Getting old

And they ask me why I'm oldfashioned. When it comes to reading, I seldom read contemporary authors; and even when I do (remembering Rowling and Pullman), I never read their books as they are released, but only years later. Read the Harry Potter series in the second half of 2008, long past the years of hype; and read the His Dark Materials way before that. Before, it was Tolkien, it was Dick, it was Vinge - authors that are either dead or that haven't published anything for quite a while. People talk about the nowadays' authors and their books - Roth, Brown, Bolaño, etc, etc, and I nod in indifference: I don't know them. I don't miss them either. Maybe one day I'll read them and think "oh my God, how could I have been missing this?"

Happened when I first listened to The Arcade Fire, just to switch the subject to music. But if I go back to the last five years, there were only three bands that I've discovered: The Arcade Fire (with delay though), The White Stripes and A Fine Frenzy. There are others that I like (The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Florence and the Machine) that are rather recent, but I'm still getting into them, so to speak. But in the last five years, I've discovered The Smiths, Magazine, Joy Division, Led Zeppelin, Sex Pistols, The Cure, The Modern Lovers, The Rolling Stones, Creedence Clearwater Revival. Stuff older than me. Radiohead, Muse and The Arcade Fire might be my favourite bands, but those bands of old pop on my playlist more often, truth be told.

And this trend remains unchanged when we go to the movies. If I think about the last five years, the few movies I watched when they were released that became personal favourites were Gran Torino (2008), by Clint Eastwood, and Inglourious Basterds, by Tarantino. But during this time I've discovered older Tarantino movies (Reservoir Dogs, Jackie Brown), older Eastwood movies (Mystic River, The Unforgiven, and I have more to discover). I've been delighting myself with great directors like Ridley Scott or James Cameron, who are still in good shape (see Avatar), but whose masterpieces are pearls of the past (Alien and Blade Runner for the former, Aliens and Terminator (1 and 2) for the latter). And, of course, I cannot forget my favourite director, whom I also discovered rather recentely: Kubrick. Old Stanley filmed 2001: A Space Odyssey, the most brilliant film of all time; filmed Barry Lyndon, one of the most beautiful and well filmed movies I've ever seen; filmed The Shining, probably the only horror movie I even enjoyed (great, great Jack Nicholson); filmed Full Metal Jacket, a classic among war movies; and his weakest movie is perhaps Eyes Wide Shut, which is nevertheless better than the best movies of the average director.

So you see: in literature, cinema and music, I've been spending more time discovering - and enjoying the past than the present. Instead of keeping an eye of the current writters, directors and musicians, waiting for their new works, I keep both my eyes in the past, with an occasional, but never lasting glance on my own time. And my friends call me oldfashioned. I swear I don't know why.

Routines

There was a time, around an year ago or so, when this blog was frantically updated. As of today I have yet to find out where did I found the strenght, the inspiration, the ideas (or the lack of ideas, to be more accurate) to do so. I'm quieter now. I'm also less inspired, and more bored. From one year ago to now, many things have changed. I've not been permanentely happy (fortunately), but happiness has knocked on my door a handful of times since then. We all know that happiness is not a good writing motive or source of inspiration.

Anyway. I find interesting to see how the nature of relationships might change with the passing of time, but what sustains a relationship remains the same: routines. We tend to think that a relationship is slowly but steadily killed when it falls into routine, but that's nothing but a misconception: surprise, novelty and risk might spice up a relationship and give it new air to breathe, but the true sustainer of the relationship is routine. And by routine I understand all the little things a couple does together on a regular basis - be it having lunch every day on the same spot (because there is no place like it), eating the packet of nachos together in the first scene of the movie, steal chips from the other's dish, playing a game together at night, etc. It only gets boring if both people allow it to, really.

Backfire

We should be careful with our own statements. The more resolute and absolute they sound, the stronger they will backfire.

Like a Cheshire Cat's grin

"Cheshire Puss", Alice began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. "Come, it's pleased so far", thought Alice, and she went on. "Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to", said the Cat.
"I don't much care where--" said Alice.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go", said the Cat.
"--so long as I get SOMEWHERE", Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you're sure to do that", said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."

Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, chapter V

The Shard (republished)

The Brothers' War ended with the death of Mishra and the ascension of Urza as a planeswalker - an ethereal, godlike being of endless power, with the ability to walk the planes of the Multiverse through the emptiness of the Blind Eternities. Urza, Chief Artificer of Yotia, Protector of the Realm of Argive, became Urza Planeswalker when he poured all his memories into an uncanny bowl-shaped artifact - the Golgothian Sylex - in order to defeat his crazed brother; and by doing so, he sparked a cataclysm that wiped the continent of Argoth off the world and sank the entire plane of Dominaria into a millenium-long ice age. The Thran powerstones that were the reason why the brothers fought so fiercely - the Weakstone and the Mightstone - were lodged within Urza's skull, as his eyes multifaceted eyes. And both stones were the source of his tremendous power, for they contained the essence of a nascent planeswalker of old, who used his lifeforce through the combined stone in order to lock away from Dominaria the hellish spheres of Phyrexia.

But by unleashing the power of the Sylex, Urza did not only "engineered" the Ice Age, but he also locked away the Dominarian nexus of worlds in the Multiverse, trapping everyone inside, and himself outside. No one, not even another planeswalker, could walk in or out of the "Shard Worlds". Dominaria was apparentely safe from everyone, including Urza and the Phyrexians.

