Keep a Blog Alive

Sevilla at Dusk

2012-01-23T13:54:00.003-05:00

I made this pictures almost a year ago. Maybe I mentioned this already, but I had always dreamed of going to Seville. The beauty of it all is that, somehow, once I finally made it there, it turned out to be everything I had hoped for and even more. I felt a closeness, an intimacy with this city that I have experienced in very few places.

Loli & Juan, from Sevilla

2012-01-17T12:16:00.006-05:00

This is the very first photograph I made in Seville. It's the very first photograph I made in Spain. In January, last year, I decided to take a break from Paris and spend a few days in a city I had always dreamed of visiting.

I arrived in the afternoon. The flight was only a couple hours long. After having some trouble checking into my room, which turned out to be flooded, and being relocated temporarily to a different hotel, I was finally free to roam carelessly around the city, which turned out to be tiny.

I was starving and made my way to La Campana, the most famous café in Sevilla, conveniently located five steps away from me. I ordered a couple things to snack on and enjoyed them in the seemingly preferred style of the fellow visitors– leaning right against the counter. It was during this moment that Juan, the gentleman in the picture struck a conversation with me; about my beauty, mainly. He even had some other random gentleman join our conversation and, once he made sure his wife was out of earshot, asked him if I wasn't one of the prettiest girls to ever grace the streets of Seville. The gentleman awkwardly agreed. Juan's companion, Loli, listened, and seemed worried about this deranged young, foreign girl who dared venture into this city all alone. She gave me countless advice on what to do not to get robbed. I listened.

Juan insisted on paying for my bill, which didn't exceed three or four euros, according to him I needed to let him show me the gallantry of the Andalusian man. He said in this age where men are not men anymore, but merely grown boys, women sometimes forget how to conduct themselves when they finally run into one, so I had to let him pay. The girl making our coffees listened, and folded my bill into his.

And that's the story... of Loli and Juan, the most charmingly anachronic couple I have ever met, a vestige of bygone times, ready to converse with casual passersby.

When New Yorkers Wear Costumes

2011-11-05T12:11:00.004-04:00

It was Halloween this past Monday, and if you don't know how much New Yorkers love this day, then let me tell you: they adore it. I would easily say that, collectively, it is the favorite Holiday (if you can call it that) of the entire city.

What many people outside New York, and outside the United States for that matter, do not seem to realize, is that for most people Halloween is about dressing up as or being anything or anyone you can imagine, but being scary is not usually one of the requisites for an acceptable costume. This contradicts, of course, the overall notion of Halloween that most people have throughout the world, who will almost invariably, in the case that they do disguise themselves, put on at least fake blood or wear their faces completely pale. But this is not so in the United States, at least not for the most part.

I think when coming up with their costumes, girls and boys follow two very simple set of guidelines. For the former, wear something sexy/slutty; for the latter, wear something funny/witty. It's that easy.

During that day, I had to work, and I saw bunnies, pigs, Spider-Men, Hulk, the Joker, Qaddafi, girls in skimpy suits that made their bodies look amazing but that left me clueless as to what they were supposed to be, and of course, some skulls and vampires. It's always fun to see how creative and daring people get, and New York usually never disappoints.

However, the point of this post is not so much to discuss Halloween, but to describe a situation I witnessed on my way home after work, roughly around 11pm.

I was waiting for my train, which took a while to come since I had missed the previous one by seconds when I arrived to the platform. I had my headphones on, and the music was loud enough to silence every other sound around me without leaving me deaf. So I was immersed in my own world. I was leaning against some pillar, most likely, and I was looking around carelessly, as a way of passing the time. And I saw two girls kissing on the platform across the tracks. I was trying to figure out what their costumes were... but all I got was either some sort of orchestra director or professional horse rider.

One of the girls began to dance. She was dancing in a Gene Kelly type of way, just much less sharp and elegant, but still pleasant to look at. She was dancing around the other girl, who simply watched her as she smiled. I don't know if they had music on, but I doubt they did. And the girl continued to dance, and spin around, and tap her feet against the floor... in a Gene Kelly type of way. And people, like me, began to stare, some for seconds, some for minutes, but the girls remained unaware. A guy standing not far from them continuously looked their way, and then away... and he repeated this enough times to make me know what he was thinking. He began to approach them slowly, until he was only steps away, and he watched them with a big smile, the girl dancing and the girl watching.

As my train came and I stepped in it, I saw the guy joining the girl in her dance... in a Gene Kelly type of way... I don't think they had any music. But they danced, and danced, and they smiled. And this is also New York, where sometimes you can encounter some of the most hostile people, but also the most beautiful and the purest. Where, be it Halloween or not, people know they can be whoever they want because this city of madness and crazies allows for it, and even rewards your authenticity and boldness, as long as you don't force them. I watched them for as long as I could and then joined them in my head... in that wondrous and lovely Gene Kelly type of way.

Welcome to New York

2011-10-22T12:17:00.006-04:00

I got on the A train to come back home from work. For some reason, it took me longer than usual to decide where to sit. I decided against a perfect seat by a corner because the man sitting across from it looked dirty, and when I walked a bit farther, a group of three people took every other available space, so I walked back and looked around, standing there like a fool, and ended up sitting right across the dirty-looking man anyway.

Like every other person in the car, I had my headphones on, I forget what I was listening to, but I got distracted by shouts coming from a woman, and decided to stop the music altogether to find out what was going on.

Not far from me, an Asian-American lady was yelling at the guy sitting next to her. I don't know what started the quarrel, but apparently, he made some comment to her about the book she was reading (something by Hesse), and well, she was deranged, so she started screaming at the poor man. She was shouting something along the lines of: "Oh! And now you tell me you like my book, does that make you feel good about yourself? You and every other piece of shit in this city think you're so original, so what if you like my book!? You don't know why I have it! You don't know why I'm reading it! What, so now you think you have to be all nice to me!?" They didn't know each other.

The guy looked clearly uncomfortable, but he just ignored the woman, who was very, very aggressive. By this point, everyone was looking around, slightly confused, in a way that seemed to be begging for confirmation from someone else's eyes, that this was indeed happening. Some people pretended they did not hear a thing, others stopped their own conversations and simply stayed quiet, others smiled uncomfortably, and yet others laughed at the absurdity of it all. But aside from the noise generated by the train in movement and that woman's voice, our car was silent.

"What are you laughing at, fatso!?" she yelled at some guy standing almost on the opposite side of the car, by a door.
"You're a fatso! That's what you are! And you think this is funny!? You're fat!" she continued.

The guy immediately began yelling at her for calling him fat (something that he really wasn't), and accused her of being schizophrenic.

"Just because you're schizo, that doesn't mean you can go around calling people fat!" he said. And then they got into one of the most stupid arguments I have heard in my life. No. Actually, they got into one of the most stupid shouting matches I have heard in my life, quite possibly the only one I have heard, and everybody else just started laughing. They were standing, screaming at each other from opposite ends of the car. The crazy woman, who otherwise looked like every other hipster Asian chick, unleashed her anger on everyone by saying that none of us (I was there, so I include myself) knew what the hell she had to go through, that we wouldn't stand a mile on her shoes, and things of the sort. I locked eyes with the poor guy sitting next to her and tried to convey in my expression, as best as I could, something along the lines of: "I'm sorry this happened to you."

I decided I would get off at the next stop to change to another car. I can't stand vulgarity of this sort. But I sat back down immediately as soon as I saw Crazy Lady getting up to leave. Of course, her final act featured a very powerful FUUUCK YOOUU!!! to, I assume, every single one of us, and while she left, some people clapped, and the train doors finally closed.

"Welcome to New York!" someone said.

Indeed.

I knew somebody would eventually say that. I was waiting for it to happen. I've only seen a very small percentage of the world, but I have the conviction that this kind of thing can only happen in this city. Only here.

I forget how many times I have seen people in New York City become verbally aggressive, either by yelling, insulting or cursing, in public, and then justify this tasteless behavior with something as cheesy and cliché as it is senseless yet, apparently, true: "Oh, I'm a New Yorker. That's how we do things here."

New York is a city that takes pride in being rude and obnoxious. Where else have I seen people madly screaming into their phones, calling their correspondents "low-life," "whore," "stupid," etc.? Nowhere else. This kind of New Yorker behavior, commonplace in this city and thus taken as something natural, would only rarely occur in other places, and especially not for something so trivial. But this is New York for you... like so many love to say.

I love this city, but it is an exhausting one. I think I find rude waiters easier to deal with than all this hostility. So, Paris, wait for me.

2010-07-31T09:52:00.002-04:00

Bored of blogging.

Catch me on my Tumblr photodiary (updated almost every day):

http://ri.tumblr.com

Peace :)

Film Junkie XIII

2010-07-01T16:45:00.006-04:00

Persepolis
Director: Vicent Paronnaud and Marjane Satrapi
Writer: Marjane Satrapi
Year: 2007
Country: France | US

Based on the real story of Marjane Satrapi as told in her graphic novel of the same name, Persepolis portrays the life of Satrapi since she was a child growing amidst the chaos of the Iranian Revolution until her move to France as a young adult. The film's animation is visually striking and very aesthetically pleasing.

I have watched Persepolis a few more times since the first time I saw it, and each time, I grow to love it more and consider it one of my favorites. Satrapi's complex story, as well as the complicated situation in Iran, are beautifully intertwined in this film, and it becomes clear from the beginning that much of what Satrapi is and becomes, is irrefutably a result of what goes on in her homeland. Coming from a leftist family of revolutionaries, Satrapi reacts very strongly against the ultra-conservative and fundamentalist ways of the Islamic revolution, escaping to Europe in her teenage years, to come back later and live almost as a foreigner in her own home. One of the greatest aspects of this film is its delicately changing tone; which at times is serious, dramatic and sad, and at others funny and self-depreciating from the perspective of Satrapi. The script I find almost flawless, as well as the stunning animation, and the flow of events. This is one I would recommend again and again to every person.
My rating: 10/10
IMDb rating: 8.0/10

Camila
Director: María Luisa Bemberg
Writer: María Luisa Bember et al.
Year: 1984
Country: Argentina | Spain

Camila is based on the real love story between 19th century Argentinean socialite Camila O’Gorman and Jesuit priest Ladislao Gutiérrez. It was written and directed by María Luisa Bemberg.

Camila (Susú Pecoraro) is a young woman who belongs to a family of high ranking in Buenos Aires that enthusiastically supports the conservative dictator Juan Manuel de Rosas, whom Camila openly opposes. After listening to one of the new priest Ladislao Gutiérrez’s sermons, in which he condemns the recent violent actions of the government against a bookseller, an occurrence which Camila despises, she becomes instantly attracted to him due to their similar ideas of justice and the boldly effective and brave way in which he voiced out his thoughts. From this moment Camila and Ladislao’s attraction for one another grows immensely and uncontrollably, until they eventually flee Buenos Aires and assume new lives under new identities in a small town where they run a school. The authorities accuse them of sacrilege, a punishable crime, and set out to capture and kill them.

Bemberg has taken these historical facts and has created an interesting drama that conveys this real story beautifully, but not in an unnecessarily tearjerker way. The subjects of love and religion are explored in the film, but special attention is dedicated mostly to the role of values in a society and in each individual person. For example, while government officials who unjustly assassinate those who disagree with their policies go unpunished, a priest who has escaped with the love of his life must suffer the worst of sentences, capital punishment, along with her. Bemberg uses this situation to criticize the hypocritical conservatism of dictatorial governments that claim to be guided by high moral standards, but that turn a blind eye when it is the people working for them and supporting them who are guilty of corruption and scandal.

The photography and the soundtrack are effective in emphasizing the social, religious, and historical themes of the story, though some qualities of the film may seem slightly antiquated for modern standards, including the melodramatic performances of some characters. However, the film remains a strong piece that illustrates in the most straightforward and simple of manners the great passions, scandals, injustices, and corruptions of humanity.
My rating: 6/10
IMDb rating: 7.1/10

The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas
Director: Mark Herman
Writer: Mark Herman [based on the novel by John Boyne]
Year: 2008
Country: UK | US

Little Bruno (Asa Butterfield), is an eight-year-old boy whose father is a high-ranking Schutzstaffel officer during the Second World War. Oblivious to the atrocities committed by the Nazis during the war, Bruno sets out to explore about the new country house to where he and his family have just moved, and discovers a strange "farm" (a concentration camp) where people wear curious "striped pyjamas" (the infamous striped uniforms worn by the imprisoned Jews).

Avoiding being discovered by his family, Bruno sets out to the "farm" almost every day after he befriends a little boy named Schmuel (Jack Scanlon) who, little by little, corrects Bruno's mistaken ideas, and teaches him what truly goes on inside the concentration camp and why he and his family are there.

The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas is a heart-breaking film. A poignant story, made even more so through the goodhearted naïveté of a child conflicted upon discovering that his father is the bad guy of the story. The direction and photography of this film are breath-taking, and the story very beautiful in itself.
My rating: 8/10
IMDb rating: 7.8/10

Notes on a Scandal
Director: Richard Eyre
Writer: Patrick Marber [based on the novel by Zoe Heller]
Year: 2006
Country: UK

Not much time to review this one, but since I am so late with my Film Junkie posts, I want to get as many movies out of the way as I can. In sum, top-notch acting (Cate Blanchet is one of my favorites), a perfectly told story, with great pace, building a good amount of suspense and anticipation, but not to the point of despair and exasperation. A very interesting topic (sexual relations between teacher and student), and very surprising twists. A great film.
My rating: 9/10
IMDb rating: 7.6/10

Related Posts:

Things that Happen (briefly discusses Camila)

On the next Film Junkie: The Mirror, Milk, Funny Face, and Lucía y el Sexo.

In the Air and on the Water

2010-06-22T20:38:00.002-04:00

During my visit to Maryland and DC last April...

