Monday 22 May 2006

After the bees

The day I was attacked by the bees, I got the invitation to go for a show around at the school of the owners of the bees. It happened today. The school is from Fundació Onada, a school for mentally disabled people.
The visit was very interesting. Half of the children were out on an excursion and today they didn't have any kind of special activity so most of them were just drawing in the main room. They, even though called children, are most of them my age or much older, only few were younger and the youngest is seventeen.
It is very important to have an school like that in this town as the closest one is too far from here. Some of the children are from my town and I know them since I was a kid. One of them is the neighbour of my sister, and former neighbour of my grandpa, so I have seen him many many times.
Obviously there are many different types of mentally disabled people. Some of them are "more" disabled than others, and these are the ones who need more attention. And others need just some help and training to be able to get a normal job. The ones in the middle would end up in one of the bunch or the other.
Mostly, what they do, is practical jobs: easy things like to put the cap of a pen, paper boxes and such. Also, they recycle paper. And what is more surprising they recycle mayonnaise. They get the pots of mayonnaise that have run out of date from restaurants, hotels and such, they put it in a kind of machine that separates the glass from the mayonnaise (this goes to a recycling business) adding watter to it and then they separate the watter from the mayonnaise. The watter is reused and the mayonnaise is used to create bio-diesel-fuel, the less polluting fuel. They also recycle the used oil (from frying).
We also met one of the beekeepers –Yuri Gagarin :P . She is such a nice person and she explained us so many things about bees (and invited me to get the astronaut dress and go in there with the bees –which I am certainly not doing any time soon) and showed us what they do. I am not going to explain how it works as I know you all know how to use Google and Wikipedia. But something very interesting: OK, so they give the bees a human-made honeycomb made out of a thin piece of wax that has the little hexagon shapes. The bees pull the hexagons out (it is difficult to explain without hands) as it is almost flat and they place either honey or eggs in them. The interesting thing comes when they do not have enough space in the box: they create a brand new honeycomb out of beeswax and honey. When the beekeepers get that, after cleaning it very good, it can bee chewed (beeswax must not be toxic).
The honey is not sold, just given to relatives and friends. They gave us two pots that I am so looking forward to try.

The visit was certainly very interesting. It is so good the work they are doing for those guys and girls. Also, they do some kind of social work: they bring them to shop, into town, to Port Aventura and such so people sees them and stops being afraid of them. Also they do equine-therapy (therapy with horses) and many other activities.
What seems very interesting is that this association is very into ecology: they recycle everything and they know the important of it, they also have horticulture-therapy (?), i.e. they also have a kitchen garden and work the land as a activity. Well, as well is very important that they teach them basics on personal hygiene and cleaning so they can devolve independent (this matter is very difficult as they normally live with their parents until they die and then they have to find a house to stay in).
[Oh, one of the children just passed by.]

Well, this was my morning, today. A very nice, interesting experience. Since my life is going through continuous changes lately, I can't decide anything. But if I have spare time in the future I will definitely think of volunteering.
BTW, it isn't a private school, it is supported by a private organization but the parents only pay for meals and material they need. So, if anyone has some extra money and does not know which Charity give it to, stop searching.

I know the photo is not great but I took it with my cell phone.

Saturday 20 May 2006

¿Celebración o batalla campal?

Ayer me sorprendió la noticia de los destrozos en Canaletes. Supongo que muchos de vosotros ya lo habréis visto: se trata de la celebración de la victoria del Barça en la Champions League (por cierto, ¿no le falta ahí un apóstrofe?). A ver si lo entiendo: una gente juega bien al fútbol, genial, ¿no? A mucha gente le gusta cómo juegan al fútbol toda esa gente, genial, ¿no? Entonces ¿por qué hacen el tonto y destrozan el mobiliario urbano de Barcelona y saquean tiendas como Springfield?
Mira, lo de la tienda tiene un qué, porque al fin y al cabo está claro que SPF tendrá un seguro y lo cubrirá. Pero lo que no entiendo es porqué queman contáiners, rompen paradas de bus, etc., si lo pagamos entre todos con los impuestos. Además, con el amplio despliegue policial, a lo mejor otras zonas quedaron desprotegidas.
No sé, cuando yo me pongo contento salto, canto, grito, corro, pero no me dedico a dar patadas, a pegar a la gente ni a romper nada. Mira, incluso podría entender que en París hubieran problemas, disturbios, peleas entre ambos equipos, pero seguiría sin entender porqué alguien puede tener la maravillosa idea de romper algo que estamos pagando entre todos. Rómpete la cabeza, si quieres (es tuya), pero deja el resto del mundo en paz.
Ayer estaba viendo CQC y Arturo Valls estuvo en el partido; de qué no le dan una paliza, había uno de esos júligans de Arsenal que no paraba de decirle "Fuck off" y de enseñarle los dos dedos, que es la versión británica del mundialmente conocido dedo corazón; vaya, que le mandaba a tomar por culo.

