Tomate de Arbol

Te extrano mi guambra. En serio te extrano monton.
Sera que te asomas?

Regresa a mi vida, ve. Me haces falta.




Magush

Son 3!

Ah! Me olvide otra vez!

Este blog cumplió 3 años el 19 de Julio.

Lo abrí a causa de una locura del momento, simplemente por que quería escribir algo, o decir algo, y no tenia otro receptor que el Internet así que ahí fueron las palabras y todo empezó.

Recuerdo que estaba en Quito, en la casa en la que crecí, en el cuarto de estudio (el mismo cuarto de estudio en el que me quedaba dormida de chiquita, debajo de la mesa de trabajo de mi papa, en donde era calentito y cómodo).

Fui de vacaciones de verano, y a pesar de que prometí regresar el siguiente año, sencillamente no paso. Desde ese verano, no he regresado a Ecuador.

De todas maneras, y a pesar de la distancia que mantengo con el que fue mi hogar por tanto tiempo, estos tres años han sido increíbles. He vivido mucho, he aprendido varias lecciones, y he crecido (aunque aun me falta tanto…).

Supongo que lo mejor de estos tres años ha sido la realización diaria de lo feliz que soy y de lo afortunada que me siento al tener a una persona a quien adoro y que me adora y con quien compartir mi vida es un deleite.

Feliz cumple, blog! :)

Update

Cuanto silencio por aqui!

Pero tengo una buena excusa – o varias, de hecho.

Las cosas han estado bien por aquí. La llegada del verano nos tiene llenos de energia y lo que mas queremos hacer es estar fuera de casa, en el campo/calle/parque/rio, disfrutando del sol y el rico clima, a lo que parece anios luz del invierno, la nieve, y las chompas gigantes.

Ademas de eso desde hace tres meses estoy practicando Krav Maga, asi que 3 o 4 noches por semana N. y yo nos vamos a entrenar y sacarnos la madre con patadas y punetes bien dados que nos dejan amoreteados y felices, jajaja! Viva el masoquismo!

No no, a decir verdad, nunca nos hemos lastimado –excepto esa vez que N. al hacerme un agarre con la mano izquierda me estiro el hombro de una manera tan rara que mi brazo se cayo a un lado sin movimiento por un ratito hasta que de repente los nervios se volvieron a unir (o algo asi) y tuve sensación en el brazo otra vez. Cague de risa fue.

Otra cosa que me mantiene ocupada es el tercer libro de Harry Potter que esta muy emocionante y ya mismo lo termino. No voy a decir nada al respecto para no arruinarle la historia al lector.

En fin. Es medio tarde y creo que me voy a dormir por que por el momento se me han acabado las ideas.

Volvere.

Peepee Baby

Here it is!

Totoro, originally uploaded by magusita.

I said I was working on a crochet project, and I promised pictures - so here!

This is my newest baby, Totoro, made out of a pattern I found at Heaven's Hellcat's place.

I am definitely very happy with how it turned out, and although I know it's not perfect (one ear and one arm are larger than the other), it's my first crochet project so I am very proud of it! :)

Oh... by the way... Totoro is a magical creature that is the main character on a fabulous movie by Hayao Miyazaki called "My neighbor Totoro". It's definitely worth seeing so go check it out if you get the chance.

I'm not dead....

... I've only been knitting, crocheting, reading, working, watching TV and over at Toronto.

I'll be back soon with things to tell and photos to show.

:)

Absolute happiness is...

Two tickets to this:



I'm happy, happy, happy. :)

Homesick

Magu and Mom, originally uploaded by magusita.

I lose some sales
and my boss won't be happy
but I can't stop listening to the sound
of two soft voices blended in perfection
from the reels of this record that I found

every day there's a boy in the mirror
asking me
what are you doing here
finding all my previous motives
growing increasingly unclear

I travelled far and I burned all the bridges
I believed as soon as I hit land
all the other
options held before me
will wither in the light of my plan

so I lose some sales
and my boss won't be happy
but there's only one thing on my mind
searching boxes underneath the counter
on a chance that on a tape I'd find

a song for
someone who needs somewhere
to long for

homesick
cause I no longer know
where home is

("Homesick", by The Kings of Convenience)

Miniature Figurines

Miniature Figurines, originally uploaded by magusita.

Esta tarde en lugar de trabajar y trabajar, decidi tomarme unas horas para pasar con mi hermano e irnos de compras.