Pizza Movers

2010-06-08T17:19:00.002-04:00

I shot this photograph from a car in Georgetown, Maryland, back in April. I liked the feeling this place transmitted, the faded walls, the neon sign, the open door, the tiny space, the little chairs lined outside and the bucket sitting next to them. I don't know, it was a pretty sight.

Katalina, 20, American of Mexican descent

2010-06-05T17:18:00.002-04:00

I met Kathy when I attended high school in California, we were in the same Spanish class when I was a junior and she a senior. I remember being surprised, when I first got to know her, by all that we shared in common; similar taste, similar interests, similar perspectives... Some time around late March, she was visiting New York, and we got a chance to meet up. I was reminded once again of what an incredible person she is, and how much I admire her for all that she is and who she is becoming. These two pictures of her are two of my favorite photographs from the thousands I have ever taken.

Sharminck, 21, Panamanian & Jason, 25, Trinidadian

2010-05-31T15:32:00.003-04:00

Crosby Street... Perspective

2010-05-15T15:19:00.002-04:00

Before I ever came to New York, this is how it always used to look in my head... I'm glad the illusion did find its reflection in reality.

Isaac, 23, Russian

2010-05-01T13:45:00.003-04:00

I met Isaac last year in my World Affairs class. During one of our first conversations he told me he was born and raised in Russia and came to the United States when he was 10 years old. He then told me even more fascinating details about his life story, and I immediately found him to be an extremely interesting person. Isaac also has a big heart. He started a chapter of the UNICEF Campus Initiative Clubs at our college and has been very involved with it since he founded it last semester, working on fundraising money for UNICEF and spreading awareness around campus. As if that weren't enough, he also recently spent a week volunteering in Haiti after the devastating earthquake.

Crosswalk on Church St.

2010-04-02T02:34:00.002-04:00

Just an every-day scene.

Sharminck, 21, Panamanian.

2010-03-31T13:59:00.004-04:00

I recently have become obsessed with shooting people's portraits. I was never much into them, but now, it is almost like I cannot see a friend without asking them to let me photograph them before they leave. Luckily for me, many of them are already used to the cameras and do not mind me at all.

This one I took at the Amish Market in TriBeCa, where Sharminck and I had just had lunch.

Keeping It Simple

2010-03-20T19:14:00.003-04:00

Sometimes I like to light some candles, turn the lights off and spin around taking pictures, only to realize that, damn, I need to clean my lens.

2010-03-13T02:43:00.003-05:00

I had a strange encounter with nostalgia and melancholy tonight. Perhaps the suddenness of it is what has been affecting me so deeply, more than the act itself... It is merely the fact that I was unprepared for such a moment, unable to foresee it in any way.

Though nostalgia and melancholy are usual companions, though they are no strangers to me, they are usually in a corner of my heart where I can manage them and keep them in check. But tonight they have stepped out of their habitual place, and they have overwhelmed all the space around them, leaving me feeling an odd weight pulling my chest down, a lightheadedness that does not let me think appropriately, and an immense desire to understand.

There are many levels of melancholy, many levels of nostalgia. The one that consumes me now has to do with missed opportunities, with things that have been forgotten in the past only to resurface years later when it is too late to reconnect with them and reestablish the powerful bonds that existed and that allowed them to be. So I feel impotence, though by now it might not be as strong as it may seem. I don't know.

It is a temporary phase, that is a cheerful thought, and I will keep it in my head as I resolve to sleep. Some things can be gained from what I came in touch with tonight, and that is what I must focus on, the things that can be saved, what can be recuperated or extracted from the past, fixed in any broken place, and allowed to continue on existing. Perhaps that is what upsets me, inexistence, the idea that something has been lost. But it will not perturb me, not for long, perhaps I only need to accept.

I might just be sleepy.

Film Junkie XII

2010-03-07T19:10:00.002-05:00

Pane e Tulipani

[Bread and Tulips]

Director: Silvio Soldini

Writer: Silvio Soldini et al.

Year: 2000

Country: Italy, Switzerland

After a series of unlucky events, which included being left behind at a rest top by her tour group during her family vacation, Rosalba (Licia Maglietta), decides to ask a strange lady for a ride, planning to hitchhike all the way back to her hometown. Eventually finding herself in Venice, she resolves to stay there, away from her controlling husband and her sons. Subsequently, Rosalba meets very interesting characters, including Fernando (Bruno Ganz), with whom she stays, and Grazia (Marina Massironi), Fernando's neighbor.

This film can be best described as a romantic comedy, and very lightheartedly portrays the ensuing connections established among all the different personalities embodied by each character as they interact with one another. The music and the photography are very warm and cheerful, and the stories behind each character very interesting and profound.

IMDb rating: 7.3/10

My rating: 7/10

Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Director: Woody Allen

Writer: Woody Allen

Year: 2008

Country: US, Spain

I really have to find a person who has not yet watched this film, so I will only discuss it briefly. Friends Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) decide to take a break from life in the US and spend a summer in Barcelona; Vicky pursuing her studies in Catalan culture and Cristina exploring about the city trying to find meaning in her life. After an art show, they meet Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem), a charismatic and intriguing artist who captures Cristina's fancy while annoying Vicky with his boldness at the same time. Juan Antonio's lunatic ex-girlfriend is portrayed by (my favorite) Penélope Cruz, and a very unconventional relationship develops among all these characters.

Like every other Woody Allen film, the dialogue of Vicky Cristina Barcelona is brilliant, albeit less sharp and perhaps less profound than that of Allen's previous movies. A recurrent motif is seen in the exploration of alternative lifestyles and inconformity, art itself is also ever-present as a major theme in his films, as is love and its infinite manifestations. This is really a beautiful story, poignant in many respects. The actors perform wonderfully, though I must admit that I felt Rebecca Hall was channeling Mia Farrow at the beginning of the film a little too much with her incessant stuttering. The photography of the film was beautiful, a lot of reds and oranges and warm colors to accompany the romantic/erotic/adventurous/irrational tone of the film. The soundtrack, as in all of Woody Allen's films, was also great. Though I must warn you, that song "Barcelona" by Giulia y los Tellarini that they play at the beginning will be stuck in your head for months.

IMDb rating: 7.4/10

My rating: 8/10

Pretty in Pink

Director: Howard Deutch

Writer: John Hughes

Year: 1986

Country: US

Pretty in Pink is perhaps one of the quintessential 1980s teen movies. It deals mainly with the rivalry and differences between poor and rich kids in a Chicago high school. Andie Walsh (Molly Ringwald) is a poor, fashion-loving girl living with her dad in a working class neighborhood. She falls in love with Steff (James Spader) a rich, preppy kid from her school. Expectedly, all sorts of predictable drama ensues because of their relationship, including angry best friends and whatnot.

Though this film is not the most original one out there, there is something about it that I find enjoyable, though I can't pinpoint what it is. Maybe it is the 80s culture manifested in the clothing, the music, the language and everywhere else. This is one of those films to watch on a boring, worry-free Friday night to spend the time and be a little entertained.

IMDb rating: 6.4/10

My rating: 6/10

Other Woody Allen films previously discussed:

On the next Film Junkie: Persepolis, Camila, and The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas.

This Great Storm

2010-02-28T17:23:00.003-05:00

Celestial Clockwork

2010-02-21T22:57:00.004-05:00

I wish I could tell you where I took this photo, to whom this room belongs, but I fear that, if I do, she will kill me and never speak to me again. And, well, I wouldn't want that from one of the women I most admire in this world and whom I still can't believe I was so, so, so fortunate to meet. In short, this is a very special place.

I have grown increasingly reserved, I think that explains the lack of updates here. For whatever reason, the thought of sharing my stories through words or pictures does not seem as appealing as it did before. I still love blogging, just not about myself... If I could somehow find a way to separate my personal feelings from the things I produce, then perhaps I would be here more often... But that very act seems to contradict the very essence of art and creation... I'm trying to find a balance.

Huntington Beach

2010-01-23T18:37:00.003-05:00

On January 7th, while I was still in California, I hung out with my friends Abe, Jennifer, and Gregory. The evening was abnormally foggy, particularly for Southern California, but we still decided to go to Huntington Beach and walk around the area. I noticed the light and its contrast with the shadows on the boardwalk looked very beautiful amidst the fog, the sky, and the ocean, which were pitch black at that time, and I tried to capture that as best as I could. The three silhouettes are those of my friends.

Setting the Tone

2010-01-15T16:57:00.003-05:00

On January 2nd, my mom hosted a party to which she invited many friends from Venezuela she has made in California in the past few years. The idea was to receive the new year surrounded by wonderful people and celebrate its arrival with our music, our culture, and our perception of life– always focusing on the positive. In this way, she intended to set the tone for the rest of 2010 and this new decade as one of happiness and continuous joy.

The first few guests arrived at around 4pm, and the last few to leave did so at around 3:30am. There was eating, drinking, singing, dancing, talking, laughing, and even some crying. We sang songs from Venezuela, from Mexico, from Cuba, from Spain. There was a beautiful atmosphere. After most people left and there were only a few of us remaining, we talked and sang some more. Everyone called during the following week to thank my mom for such an incredible night, and many emphasized that they felt as if they were back home, a sensation they hadn't experienced in all their time here in the US.

And the joyous tone lingers, and the realization that home is not so much a physical place, but an abstract ideal, one that can be reproduced when surrounded by loving people... especially those who find solace in connecting with one another and sharing all their internal wealth.

Some College Life This Is...

2009-11-24T00:01:00.003-05:00

Meet Sharminck, one of my closest friends from school... She is one crazy, smart, and beautiful Panamanian girl. This I shot today at the cafeteria... I want to steal her mom's Bob Marley bag... badly.

Broad St. at 5PM

2009-11-22T18:44:00.003-05:00

Last Sunday I was having dinner with a friend in Manhattan. Since there are fewer trains from NJ to NY in the weekend, I had to go to a different station from the one I normally use during weekdays... While waiting at the station's platform, I started looking at the street, as I usually do, and decided to snap some photos of that rainy evening.

Home

2009-11-15T23:17:00.004-05:00

I found this (loud ass) Mexican bag at a vintage store in Brooklyn some time during spring last year. Love at first sight.

Home

2009-11-07T23:47:00.003-05:00

I have a habit of taking out clothes of my closet when I'm going to wear them, and then folding them and and stacking them on a basket, and then returning them back to their place during the weekends... It really doesn't make sense, but it's something I'm used to doing.

The smiling object on the second picture is a gift from one of my good friends in California, Joanna. She brought it for me from her first-ever trip to South Korea, where her father is from (her mother is from North Korea). Behind it there are many bags, belts, and some scarves. At that time, summer, most of them were in a separate bag stored in another part of the closet. Now they're all happily hanging there together.

Home

2009-11-06T00:21:00.000-05:00

This is a basket I keep on the floor, near my bed, where I put all the books I want to read "soon." Right now there are two books of Russian History, Wuthering Heights, Platero y yo, Diario de un Genio by Salvador Dalí, and, most prominently, there is Don Quijote de la Mancha by Cervantes... It's been yelling at me for months, trying to get me to read it... But the prospect is just too daunting, though certainly exciting.

Home (Revised)

2009-11-04T01:59:00.004-05:00

These photos and the ones you will be seeing in the next few posts were made some time this past summer all around my very minuscule apartment (it's really the tiniest thing you can imagine). Though they were shot mostly in an impulse, I think they represent key fragments that symbolize very important things for me. What I am trying to say is that, if you are a keen observer, you might learn a thing or two about me from these pictures. After all, this is the only place in the world where I can control (almost) every element. I hope you enjoy them :)

[EDIT] I've decided to tell you a little more about what you see...

Both pictures are parts of one of my bookshelves. In the top image you can see the Salvador Dalí doll my step-dad gave me for Christmas last year (behind him there are some Jane Austen novels), along with some European classics to the left, a few African and Asian ones in the center, and some American ones to the right (I have a very meticulous yet strange way of organizing my books). The space you see between Moby Dick and the lighter book to its left (the Ananga Ranga) belongs to Yukio Mishima's The Sound of Waves, which I was reading at the time. There are many very old books there, some I got from my mom, but most I just bought in random places in New York, Boston, and Metuchen (NJ), usually on sidewalks. All books here are in English, except for Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, Dante's Divine Comedy, and Saramago's Blindness, which are all in Spanish... And a random book I bought in French for no reason.

On the bottom image, you see first a few contemporary novels from the United States (my favorite of those is Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything Is Illuminated), and then different 19th and 20th century novels by Latin American authors like Jorge Isaacs from Colombia, Rómulo Gallegos from Venezuela, Juan Rulfo from Mexico, Mario Benedetti from Uruguay, Julia Álvarez from the Dominican Republic, and more easily recognizable names like Gabriel García Márquez, Isabel Allende, and Laura Esquivel. That little creepy doll was another "present" from my step-dad, he found it in the street outside our house in California and gave it to me... For a while I was actually frightened by it, so my brother used to take it from my room and put it in random places around the house to scare me... I got over it, as you can see. Next to it, there is a rosary my mom gave me for my First Communion when I was nine.

Since a few months have passed, the bookshelf already looks slightly different... Dalí is not there anymore, he is sitting at the top of the thing. And the doll also moved up, and is now closer to where Dalí was. The rosary is in my bag.

15 to 20

2009-11-02T23:25:00.003-05:00

Last week, and once again through Twitter (just like Notte Sento), one of the people I follow randomly sent me a link to this great, great video of the song "15 to 20" by the Phenomenal Handclap Band. I was familiar with the song already, but completely ignored the existence of this video, which is truly a gem. The photography in each individual frame is superb, and the originality of the concept is very innovative and inspiring. I hope you guys enjoy it!
On a different note, I know I have been very, very absent from the blog world (hardly eight posts in all of October), but I have just been so stressfully busy with schoolwork and extracurricular activities that there's barely any time left for blogging. I do miss it, though, very, very much, so I will really try my best to come back with interesting stories, photographs, and random bits and pieces to share with all of you. To those of you who still visit from time to time, thank you.