Si hay alguien por ahí que estuviera en Canaletes el otro día y me quiera explicar por qué hacen eso, lo agradecería. Simplemente no lo entiendo. Y encima, pobre gente, los vecinos de la zona, sin poder dormir, tener que sortear cristales por la mañana, etcétera.

Wednesday 17 May 2006

La curiosidad mató al gato

La pasada Noche Buena la celebramos, en mi casa, sólo los "jóvenes". (Nótese las comillas, la juventud es un término algo complejo.) El caso es que en un momento dado estuvimos hablando de qué es lo que considerábamos sexy en una persona. El término "sexy" es una palabra inglesa, como bien sabéis. Su significado original es sexual, erótico, pero lo usamos como atractivo. Mi cuñada y yo estuvimos de acuerdo en que lo que nos atraía de una persona era la curiosidad. Sí, yo siempre he dicho que la curiosidad en una persona es algo que me gusta. Hasta el otro día. Nunca más lo volveré a decir. O por lo menos hablando en castellano.
Estaba hablando con mi compañera de trabajo el otro día (había mantenido una conversa personal por teléfono) y, como había visto que me estaba escuchando (como si pudiera ver lo que alguien escucha), le dije que era una chafardera. Tenemos suficiente confianza, así que era todo en plan broma. Ella me respondió diciendo que sólo sentía curiosidad. Ahí entro mi "antigua-curiosidad": Le di al desplegable de la barra de búsqueda de Firefox (qué gran descubrimiento), lo puse en DRAE, y busqué la palabra "curiosidad". Como veréis por el enlace, la curiosidad es el deseo de saber algo que a uno no le concierne. Vaya, ¡qué faena! Toda la vida diciendo que me gustaba la gente curiosa, que me consideraba curioso, y lo que estaba diciendo era que somos todos unos chismosos.
Pero bueno, con mi frustrado espíritu documentalista, me metí en el DIEC y también un diccionario inglés y me di cuenta que, tanto en catalán como en inglés, tienen, además, la acepción que a mí me gusta: deseo de saber o aprender.

Algún día sabré mucho sobre Lengua española (de momento sólo voy por el primer curso de Filología Hispánica), así que ahora aún me paso las horas asegurándome de lo que digo. Me gusta cerciorarme de que lo digo bien.
Muchas palabras han cambiado de significado con el paso del tiempo. E incluso las hay que tienen significados bastante diferentes en lenguas hermanas. Por ejemplo, en latín clásico, necare, significa 'matar'; en francés, noyer, significa 'ahogar’; y en español, nos ha llegado la palabra anegar. (Acabo de descubrir que en catalán negar, a parte del significado de la homógrafa en castellano, también significa ahogar; pero es que también está enaiguar, que significa enaguar, i.e. anegar.)

A veces decimos palabras y no sabemos su significado; a veces usamos su significado de manera incorrecta; y a veces, simplemente, somos partícipes de la evolución de esa palabra. Prefiero esta última posibilidad.

Los ingleses se vanaglorian de no tener diccionario como los españoles, los franceses o los catalanes. Bueno, diccionarios sí que tienen, pero son elementos del mercado. Se venden anunciando cuantas entradas tienen. Sí, aquí también sucede, pero siempre acabamos confiando en la RAE. Está bien el sistema de los angloparlantes: así las palabras entran en el diccionario más rápidamente (tras estudios sobre su uso –eso significa que si trabajamos en un diario y decidimos que le vamos a cambiar el significado a una palabra y nos ponemos todos a usarla con esa nueva acepción, al cabo de poco quizá aparece en los diccionarios), y también se pierden las acepciones con mayor rapidez. Pero también va bien, sobretodo a los que son como yo que siempre intentamos saber "lo correcto", tener un diccionario que nos diga si sí o si no.

De momento, seguiremos estudiando y buscando página tras página el significado de las cosas, y su origen, claro está. Así que ya sabéis, para mi cumpleaños me podéis regalar el diccionario etimológico español.

[Imagen de abajo (la del diccionario) originalmente sacada de aquí.]

