Se supone (ya se me ve venir ¿que no?) que es un thriller donde dos matemáticos, un viejo y prestigioso profesor (Hurt) y un joven americano recién llegado (Wood) unen fuerzas para descubrir a un inteligente y piadoso asesino en serie. Para ello tendrán que exprimir su ingenio, además de sobrellevar su relación mutua. Cosa no siempre fácil, desde el momento en que una enfermera (Watling) sirve de tercer vértice para un triángulo algo complejo.

Vale, hasta ahora no es mal planteamiento. Tampoco una cosa tremenda. Pero...

1) Los personajes, quizá por el doblaje (no la he visto en V.O., mea culpa), quizá por el montaje final, quedan desdibujados y no llegamos a entender sus motivaciones ni intereses. Por no mencionar que son un pelín estereotipados. Un pelín del tamaño de una morcilla.

2) La acción ajena a los asesinatos es atropellada y algo caótica. Las relaciones evolucionan de una manera inverosímil. Vamos, que la Watling se enrolla con Wood a las primeras de cambio... sí, ya, claro...

3) Las elucubraciones matemáticas de los personajes son pueriles al menos para mí (creo que para mi perra también...) y carecen de conexión real con la trama. Vale, son matemáticos, pero podrían igual haber sido... fontaneros, por poner una profesión sin demasiada conexión con las matemáticas.

4) Oxford. Quizá es que tengo por esta ciudad un cariño especial desde hace veinte años (ya lo he mencionado aquí), pero es que es una ciudad espectacular, con cientos de sitios increíbles. Pues bien, todos los (pocos) exteriores se han rodado, prácticamente, en la misma calle, Broad Street. Y NI SIQUIERA ES UNA CALLE LARGA!!!! Debe ser como la Puerta del Sol, o algo así... Cosa más triste. Sí, vale, es Oxford, pero igual podría ser Hospitalet.

Un detalle interesante, que pasará despercibido a la mayoría pero que creo justo mencionar. Cuando se habla de matemáticas no relacionadas con los crímenes, todo lo que se dice tiene sentido y, de hecho, son argumentos correctos. Ya hace mucho que dejé de buscar este tipo de cosas en las películas con "contenido matemático". "El indomable Will Hunting" (no está mal...), "Una mente maravillosa" (uuuuuuaaaaaaahhhhhh, ME ABURRO!!!!) o "La habitación de Fermat" (divertidísima... a su pesar!!!!) son auténticos perdigonazos donde los diálogos científicos no tienen pies ni cabeza y simplemente "suenan" a matemáticas. Sin embargo, en ésta no es así, aunque sólo en escenas anecdóticas. Si queréis ver una buena peli donde las matemáticas son importantes, recomiendo "Cube".

Si usted, querido lector, es de los que cuando se mencionan las matemáticas dice "yo es que me quedé en los logaritmos..." (¿por qué se quedó tanta gente ahí?), no se preocupe: esta peli es para usted. Si anda sobrado de dinero y no tiene vicios. Si los tiene, gástese el dinero en ellos.

En fin, resumiendo: "Fontaneros en Hospitalet", marca para mí el punto más bajo de la carrera de Álex de la Iglesia. Joer, ÁLex, que yo fui uno de los que pagó por ver "Acción Mutante"... ¿cómo me haces esto?

Publicado originalmente el 19 de Febrero de 2.008 en “Demasiado lejos del mar”.

I took this photo about 3 weeks ago for a study of the words "The End". I'll share some more of these photos soon, as I really enjoyed looking for "The End."

I stopped in front of this building, which I have passed abut 50 times in the last year or so. It was burned out by a fire a year before that, probably, but remains untouched and with a chain link fence around it. I was going to get out of my truck and shoot a few pictures but found I didn't need to and just shot from the front seat.
I started to the left, out of the picture, and shot a few pictures of the burned out windows...then turned, and saw this pigeon sitting on the corner edge of the rooftop. It couldn't have arrived at a better time to scan its landscape for a bite to eat. The original picture was dramatic enough, with the rotting soffit, dilapidated brickwork, and moldy scroll work-cornices. But when I re-worked it into AFTER THE FIRE, I was overcome by the intensity of the background, which makes the building appear as if it is still on fire and billowing smoke. That "smoke" is the blue sky defined by the clouds in the background, actually.

Here is the original:

As always, enjoy!