Songs for the Open Road

2009-10-23T20:19:00.003-04:00

Earlier today, I decided to stop by The Strand to check out the stacks carrying one-dollar books. Among the few ones I decided to bring home with me, there is one titled Songs for the Open Road, a selection of poems about travel and adventure.

While I was waiting for the train to depart, I decided to browse through the pages, and found a poem by one of my favorite writers, Langston Hughes, called "The Negro Speaks of Rivers," dedicated to W.E.B. Du Bois. And I read it.

Then I began browsing again, looking at the names of the poets included: Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, e. e. cummings, Robert Frost, Oscar Wilde, James Joyce... I was looking for any other piece by Hughes. And I found it.

When I looked at the title, I smiled... The coincidence... "Pennsylvania Station." Exactly the place where I was.

Pennsylvania Station

The Pennsylvania Station in New York

Is like some vast basilica of old

That towers above the terrors of the dark

As bulwark and protection to the soul.

Now people who are hurrying alone

And those who come in crowds from far away

Pass through this great concourse of steel and stone

To trains, or else from trains out into day.

And as in great basilicas of old

The search was ever for a dream of God,

So here the search is still within each soul

Some seed to find to root the earthly sod,

Some seed to find that sprouts a holy tree

To glorify the earth –and you– and me.

Langston Hughes

And how deeply I loved it. And how many times I reread it. And how it made more sense each time, and I could understand every sentence. And I wondered at that great moment of chance, and at that unexpected sense of identification with this poet and this speaker who left this earth some 42 years ago... How marvelous, indeed. How timeless, he.

When Carl Finally Sings Redemption Song

2009-10-20T01:23:00.002-04:00

Carl & Friends

2009-10-17T14:00:00.003-04:00

Film Junkie XI

2009-10-14T16:05:00.002-04:00

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

Director: Kim Bartley & Donnacha O'Briain

Year: 2002

Country: Ireland

Location: Venezuela

I was set to critique this documentary, but in the process I found myself becoming as angry as I was while watching it. You've heard me talk about this a million times before, and I will continue in the future: I do not support the Venezuelan president Hugo Chávez whatsoever. This film clearly does. And while it is very well-made and highly persuasive, for someone like me who is completely acquainted with the situation on which the documentary focuses (the 2002 coup d'état against Chávez and his temporary exit from the government), it is clear that the situation was distorted to favor him. Something with which I painfully agree is the film's allegations that the Venezuelan private media were extremely biased in their coverage of Chávez at the beginning of his mandate, but that is it. Their argument that the infamous shootings from the Llaguno bridge and their consequences were made up by the opposition, among many other things, infuriate me beyond control. So, I will not discuss this film any further, it would take me five posts to do so satisfactorily.

My rating: 7/10 (it is well-made, just not trustworthy).

IMDb rating: 8.4/10

Hannah and Her Sisters

Director: Woody Allen

Writer: Woody Allen

Year: 1986

Country: US

One of Woody Allen's most renowned films, Hannah and Her Sisters is a marvelous comedy filled with drama, witticisms, neurosis, romance, art, and excellent music. Starting on Thanksgiving dinner at Hannah's house (Mia Farrow), the movie follows the lives of different members of her family, to various degrees, including, of course, her sisters Lee (Barbara Hershey) and Holly (Dianne Wiest, whom I adore), her husband Elliot (Michael Caine), her ex-husband Mickey (Woody Allen), and even her parents Norma (Maureen O'Sullivan) and Evan (Lloyd Nolan). And it is precisely her sisters and not Hannah herself who become the main focus of the plot, though everything eventually and invariably is connected back to the latter.

Lee, worn out from her long relationship with the reclusive artist Frederick (Max von Sydow), sees herself entangled in an affair with Elliot, Hannah's husband, while Holly and Mickey (a hypochondriac and one of the highlights of the film), after a disastrous first date, eventually begin to become closer to one another.

I liked this film because, in addition to counting with some of those recurring elements present in Allen's films, there was also that characteristic approach to life and relationships that I find so refreshing and I believe is a quintessential part of his work: that nonchalant outlook in which even the absurd and dramatic is accepted as a simple fact of life, not as something irrelevant or insignificant, of course not, but definitely as something that just happens and that doesn't need to cause great commotion just because it is different or seemingly unheard-0f.

My rating: 7/10

IMDb rating: 7.4/10

Broadway Danny Rose

Director: Woody Allen

Writer: Woody Allen

Year: 1984

Country: US

Danny Rose (Woody Allen) is a talent manager in New York City who represents many talentless acts. However, out of this bunch of mediocre entertainers, there is Lou Canova (Nick Apollo Forte) who did manage to score a hit single with his song "Agita" (which was stuck in my head for weeks) in previous years. Danny Rose is now trying to bring him back to the spotlight, and has managed to secure a gig for him at the Waldorf Astoria, however, Lou refuses to sing if his lover Tina (Mia Farrow) is not present. Danny is now forced to go in search of this woman and bring her back to the city before Lou's show. Unfortunately, Tina's ex-boyfriend, an Italian gangster, becomes jealous upon seeing Tina and Danny together, and commands a hit on him, forcing them to escape at all costs.

Broadway Danny Rose is my least favorite film by Woody Allen. To be honest, I didn't enjoy it all that much, I found Lou's character irritating to no end, and the overall situation made me very impatient. I do think Mia Farrow looks stunning (even with the flashy clothes) here, more so than in any other film where I have seen her thus far. But this is not to say that I would discourage anyone from seeing it, it's still funny, but, for me, it lacked the sophistication of Allen's other works.

My rating: 6/10

IMDb rating: 7.4/10

Other Woody Allen films previously discussed:

The Purple Rose of Cairo

On the nest Film Junkie: Pane e Tulipani, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, and Pretty in Pink.

Aquellas Pequeñas Cosas

2009-10-13T13:16:00.013-04:00

Of all the places where I have lived (eight towns total), it is definitely in New York (though I am technically in NJ) where I have been able to meet the greatest amount of people with whom I identify most closely. Undoubtedly, I have met fascinating people elsewhere, people who have taught me a million important lessons and who have become an essential part of my life, but it is here, certainly, where I have been able to find those characters with more similar minds and more similar interests and goals and ideas to mine, and that, in a way, results inspiring once you see that there are others out there pursuing and realizing the dreams you wish to realize, letting you know that they are possible and feasible.

The latest one of these encounters took place as follows. Last year, I received a comment on one of my photos on Flickr from an Evan Brockett. As it is my custom, I visited his page in return, and found his pictures stunning, so every once in a while I would comment them. Eventually, we added each other on Facebook, and that's when we realized that we attended the same school, but we still never met there. And that's how it occurred that we "knew" each other for almost a year, but never really saw each other in person, a situation not unlike that one between some of you bloggers and me. But this past Saturday we finally met and hung out for the very first time, and I am oh so very glad that we did.

Evan is a great conversationalist, he can be as eloquent when talking about something as simple as washing dishes and his love for coconut as when he talks about his future plans and discusses complex ideas. He strikes me as the type of person with an inquisitive disposition and an open-minded perspective, and with opinions so well thought out, that you can't help but take them seriously. We agree and disagree on different topics, and I think that's what makes it more interesting to talk. I definitely look forward to more conversations. And I recommend all of you to visit both his blog and his Flickr page.

Cuando Alguien Se Va

2009-10-12T23:40:00.003-04:00

I have been keeping journals, on and off, for a very long time, years, really. Some of them I have lost during the constant packing-unpacking-repacking sessions that have become commonplace in my life, which now seems a bit of a shame, but that, in my perennial conviction that everything happens for a reason, does not bother me so much after all.

I was reading an entry I wrote on June 1st, 2007, when I still lived in Cerritos, California. That was the last month I would spend there before moving to New Jersey, and I remember being very melancholy for having to leave another place yet again, but also curious about the future. There is a particular part of this entry that really caught my attention because, as I went along, I realized that my feelings about that issue haven't changed much, and so I wanted to share that here. It is about what it is that makes it hard to go away.

I have come to realize that it is not the loved friends or the familiar places what make the situation of leaving a known home extremely painful, but, rather, those people to whom we always wanted to talk, and yet never did; those with whom we wanted to start and develop a strong friendship, but yet were too shy or busy to approach; those teachers we admired, but by whom we were too intimidated; those to whom we were attracted, but to whom we never dared to confess. It is them and not the friends who create the feeling of loss. Friends, we miss, but these people... these people we long for, and our chance with them is lost forever, and that is why we hate, at first, to go. For them only.

I have experienced this enough times to feel absolutely certain about it. And the reason why I feel so convinced is because, even though the distance between you and someone you love can be very painful and difficult to deal with, there is already a strong connection there and a solid possibility of seeing each other again in the future, continuing from where you left off as if you had never been absent. But knowing you have missed the opportunity to establish a connection with someone, ending up then as strangers forever... There is a strong sensation of regret and powerlessness and impotence accompanying this understanding, and it is these feelings what sting the most when you must inevitably go. Nothing else.

All Those Moments

2009-10-08T00:34:00.003-04:00

This is one of my usual rants. I'm sitting here, looking at the screen, filled with a great impulse to just tell you about what the past few months have been like for me: crazy, unexpected, busy, amazing.

Every single day is so different from the other days, I love the instability of my life, the inconsistency of my feelings, the changeable nature of my character, the unpredictable events that take place every minute... This semester at school I have been very focused on my classes, my assignments, my grades, volunteering, getting involved with new organizations, working on my transfer applications, and all sorts of other things... I have been concentrating every second on building the life I want, carefully molding every detail of my present in order to allow myself to savor the journey and enjoy it the way it is meant to be... And it is amazing (sometimes it doesn't bother me to use this word repeatedly). And, because of this very reason, I have also been keeping in touch with friends more closely than I did in the past, and I have been getting to know incredible people who are slowly but steadily becoming a big part of my world, and I am sharing moments with all sorts of characters that just make me feel so inspired... all the time.

The other day, for instance, as I decided to go read for a while at Washington Square Park, I remembered my friend from California who goes to NYU, and whom I hadn't seen in a year, and texted her to meet up there and chat. And we did. And it was so great. And that other day, a few weeks before, when I met eyes with one of the pedicabs that goes to my school and we began talking, agreeing later to meet up the next day for lunch. And then that guy from my class told me he likes me, and so did an old friend. And then, when I had three guys confess their feelings for me in almost the same week, and others constantly telling me nice things I never know how to respond to (You're beautiful, Look at that smile, Wanna dance?), I realized that I'm not ready to give up my independence, not yet, and so I turned each one of them down. And it was amazing. And then, this Monday, walking down the street, a handsome stylish guy complimented my own style and then we talked for about twenty minutes about fashion, traveling, photography, college, walking, cultures, diversity, and whatnot, and I marveled at how unlikely and unbelievable and yet utterly fascinating it was to chance upon a stranger and end up feeling like we have so much in common. And when this girl I just met invited me to go on a road trip to Canada. And when I hear my friend tell his friend to stop talking about this movie he wants to write because he can't see, because he hasn't fully visualized it in his head. And when this person tells me someone's been telling wondrous stories about me. And when I walk from the train station to my home and I realize as I open the door that I was so absorbed in my own thoughts I don't even remember ever walking at all. And when I find myself talking to God a little more like I did before. And when I draw maps and color them and feel connected with my humanity once more. And when I learn new things about you and about all. And when I am alone in my house and I am doing nothing but I am perfectly satisfied. My goodness, I can't help but just wonder, how did I not see all of this before? All of this that has always been right here... I am amazed. And I am glad. I am glad I am here.

Some Old Photos...

2009-10-03T12:56:00.004-04:00

Silver Lake, Los Angeles, CA

Melrose Ave, Los Angeles, CA

Columbus Circle, Manhattan, NY

Flatbush Ave, Brooklyn, NY

North Elizabeth Train Station, Elizabeth, NJ

Starting Over

2009-09-28T04:17:00.003-04:00

I shot this photograph more than a year ago during a short trip to the very much empty town of Wyckoff, New Jersey with my friend Giselle. These flowers were probably the only interesting thing in the entire place...

I want to thank those of you who commented on my last post very much, your words helped me feel better and my crankiness has subsided considerably. I'm taking things easy and one step at a time, the main focus now is to not overwhelm myself unnecessarily...

I wish you all a peaceful week...

Saboteur

2009-09-26T20:54:00.004-04:00

I see myself doing everything and nothing in my life. I wish sometimes that I could lead a life of aimless wandering and learning and solitude, but I find I am not courageous enough for such a feat, and so I content myself with the idea of living in a more normal way... I also think that aimless wandering and solitude would hinder that innocent dream of affecting the world in a positive way somehow... But if I really want to do that, then I must step up and be fearless and dynamic and active and daring, an effective leader of sorts.... Tonight, I sit without a clue to help me decipher who I am.

All my ideas about what I wish to do, to be, to become are vague and diffuse, and I am terribly, terribly afraid of ending up not being able to see any of my dreams come to reality... I know I am overwhelming myself, but I just can't seem to satisfy myself in any way. I always expect more, and more, and more from me and I criticize myself harshly and unjustly... But even the consciousness of this cannot make it any less painful and frustrating... I feel like I am constantly sabotaging myself, and it feels bad.

Radio City Music Hall

2009-09-23T15:42:00.003-04:00

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are performing tonight... Can I sneak in!? ;)

Notte Sento

2009-09-20T12:08:00.005-04:00

Yesterday, a friend sent me a link to this beautiful Italian short film via Twitter. I immediately fell in love with it. I'm crazy about the fact that it is a stop-motion animation rather than a live-action video... You can tell that a great amount of work, creativity, and effort was put into it, and it definitely pays off... The film itself is only about six minutes long, so I really encourage you to watch! Besides, both the girl and the guy are stunning, what else could you want? ;)

Explaining Myself

2009-09-18T22:09:00.005-04:00

Some of you, most notably our dear Jack Daniel who has mentioned this a few times to me, have noticed that, no matter where I am, I always seem to gravitate toward Latino/Hispanic (veeery different terms, by the way, they're not interchangeable as most seem to believe) subjects, and that many of the pictures I post here are related to that.

