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thaw fish: Film Festival (at home)
all started by a woman. In fact, possibly come from much further back, when the film was often drowned the slap of all vacant channel programming four Sunday Matinee. Children tend to be a broken record in their tastes and I have seen the film as five times. In those days it has been more than ten years. In a way, I decided to keep this material as a beautiful postcard from my childhood, not encourage me to see her again for fear of breaking the totem pole carved by years of idealizations. However, some owners of the symptoms of these days a fart is the particularly regressive, that brings me back to old obsessions. It was then called The SDR fine to see that movie that marked us as a branding in our childhood.
must have been ten or twelve years old when I first saw Who Framed Roger Rabbit. The film already was very stimulating for a child, making as any other of its kind that syncretism between cartoons with flesh and blood actors, but beyond it Roger Rabbit, the very successful performance by Bob Hoskins, or the entire school of characters and references to the animated world of pop hell, there was a scene that I installed as candiru in my body. In the first quarter of the film, the detective is trying to get compromising pictures of Jessica Rabbit, wife of the rabbit character. Following the clue of his name, everyone, including the detective, we thought it was another of those cute anthropomorphic animals, so we expect no more deference to begin the musical number. A cabaret music performed by a magpie introduces the act and opens the curtain. And then appears.

Although not become a trademark as well are the classic pictures of the Disney and Warner, the impact generated by Jessica Rabbit in many pubescent children or that time is much larger than it seems. When they meet certain nostalgic conversations with the memory of the film, like a bare foot stepping on a mine buried in a war that no one can remember, the scene of that redhead exploited us in the face. As boulders and small metal fragments fired by the impact, we are embedded in the legs, chest and face your voice, play shadows on the lush hilly geography of the body, the neck crimson and these heels that we want to walk over us. For some reason, people is very reserved when talking about his attraction to a character in ink, but as soon as the first stone is thrown, no one takes to recognize the mark left festering that little number on the sexual maps their lives. Not the first time that amalgam cartoons with sexuality, Betty Boop already did in the 30's , long before it became a ubiquitous pop wink purse muscular and KIO. Betty Boop was the first flapper to be drawn, and if certainly short of skirt and garter belt continues to impress today, just imagine what it generated at that time. It is also true that all roads lead to porn, and certainly before the Nipponese commanded the phenomenon hentai (giving rein to the worst of his obscure obsessions with a new stock of actresses who did not bother to be anally raped by tentacles thorny) and since the fifties were a few pornographic cartoons that circulated underground. However, there is something in the execution of that scene, a form of pace that I keep catching, and perhaps more than before. Many children and adolescents, we realized that sex was always there well, and hoped to enter, whatever the field, as a sparrow standing on the edge of our window.
The drawings give vent to all the land of imagination that is in us, being able to realize our own venus like mud or just enough to make our ribs.
This is a confession, and possibly leave me in a role that committed before the eyes of the bloggers. In one of those mystical summers of my puberty in Atlantis, a storm took the spa as a horde of dirty tourists who refuses to leave a place. It was like a week and a half that my cousins \u200b\u200band I were unable to leave even the garden at night feeling an intense fear that we fall a pine top. But the real threat was not the pine trees, rain or shine, but the boredom. My mother and my grandparents were between four walls by five children and the fifth day things began to get out of hand. It was there that my mother came up with a game that at first saw men with suspicion, but that soon changed our summer. The game was extremely feminine, if not gay, "and was to draw models for an event like Miss Universe. Each woman drew a representative of a country, which eventually would be included in a vote to choose the most beautiful of all. The only pictures of women who had made were pictures of my mother, or children playing with children, usually framed in complex school (or almost bound). But this was something completely new, had to draw women, women who were not confined to make the food or fetch their children to school. No, women had to do , we had to find women beautiful. I started drawing one, I realized that there was a slight problem with the jaw, neck, mouth and shoulders, having to begin to supplant the jagged angles circles and curves. There was a completely different technique to that of men and drawing superheroes, and somehow the process included learn a new subtlety and unlearn some resources he had acquired in my childhood. Over time I began to improve the picture, worry a bit more curves and dresses, and soon that became a chimerical search for beauty in a woman impossible. Unlike what you might think anyone ended on a very sexualized, and the models did not take long to have swollen breasts, hips, tight fitting clothes, and looks more challenging. All my cousins \u200b\u200bcapitulated and eventually his initial fascination was the only one that continued to draw. At one point I got to draw a girl I liked the school, I tried to bring her face to the drawing, dressed in the clothes that she wore to dances (a three quarters sleeve green shirt and jeans oranges), and I put his name, giving in to change his name to a reserve to something or someone was unable to judge. As we drew at times thought that came to my ideal woman, but soon I was unhappy in some detail, so again draw a new model, as if to get to find one that love, knowing that this was impossible. I keep all those pictures, I can see now, and beyond if not the most exuberant of all I did, I still like the green eyes of the French league revealed by the wind that almost blows the dress Miss Bosnia Herzegovina.