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Yes, I spelled that right.
And you thought I didn't...

Have you ever wondered why people do the things they do.....Like, why the hell did they do that? Why did they say that? Where'd that come from?
I do that all the time.
I never get answers though.
Like, I'd like to know why this one person says what they do - not saying who, for fear that they will hate me. I mean, it's like wow. I know that most people like that sort of stuff, but I don't. It doesn't work for me. I can't take it much. Like, it's like I'm supposed to do that, when someone else does, it makes me take on the other role....Soon they'll be asking what's wrong and shit.
Just like someone else I know who was like that (Sean, for those you can't catch on well).
And then, like, this other person, why do they seem to not like the smiley? Are they scared? Do they just not like it? I don't know...I'd like to know what it means when a >:D< is always getting a "lol". Because I've never known one to get a "lol".

I don't really have anything to share yet.
Yet. That's the operative word here.
Most likely, I'll have LOADS to tell you later today.
Which I will do, because I just LOVE sharing almost every aspect of my life with other people.
I mean really.

Okay, I'm sorta off-kilter this morning, can't you tell?
Wanna know why?
I shall share.
I'm not the girly-girl type. I don't like that stuff all the time. In short doses, sure. But, any longer than that, is like, damn, I'm not that kind of person.
Wanna know why I'm not that kind of person? Because, I'm the type that gives it. I can't take it the same way. It just doesn't work.
I was with one of the kind that is silent in their affections. Sure he opened up and said nice things and was all lovey-dovey every once in a while. But it wasn't all the time. I liked that. The silence between us, just being there. I liked how that was. The man is supposed to be manly, and have lapses occasionally, does something sweet when it's called for. Not all the time.
That doesn't work for me. Because I can't be like that all the time. It doesn't work.
I'll end up being like ya this is good one moment and the next it's like dude, no, stop, you're annoying the fuck out of me. Stop!
I don't know.
I guess, just, like, the man is supposed to be all masculine and shit, while the girl is supposed to be feminine. For me, that's how it works. Other than I'm not feminine. Other than the part about how I do take on the woman's role of the care-giver.....I'll do that all damn day, if I love ya. But, come one, the guy isn't supposed to do that!
This certain person that I was with that I'd rather not name because I will go off into memories about (even though I'm already there, I don't want it to get worse) never would admit being the boss. He said that I was. I said that he was. We went back and forth one time on the phone about that. Then one time he's like fine, you're fired. I was like what???? And he's like you're fired. And so we went back and forth about that too. It ended with neither of us the boss. Secretly, though, I dubbed the boss to be him. Since he was. He was the one with all the power, wasn't he? He was the one who would leave and go wherever it was that he went, only to return when he chose. He was the one who had the power to end things, because I never once did, only he did. He had the power to make it work or to make it fail.
We all know what happened.
Well, to an extent, you all know what happened.

Last night, I was listening to the song "whiskey lullaby" by Brad Paisley and Allison Kraus. However you spell their names.
Anyway. That will be my song, for the rest of forever.
Because it's about how their thing failed, they screwed up (well, she did, but in my scenario, he did). Anyway, they ended up not-together. They lived the rest of their lives missing the other. I will end up spending the rest of my life missing him. Sick, right?
I don't know.
Just like, there's this weird feeling about it. Probably because things between us never actually ended. There was the "no more talking to him on the phone" from my mamma. And then the call in November, even though he wasn't supposed to. Then he was supposed to come the next day of school to the bus-stop and shit.
Never happened. Haven't heard from him since.
So there is/was no END.
I haven't gotten to use the "The End. And No Not the Beatles' Song" title with him. I've gotten to do it to the others, but not him.
So, I don't know, that's part of the problem.

You are probably wondering why I keep on the topic of Falcon. Damnit, I said it. Oh well. Anyway, you're probably wondering why I keep coming back here.
I don't really know why I'm here again and again.
I just do.
I wish I knew why. I think I miss him just a little too much. But there's nothing I can do about it, right?

Blink182-I miss you

Azi,15.08.2008

The Script-The end where i begin

The last day of summer... kiss the sun goodbye.

With all things, and ending is inevatable. This will be the second last entry into Dumbfoundedone's blog.

Having been almost a month since my last entry, my interest in this blog has been diminished to the point that I no longer want to continue.

I will be starting a new blog soon, and my next entry here will be the new address.

