the eye of the public, the image of the company would deteriorate. Hn. Let me see: the Government don't allow the company to do any investment, as th money is needed to pay the Governments trips and stunts. Add to it, a former employee of quite a high position is in a trial, where also a former President is charged with accounts of corruption in the Alcatel case. Some years ago the Director of Mobile Telecommunications of that time summoned a press conference to announce the opening of prepaid mobile services, when the service wasn't ready and the technical tests weren't positive, and said Director happily anounced the sale in three days. Three days later he was burried in his office or out of the country on the money of the company and let the technicians to explain why the service couldn't be offered. Then the most recent former CEO of the company, discharged this May, is being held on trial for fraud, as he used public funds for his personal use, as well as allowing his wife, who was not an employee of the company, to run it to her like and destroy the work of experienced employees, not to mention to use public funds for her own means. So no, I don't really think that this note on the building is the stain that would mar the company.

I do understand that things must be kept in the company and seek to solve them without pulling a Lohan or a Spears on the deal, but when the management is oblivious about the matters and the problems are issued with e-mails belittling the sitaution, things must be escalated.

This week also, I've got a new phone. ^_^ But please, don't think it's (yet another) compulsive purchase of mine. It was a real need. Really. My old phone, an adorable purple Sony Ericsson w380 broke. I bought it around two years ago (perhaps a week or two before I met Kari) and I loved it! Phone in Hungarian, preloaded with PannonGSM (now Telnor) stuff and all that, and lets be honest: I'm a sucker for technology in Hungarian. However my phone was reaching the 2 years, which makes it old - for me - so I was thinking in replacing it anyway. I definitively needed something with Internet, since I'm a Twitter and I'd love to tweet my way around like all my other Twitter friends, not to mention going bonkers tweeting during out #twittertours. Then, of course, there's also the matter of my PDA. After years of using my PDA it broke. Yes, I had a Palm Pilot m130 that worked adorably, but before I could replace it Palm Pilot closed the business and sould out to HP, and you know when will I buy HP: on neverday. (Have enough HP experience at the office with the HP laptops and printers and stuff, I really know what they are like and I'm not paying for them). Ever since the begining of this year I went back to basics, with a small agenda. Yep, paper agenda. You know, those that don't beep, that have only one way to be looked at, that require you to write up every single event of a given repetitive task, that don't expand when you need to accomodate more activities. Yeah, those. Well, a few ups, however: don't need batteries, don't disappear on you if you haven't charged them, let you stick stickers, draw, write in code, use colors... One thing for the other, right? 

So, the point is that I needed a new phone, and I was planning on getting it by the end of this year in Hungary. Well, after an improptu decision, I was going, so I might as well use the time to update my phone, right? Not to mention that it doesn't look swell to work on the telecommunications business and have some old phone on you.

Since I'm basically a Sony Ericsson-gal, I was checking their offer and was really thinking about an Xperia. When, how much and all those questions were faraway from me. Someday, some, somehow. The idea of an iPhone also fluttered around my brain. Then it happened. The Happening.

It was early Friday morning and, as usual, my phone rang to wake me up. Yes, only I left it charging and as I reached for it it fell on the floor and the joint between both sides of the clamshell broke. Oh hell. Clamshell phones are quite delicate, particularly this joint as it controls stuff like the answering of an incoming call and so on. The phone itself was still working, but when you opened it or closed it, it didn't have that claa that push it open or close, as it should. It was getting stuck. Well, I wasn't going to walk around with a broken phone, nor I was going to wait for it to finally die on me. Once at the office, I went down to the Lobby, to the Kölbi store and checked out the phones. I didn't really had any phone in mind, so I just saw a big banner of the Sony Ericsson Vivaz, which was a Sony Ericsson and had all I needed, and pointed at it.

"I want that, but I want it in a plan, with Internet."

The salesguy got me the phone, programmed it, printed out the contract, talked over the monthly fee ($80), told me I'd be paying it from next month on, and just like that, I had a new phone. It gave me a lot of trouble, truth to be told, as the new thing wasn't behaving like any other Sony Ericsson I have had so far, and I had have so far three of them!, but little by little we have been getting acquainted, and even though it hasn't behaved like any of my other SE, this one and I are getting along swell. Haven't named it yet, and I haven't named any phone lately, but I think this one deserves a Scandinav/Scandinavish name. Vesa? Eric?Sven? Sven-Eric, like the cop in Sunstorm? Solstorm? Still to be decided.

Then this same week I had this rich, wrapping messaging with a new penpal of mine, with whom I've took off and flew across the pink and purple skies of the soul. The long, almost daily messages written in such a fashion I felt as Henry Miller penpaling with Anais Nin (me reading Tropic of Cancer may have something to do with the feeling, but may not also), were topped with a delicious letter from her in my P.O.Box on Saturday. Oh the delight! Her letters telling ne as much as her words, the scent of the paper wrapping warm arms around be, from a new friend greeting me as an old one.

This past week felt as heaven!

