Recordando a Cha Cha Cha (y II)

Lo prometido es deuda, dicen.

A ver. Hay mucho, pero mucho de Python en Cha Cha Cha. Y esto no lo digo refiriendome a algunos sketches que, si no fueron copia directa de lo que hicieron Monty Python del ‘69-’72, le pega en el palo. No creo que sea algo para achacarle a Cha Cha Cha que se haya copiado, mucho o poco, de Python – vamos, lo que hace gracia, hace gracia ya sea en ingles, castizo, la semana pasada o hace 30 años. Digo que hay mucho de Python, primero y principal, en el tono surrealista que lo permeaba todo. Segundo, en la forma que ambos tomaron el medio televisivo mismo como sujeto principal de los sketches. Cuando uno ve a Monty Python y cuando ve a Cha Cha Cha, de ambos surge esa idea de una vista a una television extraña. Como si el televidente hubiese estado haciendo zapping y redepente se encuentra con un canal bizarro, en el cual se exhiben documentales tan brillantes como ridiculos, comerciales tragicomicos y sitcoms inverosimiles.

La principal diferencia, creo yo, esta en el elenco. Python siempre tuvo un elenco estable, salvo los ultimos 4-5 capitulos que John Cleese ya no estaba y se habia ido con la idea de hacer Fawlty Towers (gracias a dios por esa idea, tambien). Cha Cha Cha fue distinto.

 

Recordando a Cha Cha Cha

Hoy me di cuenta de algo bastante curioso – que mis mejores reflexiones, ultimamente, suceden en el baño. Ya sea en la ducha o sentado en el biorsi (o sentado en la ducha a veces, por que no?), es como que entro en un estado de foco y paz mental, lo cual me permite pensar sin esfuerzo.

Fue asi como hoy, en uno de estos momentos de claridad, me di cuenta que este año es el 2007. Es decir, diez años exactos (mes va, mes viene) desde la finalizacion del ciclo de Cha Cha Cha por America TV.

Una ocasion que da para reflexionar, y mucho.

 

Duelo de Titanes II

…… versussssssssss…….

 

Perdon, pero…

…vi esto en el blog de un amigo y no lo pude resistir.

Avanti, Bersaglieri…

 

Duelo de Titanes

Ay, Rosa, Rosa tan maravillosa
como blanca diosa,
como flor hermosa
tu amor me condena
a la dulce pena de sufrir…

Ay, Rosa, Rosa dame de tu boca
esa furia loca
que mi amor provoca
que me causa llanto
por quererte tanto,
sólo a ti.

———

Antes nunca estuve, así enamorado
ni sentí jamás esta sensación
la gente en las calles parece más buena
todo es diferente gracias al amor

La felicidad ja ja ja ja
de sentir amor jo jo jo jo
hoy hace cantar ahahahah
a mi corazón ohohohoh
La felicidad jajajaja
me la dio tu amor ohoh
hoy vuelvo cantar ahahaha
gracias al amor
y todo gracias al amor.

 

Oh, my, look at the time…

Yeah, I’m still here. Connected again, at last. Hello.

For the whole story I gues you can hit the wife’s blog. I’m sure she’s got a writeup there. Suffice it to say, being without internet sucks. Being with dialup might be even worse. Dialup is the enemy of civilization.

But hey, I’m still here. jemarcone@gmail.com . Hasn’t changed. Send a shout.

 

Borat’s Motion Film Picture

Haven’t laughed so hard in a long, long time.

See it in theaters, wait till it hits HBO, download it… I don’t care. You can’t miss this movie. This is pretty much non-stop, side-splitting, rib-cracking, asthma attack triggering infectious laughter.

Borat is so deliciously irreverent, so recklessly offensive that many times you can’t help but to fear for his safety. Those that have the misfortune to cross his path are usually too ignorant, too racist and too lazy in their self-absorption of political correctness to react and realize the joke is actually on them.

It’s delicious. Watch it. Now.

 

Yes, yes, I’m still alive

Yeah, I’m still here. Kicking. Just haven’t felt the need to write about junk (or about anything) lately, thus I have not.