Tuesday 16 May 2006

Decisions

It has been weird time lately. For the past weeks I have been having some Eleutherococcus (Siberian Ginseng –I actually didn't know it was Siberian until just now, and now I kinda like it a little more). It is some pills that work like Ginseng or Royal Jelly but without giving any excitation. I even thought that the bee attack was because of that: me sweating this bee-secretion alike.
Anyway, I don't really know if it is working. Actually, I feel tired, very tired, lately. My exams are over the corner and I don't feel like studying. I don't like studying, I like learning.
Last year I was studying at Birkbeck and taking classes. I was very tired always as I was having them after working all day. Sometimes, I would almost fall asleep. And once happened something very funny: I was sitting between my school-friend (the only one that I ever met outside school) and another guy who seemed to be fancying me and his stomach was roaring like a lion (it was tea time), then mine, and then my friend's. Was so funny. After that day I would have a coffee and a banana before going in.
Taking decisions is not easy. I wish I could do it quickly –obviously without mistaking. Perhaps that's why I am so tired lately: because my brain does not stop playing a similar game with a lovely Daisy "He loves me, he loves me not" but with a decision to be taken.
I miss going to school. Yes, it was great. Now I study in a Open University and it is very hard. Especially since I work and live in Spain, with the siesta break. Yes, it is great that I can go home to have my lunch, but hey, I get home late in the evening and no willing to study. Now I have to study. I just have, that's what I am doing. Though, when you have been all day doing things, you just feel like sitting in the couch and staying there forever. Then you'd wish to have one of those wonderful robots (or someone who loves you a lot) who would prepare your dinner, give you a massage and bring you bed.
Taking decisions, I was saying. Does anyone know why whatever we decide we are going to be a percentage wrong? That's a good question, right? Why, whatever we decide/do, we always hurt/bother/sadden someone?
Anyway. I still have some time to decide. Will try to keep it away of my mind and will take the decision in a near future (actually, I just need to 'finish' deciding). Besides, there are some changes that can happen now in my life and they would help me deciding. Isn't it great when that happens? Life is helping us out.

Wednesday 3 May 2006

Celluloid tears

Last night I watched "My Life Without Me", a movie by Isabel Coixet previous to "The Secret Life of Words". Also starring Sarah Polley and Leonor Watling (this time with a longer character). Also, the guy from Felicity, Scott Speedman. As well Mark Ruffalo, a guy you must have seen in many movies like "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" or "Just Like Heaven", a pseudo-good movie I saw the other day.
Talking about Leonor Watling, I saw "Malas temporadas" on Monday.
Both movies (Malas temporadas and My Life Without Me) are very strong, good, sad movies. I loved them both and I am sure you all will.
From the one I saw last night I got this three stills which I am sure you'll understand why (not to mention the beauty of the composition).

¿Cual es tu sueño? Todo el mundo tiene un sueño

A veces te despiertas una mañana y te das cuenta que la vida no es lo que te habías planteado que fuera. A veces te miras al espejo y piensas, ¿quién es ese? mientras plantas en tu cara una mueca. A veces pienso que no estoy aprovechando mi vida.
Tengo una amiga que me dice, a menudo, "life is passing us by", la vida nos está pasando de largo. Al principio asentía. Luego le pregunté qué quería decir. Ahora me doy cuenta de la razón que tiene. ¿Qué estamos haciendo con nuestras vidas?
Pienso. ¿En la Edad Media, qué hacía la gente? Claro, no me refiero al pobre agricultor que trabaja la tierra de su amo de sol a sol, me refiero a los que podían disfrutar de la vida. Tenían unos días tan largos/cortos (según se mire) como nosotros pero muchas menos responsabilidades. Vivían en sus palacios y tenían criadas que les limpiaban las casas, niñeras que les cuidaban los niños, etcétera. Nosotros, en cambio, nos levantamos en el alba para preparar la comida de los niños, les levantamos, los llevamos al cole, trabajamos media jornada, recogemos a los niños, les damos de comer, y de vuelta a trabajar y a llevar los niños al cole y a las actividades extra escolares. Nos pasamos el día dale que te pego, de aquí para allá. Y cuando al fin los niños duermen... ¿en qué ocupamos nuestro tiempo? ¿Cuando fue que dejamos de vivir? Si yo fuese religioso lo tendría fácil, pero como no lo soy... ¿A qué aspiro? Sí, claro, si me esfuerzo mucho y llego a ser el mejor de sea lo que sea que yo haga, algún día llegaré a tener mi chalé en las afueras, mi trabajador o trabajadora del hogar por horas, y me iré de viaje a las Seychelles o a Punta Cana. ¿Es eso a lo que aspiro?
Vale, en la Edad Media los caballeros iban a las cruzadas y las doncellas se quedaban en sus palacios. ¿Pero y el resto? Sí, claro, la civilización se desarrolló. Pero, ¿y el pensamiento? ¿Qué pasó entre San Agustín y Santo Tomás de Aquino? ¡Que son casi mil años! Bueno, claro, hubo pensadores, pero no hubo grandes en calidad ni en cantidad. ¿A qué se dedicaba la gente? ¿A vivir la vida?
¿Y cuando la vamos a vivir nosotros?
El otro día vi un trozo de un programa de TV3 sobre la visión que tienen los inmigrantes de los catalanes en particular y de los españoles en general. Está bien, la verdad. Una de las cosas de la que hablaban es eso de que no trabajamos, de que el lunes ya estamos pensando en el sábado. Trabajo es trabajo, no es vida. No me parece mal.
Utopía. Un mundo en el que el dinero no existe. Un mundo en el que todo se basa en trueque, por amor al arte, por bondad, sin malicia. Un mundo en el que todos nos ayudamos y cada cual hace lo que sabe hacer y disfruta haciéndo.

