Images at night

An old man, in his wheelchair, browsing around the rubbish, looking for I don't know what the hell, with a beer in one hand, and under the other hand the wheel.

Sudden memories

Yesterday night I was chatting with my friend, on the street, right in front of his house. Suddenly, this woman stops and looks at me, and says "you!" First I doubted, then I knew. I used to go to literature class with her, and we use to chat, together with Al, in the bar after class, sometimes for a long time. It was two years ago.
After all the usual stuff when it's two years no see, she asked me "So, how did you manage to smoke in the states? I remember you were quite worried about it" ... And then I remembered that I use to be worried about it, more than two years ago, as I was preparing my trip to the states and telling everybody about it. She reminded me. She knew a piece of my past better than myself. Ah, those were the times, the good old times. Now, I know there's no problem to smoke in the states.

Overheard

Around the office, I overheard that yesterday. The things one has to hear...:
"You think they'll do the porn version of Mel Gibson's The Passion? You know, they always make porn versions of block busters... They could call it The PassionX, like they once made Titanix.... And Magdalene could be making a blow job to Jesus while he's dying in the cross, and blood would be all over"

A script

I have to write a script for a short film. Ten pages max. It's for a contest. If I win, I get paid a two-week film course at the Film Academy in New York, plus the money and producing team to shoot the film. Shit, I have to win that god damn contest.

Moms, friends, chats

So yesterday I had a long and interesting chat with a friend. He had broken up with his girlfriend, and explained us the situation. Today, my mom told me that it's good that men have this kind of chats. She says that before, only women would have them, that times are changing. I don't know. Maybe.
However, it strikes me that my mom seemed to be more interested in the kind of conversation we had, rather than the content of the conversation itself. Maybe times haven't changed that much :)

Sant Jordi

Today's Saint George in Catalunya, Sant Jordi. Women give a book to men; men give a rose to women.
And the whole city is full of books, roses, women with roses and books, and men with books and roses.

Walk at 9am

Everyday I take the tube to Catalunya station, where I take the train to the office. Catalunya St. is one I like: there's always somebody playing some music, selling weird stuff (like the untranslatable "8 pilas arcalinas por 1 euro, señores") such as extremely cheap, long-life batteries, umbrellas, pins,... There are also women who can read your future in your hands, and a kiosk and a bags shop.
But maybe the best thing is when you get out: just straight to the Ramblas, this big avenue in Barcelona that I really love. At 9 in the morning, the Rambla smells of roses and liles and bamboo at the infinite array of flower shops, of freshly baked bread at the sidewalks, of crunchy newspapers at the kiosks always with nice kioskmen, of coffee at the Cafe of Opera, of juicy mangos and papayas at the market,... Smell of life, of happiness, of freedom, of the greatness of being human.
On the day I quit my job, I will just walk along Ramblas at 9am, on a working day, and breath its air.

Leathermen

So, if you search for "leathermen" on msn, the fruitman chronicles is the result number 575. Amazing.
Also, Jorge Croissier's CV is now number one on google, if you type "funny CV".

Curious studies

I also found that (should I say "this" instead of "that"?) on Nielsen's page. It's funny to see what people do when they have a research grant and time. Really, I miss my times as an information systems researcher.

Usability

Lately, I'm reading some stuff on web usability. Jakob Nielsen is supposed to be the master of web usability. This is his webpage. The first time I visited it, I thought it was pretty crappy. But after having worked for 6 months for an online company, I'm kind of reconsidering my first thought. What do you think?

The TV set's fine

"11:11 AM Apr. 16, 2004 PT "When you kill my mom, please make sure nothing happens to the TV set." Those were the instructions delivered to the hit man by a 17-year-old Fort Myers, Florida, boy when he offered $2,000 for the job. The TV is fine -- and so is mom -- because the hit man turned out to be an undercover cop. The suspect, Carlos Chereza, was arrested immediately following the meeting and now faces the prospect of watching quite a bit of television."
Find more on Furthermore

A piece of news

From Wired News/Furthermore

"08:55 AM Apr. 19, 2004 PT President Bush and his likely Democratic opponent John Kerry are both ticked off at Spanish Prime Minister Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero, who on Sunday ordered his 1,300 troops home from Iraq. Bush bemoaned the action, which he says gives "false comfort to terrorists or enemies of freedom in Iraq" while Kerry echoed that sentiment. Both might want to consider Zapatero's perspective. The Spanish people were overwhelmingly opposed to the Anglo-American invasion of Iraq, the majority opposed committing Spanish troops in the first place, and Zapatero ran for prime minister on the promise to withdraw those troops as soon as possible. The problem here doesn't appear to be Spain."