Una de nuestras paradas fue una jugueteria en Main St., en Williamsville.

Lo fantastico de este sitio? Tienen una variedad enorme de juguetitos y figuritas miniatura - todo desde muebles hasta comida. Hermoso!

Desde enana me encantan las figuritas chiquititas y las casitas y todas esas vainas super de nena - y bueno, para complementar mis fantasias, siempre imaginaba tener personitas miniatura que vivirian dentro de las casitas y una vez que me cansara de jugar con ellas las pondria en un frasquito hasta la proxima vez. (Obviamente no seria una mala madre, asi que el frasquito tendria huequitos para que puedan respirar).


Que dice eso de mi estado mental? no se.... algo creepy creo.

ja!

Sobre la semana santa....

Easter Eggs, originally uploaded by magusita.

La fotito es de unos huevos de madera de venta en el Broadway Market, en el centro de Buffalo.
Estos huevitos los vendian como por $9 cada uno - caritos. Pero estaban lindos asi que a cambio de comprarlos, les tome la picchur.

Aqui en gringolandia no hay fanesca lastimosamente, asi que a cambio hicimos locro de papas y fuimos a dar vueltas al mercado.

Tambien hicimos un esfuerzo por comer la mayor cantidad de carne posible para probar que no nos iba a caer un rayo en la cabezota, y adivinen que? las monjas del colegio estaban mal - seguimos aqui bien vivitos y bien comidos. Hemos probado una vez mas que las ensenanzas religiosas valen un pito.

Por cierto, que demonios tiene que ver un conejo que pone huevos con un Cristo al que le salieron alas para ir al cielo? Alguien me explica? por que no entiendo ..... Probablemente mi hermano tiene la respuesta :)

Ira Glass

Thursday night. Any Thursday night.

I'm sitting on my sofa, a big bowl of warm pop corn in my lap, and my Tivo's remote in one hand.

I excitedly click on the main button and go to the programs list to find the next episode of Gray's Anatomy.

While I watch the show, laugh at their jokes, and get teary eyed when so and so died/broke up/argued, etc. a thin line of insecurity enters my mind and immediately I think of how pathetic it is that I am wasting my Thursday night in watching this stupid American TV series that sometime in the first season had an interesting plot and has grown to be as predictable and commercial as any other show of its kind.

This thin line of insecurity soon becomes a thick mass of regret when I think about all the people who are actually doing something worth it - changing the world, moving up, growing beyond their human limitations – while I am sitting on my big fat ass watching a show that in no way is making me grow as a woman, a professional, a human being.

Ok. So that's the negative part of this essay, now let's go to the part when I show I am a groupie.

About 5 years ago, driving around with N on a Friday night and constantly switching radio stations, we were caught by this nasal, yet attractive, voice and a story plot that I no longer remember but must have been very interesting as it kept us for about an hour sitting in our car, unable to turn off the radio, because we needed –I mean NEEDED- to keep on listening until the end. This is the effect that most This American Life's stories have on us.

For those of you who don't know, This American Life is a show on NPR that runs every Friday night at 7 pm. The show is split in 3 or 4 acts, each one of them tells a different story about a specific topic for the week; for instance, "houses of ill repute" was a program where 3 people: a college drop out, a retired man in Brooklyn, and a journalist assigned to the White House, talked about the things their houses/apartment ones of "ill repute".

The show's host is this guy called Ira Glass. I have to admit that from the moment I first heard him, I've had a little crush for him. I had never seen his picture until he was promoting a series of talks about his show, so it wasn't that I was attracted to him physically (and actually, up to the night of his talk I believed he was gay), but my attraction to Ira Glass was more of an intellectual kind – his voice, his questions, the insight he gives us on every person's life through a short 10 minutes story is deeper than any message I've received through TV – ever.

As I always do when there's some person that I find extra fascinating, I created this Ira Glass persona for myself. I trendy guy, tall and skinny, wearing nice glasses, with a cigarette in one hand and a pencil in the other one, writing notes about the next show, and questions for his next interview, sitting in a minimalist office with a nice view of Chicago. This Ira Glass, MY Ira Glass, would watch the Discovery and the History channels, know all about the classics, listen jazz and indie rock, and spend his afternoons doing Yoga or meeting with friends of sushi.

