Previously on this blog.

“Güey, mira tu boleto.”
-Qué, qué tiene?

[...]

-John, what are you doing?
-It’s for the best Jack.

[...]

- Güey mira lo que dice.
-Mother fucker

____________________________________________________________________

Ticket:

[Vendredi 2 Mai IRON MAN VF 8:50 pm]

Diego lee y grita al Adri

-Güey nos metimos a la versión en francés
-Qué, nel no jodas.
-Mira tu boleto
-Mierdaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Ajá.

Ahora: Misma escena 10 minutos antes de ese momento.

Diego se sienta.

-Ten tus palomitas.
-Yeah, gracias.

[...]

-Arg, son de caramelo.
-Qué? Pero cómo sé si tienen caramelo?
-Pues te fijas dude. Maldita sea.
-Pero pues no decía en ningún lado.
-Fuck, pues ya ni modo. Ojalá la película lo compense.

Funny… It didn’t.

Mmm acabámos de ver película más mmm disturbing. Perdón por usar palabras en inglés todo el tiempo. Ando todo chicano. Anyway.

El Spanish la recomendó. Debimos haber sabido.

Funny games US. El Spanish la describió bastante bien. Es como Naranja Mecánica pero en peor. Belén se estresó como por 2 horas.

Diego ya no siente nada desde que leyó les onze mille verges. Mmm no recuerdo si conté. Tampoco me sé el título en español(y no lo quiero traducir). Pero es el libro más depravado de este mundo. Es de Guillaume Apollinaire (uno de los poetas franceses más reconocidos).

Y es más, voy a citar la Wikipedia en francés. Entre más poco entiendan, mejor.

Les pérégrinations du héros sont ponctuées de scènes notablement crues, où Apollinaire explore toutes les facettes de la sexualité avec une volonté évidente d’éclectisme : sadisme alterne avec masochisme, ondinisme/scatophilie avec vampirisme, pédophilie avec gérontophilie, onanisme avec sexualité de groupe, saphisme avec pédérastie, etc. L’écriture est alerte et le ton frais, l’humour — noir au besoin — constamment présent, et l’ensemble du roman dégage une impression de « joie infernale », qui trouve son apothéose dans la scène finale.

Belén trató de leerlo alguna vez, creo que llegó al tercer o cuarto capítulo. Diego lo leyó todo. Y acaba de comenzar a leer sobre drogas sintéticas y no sé qué… Perdió toda noción de sentimiento.

Mmm hablando de libros. Y para amenizar un poco. Jeez esa película sí está horrible. Iron Man en francés digo. Haha no en realidad Funny Games. Ya dejo de jugar con sus cabezas.

En fin. Emi me regaló Catcher in the rye de cumpleaños. Y mmm quería dejar unas quotes. Bien grandes.

“Life is a game, boy. Life is a game that one plays according
to the rules.”
“Yes, sir. I know it is. I know it.”
Game, my ass. Some game. If you get on the side where all
the hot-shots are, then it’s a game, all right—I’ll admit that.
But if you get on the other side, where there aren’t any hotshots,
then what’s a game about it? Nothing. No game.

“Oh, how lovely! Perhaps you know my son, then, Ernest
Morrow? He goes to Pencey.”
“Yes, I do. He’s in my class.”
Her son was doubtless the biggest bastard that ever went to
Pencey, in the whole crumby history of the school. He was
always going down the corridor, after he’d had a shower,
snapping his soggy old wet towel at people’s asses. That’s
exactly the kind of a guy he was.
“Oh, how nice!” the lady said. But not corny. She was just
nice and all. “I must tell Ernest we met,” she said. “May I ask
your name, dear?”
“Rudolf Schmidt,” I told her. I didn’t feel like giving her my
whole life history. Rudolf Schmidt was the name of the
janitor of our dorm.

I was way early when I got there, so I just sat down on one
of those leather couches right near the clock in the lobby and
watched the girls. A lot of schools were home for vacation
already, and there were about a million girls sitting and
standing around waiting for their dates to show up. Girls
with their legs crossed, girls with their legs not crossed, girls
with terrific legs, girls with lousy legs, girls that looked like
swell girls, girls that looked like they’d be bitches if you
knew them. It was really nice sightseeing, if you know what I
mean. In a way, it was sort of depressing, too, because you
kept wondering what the hell would happen to all of them.
When they got out of school and college, I mean. You
figured most of them would probably marry dopey guys.
Guys that always talk about how many miles they get to a
gallon in their goddam cars. Guys that get sore and childish
as hell if you beat them at golf, or even just some stupid
game like ping-pong. Guys that are very mean. Guys that
never read books. Guys that are very boring—But I have to
be careful about that. I mean about calling certain guys
bores. I don’t understand boring guys. I really don’t. When I
was at Elkton Hills, I roomed for about two months with
this boy, Harris Mackim. He was very intelligent and all, but
he was one of the biggest bores I ever met. He had one of
these very raspy voices, and he never stopped talking,
practically. He never stopped talking, and what was awful
was, he never said anything you wanted to hear in the first
place. But he could do one thing. The sonuvabitch could
whistle better than anybody I ever heard. He’d be making his
bed, or hanging up stuff in the closet—he was always
hanging up stuff in the closet—it drove me crazy—and he’d
be whistling while he did it, if he wasn’t talking in this raspy
voice. He could even whistle classical stuff, but most of the
time he just whistled jazz. He could take something very
jazzy, like “Tin Roof Blues,” and whistle it so nice and
easy—right while he was hanging stuff up in the closet—that
it could kill you. Naturally, I never told him I thought he was
a terrific whistler. I mean you don’t just go up to somebody
and say, “You’re a terrific whistler.” But I roomed with him
for about two whole months, even though he bored me till I
was half crazy, just because he was such a terrific whistler,
the best I ever heard. So I don’t know about bores. Maybe
you shouldn’t feel too sorry if you see some swell girl getting
married to them. They don’t hurt anybody, most of them,
and maybe they’re secretly all terrific whistlers or something.
Who the hell knows? Not me.