Fine fellows

I wish I was a fine fellow.

Guy-who-called-me-asshole

Mmmm... I almost forgot. Today I met again the-guy-who-called-me-asshole-in-the-train (tgwcmaitt).
So, the bastard called me asshole again. It turns out that because I reacted quite nicely the first time
he decided to insult me, now he kind of likes to call me asshole. He says it's fun he can just call me asshole.
Shit. The world's full of assholes.

Curious dream

Webmasters of the world, fear me! (I heard a sentence more or less like this one, today in one of my dreams: it was a kind of Citizen Kane, but with computer geeks playing every role in the film)

A novel upstairs

That will be the next "meme" of this website: "The fruitman chronicles. A novel upstairs".
I am planning an amazing redesign of it, so that I finally change the paradigm of website design and the history of literature, all at the same time.

Instructions to make a Sake Bomb

Jojo says it very clear here (or I should better say, draws it). I always thought Jojo is just a kid, a kid that really likes to play. Jojo play?

A little bit sick

Yes, that's how I feel today. My stomach complains, though I can't really tell what her complain is. Maybe it was the excruciatingly (man, I love this word) big plat of pasta carbonara I had on Sunday. Maybe it was the too-much-chip-dipping-into-spicy-sauce of Saturday night, while playing cards (by the way, I lost, but it was Choche's fault)
The thing is, for the first time in a very long time, I feel sick. Poor me. Please, you have to spoil me.

Phrase

I was told this on msn messenger today: "honestly, there is nothing I am really in the mood ...except one thing... sailing"
I am also in the mood for sailing. Yes, I want to swim right now, in the open sea.

Cards

I am going to play cards now. And I realise I never played cards in the States or in London. Man, what a stupid thought. Sorry.

I knew it

There he is. Jojo told me, and he was right. There he is.

I never said that, please believe me

"Two-hundred-twenty-eight is the number of baskets that fit in the lecture hall. A few years back SHARE tried to go to 250-something, said Fruitman. The project nearly imploded because there was no room to move around."
from its source

The surreal side of the Net

Now this is too surreal...

"Fruitman Advances Over Cook (1:00 pm est - Sun)

Vince "The Fruitman" advanced to the quarterfinal rounds of the Madden Games with a 35-17 win over Brian Cook of The PFL. The game was close early until Vince took over and pulled away to lead 35-10 early in the second half. Cook couldn't seem to get back on track after loosing starting QB Chris Chandler early in the second quarter. Vince now faces Eddie Parker in an all BFL quarterfinal matchup. Parker defeated Radio Man 56-10 yesterday. "
from its source

The fruitman's a movie star

So it turns out I made a movie in 1997. Here's the review, from The Great Canadian guide to movies and TV (man, there's people out there with really no work to do):

BORROWED HEARTS: A Holiday Romance * * 1/2 (1997)
dir: Ted Kotcheff. 90 min.
-----------------------------------------------------------
A working mom (Downey) and her daughter (Fruitman) are hired by her rich boss (McCormack) to pose as his family to impress a potential business associate (Elizondo) during the Christmas season. Made-for-TV romantic comedy/drama has a solid premise, but starts out poorly with the actors, particularly Hollywood import Downey (who was one of the executive producers) and young Fruitman unconvincing, and a script and direction that's pretty mundane (and the daughter's more obnoxious than precocious). It gets better all around as it goes along, with even a touch of the obligatory Christmas mysticism (the daughter thinks American actor Elizondo's character is an angel). Worth a look. And, hey, though squarely aimed at the U.S. TV market, it doesn't actually say it isn't set in Canada (which, in this country, and for an Atlantis Films production, is a cultural triumph!).

These fruitman chronicles...

These Fruitman Chronicles (yeah, better with capital letters) have achieved something quite dangerous: I never write in Spanish anymore. I wonder whether that's doing any good to me. On the one hand, I practise my English (I have a dream that someday the mexican will approve of it) On the other hand, I'm too relaxed about my writing. How can I be any demanding with myself, when I write in a language that's not mine? The fruitman, this bastard. One day I'll have to kill his shadow with a Spanish light. Y te quedarás frito, cabrón.