Little did I know, and again, this is something I learned on the night of his show, that Ira Glass actually spend his weekday nights watching TV with his wife (yes, a WIFE – contrary to my illusions, he is not gay), and that's not all – actually, one of his favorite shows is, are you ready for this?, is The OC.

So, here's what I think about The OC: a bunch of over-privileged teenage brats, lost in a world of consumerism, empty lives, untrusting relationships, and idiotic parents, all living together in a nice little county with an spectacular view and nice weather every day of the year. The OC is to this era what Beverly Hills 90210 was to the nineties: pure nothingness. To me, The OC is even worse than Grays Anatomy simply because it's about teenagers, and teenagers are evil.

With this as a background you can imagine the shock, the disturbance, the commotion caused on my little world of "Ira and I" when my perfect image of Ira Glass was being shattered by the notes of a song about California (the OC's theme song by Phantom Planet). He, the man I've crushed on for years, watches the OC.

Ok. I'm no stupid, so obviously I overcame this very easily and actually I've used it for my advantage. Here's how: If Ira Glass watches the OC, sings to its theme song, and is not ashamed of confessing that he even got a bit teary eyed when the OC ended, then probably watching vain Tv shows is not as bad as it seemed – after all, if he, my idol in radio programming, watches the OC, what is the problem is spending a nice, relaxed little night of the week watching Gray's Anatomy, or Battlestar Galactica, or Lost, or Heroes, or America's Next Top Model? I, like any other hard working human being deserve to allow my brain to rest and absorb all the nothingness of these TV shows. What would happen with me if all I read, see, listen to, is only culture, learning, philosophy, politics, and all that crap? I would probably be killing people up and down, and eventually would drown myself in some old lady's pool. But that is not the case, of course.

So thank you, Ira Glass, for admitting that you too watch worthless shows and waste your time like many of us do. I have learned to accept me and my TV habits so much better just because of your words.

Weather

Today I can gladly announce that the temperature outside is 58F and that this evening, for first time in 4 months, I will go out without a jacket.

I’ve been long waiting for this moment as I am to my eyeballs of the stupid cold weather and the fact that temperatures outside have been so low that it was impossible to go out and walk around at my will.

I am absolutely tired of driving and all I want to do is walk. Fortunately my desperate pleads have been heard and we had a bit of sunshine at noon –so I took my ipod and walked placidly amidst the mud (melt snow and soil produce mud everywhere) towards the bank for about 40 minutes and then went back to sit in my chair and work for another 6 hours.

Today is a joyous day, everybody. The sun is out, it’s 7:09 pm and I already had dinner, and I am about to change and go out just to hang around the area. Tonight I plan to delight myself with the pleasure of going to bed early and see if my body finally accepts the fact that daylight time savings are here and that we are working an hour ahead now.

Best regards,

M.

My husband will call me tomorrow, by Becky Herz.

As the header in this blog says, this is just a place to keep everyday happenings in my life, and NPR is something that is constant in my life.

Here's another essay from the 'I Believe' series at the National Public Radio. This one made me teary-eyed. Hope you enjoy it.
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My Husband Will Call Me Tomorrow

by Becky Herz

I believe that my husband will call me tomorrow.

Tonight I'll say, "Have a great day," and "I love you" to my husband, who is 11 time zones away in Iraq. Then I'll hang up the phone. I'll fall asleep as I did last night, next to our baby daughter. We'll sleep in the guest bedroom downstairs — it's less lonely to sleep there for now.

First, I'll pet and talk to our dogs. I weaned them from sleeping with me a few months ago, but they still seem a bit disappointed when I go off to bed without them. I'll promise them a long walk tomorrow, and I'll make good.

In bed, I'll lay my hand on our daughter's chest several times before I fall asleep, just to make sure that she is breathing. I'll curl up in two blankets: one from Guatemala, one from Peru. I'll allow these souvenirs of past travels to warm the empty space in the bed. I'll get up three times during the night to feed our baby. Each of those times I'll tell her that she has a beautiful life to look forward to. I can say this because I believe that my husband will call me tomorrow.

In the morning after my cup of coffee, I'll change diapers and move around loads of laundry. I'll pour dog food, eat cereal, get dressed, and do the dishes — all with one hand, holding our baby in the other. I'll do the shopping, pay the bills, and stop in at work to see how my employees are getting by. Every three hours I'll stop what I'm doing to feed, change and play with our daughter. I'll make good on the promised walk with our baby strapped to my chest and a dog-leash in each hand. When people say, "Looks like you have your hands full," I'll smile and acknowledge that it's true, but I make the best of it because I believe that my husband will call me tomorrow.

