Back from Lurkdom
So this year I'm writing a fic for the spn_j2_bigbang! And I've only been watching the show for four months, and I got stuck in Season 7 and needed a breather, because wow, it's a very hot and intriguing rebound relationship, but jeeez is it also emotionally abusive and manipulative.

Anyway I signed up for the first challenge at omgspnbigbang and won! Yay! Go me. And I got a shiny shiny banner for it.

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[Fanfic] Enemies 1/1
First completed fanfic in years! Unbelievable.

Title: Enemies
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Pairing(s): Very subtle Charles/Erik
Rating: PG-13, Teen and up
Warnings: Graphic Violence, Death, mentions of the Holocaust
Summary: Written for this prompt at the X-Men First Kink Meme:

"Some years down the line while on a mission with the Brotherhood, Erik is about to kill one of the scientists working at the government lab researching mutants when he notices the numbers on the man's arm.

Another survivor of the camps.

Enraged, Erik asks him what the hell he thinks he's doing, considering. And the man's answer boils down to 'There's this psychopath running around who's decided, again, that I and my family are a lesser race. Screw that, I'm fighting back this time; I'd stab that Magneto bastard right in the face if I could!'

...perspective's a BITCH, ain't it?"

In which there is a lot of screaming, changes of perspective, consequences and maybe some hope.

Here in AO3, or in my DW journal.

Thanks for reading!

Current Mood: satisfied

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Oh hey long time no see!
Hello to the five or so people who may be reading this!

I haven't posted in, like, two years? Woops. I check my LJ weekly of course but that's mostly because I'm a lurking-lurk-lurk-lurker and spend my time reading too much fanfic and writing much much less. I actually got an account in DW recently but I still haven't posted much in there either.

So what I am up to these days? I finished with Uni and decided not to come back for a few years at least, and only as a last resource if I can't find a decent job or if I find some Master's I would really really like to take. And then came back to Mexico to work, because seriously if I have trouble finding a good job here, in a country where I don't have to justify my presence, how many chances do I have elsewhere?

And so I found an online teaching job, signed up for German classes just so I could have an excuse to go out once a day, and I spend my time trying to avoid thinking about what to do next.

Currently my fandom obsessions are XMFC, Sherlock, and um, X-Men! I had a crazy Hetalia crush a couple years back, induced by my frantic study of International Relations and Contemporary History of Japan. And then I recovered my sanity after exam period.

And I'm actually writing fic! Hopefully I will finish it, edit it, and post it soon enough, especially if I get my hands on an AO3 account, which would be lovely and also (hopefully) an incentive to write more!

So there you go. And how have you been?

Current Mood: productive

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Random Hisashiburi Entry
I put "manly japanese" for a search in google images...

and I found this in the first page.

I am extremely disturbed.

Current Mood: scared

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Japan, 2008-2009
So.

I applied for, and unexpectedly got, a grant to go to Japan. It's not actually a grant as in money, because they give you a mostly symbolic quantity of 1,800 euros for the whole year, but it's a guaranteed place in a Japanese univerisity. It's the opportunity to study from september 2008 to july 2009 in Ritsumeikan University, Kyoto. Taking into account the scarce grants given to Mexicans to go to Japan, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me.

The problem? As always, my nationality. Because if I go to Japan one whole course, my residence permit in Spain will expire (legally I'm not supposed to leave Spain for more than six months). This is because I have to renew it once a year. The process begins in september, when I enter the country, and I never get my renewed residence permit until December.

Since I'm in my first year, if I go next course I'll have to return to Spain to finish the obligatory classes that cannot be "validated" with classes I take in Japan.

Therefore, if I go to Japan for a year, I'll have to go through the student visa process AGAIN, which means an endlessly complicated, costly process. Plus, they're asking for prospective students to have 900 Euro a month. My parents give me all they can, that is, 400 euro a month. I can live perfectly well with this. But I'm not sure the government will understand and accept that. I don't remember how we got through that last time, if the requirements were those. It was the most complicated, frustrating thing I ever had to do.

I have an option, which I should discuss with the people in charge in my university, of going just for a single semester, in Spring 2009. Which means I could renew my residence permit on Fall 2008 and re-enter Spain without problems by september 2009. It's a possibility that, also, will make it possible for me to get the degree in the two years it's supposed to take, since I'll be doing in Spain the courses for the first semester of the second year, and they'll count some of the courses I take in Japan, and I can reach an agreement with the lectures of obligatory, non-validatable courses so I can actually take the exam in September 2009 or present the papers needed.