When I read Daniel's comment on my previous post, which notes on this tendency of mine again, my immediate reaction was to try to come up with a post to disprove his statement... Yet... when I decided to upload this photo (which I took a few weeks ago), and I had the opportunity to examine it more closely, I realized when I looked at the banner in the background "The Latin Corner" that he is absolutely right.

I've been away from my country for almost five years, and I haven't so much as visited it for a day since I left. Actually, since I moved to the United States on December 2004, I haven't left at all, not even a short trip to Mexico during the twenty-one months I lived in California (for very particular reasons, but that's besides the point). What I am trying to say is that seeing any reference to the culture in which I was raised, whether good or bad, always, always makes me feel closer to home, and when you are a foreign person in a country of millions, a country where it is hard to find other people who come from where you do and even harder to find someone who gets you, running across these things... these Latino bodegas, or restaurants, or stores, or neighborhoods, or people... is a relief... All these things have become a symbol to me... And in a way, they have become the closest thing to a family... Keep in mind I haven't seen my father, or my younger sisters, or my grandparents, or cousins, or uncles, or aunts since I left, and I haven't seen the places I so much loved while growing up... anything, anything at all that seems familiar to me in a cultural sense will always capture my attention and my fancy.

If I were able to go back home more often, if Venezuela had not become such a distant ideal for me, I am sure I would not pay so much attention to all these things... I wouldn't need to... I would probably focus on the more genuinely American things, instead of always gravitating to those that have come to make me feel at some sort of home away from home.

But that is not to say that I don't seek out diversity, I do, and it is absolutely essential in my life... On my regular walks around New York or the town where I live, I frequently stop to admire certain things that catch my attention; certain types of architecture, places like Indian stores, streets filled with old Polish people, Russian bookstores... And many times I photograph them, too... But I have come to realize that, usually, when I find myself at these places that seem more alien to my culture, I take everything in to later write about them instead of capturing them in order to show them... Maybe because I feel sometimes that my understanding of these places and cultures is vague and I don't want to exploit them by exposing them without really grasping their significance... or maybe because I have unconsciously made it my mission to show you the things that I get... the things that identify the place where I come from... Perhaps it's all been a product of chance...

And while I am sure I will continue posting things that I feel are somehow directly related to me, I will try to expand and show you more of the things that captivate me (which are too many), so that you will maybe understand me better... And, hopefully, will come to see how passionate I am about learning and exploring every single culture in the world... It will sure be a fun thing to do.

Encountering Spain in the Middle of New York

2009-09-17T22:20:00.000-04:00

Film Junkie X

2009-09-17T00:12:00.005-04:00

The Duchess

Director: Saul Dibb

Writer: Jeffrey Hatcher et al.

Based on the biography by Amanda Foreman

Year: 2008

Country: UK, Italy, France

Based on the life of Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire (Keira Knightley), The Duchess is a rich costume drama that exquisitely portrays the complex relationships between Georgiana and her husband the Duke of Devonshire (Ralph Fiennes), as well as the eventual love triangle that includes Georgiana's best friend Lady Bess Foster (Hayley Atwell), and her passionate love for the young politician Charles Grey (Dominic Cooper).

The film explains very well the character and persona of Georgiana, focusing not only on her internal emotional struggles and her horrible, difficult marriage, but also in the public's perception of her, her feisty personality which made her a very likable and influential woman, and her status as a fashion icon in the late eighteenth century.

The film is very well-made; all the technical aspects seem to have been dealt with in a very meticulous way, which definitely produced excellent results. But it is still far from becoming a classic. Keira Knightley's rendition of Georgiana is beautiful and heart-breaking, she has been one of my favorite actresses for the past few years and her interpretation here is very far from letting me down. Ralph Fiennes, also (and very expectedly, I might add) is absolutely marvelous, I find he has a taste for playing very odious characters (Amon Goeth on Schindler's List, Lord Voldemort on the Harry Potter series), and his character truly deserves all the hatred in the world, but his work is absolutely flawless. The costumes are magnificent, and I could watch the movie again for that reason only. In short, The Duchess is an overall enjoyable piece.

My rating: 7/10

IMDb rating: 7.0/10

Ladri di Biciclette

[The Bicycle Thieves]

Director: Vittorio de Sica

Writer: Cesare Zavattini et al.

Based on the novel by Luigi Bartolini

Year: 1948

Country: Italy

Disclaimer: There is an ongoing debate about the proper translation of the title of this film into English. The Bicycle Thieves is the exact literal conversion from the Italian 'ladri di biciclette', yet The Bicycle Thief (singular) is the one that has been more widely used since the film was released in 1948. For accuracy purposes, I will stick with the former version.

Regarded as one of the most influential films of all time, Vittorio de Sica's Ladri di Biciclette is a poignant portrait of the harsh conditions of life in post WWII Rome. Using non-professional actors for the main roles, de Sica delivers a deeply moving and highly thought-provoking representation of the reality of working class people in Italy struggling to survive in a period marked by a depressed economy and poor standards of living.

The film begins with Antonio Ricci (Lamberto Maggiorani), a man in charge of supporting a wife and two children, who has recently been hired to hang up posters around the city on the very specific condition that he must have a bike. "No bike, no job" he is told by one of his superiors. Therefore, when this possession upon which his income and subsistence now depend is stolen, he immediately goes to the police for help. When he is dismissed by them, and realizes they will take no part in assisting in the search for his bike, he sets out with his oldest son Bruno (Enzo Staiola) to find it themselves.

Ladri di Biciclette is in more than one way a truly heartbreaking film. Considered the quintessential gem of neorealist cinema, it presents an objective reality unadorned by optimism, and plays with the contrasts between rich and poor, honest and dishonest, fair and unjust, and so on and so forth. When the honorable Antonio sees himself forced to transform into that which he shuns, the film demonstrates that, in the quest for survival, man will go as far as to leave his own principles aside for the sake of subsistence, and that no amount of humiliation matters when the core purpose is to find a way to put food on the table for your family.

My rating: 9/10

IMDb rating: 8.4/10

Sabrina

Director: Billy Wilder

Writer: Billy Wilder

Based on the play by Samuel A. Taylor

Year: 1954

Country: US

Sabrina Fairchild (Audrey Hepburn) is the beautiful but tomboy-ish daughter of the Larraby family's chauffeur (John Williams). Eternally in love with the younger of the Larraby boys, David (William Holden), she is disappointed again and again by his failure to notice her and his constant escapades with the stunning girls that frequent the family's fancy dinners and balls. After spending some time in Paris attending a culinary school, Sabrina returns transformed into an extremely sophisticated, assertive, and gorgeous woman, and is finally able to capture the attention of her long-time love.

Upon realizing this, Linus (Humphrey Bogart), David's pragmatic older brother, tries to make Sabrina fall in love with himself instead, so that David is free to marry a young woman and therefore can seal an important business deal with her family. However, while trying to conquer Sabrina's heart, Linus inevitably falls in love with her in a genuine way, creating a love triangle between these three people.

While Sabrina is certainly not my favorite Audrey Hepburn film, it is absolutely enjoyable, and perfect for quiet evenings at home. The crisp black and white photography is a stunner, and is sure to captivate many of you. Of course, there are also the many Givenchy dresses worn by Sabrina throughout the movie after her return from France, and these are all delightful to look at, especially in Audrey Hepburn, one of the most unquestionably gorgeous women of all time (and one of my favorite actresses, too!).

My rating: 7/10

IMDb rating: 7.8/10

On the next Film Junkie: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised (first documentary covered!), Hannah and Her Sisters, Broadway Danny Rose.

Ice Cream at the Park

2009-09-14T18:29:00.003-04:00

A scene that made me smile...

Enjoying Nature in Black and White

2009-09-13T19:25:00.003-04:00

It seems now that the general response to the template change of this blog is positive! Even those of you who reacted a bit negatively at first seem to have changed your minds for the most part, and I am glad because I have grown to love this very much! So, that settles it, this new template is staying.

This photo is from Central Park, of course, a few weeks ago. I really like the striking contrast at the top of the trees, the glimpses of the sky... I believe I was sitting on the lawn when I made this one.

The Art of Joe Mangrum

2009-09-13T00:02:00.004-04:00

Isn't this just beautiful? I don't think I had seen anything like it before. To learn more about the artist, click here.

I am very sick right now. The weather was awful on Friday, very rainy and windy, so my body, still accustomed to the tropical atmosphere in which I was brought up, cannot usually stand this sudden climatic changes... and now I have a terrible cold :(

Pedicabs and Odd Sights

2009-09-10T23:23:00.002-04:00

Another Puppy

2009-09-09T00:33:00.004-04:00

Every time I see this photo, I fall more and more in love with it... It speaks to me about something that has always been very important and central to my life: friends and family. The little boy and his sidekick, the mother holding hands with her daughters, the many faces in the background communicating with one another in some form or other... There's something feel-good about this image... and something strangely melancholy.

I don't know if you guys remember a post I did back when the month of August was just starting... about how much I wanted exciting things to happen, dramatic events that changed my world entirely... Well... I guess I should warn you to be careful with what you wish for... I am now getting exactly what I wanted and much, much more... My life has become crazy and unpredictable in a very stimulating and beautiful way... I don't know how it happened, but all that excitement I was craving is finally here, and I am savoring it completely...

I've Never Been Much of a Dog Person

2009-09-07T19:59:00.002-04:00

But these two puppies hiding from the sun under that bench sure make me wish I could take one of them home!

Enjoy the Music

2009-09-06T22:22:00.008-04:00

Ahh, it seems most of you do not like the template change, which is unfortunate since it is starting to grow on me a little. I'll give it a week, and then I'll make up my mind. Please continue leaving your feedback! I am taking all of your opinions very seriously (you can see I did the same when I wanted to change the blog's name and ended up leaving it since not one of you was enthusiastic about me giving it a new one), your thoughts are very important!

Anyway, I made these photos a week ago at Central Park South. I was hanging out with my friend Pooja that day. We enjoyed the nice music for a while, and talked about a million things... I remember none of us had gotten much sleep so, at one point, we decided to take a nap on the lawn. I go to Columbus Circle regularly to listen to the bands that are always playing there. I go so often, I recognize many different ones already, and I notice when some of them stop playing, or when they come back after a long time. This one is probably my favorite one, they have something that most other jazz ensembles there lack: trumpets and cornets (which in this case are usually played simultaneously by the same guy). For some strange reason I cannot seem to understand, most contemporary jazz bands resolve to just have a saxophone... And, perhaps it is only a matter of taste, but, to me, a huge part of the soul of jazz relies on its brass instruments. Because, really, you cannot replace this (skip to 1:30 and you'll see what I mean) with anything in this world.

Jekyll & Hyde: From London to NYC

2009-09-06T01:44:00.010-04:00

Note: As you can see, I am experimenting a bit with the blog's template and layout... These changes might only be temporary as I am not yet loving them completely, though the size of the photos seems to me to be reason enough to keep them... Your opinions would be greatly appreciated!

The Jekyll and Hyde Club, which derives its name from the popular novella The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson, is a famous spot in New York City filled with odd artifacts and all sorts of scary paraphernalia. Sometimes I see its eccentric limo around the city, and I finally decided to capture it this time, though the first attempt brought a little unexpected surprise.

I have never been to this club, and I absolutely refuse to go. I have passed by the outside of the one on 5th Avenue, and that's the closest I will ever get to it... I hate horror/spooky anything, so a venue dedicated to this sort of things is definitely the last place where I ever wish to be.

One of My Favorite Manhattan Neighborhoods: The East Village

2009-09-05T03:13:00.005-04:00

On a Hot July Afternoon

2009-09-04T00:31:00.007-04:00

When Time Seemingly Stops in San Diego

2009-09-02T19:00:00.006-04:00

See a similar photo to the third one here.

Not Quite Finished with the California Shots

2009-09-01T00:26:00.004-04:00

On the same day I went to Santa Monica and made that photo of the jazz singer, there were also two abortion rallies meeting simultaneously and advocating for completely opposing sides: pro-choice and pro-life.

In the first two photographs, you see a man from the pro-life band holding a camcorder. He grew increasingly menacing and invading, taunting the pro-choice people, and making arguments in the name of God. Eventually, the cops intervened and asked him to step back since he was harassing these people. He repeatedly denied any wrongdoing on his part.

Both parties began walking along the 3rd Street Promenade, their constituents almost mixing with one another, it was hard to distinguish whom belonged to which side, except for those carrying banners. The pro-choice people were honoring Dr. George Tiller, whom had recently been shot by an anti-abortion activist. The pro-life people carried posters with gruesome, bloody images of lifeless fetuses, which I found distasteful and even disrespectful considering this street is filled with restaurants where people eat outside, and where many parents go with their kids... Imagine explaining to them what it is they were seeing in those very graphic pictures. But maybe that was the idea.

All across the street there are shops and more informal street vendors, many times people who want to inform passersby about different topics, such as the Muslim girl on the last two photos, who was selling books about Islam. Since the moment I saw her, something about her captivated me, and once the protesters caught up with us, I couldn't help but wonder what went through her mind as she saw this... Not even after scrutinizing her expression in all the photographs I took, have I been able to decipher it.

Still In Disbelief

2009-08-31T00:27:00.001-04:00

Remember this entry I posted back in March this year? I'll post the picture here again:

Can you believe this is the exact same place... only four months later?

Nature is truly something to wonder at... I shot this on a day out with my younger brother and his friends some time in July...

Have a happy week :)

When Some Days Become Unforgettable, Final Part

2009-08-29T22:59:00.003-04:00

Click here for the first part.