If there is a letter addressed to me from the military, I'll open it because I believe that my husband will call me tomorrow. If there is a knock at the door, I'll answer it, because I believe that my husband will call me tomorrow.

And when he does, I'll talk to him and tell him again that I love him. I'll be able to hang up the phone, keeping my fear at bay, because I believe — I must believe — that my husband will call me tomorrow.

Best lines I've read in a blog in the last ... uhmm.. two days:

• "Peer pressure caused me to jump off a cliff. Sorry mum, you taught me nothing."

Written by Urban Cowgirl at Adventures of an Urban Cowgirl in answer to a MEME where you're supposed to write about 5 things that people don't know about you. In her case it was to bungee jump from a 109 m-high platform. Fun!

• "I've floated on the remark "Been there, done that" for some time now, but the notion that the moment is approaching when I can no longer say this bothers me. The truth is, I don't want to go."

Written by Donald Crowdies from Don To Earth. Don is a 93 year old blogger who lives in Canada; a recent stroke has made him reflect on his life, the things he still has left to do, and how close he is to his death.
Needless to say, Don's is a very good blog to follow.

• "Nostalgia has been running deep here since our visit to Grandma's farm so I thought I better make tapioca pudding (insert GROSS or YUM here -- I know tapioca feelings run deep. I love it.)"

Written at Happy Things, a delightful blog about a mom, her husband, and their child. BTW... I love -LOVE- tapioca too!

Guardando mi historia

Hoy dia mi instinto conservacionista me llevo a sacar un backup de todos los 150 posts de este blog.

Porque? - Pues los que planeamos no tener hijos, no plantamos arboles y no escribimos libros debemos dejar un poquito de nosotros en este mundo de otras formas creativas, no?

Asi que ahi esta!


Que lindo.


:)

On Christmas

Christmas 2006 was a special one for me. It was the first Christmas that I was celebrating in my own apartment, with my own family, the first dinner party I was going to host by myself, the first Christmas with a salary of my own to expend in presents, and the first one that I really I took in my charge to make very special, for several good reasons.

You see, my brother moved to the US just a few months ago, and this Christmas was the first he would be without Mom and Dad; then, on the other hand, my boyfriend and I have been away from home for so many years that the feeling of having an actual family member present to share an special occasion with has an enormous significance; and then, there is my friend, Ana, whom I met when I was in kindergarten and in spite of the years and the distance, is still here with all the memories, the good times, and all the fun - what can be more valuable than that?

So today at work, listening to NPR, this essay by Melinda Shoaf comes to my ears and in just a few minutes summarizes what I felt all the way through the holiday season: to make Christmas just right for the people I love.

I don't know if it was as perfect as I hoped it would be, but I did the best I could: We had bags of goodies to share with the friends, we had a nice Christmas tree that we put up early in December (and as of today, is still up!), we had well thought and elaborated presents for one another, we had Christmas songs (that three weeks later, we are still singing), we had Christmas stories and Christmas movies, we made cookies, suspiros, and pot roast chicken, and now that I look back, I know that I have some very unforgettable memories - and for what I've heard from my brother and boyfriend, they do too! - for which, I am very happy.

I know there were some imperfections, but who cares? I know that we'll always have next Christmas to make it even better, and hopefully the loved ones will often come back to keep sharing the good food, the good wine, and the good times.

And now, just so you know where all this Christmas remembrance came from, I leave you to Melinda Shoaf and her essay, Designated Celebrator.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Designated Celebrator

by Melinda Shoaf

I believe that if you're the person in your family who arranged for and executed the celebration this past holiday season, well, you're probably still tired. You may be wondering why you spent so much on presents, why you had to have your house just right, why you had friends over for drinks when you were already weary and worn out. You may be thinking that you're getting too old for all of this or you may be thinking you're too young.

If you know what I'm talking about, you're probably your family's Designated Celebrator -- that is, the one who sees to it that a holiday actually happens in the lives of your loved ones.

After New Year's, I was sitting at the breakfast table in a stupor. My husband asked if I was all right.

"I'm exhausted," I answered. "I'm totally exhausted."