Truth is I’m slowly coming out of a rather dark-ish period in my life, and you wouldn’t notice if you saw me. It’s not that I started painting my nails black, my face white and dusted off the old Sisters of Mercy LPs. Nope. It was more of an internal thing going. Well, yeah, provoked by an external thing… yeah, all you want, but still. The hurt was (is) inside. Like Intel.

Okay. I can see that won’t cut it. And that I’m gonna start getting emails saying things like “WTF are you talking about? Don’t jump!!!”. No, I’m not jumping. I’m landing. It’s all good. Mission accomplished. I’m staying the course. Not gonna cut and run.

If you absolutely need for it to be spelled out, well, let’s go ahead and do it. There’s no other way of saying it than… just saying it, I guess: Like John Cleese used to say, since last May it’s not that my marriage was dead but… well it was “not at all well”. Things happen. Shit happens, rather, and it’s shit that you just have to wade through if you value at all what’s on the other side of that nasty bog of shit you’re in. And I did value it. And I do value it. So I waded through shit for about five months, which was not nice. But hey, it builds character. And Malaria.

I’m not gonna go into the particulars. Those are domestics and they belong in the domus itself. Suffice it to say that, yeah, a few times through these last five months there was a real and distinct possibility for the marriage to end. Thanks to a lot of luck, spit and effort, that wasn’t the case. Things are patched up, and I think today is the first day that I can officially say to myself that, yeah, we’re on the road to recovery, redemption, reconciliation and whatever other ‘r’ you want (except rabies). Things are good. Certainly much better than they ever were in the last 5 months, and getting better. Slowly. Day by day. Trying to build the sand castle again after the wave washed it away.. because that’s what life ultimately is: It’s building a sand castle right by the ocean. Sometimes all you can really do is watch how the water swallows it up, and then you start again. Until you run out of sand. That’s all there is, really, and this is not something defeatist. Quite the contrary.

Defeatist would be to give up after the first wave, or worse, decide not to build at all and spend your whole life looking at the sea. Humans are trying creatures, and there’s nothing heroic or remarkable about this. It’s hardwired in us not to give up after the first failure. We just brush it off and try again. Maybe do things differently, maybe insist on the same, but we do try.

Why do we try? Why do we try in the face of our failures, past, present and to come? I don’t know. I guess the best answer I can give is that I try, because if I don’t… what’s left there to do for me? We try because we want to see something done, something built, something felt. We try because we do have an unwavering love to see something out of nothing. Building, building anything, is a creative process and, as such, nothing more essentially than an act of love. And, honestly, what good is an act of love… what’s the purpose of buliding something out of love if it’s not going to be shared with someone else? Someone just like you, as different as he or she might be.

I thought I had built something, and for the longest time it stood. Then the waters gobbled it up. I can’t but to try again, and build it again. So I can share it again with her… the only one I remotely care about sharing something as beautiful and fulfilling with.

I don’t build things like these for my own enjoyment. For that, I do other things. There’s nothing here for my pleasure other than the pleasure of seeing it given away, well-received, well-used and well-felt. Love is an expanding motion, never a contracting one. Love, like life, is heat, not cold. I didn’t build this for myself, I did it to give it to her. Maybe now it doesn’t stand anymore as it was. Maybe now it will be a little different. Maybe I can’t build it again in its perfection, a spotless, spitting image of what once was and now is no more. Then in that case, no matter. I will build it differently, and just as good if I have any say about it.

I’ll build it again, so she can have it again. And that’s all I ever really wanted; for her to have a little piece of me.

 

Shh… 300.

No le digan a nadie, pero… ya anda por ahi el trailer de 300, la nueva peli basada en la novela de Frank Miller (Sin City, etc.). Se ve bien.

Para los que no saben de que va, un poco de historia: Batalla de Termopilas.

 

Nuevo Weird Al

Una joyita. No tiene desperdicio. Lastima que el album es medio flojo, pero vale la pena nomas por este tema.