La vida es demasiado corta para estar siempre preocupándonos. Vivamos la vida. Hagamos lo que queramos. Realicemos nuestros sueños. ¿Qué es lo peor que nos puede pasar?

Título del post extraído de la frase final de
Pretty Woman (en vesión doblada al castellano).

Tuesday 2 May 2006

Exercising is not good for health

Last Friday I had the worse experience in my entire life, that I can recall, of course.
My sister and I have been going cycling through the tracks around my village for the last few days. This was normal, fun, nice. We were in the last quarter of the track, almost arriving into town, when I felt an insect flying around me. At first I thought it was a dragonfly, as I was just seeing it from the side of my right eye. I, then, tried to shoo it off but soon I realised it wasn't a dragonfly nor only one. It was a whole bunch of bees. A swarm was following me. I was about to lose control of the bike so I stopped and threw it to the floor. I tried to run but I couldn't. It was then when I saw the beekeeper (it could have easily been Yuri Gagarin, though). She (I think was a she for the voice) was shouting at me "¡Fuera!" ("Shoo! Go away!") but I was somehow understanding "¡Para!" ("Stop!") so I did.
At the same time my sister was shouting at me to get the fuck on the bike and fly away (she was not swearing but it really sounded like). I was paralyzed. I couldn't react. I shouted to the beekeeper to get (the fuck) over there and help me. My sister was still shouting, I tried to run but I couldn't; my legs weren't working. I fell on the ground (hurting my knees, by the way). I even thought I must be allergic as I was having a very bad reaction. Then I did as the beekeeper "was saying" I should do, I stayed quiet in the ground with my hands covering my face. My sister helped me to get up and to shoo the bees away of me. She told me to get her bike (which was closer to where we were) and get out, so I did. I could have gone straight to the Olympic Games as I cycled so fast that I was in town in less than a minute. My sister took long to arrive –the bike's chaing ha. I was having a nervous breakdown. I had been stung by at least six bees. Three of them were big bites, the worse in my head which still hurts, the rest were small as I was shooing them off.
The worse of everything was the nervous-breakdown, really. The stings are just stings and, as I must not bee allergic, they are not important. My wounded knees still hurt as well but it will pass out. But what will stay in me forever is the bad feeling. I couldn't react, didn't know what should I do and, even though my sis and the beekeeper were telling me what I should do, I couldn't see that was what was right.
The curious thing is that the other day we were talking about this, sort of, with my father. He was explaining us how when he was younger, he almost died drowned where there was not more than a meter deep. He panicked and instead of pulling the leg down so he'd reach the ground, he thought he was deeper and he'd die. The same happened to me, I thought nothing I could do would save me and I never tried (until the very last moment –if at the very beginning I had speeded up nothing would have happened).
And another funny thing is that less than a week earlier I was talking with a friend and we decided which animals should disappear of the Earth. Insects, all of them. And also rats, mice, slugs (not snails though) and dogs (yeah, dogs... she didn't mind, I do). Ah, I forgot and city doves.
Anyway... my sister and I went to the Primary Attention Centre (small hospital for emergencies and family medicine). There happened the real thing. It was horrible. I had the anti-tetanus and the antidote jabs. The last one was the worse, it really hurt me. Moreover it was on my bottom (she was telling me I shouldn't complain as I have a tattoo in my bottom and I have a piercing in my tongue, though I just don't like needles).
So I went home (half an hour before having to be back at work which I arrived over an hour late –I called my boss before, of course). I was very tired. I had a bath so I would relax. Still I was in shock. It had been horrible. I was very upset. My sister and I were jocking, actually, about all of this. I was saying that I couldn't care less about the trees and nature. I am a city guy! Fuck exercising! Or at least, I will enrol in a gym: that's why they invented them, so there are no bees around.

Update:

I forgot to say two things.
One is that the owners of the bees are from Fundació Onada, an association of people with Down Syndrome and such. They called the hospital asking if anyone had gone with bee stings. The hospital called me and I called them. They were actually worried. They invited my sister and I to go to the atelier (not for the beekeeping thing, but other kind of activities). So that was very nice. (Read here.)
The other thing is that since then I am very afraid of any kind of flying insect. Like that night, when I went to bed, a fly was around and I got so scared that I had to go under the sheets: my heart was going non-stop. And on Sunday we went to the country for an Argentinian asado (more or less a barbecue) and I was freaking out about every bee that I was seeing. This is actually scaring me a lot.

Ammendment
I made a mistake with the name of the association. Now it is ammended and linked.