Plus, I'd have the time to prepare myself for leaving Spain...

The problem? It's just actually 4 months, March to July. I've been given the possibility of going to KYOTO, JAPAN, for God's sake. Also, 4 months won't help me improve my Japanese as much as 8 months. Studying this damn language, I've come to realise I'll never go improve if I don't take a lot of time, and yes, actually live in Japan for a while.

Four months will be too little time, for a once in a lifetime opportunity. But, I don't know. It just seems so much easier.

What can I do?

What should I do?

Current Mood: Suffering from writer's block

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Idea for the Holidays
Actually I'm just procrastinating. Surprise, surprise!

Hey, I've just spent like 20 euro on frozen spinach lasagna, nuts and sherry wine for holiday celebrations. I don't have money for today's newspaper, but hey, it's free on the internet! And I just found a very amusing article on the NY Times:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/24/us/24shopdrop.html?_r=1&th=&adxnnl=1&oref=slogin&emc=th&adxnnlx=1198502033-xKTOF74TGDYJWpPOScsKCg

It's called "Anarchists in the Aisles", and it's about the opposite of shoplifting: shop dropping!

Personally, I'd love finding an anarchist action figure in the toy section. With Molotov cocktails included!

"At BookPeople in Austin, Tex., local authors have been putting bookmarks advertising their own works in books on similar topics. At Mac’s Backs Paperbacks, a used bookstore in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, employees are dealing with the influx of shopdropped works by local poets and playwrights by putting a price tag on them and leaving them on the shelves."

Well, if no-one's going to publish it for you anyway- why not? The point is that someone gets to read your texts.

"At Powell’s Books in Portland, Ore., religious groups have been hitting the magazines in the science section with fliers featuring Christian cartoons, while their adversaries have been moving Bibles from the religion section to the fantasy/science-fiction section."

This one's the best. No- wait:

"This week an arts group in Oakland, the Center for Tactical Magic, began shopdropping neatly folded stacks of homemade T-shirts into Wal-Mart and Target stores in the San Francisco Bay Area. The shirts feature radical images and slogans like one with the faces of Karl Marx, Che Guevara and Mikhail Bakunin, a Russian anarchist. It says, “Peace on Earth. After we overthrow capitalism.”"

You said it! And how about this:

"One of the first reports of shopdropping was in 1989, when a group called the Barbie Liberation Organization sought to make a point about sexism in children’s toys by swapping the voice hardware of Barbie dolls with those in GI Joe figures before putting the dolls back on store shelves."

LOL. People can be so creative and funny sometimes. It makes life worth living.

Happy... whatever, everyone! Please consume with caution this holidays! (And get me a COMMUNIST POWER MAO ZEDONG action figure if you can find it!)

Current Mood: blank

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Geopolitics and Astrophysics
My mind seems to swerve between periods of dull, dreamy wankerism and swarming activity, with constantly springing thoughts about every little thing my brain can get hold of. Either way, it seems difficult for me to concentrate on a single thing at a time. Also, the past few days (or weeks) I've been feeling sleepy, physically and mentally weak, drained of energy. I'm trying to cram in a few hours of exercise a week, but I'm still not sure if I should seek professional attention. My blood analysis was correct, everything in order except for a bit of iron deficiency. So maybe it's my Vital Energy failing, or I'm eating the wrong type of food (more Yin, more Yang? more Water or Earth or Fire?), or I'm getting narcolepsy or something.

Plus, my head's immersed in the complex world of Asian geopolitics, and somehow now I'm reading articles and books I've never have picked up out of my own will half a year ago. For example this fascinating series of interactive articles about pollution in China:

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2007/12/08/world/asia/choking_on_growth_7.html

Plus, I've learnt that my science teachers at high school were lying to me. Newton's theory of physics is bust. Has been so for more than 80 years. I do understand of course that nobody, much less a group of teenagers with little to no curiosity about the world can actually grasp Einstein's theory of relativity. (Belive me, I'm trying). But at least they should warn you: what we're teaching you is outdated. If you want to learn more about it, we can do a little section at the end of the course. Or something.