Aong the planeswalkers trapped within the Shard was Freyalise, goddess of the elves. Once a child of red mana, Freyalise turned to the green colours of magic when she became a planeswalker. While Urza was the responsible for the beginning of the Ice Age, Freyalise was the one bringing it to an end, when she cast the World Spell with the help of two powerful artifacts: the Reflecting Mirror of the archmage Jodah, and the Ice Cauldron. The World Spelll was a powerful and destructive spell, which ended the Ice Age and brought spring back into the long frozen world of Dominaria. It also - and perhaps unintentionally - repaired the Shard, leaving the Dominarian nexus unguarded - thus allowing the return of Phyrexia, and the return of Urza in their wake. While Freyalise can be blamed on the account of recklessness, for she could have destroyed the world with her spellcasting and, in the end, she allowed the return of Yawgmoth, she also gave Dominaria the chance to live again. Living, as we all know, is not without danger.

electronic mail

Burned half the afternoon browsing my oldest e-mail inbox. I seldom delete e-mail messages that do not fall into the "spam" and "advertising" , so everything is there since the beginning. Fragments of a life so old that it seems to have belonged to someone else, but not to me. Correspondence about school works. Futile attempts at arranging a team evening with dinner and pub. Scattered notes from me to myself about long abandoned stories I thought then I would shape and write. Warm messages from friends that are beyond my reach nowadays. Blog comments' notifications, being the blog - this blog - the only bridge I currently have to that past. Love e-mails. One. Bitter conversations through e-mail. Irrelevant things. A live within the inbox, as if it was a cardboard box where we store away our adolescence things. I don't even feel nostalgia when I read all that. It's not me, it's nothing to do with me. Back then I was a positive person (yes, positive), a warm person. I believed in myself. I had ambitions. I had dreams - I dared dreaming. Not anymore. Life, with its many circumstances, made me grow cold, detached, rational, aloof. No one saw that coming, not even me, and I'm often very good at predicting where my steps will lead me if I do nothing (I never do). That person to whom all those e-mails were sent over three years ago, that person is no more. Is dead, somewhere. And left behind only the sticks and the stones.

Red(head) music

I should have learned the lesson the first time. Trust the feelings. Back in 2007, A Fine Frenzy, the musical project of Allison Sudol, came to Lisbon to a small concert. I remember seeing her picture in a newspaper one day before the show and noticing her red hair (and her beautiful face, of course). One day after the concert - to which I didn't attend - I downloaded her first album, One Cell in the Sea, and really enjoyed it. And, of course, really regretted not going to see her gig.

Yesterday, Florence and the Machine came to Lisbon. The concert was sold out already, even though I could have bought thickets ages ago - have been hearing about them for quite a while. But I ignored it (as, in the past, I shamefully ignored The Arcade Fire, for example). I read today that it was a very good show. And I'm listening to it for the first time, and finding it really good.

Redheads are doing nice music, it seems. And I'm missing them all. Should watch it more carefully, it seems.

Rules of multiplication

The wonders of Wonderland

I'm wondering. The Cheshire Cat purrs or puffs?

The Cranberries' return (and welcome back, lady and gentlemen)

(c)José Sena Goulão/Lusa

About The Cranberries' gig last night: it was one of the best gigs I've ever seen in my life, and in many ways it was perhaps the best one (yes, in some ways it was better than any Muse concert I might have seen). For one reason only: few bands create such a strong bond with the crowd. In fact, for most bands, interaction with the crowd means "hello, *insert country or city*", "thank you", "see you next time". Note: in a gig, it isn't absolutely necessary to bring the public to the stage, so to speak; I've seen Brian Molko, Placebo's frontman, being outstanding on stage without ever even looking at the crowd, and Muse are good enough live to make up for this (we don't even remember it). But, regardless of the amount of pyrothecnics on stage, if a band gets warm with the crowd the concert enters into another dimension. So far, the only bands I've seen doing that really well were Vampire Weekend, three years ago (when no one really knew them), Audioslave, thanks to Chris Cornell and the tremendous guitar showdown of Tom Morello, and Rage Against the Machine (hello, Tom, once again). But Dolores O'Riordan, well, is unmatched: she has the energy, she has the voice (and what a voice), she has the ability to make the crowd feel special, she enjoys doing it. I was watching her and the band last night and was thinking "they are really doing this for us". She came to the edge of the stage, she joined the crowd, she sang with us. Or rather, we sang with her. Every single song (even she was surprised).

The show started with Analyse, followed by Animal Instinct - by then, the whole arena had surrendered already. But Linger, a few songs later, would be the night's first peak, but truth be told, the night was so hot already it would never become just warm. Ode to My Family was cute. Salvation was a riot. Zombie was... well, Zombie was Zombie, one of the most powerful songs of the 90's. Promises (an old favourite) was remarkable. And Dreams, to end the show (as expected), was epic. The rest? The rest was nothing short of absolutely amazing. Welcome back, 90's. We truly missed you.

(for pictures and reviews, check this, this, this, this and this)

Later,

with these Irish fellows. Salvation is free.

On change

It took me twenty four years, but it happened. My rational side finally tamed my emotional side, and I found myself becoming the responsible housemate at my place. And some friends ask me what on earth is wrong with me. O, sweet irony.

*note that when I say change, it doesn't necessarily mean a bad one.

Ashes to bullets

If murdered, I want to be cremated and my ashes mixed with gun powder and packed into bullets so i can continue to kill the enemies of my country. (If Murdered)

Now THAT is a true Marine. Sergeant Hartmann would be proud.

Now check that site - it's kinda funny.

Alice in Wonderland

The Cheshire Cat is so, so, so good.

Pulp Fiction

Is it just me, or this movie really gets better every time I see it?

Disposable people

I didn't need any confirmation whatsoever on the theory that people are easily replaceable. They are. Still, I guess I need to thank someone for showing me, in the very first person, that it is so true. And that it can be done in such a straightforward and unsubtle manner.