Certainly, I realize that sexuality is not just Jessica Rabbit intoxicant of what makes me sick, but also the aesthetics of your character. Strictly speaking, women who used to have a certain draw air in their thirties or forties, even without much idea of \u200b\u200bthe aesthetic of those times in my young age. lepetitclaudine a month ago there was a survey on a back And Then, two pictures that somehow mirror the aesthetic ideals from two different periods. In the first picture, the historical scene paddy Riso amaro : Silvana Mangano discovering fleshy legs with knee-deep water, a scene that my grandfather kept a proud scars of adolescence. In the second picture, a pole dancer now is quite well formed, showing a great flexibility of legs. Unlike many reviews, I chose the first, and certainly a decision that turned out to be paradigmatic of what my aesthetic ideals in females. If you already read this post last year, know of my obsessions, and clearly moving names like Claudia Cardinale and Jean Seberg. To this we must add the impact it made me scene getting to dress Anita Ekberg in the Fontana di Trevi , the mystery around Lea Massari in L'avventura, the spontaneity of running at that Jeanne Moreau in Jules et Jim Bridge, hair Veronica Lake in Sullivan's Travels , all and every one of women who appear in Boccaccio 70 (the epitome of the hot girl movies) and, as I mentioned, but I'm not tired of it, Claudia Cardinale:
a) dancing with Burt Lancaster in Il Gattopardo Il ,
b ) of a bitch in the Viacchia,

c) aristocrat in Fitzcarraldo,
d) of obsession and Mastroianni in 8 ½,
e) and stop counting because if you do not I control myself this ends up being a post solely dedicated to it.

Jessica Rabbit was so turned to bring forth all my fascination with black and white women (not summarized in decades, I venture positioned between thirty and fifty).

next day to rent Who Framed Roger Rabbit occurred to me to stop by Cinematheque take a couple of movies of the forties in which females show the same caliber. The idea was good because my sister had deleted permanently from the video and was entitled to a significant number of movies that inexplicably came after spending months collecting rent in the dung Blockbuster. My decision is to be very sexually oriented : Gilda (Rita Hayworth with elegant) and The unknown always (to beyond the brilliant performances have Gasman and Mastroianni, have to .... Cardinale-arrrgggh! !, cathartic moment here insert -). That's when the lady who attends, telling my sister deleted, tells me that all the films that had been accumulating in your account will be deleted. The information is devastating. The only good news is that the deletion happens to have effect only on March 15. He took the bill, and I'm at 9, so I've got six days Seventeen films to see .... At first it seems an insane undertaking, but with courage and I intend to beat the system. Saco realized that watching three movies a day, the fifteenth I will have finished all the films that he was entitled. It would follow that day would be kind of film festival in my home, I finished watching 20 films (to make matters even more sick cinephile, there were days of two to one), here
the list in order of views:

01-Gilda (Charles Vidor)
02-The unknown always (Cardin .... ah, no, Mario Monicelli)
03-The Wild One (László Benedek)
04-A horrible English film that hired Mary on incest and bestiality
05-The Adventures of Moving Castle (Miyazaki)
06-Berlin, Year Zero (Roberto Rossellini)
1907 to 2046 (Wong Kar-wai) 08-To Have and
Have Not (Howard Hawks)
09-The Lady Eve (Preston Sturges)
10-It's A Wonderful Life (Frank Capra)
11-Rushmore (Wes Anderson, once alone and once with the fine)
12 Rubliev-Andrei (Andrei Tarkovsky)
13-It Happened One Night (Frank Capra)
14-The Marx Brothers: Animal Crackers (Victor Heerman)
15-The Marx Brothers: Ducksoup (Leo MacCarey)
16-Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
17-The Marx Brothers: A day at races (Sam Wood)
18-The Maltese Falcon (John Huston)

(picture taken the day I got to have twelve films in my possession) Leased

but unfortunately not seen:
- Aguirre, the Wrath of God
-Iron Man

If you find a coagulant in all these films will probably be arriving at conclusions not dissimilar to those obtained by Charles Manson in Helter Skelter, but you can recognize a considerable number of films they were framed by a new fascination with fetish comedy circa the golden age of Hollywood.
I never posted this kind of film. When I saw those movies, I had the impression that had not yet found the performance a language that the demarcation of the theater (a cross that seems to continue charging the majority of Uruguayan film, with actors consisting mainly form clearly theater). I felt that the dialogues were artificial and all pompous gestures and overacting, full of spontaneous musical segments and cheap sentimentality. From the method of the Actor's Studio (the American counterpart Stanislavski method), many people understand these actions as a pathetic and stilted. In that sense, the film " A Streetcar Named Desire "is completely cool, by the fact that it shows how old school hatch at the hands of Vivien Leigh, the psychological realism of Marlon Brando. The first, extremely mannered, plans for the movie as if it were the queen of her own world, full of airs and histeriquismo overflowing. Moreover, the Marlon Brando Kowalski is one of the most virile, rough and real characters have been shot in film history. have them both in the same scenery beyond tells the story of his characters, the drama of two schools in which one would end up being devoured by the other. Over time, Elia Kazan and all the Actors Studio bosses became a factory of the most important actors of American cinema, including James Dean, Al Pacino, Robert De Niro and a gold-plated so redundant. With any actor of this school more than I could identify with the characters of that other movie that seemed as fake as the road that runs behind the footage of cars that usually handle
Gilda was when I saw that suddenly all that changed dramatically idea . The film is an American gambler (Farrell, played by Glenn Ford) who is based in Buenos Aires, where it becomes the right hand side of a man named Mundson, the major owner of a casino. At the beginning everything goes smoothly, until after a journey of pleasure, Mundson returns with his new wife, Gilda (Rita Hayworth), who happens to be a former love of your partner. The story adds international intrigue between Germans and the exploitation of tungsten, but what really matters in the film is the sexual tension between duty, love and hate content as a house of cards between Farrell and Gilda. In many details the film is a landmark film of that era. First, there is some naivete in the selection of scenarios. The film is set in Buenos Aires (and even in Montevideo !!!), but for some reason everyone speaks perfect English, limited to slip a "gentleman" very occasionally. Similarly, almost everything happens within the walls, generally within the mansions of the mogul and the Casino itself. This is accompanied by a plus that is not to try to become a film-mail, of those who try to make up failures of the argument with the natural beauty of an exotic land where the shooting takes place (in this sense, the same forties and fifties are full of films made in Africa and the like). Another thing about this rescue is that it is better to disregard any national identity to be mistaken for that of another country, mortal sin which usually fall some movies that show the native Uruguay as a mustache wearing a hat cowboy riding his horse in a desert sort of nonexistent.
On the other hand, which overflows with Gilda is elegance. Rita Hayworth is a beauty, but mostly manages a way to combine elegance with sexuality rarely seen. There is a moment he begins to do a striptease and I find it tremendously exciting, beyond which only comes to remove a glove. It does so in a way that the nakedness of the arm it for twenty Sevignys Felando Chloe Vincent Gallo.