Sometimes I become aware of the brutal immensity of possibilities the world, this life, my life, offers, and how by choosing one thing all those possibilities get narrower and narrower. I could have been an inventor, a designer of energy-efficient transports. I could have been a soldier. I could have been a computer programmer, or some sort of computer technician, which would allow me to have a nice, well-paid job which I could use to have a flat of my own and some time to write my stuff. I'm beginning to see that studying a philology has made my mind work in a way which might not help me become a writer. I'm used to analysing texts, now, and in every text I read, and every text I write or am planning to write, I see connections, relations, and discussions about gender, politics, and other philosophical concepts of the theory of literature. I overanalyse too much. And it stops me from just saying what I want to say.

Apart from the fact that with the job and university, I've got practically no time to write. Anyway, I'm going to survive this semester and enjoy it as best as I can. Who said Chinese agriculture isn't a fascinating topic?

Current Mood: determined

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More Procrastination- we know you just need to fill this out for me
If you're on my friends list, I'd like to know 27 things about you. Just copy and paste it into the comments section with answers. Thanks!
Then copy the meme and see if anyone answers you. You'll be surprised how much you didn't know about your friends, after this!

1. Do you have a tattoo?
2. How old are you?
3. Are you single or taken?
4. Fish?
5. Do you dream in color?
6. Ever seen a corpse?
7. Hipsters or Hillbillies?
8. How did we meet?
9. What's your philosophy on life and death?
10. If you could do anything with me, and have no one know, what would it be?
11. Do you trust the police?
12. Do you like musicals?
13. What is your fondest memory of me?
14. If you could change anything about yourself what would it be?
15. Would you cheat?
16. What are you wearing?
17. Have you ever peed in a pool?
18. Would you hide evidence for me if I asked you to?
19. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?
20. Which do you prefer - short or long hair?
21. What's your favorite day of the week?
22. What's your favorite color?
23. If you could bring back anyone that has passed, who would it be?
24. Tell me one interesting/odd fact about you?
25. What was your first impression of me?
26. Have you ever done drugs?
27. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you?

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Nothing Intelligent to Say
Ambiguous enough to be true... for anyone.

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Oh My God
http://www.jornada.unam.mx/2007/11/04/index.php?section=espectaculos&article=a12n1esp

I am seriously scared by this article. You know, I was watching Dragon Ball Z this morning and all I could think of was, "how could I have liked this?" The mindless plot, the endless battles, the fact that the only way they can conceiv of eliminating a creature designed to be the strongest warrior in the universe is by punching it repeatedly,... I don't know. It was certainly original in its time, I guess, but now it's just plain repetitive. Plus, when you've seen as much hentai/yaoi as I have, you really can't think of the characters in the same way you did when you were thirteen.

Back then, Vegeta was my role model, not the man I wanted for a lover, as a woman; but the man I wanted to be. Which explains why now I'm all fucked up, pessimistic and paranoid. No, seriously: now I look at the character and see a guy who needs therapy, lots of it, RIGHT NOW. He's too proud, which means his self-esteem must be on negative levels. He's rude, stubborn, and way too selfish. I don't see him as enchanting ot charismatic as I did before.

Anyway, the article: they're filming in North Mexico (I take this'll be the desertic landscapes), Mexico City (the cheapest ciy you can film in, I suppose), and the snow-covered volcano will be in Toluca (our very own Fujizan!). The cast is blood-chilling: TOM WELLING as Goku (... it actually makes sense. A muscled young man with an innocent face), an oriental man as yet unknown as Vegeta (why Oriental? Because he's short, cold and evil?). Director: James Wong (who is he?), Hans Zimmer will be making the music. Article says he's done Gladiator, so maybe it won't be that bad.

I'll probably go and watch the movie when it comes out. Just, you know, for entertainment value. No por frikismo ni nada, eeh.

And when I do I might just have this huge smile on my face, because I'll be knowing that all those landscapes presumed to be Toriyama's alternative Japan- they're actually in Mexico.

Current Mood: strangely patriotic

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The Happy News of Today
You all know what I'm talking about, of course!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/7053982.stm

(In case you somehow don't)

When I first got the news I almost had an attack of hysteria. Oh, wait, not almost. I did. I was torn between feeling immensely happy, and feeling immensely angry that she did not include it in the book, making it seriously canonical. It would have completely made up for the rest of the book. After writing that horrid, conservative epilogue for the series, she goes and says something like this. What's she playing at?

But still. We have our very first canon slash couple! ^_^ REJOICE!!!

This also supplies evidence to my discovery that mature, single, brilliantly intelligent and charismatic men are all gay.