He looked puzzled. "Why do you do this to yourself every year?"

I have to admit that part of what I do around the winter holidays seems almost involuntary, innate. It's as if I'm driven by the ancient need to mark the darkness of winter with my little bit of light.

My answer to my husband's question is that I believe one of the most important things I can do while I'm on this planet is honor those I love through celebrations, and the older I get, the more I believe it.

When my children were small, their father lost his job. It took a decade to recover emotionally and financially. Hot water and electricity were luxuries that weren't always available; meals were a challenge. I tried to hide it from them, but I was constantly afraid of losing our home. Those celebrations were so sparse, the future so uncertain, that the ground seemed to be shifting beneath us.

So now, celebrations mean that much more to me. This year, I polished the silver, lit the candles, made sure a sprig of holly was carefully tacked above every window; I served a $12 bottle of wine instead of a $7 one; I bought lamb chops instead of a roast -- little things, just so we'd remember this day, this night.

I believe that in this world there is and always has been so much sadness and sorrow, so much uncertainty, that if we didn't set aside time for merriment, gifts, music and laughter with family and friends, we might just forget to celebrate all together. We'd just plod along in life.

I believe in the importance of celebrations. As my family's Designated Celebrator I may be tired and I may not have done all that I set out to do, but I believe that this year, I celebrated the ones I love, and I hope with all my heart that I celebrated them well.

Primer post del 2007!

Y en fin, se acabaron las fiestas y se acabo el 2006 – Feliz Anio, por cierto!

Con esto de que ha llegado Enero de nuevo tambien ha llegado el primer aniversario de nuestro regreso a USA, y bueno, no tengo mas comentarios al respecto que decir: YA ME QUIERO IR DE AQUÍ!!!!

He tenido suficiente de esta ciudad y de este pais (por el momento), y ademas esto del sedentarismo no va bien conmigo. Necesito viajar, moverme, sentir esa emocion de empacar y desempacar, de hacer que mi vida alcance en una maleta y de aprender a llevar un panty y un cepillo de dientes a todo lado para quedarme en donde me agarra la noche.

Estoy sedienta de culturas nuevas, de colores diferentes, de climas variados, de sol!

Buffalo ha estado nublado por casi un mes, hoy dia salio un poquito de sol pero yo estaba encerrada en un edificio, trabajando, y apenas vi unos rayitos de luz entrar por la puerta y luego segui con lo mio – por cierto, “lo mio” últimamente se refiere a pasar frente a un computador respondiendo e-mails a Hong Kong, escribiendo protocolos para Guatemala, discutiendo costos con clientes locales, y leyendo el NY Times.

Al regresar a casa no tengo cerebro para mucho mas que no sea hacer suspiros (fotos en flickr), galletas (mas fotos en flickr), y deambular por las mismas paginas de Internet que veo todos los dias.

Si, estoy aburrida. Necesito un cambio urgente. No puedo ver mi vida irse en un trabajo, pero si me salgo de mi trabajo puedo morir de aburrimiento en este hueco en donde no hay nada que hacer.

Ya, ya … estoy tremendamente negativa. A que hora me hice asi? Pues siempre he sido super negativa, eso no es nada nuevo (desde chiquita mi Papa me revolvia el temperamento criticando mi negativismo, asi que me acuerdo bien que siempre he sido asi medio maligna). En fin, no me molesta tanto estar tan negativa, pero lo que si me molesta es el aburrimiento. Yo de aburrida hago webadas y me porto bien maldita, y solo el prospecto me preocupa, y de ahí se desenvuelve una bola gigante de aburrimiento, preocupación, stress y depre. Puf… que sombrias se ven las semanas que vienen!

En fin. Hablando del clima… fatal esta el clima por estos lares. Es la primera semana de enero y no hemos visto ni un poquito de nieve por aquí (primera vez en 129 anios que esto pasa!), asi que todo lo atribuimos al calentamiento global.

Dicen que si se re-calienta la tierra todo el hielo en la corona del mundo se va a derretir y luego chau civilización al norte del continente. Yo lo veia todo esto bien sombrio, sobre todo por que yo vivo super al norte y hay un magno descongelamiento pues puede suceder que yo marque calabera – nah! ignoremos este factor y digamos que yo sobrevivo por milagro. En fin, con el prospecto de millones de galones de agua inundando las ciudades, uno de mis amigos hizo el desinteresado comentario: se imaginan lo fenomenal que va a ser busear por aquí?!?! Y yo que no habia pensando en eso, sino solamente en las millones de personas muertas, he tenido un absoluto levanton de animo! Que chévere seria esta nuevo hobby! Que lindo, busear por las calles desiertas de gente y solo habitadas por vida maritima …! Solo de imaginarme me pongo toda sonriente.