Finally, and what ended up resulting in a Copernican revolution for my opinion about the movie: the elegance in the dialogues. That's that one realizes the beauty of this film prior to method. With the relatively recent introduction of sound in movies, all movies, especially comedy and romance dialogue became the main source of appeal, in a taste that could be given and wanted to take full advantage. While the film successor, after the fifties, the dialogues became prosthesis of the characters and the same argument, in the cinema of the 30'-40 'is an intrinsic taste for the dialogue itself, using its flow of words as a craftsman is a block of wood, ready to be chiseled. Directors like Vidor, Sturges, Wilder and Capra goldsmiths became true dialogue. What is amazing is to go beyond the implications of argument and go to its structure, similar to what he said Benito on architectures arranger of the Beatles. No word is superfluous, every sentence is to stand for the occurrence of the other, and everything is structured in the form of attacks and counterattacks that are unsuspected perfection. Of course, more than one says "but the people never so eloquent," and possibly be right, but the beauty of the language is completely out of the whys and hows of the characters. In this meaning there are two genres that I was going over to steal the show: the film noir and romance. Regarding the former, beyond the brand, which is the pivot between expressionism and Gothic, which characterizes the police treatment of blacks is the main character (usually the detective) and his tempestuous relationship and ever-changing with the femme fatale. When analyzing this, it is worth recalling what he said noir heroes Zizek on-line Chandler, "a bricolage of contradictory traits that define the impossible ideal: current, but unusual loser, but successful, cynical, but believing in righteousness ". In all these films are very supportive, whose protagonist's voiceover act as the first member of Chandler's novels. Thus, whenever the heroic losers of the dead jewelry fit this writer, always having the right word, even when they have a gun in the front. With regard to this genre, the film banner would no doubt "The Maltese Falcon" I had the opportunity to see, even in very poor condition. The film starring the hard Bogart was the last I saw in that mad marathon movie buff. It was Sunday and had to return twelve films to ten at night, and I had prepared myself physically and mentally to see five films a day, a feat that had only been one time when I had attacked a flu that had left me as the gentleman from Phoenix after the attack Virgo Shaka in the twelve houses (pah, that occurrence nerd, by God). I got up at about ten o'clock, bathed with cold water and reserve me a coffee as if it were cocaine. The first three films had a great time, but by the fourth my attention began to shudder, leaving my head like a dam after a flood in the last movie. When one is so saturated, conversations, images and gestures usually move to another record. Seem to pass fleetingly like dead leaves in a gale. The images and words as soon as they disappear, mutate and can limit one to take these handfuls of sand that escape consciousness. So, if you ask me to tell you the plot, let me say that at times it seemed as tangled, full of lies, cheating and contratrampas it is hard to remember, much more to tell. But nevertheless, with all these traps will come to a conclusion that is absolutely brilliant. Actually it does not matter who's on whose side, who is pursued and the pursuer, all clots and vanishes in the outcome: Humphrey Bogart and the others discover that the mythical statue coming by killing and robbing had no value in itself. The value had been assigned for all the myth and misinformation that circulated around the statue. In some ways it might be as an allegory of the era cannibal capital, where the value of being left in the product itself, and went on to be completely based on their ability to violently relentless flow. The capital becomes an intangible thing, a structure autodeformante and impossible to put in terms of bills, checks or actions. Similar to this is the journey of the Maltese Falcon. But I'm going to start doing this kind of analysis, that's what Zizek or Adorno. What led me to this is the last sentence of Bogart, which asked what is the statue, and it responds " the stuff that dreams are made of " - the thing that dreams are made-. It's a great phrase, sums up the whole movie and certainly must have been his first thought when it comes to Houston to adapt the script. It's a phrase so successful that must have been like the other side of the bridge, and the whole plot a mere way to unite against B.
The other genre is comedy, bearing the mouth of dialogues most unlikely places. Among the sights is "The Lady Eve," which has an argument impossible but full of very fine jokes about the battle of the sexes and "It Happened One Night", which I thought was a masterpiece of the genre. The only image I had of Clark Gable was "Gone With the Wind." I never imagined that the guy could take a comic role with such charm and ease. The chemistry between him and Claudette Colbert is awesome, but something that transcends them as a couple and is the same script. It's amazing to hear some conversations articulated within a certain intellectualization about minutiae of daily life (as directed by Gable theFallas different ways to finger ) and realize that these dialogues perfectly Seinfeld may be, as absurd to those characters that are bumping, as the guy who drives the car and likes to sing as a tenor (pudiendoThe Soup Nazi, Bania, Mr. Peterman or any of the secondary characters series). On the other hand, the films of the Marx Brothers are giants, and bring the dialogue to where no man has gone. Not counting Zeppo, which is decorated only, "Groucho, Chico and Harpo get a unit similar to a structure of carbon can not exist without each other, without knowing they are part of a system that transcends them. Between Harpo and Groucho, Chico is usually the most reasonable of all. The two ends are incredibly insane. Harpo is an incredibly wild, which is beyond good and evil. It's more than physical humor, there is a subtlety in his performance and ability to say everything without words that is unlike any performance I've seen in my life. On the other hand, Groucho's monologues are unusually absurd that something so badly could leave even the most daring writers Chachachá or Family Guy. You try to keep up with the guy and suddenly we realize that the way something was eating our bread crumbs and we lost in the vast forest of the verb. There's something psychotic itself in speaking of Groucho, like the guy confused things words, each both lost in his own words and leaving not only the other characters or rivals in limbo (the guy never stops abusing the poor Margaret Dumont in each of the films), but ourselves as spectators. Viewing Animal Crackers, Duck Soup and A from day to traces, the most insane of all, I think, without captioning, I realized how much is lost in the English legend. Here's an example:


original English version:
-what do you think about south america, i am going There soon, you know

- That is so, Where You Going

-Uruguay-well you go Uruguay and i go mine

English Subtitles:
-do you think of South America, I'm about to go soon, you know?
"Really? Where to go?
-Uruguay
"Well, let's do so, you are going to Uruguay and Paraguay
I will
(????)
understand it is a joke is untranslatable, but rates could have worked a little more.
In a way most films of the Marx are tests of anarchy, anarchy, not only in the events themselves (the three I saw were treated in the base, the implications of giving excessive power to the wrong person Groucho Marx-A dictatorial head of state in Duck Soup, as chief medical officer at A day to traces and as guest principal in Animal Crackers), but an anarchy that goes beyond the argument and is installed in the language and movement.
Finally, to close with the comedy genre, I saw Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, which is not exactly at that time (is Technicolor and 1953), but has an aesthetic that still own the film. All presume that rented by Marilyn Monroe and very probably right, but strangely what surprised me most was not the action of the lace, but Jane Russell. Monroe is committed to being almost violently beautiful and unbearable, while the brunette's character is much less dimensional. It's a good comedy, but something bothers you, and is the message that money can buy everything, even at the end of the film. The Monroe gil boyfriend realizes that the mine wants it for the money, which also realizes the blonde's father, and yet they end up getting married, although that did not generate the most discomfort. The film is a hymn to materialism, with that video as graphic as "Diamonds are the girl's best friend" -people of my generation will remember him more by the desire to aesthetics Material Girl , Madonna, " and certainly Jonathan Rosenbaum could not be more right when he defined the film as "a Potemkin capitalism." I must admit that I'm a bit of disgust the message, but then I think about it and that is better than the insipid politically correct films today, where everyone learns a lesson at the end of the film.

There were a couple of films that were outside the selection, Aguirre, the Wrath of God (a copy was so bad that I ended up giving up), Man of Marble (which gave me time to see it) and Andrei Rubliev, whose circumstances surrounding the film explain. Andrei
Rubliev over time was becoming my Waterloo. After several attempts I managed to see Ivan's Childhood, but Rubliev always end up naked in the Russian tundra. I have rented the six times and never could see a stretch, volviéndoseme tremendous karma has followed me through the years. Able is a sign, as if too close to the message that hides the film feared to suffer the same fate of Icarus. All this came commenting The fine , convirtiéndosele rather than a warning, a seductive invitation to the mystery. We are preparing for Saturday in which I displayed in my room. I stuck a shower, I turned off the computer and tried behind bars to keep everything that had potential distracting. With all the room wrapped in cotton wool, The fine arrived, having eaten and slept enough for that challenge more than three hours had told him. However, to my surprise guest arrives very little strategic, Martin, a very good friend but is often used to gauge films Fast and the Furious, Universal Soldier and Fast and Furious II. I warn you about three or four times the most likely film that seems a plunger, but so many warnings that my term generating the same effect as the fine : The guy is intrigued want to see what the movie is about. We begin to see the film, the opening scenes are very suggestive, the filming of a guy flying from one type of balloon. And when it appears the long scene of a bard singing Martin is feeling a little bewildered, but hides it in style. The movie keeps moving and fifty minutes to find the first floor: Martin has succumbed to the dark charms of Hypnos, the thrilling and tight eyelids, mouth slightly open and the palm still closing in on his cell phone as if it had been his last wish clinging to the waking world. For the hour and a half The fine also falls into sleep, but At least I wake up every so often, wondering what happened while I was asleep and keeping abreast answering "almost nothing." I stay awake, and for the hour and forty-five all are awake again. It is my hope that we can overcome with Tarkovsky all together, but when the Tartars invaded our company is dissolved, and we are talking about former co-high school, the weather and one of the many ridiculously funny anecdotes Martin. Van two hours and five minutes from the film and try to hold onto something to keep watching, but I realize it's useless. The fine looks sometimes, but mostly talking to Martin. For two hours and fifteen minutes, as the child's voice warning that the king is naked, I become the spokesperson for what we all know and decided to eject the film. Once again, another losing battle with the genius of Tarkovsky.