Thank you for the 12,000+ hits.

Matt (A.K.A. Dumbfoundedone)

After being told she may have 2 months, "her" mother died last night after only a few days. I had been there the day before, but had returned home, so I was not there when she died. I am glad the end finally came, not for my own selfish (didn't want her to move in with me) needs. But because I had actually sat beside her bed and listened to her "death rattle", and let me say...there is no sound like it. I'm sure she felt no pain as she was on a Morphine drip...but to watch the family in pain as they watched this, was just too much. As is the way with death; there were far too many spectators, many harsh words, lots of arguments, and very little consoling.  The sisters were even telling each other not to cry as it would upset their father. WTF? Your mother...your only mother is laying there dying and you're not even allowed to cry about it?  Oh, it was much madness, which I'm sure is far from over. The funeral is tomorrow and of course I cannot be there, I don't like funerals...it takes a lot for me to go to one and I'm thinking there's simply no way I could stand it, besides I have to work anyway.

I considered sending flowers, but as feel that's a waste and actually pretty morbid (why send something that will die to the dead?), I decided I would actually help pay for the tattoo "she" wanted to remember her mother by. I think she'd rather have that anyway...well besides having her actual mother, of course.

Compare this shot with the the first group photo, taken in March when still in Greece. Some of the original faces are still there, but not all.

Links to other related posts are listed on the Crotos - BaltiCCycle page.

"If people only awoke to (the) theory of the reality of nature -  that it could be explained by principals, not miracles-  their lives would be changed forever".

i was really set on moving back to california come september.  now that i'm learning to let go, and let this city get the best of me, i'm hesitating.  anybody who knows me is aware of the reason(s) i hated this city.  it's small, it's a black void, and most importantly - i feel like with each day i spend here, i become a little harder on the outside, and maybe even a little uglier on the inside.  i don't care about the people i call friends, i don't really care about anything but myself and where i am.  and sure, that makes for a very successful track for me.  tons of energy poured only into bettering myself as a lone wolf.  i hated that, but now i've come to see that this is most likely what a person like me needs.  in time, this city will teach me how to keep a guard up 24/7, not because it's a shield, but because it's a part of me.  i'll be hardened and callous.  i wont have time for silly love songs or fond memories of you, because i will no longer have the emotional capacity to understand those things.  i'm forgetting everything i thought i knew about love, and most importantly, the person i said i'd love forever.

but while i've still got a little fight left in me, i sit and listen to snow patrol - most notably "signal fire." and one line stands out above the rest:

"no, i won't wait forever."

Dear Friends,

After 170 days of cycling we have finally reached Beijing... We are full of beautiful memories and have shared lots of experiences with people we have met on our way despite occasional hardships we have already forgotten.

We will continue to ride around Beijing and get in touch with more people during our last few days in China. We didn't come here to see the Olympic Games even though we believe in the Olympic ideals and have tried to promote peace and cross-cultural communication all around as much as we could.

We wish to thank everyone who accompanied us on our wonderful voyage and hope to meet again in person somewhere in this tiny world!

Cycling is our way of approaching the world around us, and we are not planning on giving it up.
So, you may find us riding around somewhere in the near future (but after we take care of some unfinished things)...

Peace!

Links to other related posts are listed on the Crotos - BaltiCCycle page.

I have no memorable last words, nothing to rally a movement, nothing school children will recite years from now in history class. Instead I’ll piss my pants, really give them a good drenching. It’s not as inspiring as “I have but one life” but my executors will sure be disgusted.

And as I stand there, urine freshening my lower extremities, I’ll imagine the birds flying away in chaotic fear of the gun fire, bumping each other in the sky, feathers falling on my crumpled form. Imaginary lovers will sob rainstorms upon my still warm corpse. I’ll see friends and family members singing paeans to this potentially great man’s tragic end. The beauty of those thoughts will give me a last little boost.

And then the bullets will really fly, and another world will be revealed, one with less need for imagined martyrdom.

So that was my Friday night.