So, Yumna and I went to the venue where the event would be taking place. When she first told me about it, though I promptly agreed to go, I had no idea what an iftar was; she explained that during the month of Ramadan (which began last Friday), many Muslims gather to break their fast eating together after sundown, this is what iftar means. We were to volunteer at this particular one, which was a little more formal since there were special guests and honorees.

Within minutes of arriving there, we began to set up tables and serve food before everyone arrived. A few people were already occupying their seats, including a thirteen or fourteen year old boy who didn't seem to mind at all taking four or five pictures of me while I set up the table where he and his family were sitting. A big Turkish guy was in charge of all the volunteers, and though at first I found him to be unnecessarily impatient and slightly rude, I laughed it off with my friend and soon forgot all about it. The two of us carried a big tray holding many bowls of lentil soup together to leave them at the tables, but at some point she was called to do something else, leaving me and the gigantic tray alone. "Mashallah, sister, you're learning!" said the big Turkish guy once I successfully managed to lift it up and walk away with it by myself.

After our work was done, the other person in charge of the volunteers, a very kind man from Yemen, urged Yumna and me to eat dinner with the other guests. Soon after we sat down, a man began reciting the Adhan, a call to prayer. Then an old man took over the stage to pray, and the audience repeated his words. I felt myself smiling when I realized that this man's prayer could easily be that of a Catholic priest; being grateful to God (or in this case, Allah), declaring belief in only that God, shunning evil, asking forgiveness, it's all extremely similar. I told my friend this. And I found it very beautiful.

We left at around 9 at night, and I thanked my friend for asking me to come with her, because it was a truly memorable and heartwarming experience. Back at her house, we began talking about all sorts of things; boys, religion, love, boys, books, history, TV shows, funny anecdotes, music, boys... and we did not realize how much time had passed by until her family came down to the kitchen to eat and pray before the sunrise, at around 4:30 in the morning. We made a simple omelette to share, and she had me try a Malaysian paratha, which I simply fell in love with. I like to make culturally insensitive jokes to my friend all the time (such as saying nonsensical things such as barabara haalla hala whenever I hear stuff in Arabic), so I kept threatening that I was going to creepily watch her while she prayed. Don't worry, I didn't.

We were finally finished with all our stories at 6:30 in the morning, and we resolved to go to sleep.

There is something so special about this past Tuesday, everything that happened was a beautiful, lovely experience, and it was filled with contrasts. Spending time with an old friend who reminded me of all the amazing things from my country and my culture, someone who gets me... And then spending time with a newer friend learning about a people and a part of the world that are so different from me... only to realize how endlessly much we have in common... It was a day of learning, of teaching, of helping, of loving... And I am just very thankful for it, and very determined to make it happen more often.

When Some Days Become Unforgettable, First Part

2009-08-28T20:07:00.001-04:00

I arrived at Penn Station at around 10:30 in the morning on Tuesday, filled with the excitement and the expectation invading my body since last Wednesday, when a message I received at night announced that one of my closest friends from Venezuela, someone whom I had not seen in five years, would be in Manhattan for a few days.

I was carrying a large bag storing some clothes and other things inside, since I would be spending the night with another friend, after we attended this special event in Brooklyn for which we signed up as volunteers.

But first, I went to Central Park South to breathe and reflect for a while, I still had two hours before meeting my Venezuelan friend. I bought a strawberry/orange/pineapple smoothie and sat on a low wall, contemplating the beautiful world around me... A little girl sitting before me and her mom were feeding birds with pieces of bread directly taken from the sandwiches they were eating; Cónchale, pero let it eat! would say the little girl to the pigeons when they would get in the way of smaller birds, in a very comical and completely unconscious demonstration of Spanglish.

Soon enough it was noon, and I called my friend to ask her where she was. She and her family were walking toward Times Square. I rode the subway to 42nd Street and exited the station. I began marching to the place where she said they would be. As I spotted her, her mom, her sister, and her aunt in the distance, I felt myself smiling uncontrollably. I crossed the street and I could see her, María C, looking for me unsuccessfully. Once our eyes met, we both jumped at each other and embraced for an eternity. When we separated, and I looked at her face, I saw her eyes had become teary, and I realized mine had, too.

"You look so beautiful!" was the first thing I managed to say. And we hugged again.

She is the friend from Venezuela, in addition to my best friend whom has visited me three times, that I have seen in the four years and eight months I have been living in the United States. So, besides the tremendous joy from seeing a close friend once again, there is also that unexplainable excitement from having someone who speaks exactly like I do, someone who can tell me stories about the town where I used to live, someone who can tell me about old friends... Everything was a decisive reminder of why I wish to return one day so badly.

We conversed for hours, and hours, and hours; remembering old events, explaining our current situations, discussing the elusive future. And it felt just like in the past, as if the years had not gone by, as if I had never really left Venezuela and we had seen each other last only the day before, as if we had just been picking up our conversation wherever we left off not too long ago.

She has always been one of the people I admire the most; not only is she a stunning woman, but she is also immensely intelligent, determined, dedicated, hard-working, compassionate, and sensible. I love this girl.

A little after 6, we met with my friend Yumna. Earlier last week, we had signed up to volunteer at an iftar taking place in Brooklyn, so it was time to say goodbye to María C. I wished her a nice travel for the next day. I told her how incredibly happy I was to have seen her, and I told her that she has always been one of the most special and important people to me. We hugged for a long while, and this time a few small tears ran down our faces, but they quickly disappeared, we were just too happy.

María C and Rita - Photo by Yumna :)

To be continued tomorrow...

something twice lived

2009-08-21T18:32:00.004-04:00

Some gigantic flowers...

When I was twelve or thirteen, I started reading the Diary of Anne Frank, but for some reason, I never got around to finishing it. A few weeks ago, I was talking to my best friend, who is in Venezuela, and she said she had read it recently and asked me how I liked it, she was very surprised when I told her I never read the entire thing, and she asked me to read it soon so we could talk about it. So, last weekend, I picked up my old copy from one of my bookshelves, and opened it. I found a bookmark my sister had made for me inside the last page I had read six or seven years ago. I took it out and started to read from the beginning.

I finished two or three days later. And, as I went along, I kept thinking over and over again; 'I'm so happy I am reading this now, at this age.' Somehow, this book taught me something about patience, about gratitude to and for life, about many other things... And I am just very glad. It's one of those things that come to your life at exactly the right moment. I guess it's very easy to dismiss all of what I am saying by asking; What does a nineteen-year-old girl from Venezuela in the year 2009 could possibly have in common with a thirteen/fifteen-year-old girl hiding in Holland during World War II? Well, it isn't about the circumstances or the context, but about what she feels as a girl, and about that connection that goes beyond anyone's particular situation in life... And, I don't know, I guess I am just really happy about this.

falling asleep

2009-08-20T02:35:00.016-04:00

durmiendo.

soñando.

Suddenly I find myself desiring to be infinite for just a day. The things I would give for such a feeling. And the things I would do during those moments of guaranteed glory.

Today has been a day of love for imaginary or entirely subjective reasons. But that does not matter. It matters very little.

Tonight I feel renewed, refreshed, ready for anything. And it's lovely.

Patriotism by Yukio Mishima, First Part

2009-08-18T23:14:00.005-04:00

Ahh, even though I loved this entry very much, I realized, as I wrote the second part, that the discussion was far too long and complicated for this blog... So, I've decided to delete this post and maintain the other one unpublished.

No One Does It Like You - Department of Eagles

2009-08-16T12:38:00.007-04:00

It's been a while since the last time I shared any music here. This song is by the band Department of Eagles, and I have been playing it non-stop for weeks. The video itself is very cool, too, though I didn't bother to look up more information about it.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this song as I much as I do.

Film Junkie IX

2009-08-14T22:56:00.005-04:00

¿Qué He Hecho Yo para Merecer Esto!

[What Have I Done to Deserve This?!]

Director: Pedro Almodóvar

Writer: Pedro Almodóvar

Year: 1984

Country: Spain

One of Almodóvar's earliest films, ¿Qué He Hecho Yo para Merecer Esto! (What Have I Done to Deserve This?!) explores the life of Gloria (Carmen Maura), a terribly frustrated housewife who is constantly struggling to make ends meet among a very dysfunctional family featuring a husband who longs for a lost love, a fourteen-year-old son who sells drugs, a twelve-year-old who openly maintains homosexual relationships with older men, and a stingy mother-in-law who refuses to ever share her food. Highly experimental and filled with irreverence throughout the plot, this film is an Almodóvar classic, and in an innovative way exposes some truths of family life in 1980s Madrid. Granted, there are exaggerations and eccentricities characteristic of all Almodóvar films, but just like the rest of his work, it never fails to connect emotionally with the audience, and it explains beautifully the ways of these outlandish characters, gaining, thus, the viewers' empathy, if not just their understanding.

My rating: 7/10

IMDb rating: 7.2/10

The Visitor

Director: Thomas McCarthy

Writer: Thomas McCarthy

Year: 2007

Country: US

When Walter Vale (Richard Jenkins), a university professor in Connecticut, arrives in his appartment in Manhattan for a series of lectures he is scheduled to deliver in New York University, he is shocked to find a young couple living in the place. Tarek (Haaz Sleiman) and Zainab (Danai Gurira), immigrants from Syria and Senegal respectively, have been renting this place from a swindler who claimed it as his. Though they are prompt to pack their things and leave, Walter decides they can stay for as long as they need, and from this point on, a friendship begins to develop, albeit slowly and awkwardly.

Tarek teaches Walter how to play the djembe, something that helps them connect to one another. After playing in Washington Square Park one day, Tarek is wrongfully arrested for jumping the subway turnstile, and is taken to a detention center in Queens. It is soon discovered that he is an undocumented immigrant and must be deported. Walter, Zainab, and Mouna (Hiam Abbass), Tarek's mother, must now do all in their power to prevent him from being returned to Syria.

This film does a splendid job not only in portraying a very real and very delicate issue such as deportation, but also in conveying more abstract ideas such as human connections, trust, open-mindedness, and even love. One of the things I found most poignant in The Visitor was the way in which it showcased the idea of finding a way out of loneliness and misery in the most unexpected of situations, in the most unexpected of places, in the most unexpected people. I love it when contemporary films can evoke the essence of current events faithfully while also maintaining a clear artistic vision, and this film sets the standard very high in that sense.

My rating: 8.5/10

IMDb rating: 7.9/10

The Kite Runner

Director: Marc Forster

Writer: David Benioff

Based on the novel by Khaled Hosseini

Year: 2007

Country: US

Amir (Zekeria Ebrahimi) is a well-to-do boy in Afghanistan prior to the Soviet invasion. His servant Hassan (Ahmad Khan Mahmoodzada) is also his best friend and loyal companion. He is constantly bullied by Assef (Elham Ehsas), a neighbor boy, for the sole reason of being a Hazara, a different ethnic group from that of Amir and Assef. Amir and Hassan participate in the highly anticipated kite fighting competition, which they finally win, thanks to Amir's skills. Hassan decides to put his impressive kite-running abilities to use, and promptly sets out to bring the winning kite back to its rightful owner.

The day Amir and Hassan win the competition, Amir secretly witnesses the moment in which Assef beats and rapes Hassan, but cannot bring himself to intervene and defend him. Amir then, filled with guilt and shame, distances himself from Hassan and goes even as far as to ask his father to dismiss Hassan and his father from their house. Eventually, due to the political situation of the country, Amir and his father flee to the United States.

Years later, an adult Amir (Khalid Abdalla) receives a call from an old family friend asking him to return to Afghanistan as soon as possible for there is an urgent matter he must take care of. Amir complies and is astonished at what he finds in Afghanistan, and how dramatically everything has changed since his days as a boy in Kabul.

The Kite Runner is a story about guilt, duty, courage, and loyalty. The character of Amir is at times despicable and at others pitiable, and his development within the story is very emotionally reaching. I read the book in which this movie is based before, and I found the adaptation to be superb, taking into account the limitations that making a book into a film implicates, but I know that many others might disagree with me in that sense. Overall, I think it is certainly worth a look. If anything, let it be just to hear the magnificent soundtrack by Alberto Iglesias.

My rating: 8/10

IMDb rating: 7.8/10

On the next Film Junkie: The Duchess, The Bicycle Thief, and Sabrina.

the human plant at venice, california

2009-08-08T18:18:00.007-04:00

That day my mom and my step-dad were telling me how, not too long ago, when they were walking to one of their friends' house in Venice, a man disguised as a plant scared them tremendously by randomly popping out of nowhere in a deserted street.

We were walking across the popular boardwalk in Venice, and we saw the man in question. A crowd would gather around him in wonder once he came out, then would slowly dissipate, and once everyone was gone, some unlucky passerby would be surprised by this mysterious plant suddenly lifting himself up and talking.

I could never make out the words he was saying, but his manner of speaking was quite unique... like he was somewhere else and not quite there.

a ride on the 2

2009-08-06T21:18:00.008-04:00

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Kareen Williams, I'm a widow raising two kids on my own. I was recently laid off from my job. If you could be so kind to help us, please. Please, help us. Have a heart. Enjoy your trip, and have a nice day. God bless you. Please. Have a heart. God bless you."

I've seen her a few times already on the subway, and it's always the same story, the same speech. But I hadn't seen her in about two months, and today, as she began her recitation, I couldn't help but feel that characteristic skepticism the moment she said the word 'recently' –I understand it is fairly open-ended and its connotations are relative– because six months ago, she had said the same thing.

I noticed she always stands in front of me, not purposely, of course, but it's happened a few times. Today I looked at her, perhaps more intently than I have in the past. She carries a bag in one hand, and an old, dirty polyethylene cup in the other. She doesn't look too disheveled or desperate; her face is healthy enough, her clothes are fine. So, I wonder what her real situation is, how her life is at home. And I half-doubt her statements, and I wonder if she is really telling the truth. A dozen rosaries and Christian charms hang from her bag, and a bracelet with images of the saints adorns her right wrist. The only thing that seems to indicate any misfortune is that dirty cup she uses to beg. I realize that I don't look her in the eye, save for a second or two. I know I have no change, and I don't want to feel obligated by her eyes of which I only noticed the blue color.