Epilogue
had spent a few days of that embarrassment cinephile, despite my promise not to watch movies for a while, I end up going to the cinema to see Hit , film Claudia Abend and Adriana Loeff on five songs that changed the history of Uruguay. After a series of misunderstandings, I think that Mary told me to go see the movie alone, so just buy a movie ticket from Hoyts Punta Carretas. I forgot to bring my glasses, so I decide to sit well forward. I'm in the role of six, so there is room to spare. Now that I think is stupid, because obviously the film is in English and I will not be required to read any subtitles. Many people will go to the movies seems inconceivable without an escort. It seems to me quite natural, if often see movies that I rent one, what difference is there to go to the movies? Sitting there, watching the beginning of the film in which he says "there was once a country ..." it made me feel calm and I think a movie should chair be one of the places that I feel best in the world, and at the same time I started to invade an unbearable anxiety. The gallery of images and archival footage played a loose gear and that I have inside me a strange lump in the throat, a mixed feeling between experiencing a very stressful time and the cries of excitement of a sporting glory. I think as a sediment of nationalism that I had since adolescence, where the possibility of emigrating definitely had formed a strong possibility (no one knows what she wants in a country until it runs the risk of losing it). Comes the interview with Anibal Sampayo and often there is even more tense this time pacifying el hecho de estar más justificado (es decir, la idea de un hombre que nunca fue debidamente reconocido por su música y que ya en su decrepitud no puede recordar las letras que hizo es algo de por sí triste). Pero tras el respiro de las irreverentes entrevistas a los Shakers, para cuando llega Eduardo Mateo me desmorono completamente. Mi rostro está tan duro que tiembla, es esos momentos en que uno se puede verse a sí mismo como en una fotografía y veo mi rostro firme, como el de un hijo mayor intentando mantener su dignidad con estoicismo mientras carga el cajón de su padre en un entierro. La única persona que está en mi fila, un tipo que ronda los veinticinco, treinta años ve mi rostro pálido, los ojos bien abiertos and red but no tears, and some embarrassment gets up and goes back some seats. She must think I am related to the type, or something like that, feeling he should leave me alone with the film. In some ways I am grateful to have gone to film alone, because for someone who does not usually express their feelings liquidly, the task of keeping his composure would be quite strenuous. I guess you have been with Mary I would have left the room abruptly, saying he already come, to go to the bathroom sobbing breath, looking in the mirror, trying to exercise one side and an excuse to return to the movie. But no one, I'm alone and although this enhances this feeling, I feel like a gives me some respite to the film. But the knot does not go, and when I come A Pathway step before the first verse of the song feel as if that stirred a past that never lived, as if the collective history of dictatorship possessed mediumistic me using film as a channel. That song is part of the collective unconscious of a nation, and one need not have lived this time to assume the impact that this song caused. As a kid, when I heard "return the joy / to tangle with your voice / A measured in your hands / and rely on your sweat" , not knowing what was a dictatorship knew that this issue was very serious, and even in my fervent hatred towards the union in recent years I never put a finger on the song, possibly for the same reason that I'm close to tears. The film follows and charisma Canario Luna lets me cope, but then again the archival footage and come back to drown. Once the film ends, I have to stay seated for part of the subtitles. I feel of glass, any sudden movement I can not shatter. When I have no excuses to stay there, I go slow, crestfallen. I try to go fast, but I see the faces of people in the queue. Look at my eyes, I have swollen and red, we discuss things in his ear. Without giving me so much I'm already the door of the shopping, I find an empty room or a bathroom to kneel for the first time and finally, once, mourn.