Holidays writing

So I was out on holidays for three days, but had time to write something. Actually, I had all the time, but was so busy reading Breakfast at Tiffany's and composing a couple of songs (really good, man, my sister does sing well!) that I only stopped to write for a couple of hours, always very late at night, like now. Because this blogger thing is so tricky, I was able to post the stories on the day there were written, though I have just transcripted them. Computer scientists are clever. Einstein would be confused.

Audrey Hepburn

I'm reading Breakfast at Tiffany's these days. It's one of these novels that you just can't put down until you finish them. And when you're finishing them you wished you had two more hours to read lazily, and the book a hundres pages more. Plus, with BaT you have Audrey Hepburn in your mind every time you read Holly Golightly. What more can you ask for? Holly, go lightly. Don't know if there's a play on words here. I should ask Truman.
So I'm reading the novel, and it strikes me that it was published in 1958, because I simply can't tell it happened 45 years ago. I don't really know America that much, but I would say that's a very American thing. Time is different there, for there are places, atmospheres, that you would say they are exactly the same today than 50 years ago. To me, this is something to be very proud of (don't really wanna tell you how Spain looked five decades ago...)
You take the New York city of BaT, and I'm sure you can find the brownstone house were Holly lived, and the bar where she made her phonecalls and got drunk with martinis, and Tiffany's, all exactly the same now. Moreover, I'm sure you can feel the atmosphere, that abstract feeling that, precisely because it's abstract, hasn't changed.
Maybe it has to do with American literature, with Holywood cinema, such a pair of so recent legend makers. I really don't know. But it's there and, if it catches you inside, you'll never be able to escape. Like a spider net, a very delicious one where, I am afraid, you forget about the spider.

Silence

So I came here today, to the middle of nowhere. To the border between the empty land and the empty sea. I am on the side of the land now, of course. I know it because I do not hear the waves roaring with peaceful roars, which is how the sea roars here on days like today, on windless days. I do not hear anything at all. Nothing but the noise of the pen between my fingers, delicately scratching the paper to form understandable words, perhaps even meanings. It has been more than two years I had not come here. And during this time, there has not been a second without some noise, either pleasant or not.
I have heard a couple making love next door, the wooden bunkbed knocking on the wall, the girl exciting me. I have heard EC playing Cocaine, and the endless buses in London's night. I have heard a woman crying, and it was my fault. The words of a play by Shakespeare. The light and the smoke of pot, cracking. Tracy Chapman going out of a Cambodians computer. Weird sounds, weird places, weird circumstances.
The cloth of air.
And now it is all silent, here, at the border of the sea. Till Sunday.

Narcisus

I know, I know, but I'm so cool at/on this picture.

Shit man!

Yes, yes. Shit man! I'm first on google. I never did it with my name. I did it as a fruitman. Paradoxes of life. Nice.

Loading the car

So there was this guy (or so I read) loading his car trunk, you know, suitcases, bags, groceries, etc. everything to go out on a week's holiday with his wife, daughter and son. To their apartment by the sea. What we call a dominguero.
Well, the thing is he started loading the car, and at some point (or so I read) the man realises that it's impossible to fit all the stuff inside the car. There's just too much stuff. He tries different combinations of the luggage, but there's no way.
The guy is sweating, the guy's swearing. He was sure. It was just a matter of time, but he was sure someday he would not be able to staff all the stuff into the car. The man swears again, now his wife's mother is involved. The bitch. She just leaves all the bags there for him to colocate them. And plenty of milk. 10 bottles. Like there was no milk where they go. And the kids. With the stupid videogames and mattresses for the beach.
There are three possible endings for this story (or so I read) but I have to go and take the train back home now. Today, I start my holidays!

Train asshole

So today I was in the train, sitting and reading quitely, and this guy in front of me suddenly told me: "You are an asshole". And, thanks to one of this rare and sudden explosions of wit inside my little brain, I replied: "You're right, I'm a complete asshole".
From that nice start, we had quite a nice chat. He works at HP. His name is Arnold (well, that's not his name, but he doesn't want his real name here -- cause you know, I told him that I was definitely going to publish this story... so let's call him Arnold)

Long time no see

So, the fruitman has been away from here for a long time... ay ay, work, work, work. Anyway, I'll try to regain some time from my life again, and keep on with my diary. Here's some delicious apetizer.... a bunch of really good pictures by Alyosha the photographer:
Here you can see the fruitman for the very first time