I look to my right, away from her. Everyone in the cart, all of us who heard the speech are looking down. No one dares to look up, no one wants to meet her gaze, or that of the other people sitting around, the situation is shameful enough as it is.

“Please. Please. Have a heart. God bless you.”

Two or three people reach out to give her some spare change. She hurries to them and receives it. I don’t remember if she said thank you. Perhaps she did.

“God bless you. God bless you,” was all I heard, said with so little strength or conviction that I’m still trying to decipher if there was indifference in her voice, a pitiable attempt at playing with our consciences, or just sheer hopelessness. That poor woman.

She continued moving forward, advancing to the next cart, same speech, same routine, same reaction, same everything. And then what happens?

august

2009-08-01T02:03:00.002-04:00

And so begins the eighth month of the year... This August already feels special, many meaningful events for me will be taking place in the days to come, and I am unusually expectant about how all will unfold.

In a few days it will be the first year since I started to live by myself, and in ten days, my nineteenth birthday, the very first one I will spend without any family, and that particular bit has me a little unsure about how I will feel and even about how I will celebrate... A day after, my summer class will end, and then I will have two weeks of vacation during which I would like to take a short road trip... I'm still figuring out the details about that. And then, finally, towards the very last days of the month, my second year of university will begin... Just like that...

I am in one of those moods in which you just sort of feel like waiting for something to happen, something big, something exciting. I want something good and surprising to take place, the sooner the better, something that affects me dramatically, more or less. I'm not sure why it is that I wish for something like that so badly, but it's the way things are with me right now. I'm craving excitement, a stimulant rush, and I'm not feeling patient enough to just wait... How do you even wait for something like this? A little frustrating if you think about it.

But I suppose I have no other option... I'll go with the flow... looking for that excitement wherever it hides... Or waiting for it to find me.

venice, california

2009-07-28T13:05:00.007-04:00

Venice is an area of Los Angeles known for its vibrant artistic community, its canals, and a very peculiar boardwalk filled with all sorts of eccentric characters and shops. It is the only place in the US where I have seen people smoking pot so openly, and there are many legal marijuana advocates concentrated there. I find Venice to be a nice place to spend the day, but it's not the type of environment where I would like to live; it strikes me as slightly aggressive and stressful, and I'm more into laid-back spots.

Today I finally had a decent conversation with a person that I have been wanting to talk to for a while, since I find his life story so endlessly fascinating. Perhaps in the future I will share some more about him, but, right now, I just want to learn as much from him as I can. I have discovered that many of the things he has already done in his life are exactly what I dream of doing in mine. I think he will be the person I will turn to whenever my goals seem unattainable or impossible, he'll be a reminder that it has already been done, and that it can be done again. Isn't it nice to chance upon this kind of people? :)

siento que cambio...

2009-07-27T16:45:00.004-04:00

Today I feel like I am evolving somehow, somewhat... Transforming very slowly into a fresh version of myself. Who could explain why this occurs? The only thing I'm sure of is that I needed this transition, and I am welcoming it most eagerly.

Yesterday I found some old journals of mine, from three years ago. I sat down and read one of them for a very long time, and I was amazed at how vividly each word evoked exactly each emotion I had felt during those times that I describe there. It seems to me that I was perhaps a much better writer then, you can feel the passion bursting out of those pages, it is impossible to not feel captured by it, and yet I feel exceedingly strange saying those things about myself... But the Me who wrote those things and the Me of today seem very different.

One thing struck me above all else while I read; my blind faith in God. I have never been a religious person, but I have been, for the most part, very spiritual throughout my life. For me, to disagree with most policies and traditions of the Roman Catholic Church does not mean that I reject the idea of God completely. I believe that there are many religions in this world because there exist many ways to reach that superior being that some of us call God, and some of us call Allah, and some of us call many other things.

For the past two years, I had been struggling emotionally with all these concepts of religion. The skeptical part of me overtook my thoughts, and I began to doubt immensely all that had seemed so natural to me in the past. For short periods of time, I was convinced that there was absolutely no way that there could be some form of spiritual being watching over us here on earth, that it was impossible that there could be life after this life and that, after the moment of our death, there could be nothing else.

But something in me always prevented me from assimilating these notions entirely, and the result was that I became torn between believing and not believing. And how terribly this mortified me. Eventually, I decided that something had to exist, but that there was no way anyone could prove this; I identified with the concept of agnostic theism. And that's how it was a for an extended amount of time.

But recently, and very gradually, my old sentiments have been returning, bringing back that old, familiar sense of peace that very rarely left me in the past. I don't know what changed, what made me change, but I pray more, and I am having, once again, those conversations I used to always have with God or however you want to call Him (or Her). And I am glad. Still the intensity of my feelings is not as strong as it was when I wrote in that journal I was reading last night, but I am getting closer, and I find that relieving.

I do not know much about the religion I was raised in, or any religion for that matter, and I do not need to. If the prayers I recite are Catholic it is because I chanced to be born in a Catholic home, but I would be just as happy if they were Jewish or Muslim or Buddhist or Hindu. To me, what is important is to feel connected to that which is out there and within us at the same time, and to see it in the faces of every person around us and in ourselves.

"Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love," 1 John 4:8, that is probably the only phrase from the Bible that I know by heart, and the only one I need. It is the reason why I believe; God is love, and to me, if love exists, then so does God.

I write this here because I needed to, to share, as usual. Please do not think of me as one who is now trying to have you agree with her. I support any belief as long as it satisfies you and your life, I don't believe in one pathway to Heaven, or in any established dogma, but I do believe, once again, that there is something, that He is here and everywhere, and that He has given me the chance to live for something very important and something very beautiful. I am happy.

a photographic issue

2009-07-26T21:33:00.003-04:00

The first two photos are from Old Town San Diego, and the last one was taken at some beach there, too. I took many pictures in California, but I doubt I will continue uploading many of them here. Like I've been telling you before, if you want to see more, go to my Flickr account.

I'm having some issues with my photography. See, my 'mission' has always been to portray life as it is, to make beautiful artistic pictures from a journalistic approach, to show stories and emotions, to celebrate this world. In other words, and as you have very likely noticed, I never use models, or staged concepts (it does not mean I never will, I just don't do it now), and since my work is not about a consistent aesthetic vision, the result is that, if you look at all my photos, you will see that they are anything but cohesive, and that is bothering me now. You see, I treat each picture as an individual, and unlike many photographers, I do not edit them to make them look stylistically similar to the rest, but I try to bring out the special and unique qualities that will make it express what I see in it the best. Sometimes I will work in small series, and that is usually what you can observe in my posts; two or three photos that are relatively similar because they were shot in the same area or around a same idea. Do I make any sense?

To illustrate my point, I will offer a few links of photographers I have found through Flickr who have very consistent styles:

With just one look at their first pages, you can immediately tell that each collection was put together by one person. I don't think anyone would get that feeling from mine, and though it had never bothered me, it is starting to make me feel so unbelievably frustrated now. I like the freedom with which I work on every picture, but I want there to be harmony in my art. What do I do!?

Ah, I would really love to hear your opinions on this matter.

2009-07-23T21:02:00.002-04:00

Perhaps it is due to the fact that, lately, whenever I find myself staring at this very screen, waiting for words to fill the empty space that stares back at me, I discover the ideas in my mind to be rather cluttered and unclear and unlikely to make any sense.

But tonight may be different, so I am looking at this screen, once again, determined to write sense and find my way out of this most bothersome spell that has made me unproductive and unpardonably boring, in the world of writing, at least.

But, where to begin? I feel the clutter again. Seconds, and minutes, and hours, and days, and weeks, and months of experience are floating all about my brain and my heart, many moments fighting to catch my attention, asking, begging, imploring; Pick me, pick me, they say. Talk about me, But if I talk about you, I must talk about the others so you can be understood, I say. And tonight I don't feel like providing explanations.

So I won't.

Perhaps I will summarize all in one sentence, that life is beautiful. So many times I have felt that what I live is a dream, that nothing is real at all, but the mundanity of all around me reaffirms what I sometimes venture to doubt; this is it, this is my life. And such a simple thought has become a source of such incalculable joy, more than any individual experience I can recall, because it is precisely this collection of experiences and memories, the addition of all that happened, and happens, and will happen one day what excites me so much, what inspires me so much, what melts my heart and makes me feel almost like flying and lets me know every instant that I am so fortunate.

It is good to know this.

Nothing that would seem extraordinary has occurred, there have not been too many events worth of recounting these days, at least I know most folks would feel that way. And yet I feel so satisfied... so blessed... I am patiently living through each day, and carelessly exploring new delights, and waiting with eager serenity for what is to come. To see, to know how the days unfold.

It is a beautiful thing to know.

bárbara's backyard

2009-07-12T00:47:00.002-04:00

pathway of the sun, san diego

2009-07-11T03:07:00.002-04:00

old town san diego

2009-07-10T01:01:00.003-04:00

more back alleys

2009-07-08T16:49:00.003-04:00

Guys! I know I've been a horrible blogger, I am sorry. I am back home in NJ, so things here should get back on track from now on. I have many pictures from California waiting to be uploaded, but since I've been slacking so much, I will only select a few of them to share here. If you're curious to see more, I really encourage you to visit my Flickr, there are way more photos there already, most of which you haven't seen.

This one is from Santa Monica, one of my favorite places in Southern California. As I have noted in the past, I'm really into back alleys, so, of course I shot a few more of those.

I promise I'll be back soon with many new stories. Thank you for not abandoning me! :D

more from flickr

2009-07-07T16:28:00.002-04:00

1. rumo ao sul by Fah! 2. what the hell, let's levitate. by Juliet Home 3. As if to say by IrenaS 4. The Light Focuser by thelightgatherer 5. untitled by KellieAnneF 6. untitled by laura taylor. 7. IMG_0136 by TtekcorBNavE* 8. untitled by Skacco 9. a pricking of silence. 46/365 by advertising amy 10. Pedro Almodóvar, 1986 by Lemmy Caution 11. dismembered 17/365 by advertising amy 12. untitled by i like it! what is it? 13. untitled by laura taylor. 14. Luli by [aktrisa Anya] 15. untitled by [] bichito [] 16. x by csaba brindza unknown hungarian photographer 17. From the Hip {Four} by Shelby Nycole 18. 1913 Rita de Acosta Lydig by Sacheverelle 19. Mis chapitas *-) by This is how it goes... 20. y ahora qué? by nussita. 21. Nairobi. Kenia. 2009 by Gonzalo Pereira Puchy 22. Stand By by This is how it goes... 23. Falling Up by nikki.jane 24. jóvenes y sexys by .flo* 25. OH! NENA by .flo* 26. oh! nena by .flo* 27. oh! nena by .flo* 28. Reader by guigalessaphoto** 29. Brazil, RJ by guigalessaphoto** 30. Ice Cream by guigalessaphoto** 31. Prop 8 protest_166 32. He's so cute it makes ya sick! by TtekcorBNavE* 33. January 27, 2007 - FREE HUGS in Paris, France. by PutYourFlareOn 34. reading books. by mirjan 35. 9. Books. & frankie. by Karin Elizabeth 36. Daily routine by [aktrisa Anya]

Take a special look at:

1. rumo ao sul by Fah!
3. As if to say by IrenaS
10. Pedro Almodóvar, 1986 by Lemmy Caution
13. untitled by laura taylor.
18. 1913 Rita de Acosta Lydig by Sacheverelle
22. Stand By by This is how it goes...
24. jóvenes y sexys by .flo*
30. Ice Cream by guigalessaphoto**
32. He's so cute it makes ya sick! by TtekcorBNavE*
34. reading books. by mirjan

*Bloggers mentioned:

Evan - Photos about Nothing

Flo - Mi Diario Íntimo

**Friends mentioned:

G. Lessa

bubblegum experimenting

2009-07-04T22:10:00.001-04:00

the santa monica crooner

2009-06-27T03:28:00.003-04:00

And what a beautiful voice he has, and such a sweet disposition... Brightens everyone's spirits.

...

Many things are being said on the subject, and though what I can contribute is not much, I do want to take a moment to mention the topic that has been on everyone's mind since yesterday afternoon; the death of Michael Jackson. Few names come to my mind when thinking of someone as iconic; Elvis, The Beatles, and that's about it. There was a person who revolutionized the music world, his manner of singing, his powerful voice, his inimitable dance moves... The magnitude of his legacy is something to wonder at, his music touched every corner of the world. I know he lives and will continue living in the heart of millions on earth for many, many years to come, the memory of him will survive as an immortal legend, and his songs will never be buried in the forgotten. There will never be another Michael Jackson, he was, he is, and he will always be the King of Pop.

i need immensity

2009-06-25T04:29:00.004-04:00

I know, I know I've been a lousy blogger, that I have been neglecting your blogs, and that I deserve to be punished forever. But, please, forgive me, I shall be back to posting normally soon.

For these and more photos, visit my Flickr.

rita bárbara san diego

2009-06-22T22:31:00.000-04:00

This past Sunday (Fathers' Day), my family and I headed to San Diego to spend the day. Among the things that we did, which I will explain further on a future post, we stopped for about thirty minutes at my mom's friend's place. She is Bárbara, the person in the picture with me, whom my mom has known since college.

I love this picture because I don't think either of us realized when it was taken, and because I cannot decipher the expression on my face. I'm sure I was following perfectly everything she was saying, so why my confused/slightly frowning look? :)

2009-06-13T23:54:00.006-04:00

Photo courtesy of the New York Times - From Getty Images

I just want to express that my thoughts are with the people of Iran. Like your nation, my country is also stuck with inept leaders, and I understand the rage, the fury, and the burning indignation you feel because of the blatant corruption that controls your political system. I just hope the violence of the riots and the civilian/police clashes does not escalate, and that, somehow, it yields more fortunate results. Not one step back.

at the norton simon museum

2009-06-09T00:15:00.001-04:00

The other day I went to the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena with my mom. As you guys can see (and by that I especially mean this guy) she is also very much into the sneaky photos, only she likes to target her unaware daughter while she is quietly contemplating ancient South East Asian sculptures. The light and shakiness make my hair look weird, and my bag (which I stole from my mom) much lighter than it is. Also, I really wish you could see the front of that crazy-pattern short-sleeve jacket I'm wearing there, the buttons are to die for, to die for!!!