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In the summer you came That There Was Something everyone eating
The first time I went to Punta del Diablo was when I was in sixth high school. Different friends, different love stories, a different time. Cabo Polonio to walk from that town, that people seemed more than a small dock with bad houses scattered around. The father of the girl I liked had come Castle with a marinated pork surprise. Our stomachs too used to parboiled rice with tuna opened Romanian gymnast to receive the corpse which was the most enjoyable meal in my entire life. All the refinements had been left out, we all ate with their hands as quickly as we could. Women had traces of dressing on your cheeks and cheekbones. I went from one leg to ream the facial muscles to the poor sucker. All that remained of him was his nose, the rest looked like a body ravaged by hyenas. In the back, and dark and his belly still full, my band mates told me that if they could give me anything, I buy an X-ray of the soul, to see what lay behind the minefield of my words. Already when even our faces were said "what romantic walk, che."
Two years later I saw there with Mary. He had spent most of the summer away from her, and my back was a necessity and immediacy of life all at the same time. Everything was necessary, and almost spent a week doing everything we wanted, having no idea of \u200b\u200bsilver, the weather or customs. From there I will always remember two things. The first, our visit to Clu. Mary took me by the arm, like a blind without a cane, a completely dark path, against which stood on both sides a very thick forest. We walked through the center of the narrow dirt road. Walk down that pit in the vegetation made us feel in the center of the world, afraid that we are close upon us. We never came across a car or person, I just followed Mary that appeared to lead to the center of a nameless mystery, like Virgil guiding me through the dark forest to the gates of hell. When I was going to ask for a second time where we were going, and a bit wary of their promises encrypted, I began to feel a bass grumble of the forest. After a few blocks of darkness, in a moment he opened a clear and there was a bowling outdoors nearly empty, still beating heart of the forest in black. I looked great the idea of \u200b\u200bbowling so great in a place so hidden. It was late February and the season was already quite low. It was just Mary I, the owner, and three Brazilian extremely drunk. I remember playing you a game of ping pong on a makeshift table to one of them, a big brown vizco and so drunk that he could not hit the ball. Almost all the points I made the guy pull out and begged to play a rematch. The second game was more or less the same procedure, just let him get a couple of points, a little shame, a little fear. The guy lost outright, but celebrated two points as if they were the goals of Pele against Sweden in the 58 '.
The second thing I remember was the result of our poor planning. We went on Friday at seven pm and midnight Thursday to spend our last two baurús weight cart. We thought we were going to take the next day without eating, but about three o'clock in the afternoon my sugar began to drop dramatically. I could hardly walk, and after finding a weight on the sand I bought a Boobaloo like a shot of insulin. At that time seriously contemplated the possibility of stealing, but my fear and the lack of physical foundation to perform such act led me to remain inactive. Mary had a credit card, but - naturally- accepted anywhere. The only place we could was at a campsite a few miles. Sugar-free and walking down the road in full sun in the afternoon, we saved a red fiat left us at the campsite. Now I remember, that was one of the meals I enjoyed most in my life. Such was the hunger that got to eat a ham and cheese croissant with fresh milk from the bread smeared with cocaine, melon and strawberry youghurt (all blending into one giant, bolus).
Again, two years later returned to Punta del Diablo. Our experience was more and rented a little cabin as beautiful as cheap:

Storm Trails
Mary from the beginning it was concerned about the Kafkaesque metamorphosis that had been announced in Punta del Diablo. She knew the place from long ago, when a corner was still not quite considered by the dictators of the hype. To our delight, although the place has grown considerably, especially in terms of infrastructure, much more cool homes and Cerati Oriented the old wooden shacks and barbecue, new construction, or at least those we saw in generally had little regard for architectural predecessor. Of course, there are cases like this, which some Argentines apparently embarked on the construction of his own Xanadu.

The case mentioned above, while not a house that is irrevocably ugly, its structure, as a kind of Chappelle's Ronchamp , but more like Darth Vader helmet that the hat of a novice, in contrast aggressively with the environment and turns it into a monolith, an absurd bravado, an erection at the wrong time and place. There are other mistakes and successes, but at least the center remains the same for informal and often warmer than I was.
For Mary was a difficult journey for me. The days were not good at general, always cloudy with isolated rain and it gives more importance to the beach to myself. For her swim in the sea is as important as for a Catholic to go to church on Sundays.
was two in the afternoon and walked along the shore, quite pulled by the wind that seemed to come from the same sea. The weather was pretty cool and certainly every now and fell a mist that seemed to get on a slippery for each of our pores. We decided we were going to the beach, beyond the weather did not help. The image of the main beach is practically empty, with both of us facing the sea of \u200b\u200bgray, in a way reminded me of those winter beaches New England and the Hamptons, similar to the images of the Beach: Interiors, Woody Allen. On the go see a marriage Uruguayan, a surfer boy and an English couple looking at something that is hidden by the waves, to go back to the surface. We asked the British and the man responds "It Seems like a dead animal, or something" . We were seven in silence, watching the black mass that rises and plunges into the jaws of the waves over and over again. Everyone is completely silent, and oddly that feels like a very intimate moment.
few minutes later we continued the walk and slowly came to a beach formed a kind of bay which is to walk down a steep slope. The beach is completely empty, you only see an orange spot on the other side of rock. Maybe a guy with a pilot. We walked along the shore. Beyond the cold, I like to wade through the ankle, I used to its temperature in case I want to dive and it's good for my right foot, still not fully recovered from that strain near the gore I did in December. On the way there are remnants of a storm, ie, water hyacinths, branches, insects, catfish and other freshwater fish looking resigned to the sky from the shore. A memory that I will never erase was when it was still too young to fish, and my grandfather (who was religiously every day an island whose remains are still in front of the Mansa of Atlantis) appeared at one of the evening with a piranha. Yes, there was a Burel was a piranha in all its law. He told me that after the storm, after the great floods of the Parana is not unusual to find such little creatures. We ended Embalmer (do not know what will become of her now.) I remember staying hours looking at the face of the piranha, with rounder eyes, passionate and expressive than any other fish, than any other being on earth. In those moments you realize that this animal was only designed to kill.
We also find a piece of vomit so by sea. When I say thrown up by the sea, I mean both the act of "giving back" and to be processed by other enzymes and gastric juices. The wooden piece was filled with mussels, tunnels constructed and traveled by sea lice larvae coming about in and out of holes in the supeficie, crowned by a sort of shell that does not stop moving circularly, like the eyes of a blind. Even, sometimes opened and allowed to see his pink head, which strangely remained a strange resemblance to an open vulva and topped with a swollen clitoris. This latter association held it for myself.
That seemed more than a piece of wood. It was a boat city, dragging their tenants in a vague and haphazard, as Fellini boat And the Ship Sails. Would drive him back to sea, but in one of those I saw a hole with something black and shiny as oil waiting and watching threatening, like a police checkpoint behind a mirrored glass, without seeing that I could see it. This fear also
I told Mary. We thought
Valizas walking distance, but a drizzle rain that threatened to become discouraged us from our eastern exodus. We would not bathe. Or sticks. However, around I saw the disappointed face of Mary and I did throw me anyway. We swimming and floating around for forty minutes, in a sea of \u200b\u200bgray and laconic, with the eruption of the rain on your skin, as alone as the first people in the world. It was windy and he was certainly cool, but in the water was much better. When we left I felt different, the weather had suddenly ceased to be threatening, the drizzle had turned into just water falling from the sky and the loneliness he turned in another place to inhabit. That push us into the water beyond the bad weather was like a baptism that filled us with a sense of invulnerability rarely make sense. It seemed as if we had merged with Punta del Diablo and their whims, as if we could grasp it and rebel against it. With our new name we returned to our cabin on the same road, laughing at the howling wind and the waves as a teenager and realizing that your muscles and the nerve to kill his father punches. Just when we felt so confident as to get us back into the sea rougher the main beach, like a defiant warning, we saw the sea lion's body, beaten by the waves, rotting on the shore. Rain Dogs