I probably wouldn’t've taken her even if she’d wanted to go
with me. She wouldn’t have been anybody to go with. The
terrible part, though, is that I meant it when I asked her.
That’s the terrible part. I swear to God I’m a madman.

I mean I had the whole evening free, and I thought I’d
give her a buzz and, if she was home yet, take her dancing or
something somewhere. I never danced with her or anything
the whole time I knew her. I saw her dancing once, though.
She looked like a very good dancer. It was at this Fourth of
July dance at the club. I didn’t know her too well then, and I
didn’t think I ought to cut in on her date. She was dating
this terrible guy, Al Pike, that went to Choate. I didn’t know
him too well, but he was always hanging around the
swimming pool. He wore those white Lastex kind of
swimming trunks, and he was always going off the high dive.
He did the same lousy old half gainer all day long. It was the
only dive he could do, but he thought he was very hot stuff.
All muscles and no brains. Anyway, that’s who Jane dated
that night. I couldn’t understand it. I swear I couldn’t. After
we started going around together, I asked her how come she
could date a showoff bastard like Al Pike. Jane said he
wasn’t a show-off. She said he had an inferiority complex.
She acted like she felt sorry for him or something, and she
wasn’t just putting it on. She meant it. It’s a funny thing
about girls. Every time you mention some guy that’s strictly a
bastard—very mean, or very conceited and all—and when
you mention it to the girl, she’ll tell you he has an inferiority
complex. Maybe he has, but that still doesn’t keep him from
being a bastard, in my opinion. Girls. You never know what
they’re going to think. I once got this girl Roberta Walsh’s
roommate a date with a friend of mine. His name was Bob
Robinson and he really had an inferiority complex. You
could tell he was very ashamed of his parents and all,
because they said “he don’t” and “she don’t” and stuff like
that and they weren’t very wealthy. But he wasn’t a bastard
or anything. He was a very nice guy. But this Roberta
Walsh’s roommate didn’t like him at all. She told Roberta he
was too conceited—and the reason she thought he was
conceited was because he happened to mention to her that
he was captain of the debating team. A little thing like that,
and she thought he was conceited! The trouble with girls is,
if they like a boy, no matter how big a bastard he is, they’ll
say he has an inferiority complex, and if they don’t like him,
no matter how nice a guy he is, or how big an inferiority
complex he has, they’ll say he’s conceited. Even smart girls
do it.

Puse cosas larguísimas. Pero yo me divertí un buen leyendo esos y muchos cachos. Aún no lo acabo.

Mañana tengo que levantarme temprano. Las vacaciones terminaron.

Artistas más escuchados de la semana que termina el Domingo 4 de Mayo de 2008

1	1		Forever the Sickest Kids	46
–	2		City and Colour	23
	3		Thrice	22
	4		Taking Back Sunday	18
	5		The Ataris	13
2	6		Say Anything	10
	6		1997	10
	8		William Tell	8
	9		Set Your Goals	7
1	10		The Smashing Pumpkins	6

Something Corporate – Anything Anything

Okay, what is it tonight?
Please just tell me what the hell is wrong!
Do you wanna eat?
Do you wanna sleep?
Do you wanna drown?

Just settle down, settle down, settle down!

I’ll give you candy, give you diamonds, give you pills
Give you anything you want
Hundred-dollar bills
I’ll even let you watch the shows you wanna see
Just marry me marry me marry me!

I’m so sick of you tonight
You never stay awake when I get home
Is something wrong with me?
Is something wrong with you?
I really wish I knew, wish I knew, wish I knew!

I’ll give you candy, give you diamonds, give you pills
I’ll give you anything you want
hundred-dollar bills
I’ll even let you watch the shows you wanna see
Because you married me married me married me!
Married me married me married me!

I was young, I learned a game
And love and happiness were the same
Now I’m older and I don’t play
I found out the hardest way

I got wasted, she got mad
… Called me names and she called her dad
He got crazy and I did too
Wondered what I did to you

I gave you candy, gave you diamonds, gave you pills
I’ll give you anything you want
Hundred-dollar bills!
I even let you hear the songs I want to sing
I’ll give you anything anything anything
I’ll give you anything anything anything
I’ll give you anything anything anything … anything anything anything…