Personally, I think it's all fucked-up.
How many times has mom said that she's done? How many times as she wanted something and not gotten it, in reference to dad "changing" or whatever. I'm sorry, but dad's, what, 41? I don't think there's any changing like that going to be happening. It's improbable. I mean, she keeps saying that he needs to work on this this this and this. You know what? Maybe he does, but who gives a flying fuck? Mom says he's not. I say that he is, simply because I see it sometimes. Sure, there are bad days, but everyone has bad days, dad more so. I can relate to it remarkably well, because I'm the same way - if I'm pissed off, leave me alone, I don't want to talk to anyone, that's just the way it goes, sorry mom if you don't see it that way.
That's life. I see it that way.
It's a bit annoying, though, because mom complains about the same things, every time. Like, there's nothing to complain about, just the same shit she's been complaining about the whole damn time. And you know what? It never gets any better, does it? NO! So that part REALLY makes no sense.

But what do I know, right?

Our beautiful butts.

by mistercrackers

"We have many hot deathrock boys, but they're all gay. Don't bother coming, unless you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the fat guy who dresses like a pirate."

You see, there are several very scrany, very hot, and (naturally) very well-coiffed deathrock boys from Louisville. However, if you go to one of their functions with some weird intent to meet and take home one of the aforementioned hot deathrock boys, you should save yourself the gas money. The straight dudes of Louisville Goth are, sadly, much like the straight goth dudes everywhere else: dressed like pirates, wearing kilts, or under the impression that it's OK to wear a poet shirt in public. They all need stylists. That said, let's talk about music.

Mother Father's opener, Entertainment, was OK. It must be very hard to bring something new to a goth genre that's about 30 years old, and Entertainment are only halfway there. To keep my attention as a deathrock band, it's not good enough to be OK. You have to do something to make yourself special, and Entertainment didn't quite reach the (admittedly high) standards. Were they a decent way to spend 45 minutes? Yes. Do I feel the need to buy the CD? Not so much.

Mother Father, however, make an impression. They start that first song and, if it were a handshake, you'd say that your hand stayed shook (if I may reference Hank Hill). The drummer who seemed to be a tad random ("who let Zack Morris in the band?") makes the reason for his presence clear. It's hard to find a drummer, harder to hold ONTO a drummer, and triple hard to find a GOOD drummer. Thus, we can overlook a little thing like resembling Zack Morris. True, after 6 or 7 seven songs, my mind started to wander, but the fact that I stayed in a hot bar, sweating balls, to listen to the whole set when I was tired should say something. It was totally worth the five bucks.

And did I mention the deathrock eye candy?
I'm a pig.

"Onde você estava? Por que faltou ontem?"

"Porque eu acordei, vi o puta sol que estava fazendo, e decidi ir à praia."

Não, não é legal. Nesses casos, mate a avó pela quinta vez. Fure o oitavo pneu do seu carro zero. Faça a extração do seu vigésimo ciso. Mas praia, definitivamente, não é legal.

Dia desses, eu ouvi uma das melhores. Se mentira tivesse ranking, ela estaria entre as top 5. Fácil.

"Desculpe aí. Eu não vim ontem porque achei que as minhas férias tinham começado."

O conjunto originalidade-canastrice-cara-de-pau é imbatível.

E você? Qual foi a sua melhor mentira para faltar ao trabalho? Avós, pneus e dentes não serão computados.

You will forget those ties
un-hemmed, even through torn photos
and shards of glass from the smash
against the wall. "Time heals all" but
there’s still a mess to mind and
who has time nowadays to cast a thread
to fix the damage that’s been done?

So I spoke to The Pirate this morning, and far from making romantic gestures or proclaiming his everlasting love, he agreed.  Neither of us wants to get to the point where we hate one another, and it looks like things were heading that way.

And we agreed that it's over.  That we've had some great times, but that we don't have a future.  That we want to be friends, and nothing more.

And I've been at peace with the decision, and the consequences, all day.  I realised a long time ago that security is an illusion - nothing in our lives is set in stone.  My life today is no different to yesterday; my future is still a mystery, and the path I take will still be an adventure.

The Pirate, and our year together, will always stay with me.  My love for him, and his for me, will always be part of our lives.

Inabile alla vita sociale ed ora anche a quella web, saluto definitivamente i lettori di questo blog, se ce ne fossero mai stati.

Mi dispiace se ho rotto un po' le scatole in giro per altri blog e specialmente in quello di Dancin', dove mi ero trovato molto bene, perche' lei accettava tutti. Ma non chiedero' scusa perche' io sono cosi', piaccia o non piaccia; non chiedere piu' scusa per il fatto di esistere e' stata una conquista non da poco, per me, che non voglio perdere.