If there is something I've always appreciated these are stray animals. For eleven years I have a homosexual and epileptic beagle put only once in his life. Using the usual and absurd calculation of multiplying his years of seven, the guy would have seventy-seven years. When I criticize the aggressive and neurotic certainly is, I always replied by saying that they would remain the same if this arid sex life during such a number of years. For its part, feral cats have a life full of extreme emotions, violent and promiscuous sex in alleys, the dispute between life and death in clashes with dogs and flying acrobatics without a net in treacherous guardrails, all that with greater elegance dogs, which are always much more visible and safe. But here
dogs Punta del Diablo, certainly an amazing community. Pets of all and one at a time, sleep anywhere, have as many owners as sources of food. They have the bellicose nature of dogs and wild city. Most are clear on the skin, possibly from fights with other dogs or animals, but there is no trace of resentment in them, everyone knows in the depth that is summer and they have to do some sort of agreement between them for most amount of food possible.
In an afternoon without much to do I came out to photograph each of them. As the photos were coming out while the dogs we became more frequent, we put names and within three days and followed us as if we an inhabitant of a lifetime.
Down, Rona photo, copy of the little dog and rat crosses left in the world.

Dego ... For more than when I try to take land rental lifestyle quite far away from all the vices of the city, I could not resist resorting to a cyber once. The cyber, like most things in Punta del Diablo is as improvised as a hospital in a deli. In a past officiated local pool, and eventually they came to open the doors to the world of the future, so they decided to twenty computers so old that the calculator will eat as many resources as autokad, emule, one of skandisk Norton and twenty pages of Soviet porn running at the same time to a regular computer.
Despite some setbacks that force me to have to change my computer three times (in addition to the owner msn, mozilla firefox and internet explorer are summarized as "the cha ) both call me tremendously attention. On my computer there are two users nearby. A veteran and his daughter, who for a few wrinkles, treatment and simple ugly looks like your sister. The two are orange in color for more iodine air oozing tip of the devil, is unlikely to be natural. Indeed, it must have been long and hard with those self-tanning creams that seem to wax the bitumen with which the muscles of bodybuilders. Come to think, living mostly in Pocitos impaired I realize what the veterans who were often based on collagen, sun bed and Scarsdale diets. The thing is that the daughter is talking to an Anglophone by skype. Apparently the mine had been the English teacher. The mother asks "How do you say to say to us?". The mother says "Tell you if the Would like to see you tonight ... not, tell meet me, that." Then the chick as you type it says loudly. says "I would like to teach you more English classes." Then you look at a mother and says " I Would like to Have sex more ... classes? " and start shit with laughter, as everyone tries to pretend not to listen. I always thought it some honesty between father and son, but that state of affairs seems more removed from buddy desperate housewives or sex and the city that an alleged relationship horizontality. I say through clenched teeth: "nothing is less sexy than Uruguayan pop life."
second and completely overwhelming: After checking emails and send my articles to a contest of columnists, I'm going to stick out my blog. In this, as I write dego the bar autocomplete the name of my blog. The accident is overwhelming, who was visiting from the same computer, from Punta del Diablo to my blog?