Well, not to mention that I've worked on fixing the last chapter of the thesis and I've got an SMS from the tutor sayin that "we should unify the document for lecture and defense". We are one step ahead of you, Sir!

To finish it up, I've come up with an idea for a book. After reading a half-assed article in Harper's Bazaar, I've decided I'll compose a book on how to pack for a travel, based on my experience in the matter. Kinda like a "how to do" book with some frappy title like "How to pack and don't kill yourself or the suitcase in the process". How about that?

Happy new Week!

Chocolate as Insanity

imagine

it slides down your tonge pulling it back, rolling it, coy and sneering

lick, bite, chew, wolf on

silky, smooth, but not seductive per se

owns the power in it to infuse seductiveness in the eater

it wakens the soul and bids it to seduce itself

The Swirl of Narcissism

feel good

good about yourself

good for experiencing pleasure

engulf yourself in it, lose yourself in it

seek, grab, swallow, burst and enlarge pleasure

pleasure beyond any limit

take it

taste it

enjoy it

Fall, fall, fall

rush into the vortex of senses

where morals dilude

where judgments vaporize and disappear

where extasis lixiviates from chunks

drips on firm thighs

slides in thick drops from hipersensitive flesh.

Sheepish glances,

Guilty smirks,

the mischivous child flashes across the collected features

it is forbidden delight what crosses the messy head

innocence long gone

it flew away through the window

and the pleasure disolving in the mouth

is requested all across the topography of the anatomy

And as the tongue becomes brown dark

the flesh blushes blood red

capilars pump to the fullest

nerves stand firm and hard

millions of soldiers under the skin

waiting to the inminent touch that will make them explode

override the brain

and scream

it's not the chocolate itself

is the body's anthem to

Chocolate.

Double-Take-Movies

Something I love to do, but often I must do myself, is watch two movies on a row.  This trakes some stamina, a lot of free-FREE time and a couple of good movies you really want to watch. To find a mate to do these sprints isn't easy, since the both ot you, or all of you must have the same stamina, the same passion, the same amount of unattached time and like the same movies. So, when you are into double-takes at the movies, you better like going alone or you'll be fixing and trying to bring together more things than time and two good movies.

This weekend was perfect for a double-take and that's what I did, watching "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" and "Karate Kid". It had been a while since the movie theatres had shown something good, but now two pictures came that picked up my interest.

The first one, "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" truth to be told, fell short on my expectations. Pulling from a picture of Disney of the same title, strong in the musical content of it, as well as the animation experiments, the story by Jon Turteltaub pulls the scientific nerd into the magical, playing with a lot of elements of this subculture, including fake posters of Magic The Gathering, and elements that pull in magic movies of the 80's and why not? some Harry Potter too. Effects and powers were pieced up from other movies, including "power balls" and such spells that were excecuted exactly in the Dragon Ball fashion, conjuring even a power shield - ball of void - that looks quite like a shield I believe Son Gohan used protection against Cell, or was it Goku protecting Gohan? The concept, either way, was the same.

It was refreshing to see magic explained as a series of phisical and electronical reactions, also where the heroe was this unseeming boney guy with highpitched voice and sorry attitude, too awkward to stand in the shade of today's hot stuff Zac Effron and Co. Magic doesn't change the guy, and though he gets the girl, he never changes his ways: he continues being this nerdy, awkward kid. The message is nice: be truthful to yourself and keep going.

I recommend this movie with loads of caution.

The other one,"Karate Kid", totally stole my heart. This movie ket the plot close to the original one, yet with a twist that fitted it marvelously into today's world. Single mother, surroundings of economical struggle, where it isn't money what makes the day and solves problems, but attitude. A motion picture filled with such simple things, reachable things in a rich environment.

The human aspect of the story is present quite strongly, particularly in the character played by Jaden Smith, Dre Parker. At first glance some of the characters might seem flat, basically as stretched thin by the effort of the performer to pull it, with an almost theatrical flair that does not come right on the silver screen. The picture, however, comes together beautifully as it unfolds. The photography, scenery turns magical and fitting to the emotional plane of both the story and the characters. Synchrony, in this sense is impecable.

The greatest feature, however, is Jaden himself. Either the character was written and fitted for him or not, he comes out with incredible naturality, owning both the part as well as the picture in a strong, engaging way. It's almost as if he weren't acting, as if he were really Dre Parker and he were pulling all this entirely by his own. When he cries you cry, when he laughs you laugh with him, and when he struggles you grind your teeth. His fear leeks thick from the screen and infects you with such intensity you wish to run away from the theatre and not look back. The chemistry with Jackie Chan is amazingly strong and honest.

Usually remakes are flat and boring, often even insulting, as an attempt to milk a cow that has been milked dry already. Attempts usually relay on the memory and the feelings of those who saw the first one, and bets on the improving and covering up a generous memory can pull. This time, the remake was an after thought as the story was fresh and fitted to a new reality, to fabulous actors and actresses and a completely new frame.

I wholeheartedly recommend this picture, but caution you also: take a handkerchief with you.