I am having a marvelous time here in California. I have enjoyed my family so much, I feel like I have learned so many new things about my mom, and I also feel that, even though she and I have always been best friends, our relationship has grown even stronger if that was possible.

I had never been to the Norton Simon Museum, and this was very much reflected in the fact that I expected to spend about two hours there, but ended up needing five to go through the entire collection. But it was so worth it. The museum hosts an impressive array of South East Asian (mainly from India, but also some Pakistani, Thai, and Indonesian artifacts) sculptures, opaque watercolor illustrations, etc. There is also a vast amount of European paintings from the 14th century up to the 19th century (featuring Boticelli, El Greco, Goya, and Rembrandt, among many others), a remarkable quantity of Degas sculptures and paintings, one of the nicest van Gogh collections I have seen in the US so far, and outstanding pieces from the 20th century (including works by Matisse, Kandinsky, Rivera, Picasso, and Braque). There is also a garden and a pond in the facilities, which proved very nice for a relaxing stroll after absorbing so much information.

The regular fare is $8 for adults (18 and older), but students with an ID get free admission. I think this place is definitely worth a visit, and I plan to return after a few years.

Okay, I have been to many museums in my life, but I think this is hands down the most explicit sculpture I have seen from ancient times. Haha, I love how my mom and I were really far away from each other and she went all the way to where I was so I would come see this. And then we proceeded to discuss how realistic this depiction is. And then we started laughing at our perverted selves.

I think this does not look like Southern California at all. Granted, Pasadena is a bit more of a mountainous area, but still. I really like the cloudy sky, though, and that, no matter where you are, is a rarity in this region.

flickr faves

2009-06-07T15:54:00.000-04:00

For the first part of this series, click here.

1. from sam by doki-doki 2. untitled by [] bichito [] 3. Happy Birthday, by Alejandra Maria 4. Escape from Fairytale Land by nikki.jane 5. a numb withdrawl. 29/365 by advertising amy 6. sterile evacuation. 35/365 by advertising amy 7. the silenced. 36/365 by advertising amy 8. apartment G-203 by iluchka 9. 4 corazones by mariapagancastillo 10. Devin "Jokeman" Smith by Mitch Goddard 11. * by m. ryan 12. cheky from jovenes y sexys by .flo* 13. untitled by Mitch Goddard 14. Senza titolo by Skacco 15. It's a Happy Meidum by Skivvi 16. Auto antiguo by [aktrisa Anya] 17. S'bush_2 by _tumtum_ 18. Waitin...2 by _tumtum_ 19. The Pigeon Lady by _tumtum_ 20. Berliner Dom by _tumtum_ 21. untitled by laura taylor. 22. untitled by laura taylor. 23. a neglected descent. 18/365 24. Andrea by [aktrisa Anya] 25. i cant hear you by advertising amy 26. we reverse time by advertising amy 27. Radio Roots by [aktrisa Anya] 28. nuevo año, nuevos libros by nussita. 29. beautiful day by nussita. 30. Edificio Árbol para Vivir by nussita. 31. watchu gonna do by nussita. 32. hola, qué tal :) by nussita. 33. just us by codePoetG 34. andrea light by jengray 35. Georgian Bay by kweaver2 36. untitled by keepcalmcarryon

Pay particular attention to:

1. from sam by doki-doki

3. Happy Birthday, by Alejandra Maria

8. apartment G-203 by iluchka

15. It's a Happy Medium by Skivvi

19. The Pigeon Lady by _tumtum_

22. untitled by laura taylor.

26. we reverse time by advertising amy

27. Radio Roots by [aktrisa Anya]

33. just us by codePoetG

36. untitled by keepcalmcarryon

Bloggers mentioned:

Flo - Mi Diario Íntimo

inspired by bec wonders

2009-06-03T15:23:00.005-04:00

And since she wrote about some things she wants to do in life, I have been thinking of what I want to do, and this is what I have come up with:

Teach English/Spanish literature or history for a while
Write books in Spanish, translate them into English myself
Work in different countries as a news correspondent
Become a professional photographer
Begin following my impulses more often
Spend next summer traveling throughout Spain and possibly visit Morocco
Translate the most important books of Venezuelan literature into English (because many of them have never been translated)
Sing again
To begin traveling the world and never really stop
Have one or many loves and never really stop loving

Film Junkie Part VIII

2009-06-01T14:19:00.002-04:00

The Purple Rose of Cairo*

Director: Woody Allen

Writer: Woody Allen

Year: 1985

Country: United States

Set in New Jersey during the Great Depression, Woody Allen's The Purple Rose of Cairo is a marvelous film that explores, among other things, the blurry line that separates reality from fantasy. Cecilia (Mia Farrow) is a working class, and rather clumsy, waitress at a local diner. With an unemployed, abusive husband, Monk (Danny Aiello), and hardly any money to get by, Cecilia frequents the movie theater, like so many people during that time, in order to escape from the harsh situation and immerse herself in a happier, far more pleasant, and much less anguishing world. When a new film, The Purple Rose of Cairo, begins showing in town, Cecilia attends a screening every day, feeling particular affinity for the character of Tom Baxter who is played by a promising actor, Gil Shepherd (Jeff Daniels). One afternoon, something very odd happens, as Cecilia is sitting, watching the film with other movie-goers, Tom Baxter suddenly stops saying his regular lines and instead looks at Cecilia from the screen, eventually stepping out of the film, literally, to enter the 'real world' and profess his undying love for her.

From this very unexpected moment, The Purple Rose of Cairo becomes a representation of, among many things, the great battle between reality and fantasy, realism and romanticism, pragmatism and idealism. With the real actor, Gil Shepherd, searching for the now missing Tom Baxter to get him back into the film, Cecilia becomes torn between the two men, who are so similar and different at the same time, while she also tries to escape from her husband. What I love about this film is that it highlights one of the themes I live by: that 'reality' is entirely subjective, that every situation is determined by perspective, and that the only real question is whether we choose to believe or at least assimilate and accept or not. The device of the "film within a film" works to perfection here because it illustrates more dramatically and emphatically this apparent division between truth and perception.

Without revealing much, I will only mention that one of the strongest qualities of this movie is that it showed so well a great irony of life: that sometimes that which seems so real is not entirely so. And that if reality and fantasy are matters of opinion, awareness, and recognition, then it might be better to forget what things 'seem to be' or how they are perceived in general, and just focus on how you feel them, on what they simply are, and decide for yourself if you want to have them around you or not. Because if life is just about perception and perspective, making the real fantastic and the fantastic real is just a matter of opinion, sometimes an unconscious opinion, and assimilating these thoughts and accepting them disregarding what the general consensus seems to be, is perhaps the soundest way to reach happiness.

My rating: 9/10

IMDb rating: 7.6/10

Definitely, Maybe

Director: Adam Brooks

Writer: Adam Brooks

Year: 2008

Country: UK, US, France

I don't want to write much about this film. Why? It's just another romantic comedy out of millions, nothing too memorable about it, except, of course, Rachel Weisz because she is one of the most beautiful women in the world nowadays, I love her, but her role isn't that big. The film is just okay, entertaining for a lazy afternoon with nothing to do, but nothing else. The dialogues are very nice, but they do feel too contrived sometimes, which always bothers me, it feels extremely trendy, even though you know the writers believe their ideas to be completely original, and that, though it should just be pathetic, results more annoying to people like me, who get annoyed easily, especially by pretentious 'I'm right you're wrong and I'll prove it' people.

The only real accomplishment of this movie is that it made me hate Abigail Breslin just a teeny weeny bit less. And I'm even doubting that now, so don't take my words here too seriously. The film is not entirely bad, of all romantic comedies, this is probably one of the lesser-crappy ones. In a few words, it's just all right.

My rating: 6/10

IMDb rating: 7.4/10

The Women

Director: Diane English

Writer: Diane English

Based on the original play by Clare Boothe Luce

& the 1939 screenplay by Anita Loos and Jane Murfin

Year: 2008

Country: United States

Honestly, one of the worst movies I have watched in my life. Of course, you might be wondering, what in the world made me see it in the first place. Well, the truth is that I still haven't been able to quite figure that out myself. I haven't watched the original 1939 version of the The Women, but I actually don't need to in order to know that this one does not do it justice whatsoever. Such a horrible, horrible, horrible, senseless, bland, boring, and stupid script, I don't even know how these things get done.

Truth be told, it made a little sad to see Eva Mendes involved in such a ridiculous project because I like her very much. Her voice even annoyed me every time she spoke. Anyway, I don't need to explain myself further, don't watch this movie, don't make the mistake I made and just go straight to the original 1939 version, it has to be better, it just has to. You're not missing anything from this one; not the great acting, not the memorable soundtrack, not the funny script, because they're just not there. It's horrible, horrible!

My rating: 4/10

IMDb rating: 4.8/10

*I know this particular critique is a bit long, but I think it is the most satisfactory one I have written here so far :)

On the next film junkie: What Have I Done to Deserve This?, The Visitor, and The Kite Runner.

dreamboat

2009-05-31T02:42:00.003-04:00

Dreamboat

Out to sea

Landlovers, he's leaving me

Some day when the sky lies awake

We'll be together in the city again

Dreamboat

Sailing away

Landlovers, hopeless and gray

Someday when the tide is low

You and me, baby

We'll rock back and forth on the waves...

I used to love listening to this song by Eleni Mandell when I first moved to California in 2005... If you hear it (you can play it below), you will not fail to notice the soothing qualities of the sweet melody. But, as is oftentimes the case with me, I loved getting lost not just in the sounds and the rhythm, but the words... These beautiful words... And when I looked at this photo I took a couple days ago, I thought of them for no reason, of this particular bit that I quote above.

I am so happy these days, happy in a melancholy way, and the reasons, in this case, abound... But they are best kept to myself... you're not missing anything too exciting, I promise.

and here i am...

2009-05-30T04:18:00.003-04:00

California dreaming...

guess where i am...

2009-05-28T01:34:00.005-04:00

Not sure if I mentioned I was coming here in the past few posts... Anyway, photos by Y.R. (I was trying to cover my face, the long hair helps)...

I am happy to have a month off before returning for summer school in July... I really just want to chill and rest as much as I can, power up before the next round of classes begins... And I've already started doing just that... There are many things going through my head at this moment... I'll write more when I sort them out in my mind.

this weekend, in short phrases

2009-05-24T21:14:00.005-04:00

Friday:

Falling asleep at around 5AM to wake up three hours later to go to school
Taking the last final of the semester
Having lunch from the chicken guy cart on 53rd and 6th
Listening to a French couple speak, and understanding what they were saying in French
Going to Central Park to enjoy the beautiful sun
Reminding a stranger of a Moroccan girl he hadn't seen in six or seven years
Watching a band of Southern guys playing some nice folk music
Eating an ice cream cone with rainbow sprinkles
Starting to watch Paris When It Sizzles, and falling asleep early without noticing

Saturday:

Waking up at 12PM
Listening to Estopa, Bajofondo, and Café Tacvba
Cleaning my apartment
Waiting for my friends coming at 7PM
Catching up with them and trying to figure out what to eat
Going to the store to buy all sorts of junk food
Preparing some pasta for my lovely guests
Listening to songs from old Indian movies
Saying bye to Huma and hello to Yumna who joined us at 11PM
Looking at old photographs of my family and explaining all the events
That 70s Show on the TV
Trying to not let Pooja sleep
Playing Apples to Apples with What I Like About You playing on the TV
Losing my voice after viciously defending my cards
Eating all the junk food meanwhile
Recording random videos on our Facebook walls
Pooja and Yumna falling asleep on my bed at 5AM
Priya and I watching Y Tu Mamá También with the sun rising
Finishing the movie and falling asleep at 6:30AM

Sunday:

Waking up at 1PM
Having junk food for breakfast
Burning a CD with Estopa songs for Priya
Playing Apples to Apples again with The Flintstones on the TV
Saying bye to Yumna
Giving some books to Priya to read over the summer
Saying goodbye to Pooja and Priya at 4PM
Watching something on the History Channel about Angels & Demons
Falling asleep for an hour
Listening to random music
Beginning to write a short story that has been in my mind for the past two years
Feeling happy about life

yeah yeah yeah

2009-05-22T02:33:00.001-04:00

I forgot that I wanted to share this video a while ago. Maybe some of you have already seen it, but I really love the photography here, really. In my dreams, my photographs look like every frame of this video. Anyway, it's the song Zero by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. I've noticed I tend to love each random song by them that I hear, yet I've never bothered to buy one of their albums or download more songs... Anyway... Enjoy this one, I certainly did. Besides... who doesn't love Karen O?

Also, thank you guys for all the lovely comments on my last post. Reading them makes me very happy and encourages me to go out and keep working on my photography, which, as you know, is something I love doing.

Anyway, today I will have my very last final of the semester, and after that, I will be back to posting more regularly.

more from the insomniac

2009-05-16T20:52:00.007-04:00

Remember how the other day I ventured outside to take photos at 2 or 3 in the morning? A week after that I did the same thing... I hadn't been able to sleep at all, so I went out for a walk... at 5 in the morning... Yeah... Anyway, some of these were taken at the same spot as the one I showed you guys before, while others were some distance away from my home.