There are things that do not matter ...
The penultimate night falls the rain that looks like a silver broom sweeping the ground. To our advantage, we devised to convert these climatically summer failed in a sort of great fall vacation. This meant going to know much the town itself, eating out more often, etc. For the same reason, beyond the weather decided to go for a drink. On the way a guy with speech problems to report that we achieved Wolf Mandrake is being presented in a bowling alley from the beach of the Widow. At first we were going to repeat the experience of Clu , but then insist and done, after eating one of those addictive baurús, bowling alley where Mandrake is already playing a few songs. Play several familiar themes, including the great Miriam entered the Hollywood -in my opinion, one of the few national rock videos worthwhile, "It is easy to get sidetracked (unknowingly, Wolf becomes augur of floods in Buenos Aires two days later) and Deep Love (mine behind me says to her boyfriend "but if that is Jaime Roos ...").

A Mandrake likes to talk between songs. In a question if someone bowling called Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Just raise your hand a guy who came with me and the band. The wake up with some uncertainty, partly because I am not a connoisseur of the band sublime (although I heard the Déjà vu), partly because they were some sediment in my teens, raise your hand where it was very frowned upon. Honestly, I can not remember which issue was remixing Mandrake, but I was extremely rough with a pronunciation and unorthodox. Strangely, coming to something similar but exactly opposite to what succeeds Peter Dalton behind the microphone of Buenos Muchachos. While in the second the use of the English cave filled to primitivism intimidating words that converts voice into a percussion instrument dangerous, Mandrake's voice, power, fragility and intimacy of each verse. Wolf tune, and much, but every time he does is revealing something of his, something that is not free and as a means of expression is warmer than any verse sung by all Cornell's wannabe's who were able to saturate at a time when the Uruguayan rock. Precisely in this lies loosely playing my first approach to the therapists (for non-Uruguayans, the band led by Wolf Mandrake). Like almost everything worth of Uruguayan music, I must confess that at first I liked the band. I had heard a few things, and I had not attracted much attention. However, after I saw the live performance of the band at the awards Graffiti and suddenly the puzzle was rearranged and completely changed my concept of music. If I think objectively, it was a horrible presentation, full of blunders, shockingly out of tune vocals and guitars, bad sound, tempo and output coupling, and yet all endowed Miriam came to Hollywood for a special magic that I saw no chainsaws, Orange or hype recontra genchi über Martin Buscaglia. No, the therapists had their own and in the most rugged were finding my way to my chest.
Several beers and encores later, the ends touch and I'll talk to Mandrake. A friend had told me that is a very simple and fun (I actually said "is the only true rockstar Uruguay), which I check once. I say "get well light bars like the Hollywood" , compared to what he replies, "Well, have to see if we have to bring them out or buried forever" . Hence the talk leads to a worse selection of seedy bars, including Bar Celta closed cases and Maipo, the Andorra and The Eleven (with its distinctive smell of piss). Eventually, I suggest the Blanco Ponte Mandrake and jumps there saying "wait a sec with that. When you end up in the White Ponte and nothing left to hope for in life. " Finished speaking and I swear to use that phrase in a future story or poem. High turnover


For the last night we reserve a few hundred dollars (U.S. $ twenties, approx) to eat well in a beautiful restaurant with candle lights and imagery fisherman who had his eye from a few days. Beer ask, Squid and Squid to share, and a woman sings issues Adriana Varela. Besides the fact that lady sings very well, which is great is that goes with a sports diver and a bandana Puma. Just when I wear glasses I recognize, I have seen it work in one of the stores in town. And there is a feature that separates it from La Paloma, Punta del Este, Atlantis or any other spa or resort town you visited. The lady I am weighing vegetables and sings the tango night, the guitar work on certain sites during the year and at night he plays a darn issues or Matthew, the owner himself out to dance a milonga is a veteran eating in his restaurant, the guitarist invited to a brunette in a table to sing and interpret tipa A dress and a flower Fito Paez voice games like a member of Operación Triunfo waiting for his big chance. Not far away, in another a dark little bar you from playing the most beautiful song Jobim so disgustingly tasteless Mana to pay for food. The guy who rented horses we also fixes cars, we rented the cabin grows tomatoes and gives us some lunch, a construction plunges into the icy depths of winter sea snails to sell in summer and very shipwrecks good price. A child attends you in your local and meanwhile is set to play football with a new friendship Buenos Aires, the teenager who scored us tickets tells us that working in a clothing store of Chuy and baurús lady tells us about his desires to open an own picture next year. All we know is shared by all these activities, and being so well treated, one has no other than wanting to be a better person, or at least be better customer.

The last day will mark the passages for eight in the evening. Are about six in the evening and Mary is arranging the final details of the house. I'm going uphill to the cabin passing a restaurant where a group entirely made up of women plays a kind of music chacarera with violin, charango and drums. On my way sounds trails from the premises and the houses are like mud in my ears. It is mainly reggae, Redonditos ricotta or any of the subjects in Brazil. While going up I start to feel a sound that stands out among all those guitars peaceful. It seems that they are killing someone. As I start to recognize up completely unhinged guitars, monotone voice of Lee Ranaldo, the sounds of melting tires for his speed on the track, the battery disciplined Shelley. The theme is In the Kingdom # 19 . The volume is so high that the eighty meters verses recognize "pain, white light, blinded / There some guy kneeling in the blinded mirage of white light / all my strength to 'heeeeeelp'. " is here I think: There, there that is playing music that most of the people there it must seem shocking, then, that's my home.