Pero ya, en serio, he decidido dejar de preocuparme por el calentamiento global. Desde mi punto de vista, estamos acabando con los recursos naturales de este planeta que nos van a mantener vivos a los humanos, y la verdad es que nosotros, como especie, vamos a desaparecer en algun momento sea lo que sea lo que se haga con el ambiente. Una vez muertos los humanos el planeta seguira aquí, vivito, por que eso si, no vamos a acabar con la vida, la vida sigue, la energia se recicla, y puede que los seres que estan vivos ahora no van a estar vivos en el futuro, pero y??? Que seria del mundo si tuvieramos aun tiranosaurios correteando por las ciudades? Es todo parte de la evolucion. Y al fin y al cabo, la contaminación es causada por materiales con los que la naturaleza mismo nos ha provisto.

(I know these few lines are going to come back and bite me – but what the hell)

Y ya pues. Me voy a comer.

Ipod es una porquería.

Hace apenas unas semanas escuche en NPR un reportaje sobre la mala calidad de ciertos gadgets actuales que apenas te duran el tiempo que te cubre la garantía y un par de meses después dejan de funcionar. Aunque el reportaje mencionaba a los Ipods en forma bien directa no le di mayor importancia y seguí con mi vida, despreocupada, hasta que llego el punto de quiebre.

Más o menos hace un mes tuve un problema con mi Ipod de dos años. Estaba tocando música en mis parlantes Bose y al querer adelantar a la siguiente canción el Ipod se atoro y dejo de funcionar por completo; al apagarlo y volverlo a encender me encuentro con que ninguna de mis 17,000 canciones estaba en el disco duro – Ok. No big deal – me puse en ese mismo instante a hacer un restore del software y a volver a instalar las canciones, pero luego de 5 horas y varios intentos, el Ipod, el software, y las canciones, no mostraban la menor intención de ponerse a trabajar.

En eso se me vienen a la mente los nuevos comerciales de Ipod, el del chico chic, delgado, trendy que representa a Apple, y el del gordito de terno, lentes, súper nerd que representa a Windows. Yo evidentemente fui suficientemente cojuda de creerme los comerciales e irme por el reproductor de mp3s mas trendy y ‘lindo’ del mercado sin prestar la menor atención a la competencia que ofrece mejores equipos a mucho menor precio.

Mi novio me regalo mi Ipod de 60 GB tercera generación hace dos años y un Ipod nano de 4 GB primera generación hace un año por que al fin y al cabo soy una mimada y me compran todo lo que pido. En fin, el Ipod que se fue a la mierda fue el de 60 GB así que ayer, muy pacientemente, con el corazón en la garganta, y con la tarjeta de crédito lista para pagar el arreglo del aparato me dirigí hacia el Apple Store a ver que se podía hacer… OK. Para resumir, una mierda absoluta.

El servicio al consumidor de Apple es pésimo. Al llegar me dijeron que debía tener una cita para que se dignen ver a mi Ipod, que si no tengo una cita que la puedo hacer online, pero que igual no tienen ninguna ventana de servicio abierta así que me toca esperar nomás, y por ultimo, que si me gusta bien, sino, también!

Mi novio para este punto estaba que mandaba a la mierda al ‘genius’ de Apple (así los denominan a los mancitos que trabajan en la tienda), y yo tratando de apaciguar los ánimos le pedí al man que aunque sea le de una mirada al Ipod a ver si sabia que pasaba.

30 minutos y varias llamadas telefónicas de parte del ‘genius’, el man coge mi Ipod y me dice: “mira, tu Ipod tiene el hardware dañado y la garantía se acabo hace un año, así que tienes dos opciones: pagar $249 dólares por el mismo Ipod con un nuevo hardware, o pagar el precio de un nuevo Ipod menos 10% de descuento por el Ipod viejo – tu decide”.

OSEA?!?!?!