Visit my Flickr.

the subtleties of perspective, first part

2009-05-15T21:28:00.008-04:00

I almost died this morning. Though perhaps there might be a degree of exaggeration in that statement. But disregarding all subjectivity, and entering deep within the realm of facts, the simplest truth is that, as I crossed the street on my way to the train station, a speeding police car coming in the opposite direction crashed with a car waiting to turn, and this car spun in the middle of the road to then hit another car waiting to turn... only a few meters away from where I was, and only seconds after I had walked past that space. I hadn't even finished crossing the street, so as soon as the police car collided with the first car and I saw it spinning, I ran so it wouldn't run me over.

The strangest part of all is that this is not the first time I have had this experience. Something relatively similar happened only a few months ago, and only a block away, but that time I wasn't as startled and distressed as I was this morning because the collision had not been nearly as dramatic.

But I kept on walking and tried to get over how upset I was because I had a math final to take at 10, and I had to be there on time. While sitting on the train, I kept thinking about the crash, but my thoughts were replaced by different ones soon enough... Our ability to adapt is tremendous...

And then after my two classes of the day were over, I went to the language lab to make up the last two labs I missed of my French class... So I decided to practice by visiting the Musée d'Orsay webpage and reading everything in français... I took out a notebook to jot down the names of interesting photographers I found on the site, so I don't forget to research more about them later.

Afterwards I went to the library, knowing full well that, today being a Friday, it would be almost completely empty and I would be able to find the quiet I needed to study for my finals next week. There is an older guy that goes to my school (I still can't figure out his age, anywhere between 28 and 40, it's very confusing), whom I regularly see around, sometimes we say hi to each other, but most times we don't. I know nothing about him except that he is foreign (he has a very slight accent) and he usually sits on the same spot... I didn't expect to see him there today, so when I did, my most immediate reaction was to smile to myself... Another guy caught that smile and from then on, continued staring at me with a grin on his face... It was a little awkward, but I ignored him.

I went to eat lunch after a while, and saw one of the most bizarre, funniest, and most puzzling scenes I have witnessed in my life... I don't think I'll go into detail here... But maybe one day on a different post... There is a cultural reference that the majority of you will not immediately understand if I don't explain it, and well, if I explain it the story will lose its charm.

When I was leaving school, I saw a group of guys playing basketball and this thought instantly came to my mind: I need to go to a park on a really hot day and photograh some black guys playing basketball with their shirts off. You have no idea how grateful I am for the fact that thoughts elude political correctness. And then I thought that if I really am going to go through with this, then I must bring someone to shoot alongside me because, that way, we would be two photographers instead of just me being a perverted creeper... and then that phrase came to my mind... the subtleties of perspective.

To be continued... :)

an apology post

2009-05-14T12:09:00.005-04:00

I feel like a terrible blogger these days, and I think I am not the only one around feeling this way, judging by the amount of "apology posts" I've been stumbling upon lately. But here is yet another one of these entries because I really am sorry for the lack of posting and, more than anything, for not having dedicated any time in the past few days to reading any of your wonderful blogs. Finals started this past Monday and I will only be finished on Friday of the following week, so until then, expect little to no posting, unless I can find a way to make some time.

I think I should also let you all know that Tumblr has got to be the most addicting thing in the universe! More than Facebook, more than Twitter, more than Flickr, more than anything else I have joined before. But, thankfully, I picked on my addiction quickly and have been working on controlling it, and this, so far, has worked.

I hope you guys have been enjoying much less stressful days than mine, and I hope you have some time to relax this weekend, I know that this will be impossible for me, but knowing that at least some of you are having fun gives me hope of better days to come after this dark period of ridiculous studying.

got tumblr?

2009-05-11T20:51:00.004-04:00

Just a quick post to tell you guys that, even though I created a Tumblr in January, I've only started to get into it in the past few days, and want to share it with all of you. I basically just upload things throughout the day that inspire me (mainly pictures by other people), some random videos that make me laugh or songs I like, etc., etc., etc. It's simply a place to share nice little things. I also want to know if any of you guys has one as well because I would love to follow you!

Tumblr has really cool features, for example, if you see something you like you can just click a button and automatically publish it on your tumblelog with appropriate credits included and everything. Go get one, it's awesome!

My Tumblr!

noche oscura

2009-05-11T02:59:00.006-04:00

Some days ago, at around 2 or 3 in the morning in an unfortunately common sleepless night, I had the sudden impulse of walking outside my apartment to take some pictures around my street. As soon as I stepped out and realized how dark and quiet it was, I chickened out and settled for taking pictures just a little farther from my doorway.

When I saw this photo, which I took without a flash, I was surprised at how the color of the sky came out, but I loved it. It reminds me of how the sky looks from Pepa's terrace on Almodóvar's film Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (one of my favorites). I tried to find a picture of it, but there isn't much. These are the only ones where you can sort of see what I'm talking about, I hope. (Something weird just happened: as I am typing this, the song from the final scene of this movie started to play!)

And speaking of Almodóvar, I cannot wait to watch his new film Los Abrazos Rotos, I am just dying to see it!

*Pictures found via Google Images

from the secret archives: the pedicabs

2009-05-10T03:15:00.005-04:00

The following pictures, found in my forgotten Picasa account, were taken last year in Central Park. The subjects are pedicabs from Columbus Circle shot (secretly) by my step-sister, my friend, and me (oh, we're not creepers at aallll!). But hey, since I talk about them so much, or at least I used to before, I think you all deserve to see their faces, at least of a few of them.

This fellow over here (not a very good picture) has one of the most unbelievably penetrating pair of eyes I have seen in my life, and that was what initially caught my attention. I see him every once in a while, and I have the feeling he recognizes me. Sometimes he does silly stuff to get my attention; like pretend he is fighting with other guys and turn around to see if I'm watching, while consistently moving closer to wherever I am. Another pedicab, from Turkey, who used to have a crush on my step-sister, told us he is Russian. His hair looks different now from the way it is in the picture, it's more Americanized, I guess, a different cut. And yes, he looks extremely disheveled here, but he is very, very handsome :)

Photo by my step-sis.

I remember on the day this photo was taken, my friends, my step-sister and I couldn't get over how amazing this guy's facial bone structure is! I think he is from Brazil, but I am not sure. Anyway, I remember my friends and I left Columbus Circle and went inside the park, just to walk around. At some point my sis and I were teaching my friends how to salsa dance (random, I know), and then I also decided to teach them how to dance to Venezuelan drums or African-Venezuelan music, which I love. So, at some moment, I had my iPod on and was dancing while some of them watched and the others were practicing their newly learned salsa moves with my sister. I was just playing around with them, getting all into the music and whatnot, just for kicks, when, suddenly, I stopped and heard someone yell at me: "Nice belly-dancing!" When I turned around, it was the guy in the picture and some other guy whom I later learned is from Egypt. I explained to them I wasn't belly-dancing, but the Egyptian guy insisted that it looked like I was doing just that and that, in any case, I was really good. Hmm, okay...

Photo by me.

And now, of course, I have saved the best for last. He is the Russian I mentioned on this post some days ago; the one that always stares though he never recognizes me. I've had a tiny crush on him since last year, but I've never gathered the courage to say anything to him, as is always the case with me... I'm too used to always having the guys talk to me first :( I think he has some of the most beautiful blue eyes I have seen in my life, and very handsome features. But I saw him some weeks ago, and I was under the impression that he looked very frail and even sickly, instead of healthy and strong as he does on the photo.

Photo by my friend.

I don't know what it is about these pedicabs that I find so intriguing and fascinating, I always want to know more about them. I think it's partly because I have already talked to many of them, and their stories about their lives are always extremely interesting, the way they view things is very stimulating for me, especially because they all have very different backgrounds and so their thoughts about life in general seem very original to me and independent from the others. I have had in my mind the idea of a photography project about them for months; taking their pictures, learning their stories, sharing them... The other day I recognized a guy who goes to my school as one of them, I think he is Turkish... Maybe I'll start this project with him, we'll see...

the flickr adventures i

2009-05-07T23:58:00.005-04:00

Inspired by this post on one of my favorite blogs ever, I decided to begin a monthly installment in which I will bring to you my favorite pictures found on Flickr. For the past few months, I have been very much active there, and consistently update my account with new pictures (most of which you've already seen). But, most of the time I spend there (which is quite lengthy) is dedicated to viewing photographs taken by countless talented artists everywhere in the world. Flickr gives you the option of saving some pictures as 'Favorites' and organizes them into collages just like the one below, so that you can go back to them at any time. I have a few pages now of these collages, and thought it would be a good idea to share with you the images that inspire me. All the links to bigger versions of each image are found below, and I chose the ten I like the best, in no particular order, and listed them at the end as a way to encourage you to really view these ones in their larger versions.

You will find that, on this particular issue, most of the photographs are by a young girl named Laura Taylor. I have been following her photography for the past three years, and I find it absolutely amazing, I know you will love it, too. Additionally, I have placed an asterisk (*) next to the people who are also bloggers, and have linked to their blogs at the bottom of this post. I have also placed two asterisks (**) next to those people who happen to be my friends :)

Okay, wow, I talk too much! Here is the collage, I hope you enjoy!

Pay particular attention to:

4. LoveVan by Allister Ann

8. Love by Allister Ann

12. untitled by Romeika*

13. untitled by laura taylor.

15. untitled by laura taylor.

17. untitled by laura taylor.

26. untitled by laura taylor.

28. untitled by laura taylor.

29. untitled by laura taylor.

31. untitled by laura taylor.

Bloggers mentioned:

Romeika - A Room of One's Own

Sarah - Oh So Arty

Evan - This Is What I Do - Something you should know about this lad: We found each other through Flickr and then eventually through Facebook a few months ago, we realized we go to the same school, and still we have never met. Interesting, no? :)

Friends mentioned:

Izabella - From Venezuela

Isleyn - From NJ

Yumna - From NJ

film junkie, part vii

2009-05-03T13:26:00.001-04:00

Die Fälscher

[The Counterfeiters]

Director: Stefan Ruzowitzky

Writer: Stefan Ruzowitzky

Based on the memoir by Adolf Burger

Year: 2007

Country: Austria, Germany

Salomon Sorowitsch (Karl Markovics) is one of the best forgers of currency and passports in Austria. Captured and imprisoned by the Nazi police, he is eventually moved to the Sachsenhausen concentration camp to lead, along with other Jewish prisoners, an operation devised by the Nazi to destroy the English economy by filling it with fake notes of the Bank of England. Their involvement with this plot allows the men of this group to receive a 'better' treatment in the form of more comfortable bunks, enough food, a washroom, etc., privileges that were, of course, completely out of reach to the other people held in the camps. The film is based on the memoirs of Adolf Burger, a member of Operation Bernhard, and offers a fictionalized version of his accounts.

There are so many aspects to the Holocaust; there is the oppression by some, the suffering of millions, the persecution, the paranoia, the need to escape, and these are usually the ones we see portrayed in films focusing on the subject. But The Counterfeiters concentrates on a completely different area from what we are used to seeing, and in that way it carries with it a sense of freshness for something that has been so heavily discussed every single day around the entire world for the past decades.

In addition to the incredible performances (Sebastian Urzendowsky as Kolya and August Diehl as Adolf Burger particularly stand out in my mind), the poignant soundtrack, largely by Hugo Díaz, that is mainly constituted by tangos and opera, the direction by Stefan Ruzowitzky, and that flawless script, this film captures in a most magnificent manner the essence of the conflict between idealism and pragmatism, between doing what is right or doing what is easy, between inconformity and conformity, and between standing up for an ideology or giving it up for survival. So many complex ideas are so subtly developed in this film, I feel I could watch it again, and again, and again and always find a new message, a new meaning. Definitely one of my favorites.

My rating: 9/10

IMDb rating: 7.7/10

Das Leben der Anderen

[The Lives of Others]

Director: Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

Writer: Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

Year: 2006

Country: Germany

One of the reasons why I have delayed writing this Film Junkie post for so long is that I simply do not know how to begin talking about this film, mainly because it deals with the history of the German Democratic Republic (GDR or East Germany) and, unfortunately, I am not extremely well-versed in that area. But even if I fail to make any sense here, let one thing be absolutely clear: I loved this movie.

Hauptmann Gerd Wiesler (Ulrich Mühe), a faithful socialist, is a spy working for the Stasi, the secret police of East Germany, who is assigned to monitor the life of famous playwright Georg Dreyman (Sebastian Koch) and his lover, the popular actress Christa-Maria Seiland (Martina Gedeck) for being suspected of sympathizing with the West. In order to do this, Weisler has his crew set up microphones all around Dreyman's apartment.

From this moment, many subtle details are slowly but continuously revealed. Details that open Wiesler's eyes to the realities of the socialist regime that he so proudly and vehemently stands for. And these realizations along with the knowledge that he gains of Dreyman as he witnesses his life, influence him decisively.

I find this film so touching, so personal, so magical, even. There is a kind of sensibility throughout that grabbed my heart completely and left me shedding tears and thinking for hours about the bittersweet ironies of life. All the performances are convincing, honest, real... Ulrich Mühe portrayed Wiesler in such a poignant fashion; his expressions, gestures, everything was flawless. In short, a beautiful movie.

My rating: 10/10

IMDb rating: 8.5/10

Burn After Reading

Director: Ethan & Joel Coen

Writer: Ethan & Joel Coen

Year: 2008

Country: US, UK, France

One word: hilarious. The irreverence that reigns throughout is just my style; the unexpected madness, all the misunderstandings, the strong critique to so many aspects of government and society, a black comedy that had me laughing at all its insanity, while still making me want to pause it and reflect on some of the messages it sent. Leave it to the Coen brothers to take subjects such as plastic surgery, Russo-American relations, espionage, adultery, loneliness, money, secrets, mix them all in a pot, and come up with an intelligent piece that, amidst all its chaos, almost tricks us into believing that it makes perfect sense.

My rating: 7/10

IMDb rating: 7.3/10

On the next Film Junkie: The Purple Rose of Cairo, Definitely, Maybe, and The Women.

flowers, and toy stores, and bakeries, and things

2009-05-02T18:53:00.005-04:00