Primero, no tengo plata para gastarme mas de $300 en otro nuevo Ipod, segundo, así tuviera el dinero no estoy dispuesta a comprarme otro Ipod que se que se va a dañar así por que si! Y claro, luego nos ponemos a pensar – obvio que son de tan mala calidad! Si no fuese así, Ipod no tendría un puesto de servicio técnico dentro de cada una de sus tiendas! Los productos de Apple se venden por lindos y trendy, no por calidad, y si quieres tener algo que te dure por varios años debes irte por lo que sea menos por Apple.

Me permito generalizar que Apple son los de los problemas, no solamente los Ipod, por que he escuchado a varios de mis amigos quejarse de la poca calidad de las Powerbook o cualquier otro computador de esta marca, y encima el servicio al consumidor deja muchísimo que desear. En la vida real el “genius” de Apple se parece mucho mas al nerd de las propagandas en contra de Windows que al otro dude.

En fin, escribo todo esto para recomendarles que NO COMPREN IPODS. Hay otros sistemas en el mercado (como Creative Labs o cualquier otro) que van a dar menos problemas a menor costo (lo digo por experiencia – antes del Ipod tenia un Zen de creative labs que hasta ahora funciona súper bien a pesar de las numerosas veces de darse contra el piso).

Tenemos la responsabilidad de ser consumidores pensantes y comprar lo que es bueno y rechazar lo que no lo es. A la mierda Apple!

Julius

Doesn’t it suck when people die?
My uncle died more than a year ago. I don’t know the exact date, but I remember receiving my mom’s phone call when I was leaving my apartment to go to chorus practice at a church in London’s east side. I had joined an American group of singers who were going to perform for Thanksgiving service in St. Paul’s Cathedral.
When she called we talked just about everything but his death – she asked how everything was, I complained of my current situation: about leaving London, sad to the bone, lonely, confused as usual. Just about to hang up she said, “can I tell you something sad?”, “what’s going on?” “Julius died yesterday”.

I couldn’t say anything because I didn’t feel anything. He was gone and that was it.

Then, as if trying to recall some feeling, trying to prove to myself that I could cry and that I felt something for someone, I started thinking about the past and his life in my life: Uncle Julius cooking spaghetti for Sunday brunch, the black and white photos of his mom and brother (people he never talked about), images just sitting in a table, always untouched, facing the main entrance (once I moved them out of curiosity and he got really mad at me – probably one of the few times he got so upset about something I did). Then I though about his hammock, how he used to hang it from two hooks, one in each wall in the living room, and hang the hammock right there in the middle of the room, barely taking care of the coffee table and the expensive china, so that the baby girl (me!) could play on her own while the grown-ups rested.

He also had that tea set, British it was, always clean, dusted, impeccable in one side of the living room – I never asked where he got it from?, why it meant so much? Questions that are left silent, and answer that will always remain quiet.

It’s interesting that it has taken me a full year to come around and write about him.
We were close while I was a child, but my teenage years took me to places far away from him – although I always remembered his long and gentle hands, his way to tell stories, his smell of lavender cologne and his grey cotton sweaters.

I miss him. Besides my grandmother, he is the only person I’ve lost.
I know. I’ve been lucky; I’ve had very few deaths around and only these two have meant something.

My mom told me that he said goodbye a few weeks before he died. He asked her to call me and let me know; he asked her not to cry, to get a new dress for his funeral, to have a small dinner on his behalf and make sure that his daughter in law wouldn’t throw away his stuff: things that, although seemingly worthless, meant the world to him, God knows why.

In any case, he died. My mom took everything she could – the daughter in law is a bitch and she wouldn’t allow her keep Julius stuff. They organized a mass and a small dinner party. They had Italian food and red wine in his honor. Against all odds very few people attended the funeral – his closest friends are all so old that they barely leave home, and the young people are gone, like me.

As of today I am here, remembering, just as I remember every week, every month, about him and his smell, his words, his deep voice, his gentleness, his laughter, and as of this moment I miss him – like I always do.

A piece of art

These figures have been on sale in an art gallery in Toronto for years. I think they are adorable, and every time I walk by this place I think about getting them for my bathroom.


Yesterday we finally made up our minds and we decided to get them; however, our budget was nowhere close to the retail price of these happy-naked people - 3,000 Canadian dollars each!!!.


We, of course, had no choice but turn around and leave, but from the window outside I took these pictures (free of charge!) just to have with me instead of the original pieces.