Current Mood: crazy

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The Romanian Neighbours
A set of keys has disappeared from our flat.

Well, not exactly disappeared: lost. On Tuesday evening, my flatmate E. was climbing up the long stairway to our flat, carrying his heavy bike up to the third floor, when a candy fell out of his pocket and down the stairs. Two big guys climbing up behind him picked it up and handed it good-naturedly to him. He thanked them, unlocked the door, and struggled to get his bike into the narrow entrance as quickly as possibly, because the guys were waiting in the corridor to get past him. He shuts the door and goes inside.

Some time afterwards, he realises his keys have gone missing. They aren't in his pockets, nor in his coat, nor in his bagpack. They're not in his room. He looks in the corridor, in the mailbox, but finds them nowhere. So, when I finally come home on Tuesday evening, sweating and tired and cursing the stupid public trains, I find a commotion in the house. My flatmates carry out an exahaustive search of the stairway and corridors, but find nothing. They speak with some neighbours, which point out that a floor above us live some big Romanians which have already been visited by the police on two occasions, because apparently they're very noisy at night.

Immediately the Romanians become the principal suspects of theft of keys, planned breaking and entering, and possibly also planned anal rape. Hysteria abounds. Plans for locking up the house at night in a secure way are formed. People wonder if they should warn the police about the Romanians.

Reluctant to believe that my quiet little town has turned into Mexico City, I sit unfazed at my flatmates' ramblings, a bit angry that immigrants are, as always, the first to be suspected, automatically supposed robbers and thieves and thugs. If they had been big, ugly, working-class Spaniards with a reputation of noisy, incivic buggers, would they have automatically suspected them of being robbers? I'm not so sure about it.

I suppose even if they were robbers, why bother with a theft in your own building (we don't shit where we eat, don't we?) and moreover, why bother robbing a students' flat, which can contain goods not reaching 1000 euro, in total? Why not try the chalets or the big houses not two streets away?

I asked them to keep calm and wait before jumping to conclusions- things always appear in the last place you look for them, after all.

As of today the keys are still missing, and everyone's getting jumpier. I think I might not sleep as calmly this weekend, which I'll be spending, as always, alone in the flat.

When you think about it, it really IS an unsettling thought, isn't it?

What if there's someone out there with the keys to your flat?

Current Mood: contemplative

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The New Witch Hunt
Pedophilia is today's dark magic, the danger from which people should protect their children, the one thing that can get you in disgrace and ruin your life for a long, long, time. Even if you get cleared of charges of pedophilia, the doubt will always still remain: but what if...?

In the context of the internet... it's a difficult question. On the one hand, it's true that the internet has allowed pedophiles from all parts of the world to unite and share experiencies, tips, and pornographic material, which includes photos and videos of real children who have been forced or coerced into making porn. On the other hand, it's a perfect excuse for a witch hunt, and an even greater excuse for restricting the freedom of internet users everywhere. Now who would want to restrict the internet? Everyone in power, of course. Just check out this page, for instance: http://savetheinternet.com/

I know they're talking about a regulation only in the US. However, given that the great majority (or indeed, ALL) the servers I use on the internet (LJ, Blogspot, Yahoo, MSN, Google, etc etc) are located in the US, it is a problem that affects me to a large extent. Also, other countries might also be considering internet restrictions thanks to all the pedophilia scare (Spain, for example). Other countries just restrict the internet without any question (China).

I'm not saying pedophilia is not a real, serious problem. I understand and accept that some people do have a sexual attraction for children. However, acting upon that attraction and harming an individual without their knowing, mature, explicit consent is unethical, illegal, and a crime, for which you must be punished (or better yet, prevented from doing it in the first place).

It's a serious problem, it affects us all, and it's happening now, progressively... it feels like the whole world is getting more and more scared, and the ones in power more and more repressive. Is it just me and my paranoia?

Current Mood: anxious

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Deathly Hallows
Late as usual, because I like to take my time, I finally finished reading the Deathly Hallows and I’m ready to comment on it.

In general, it was a very good book, in terms of writing and my personal satisfaction, although I do have some serious issues with the epilogue.

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Current Mood: contemplative

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Harry Potter
I haven't been very passionate about Harry Potter since I read the last book, but I must admit I enjoyed the "Order of the Phoenix" film with fangirlish glee. 

Mostly it was due to being in a large, crowded room full of people who had the same emotional responses as I did to the film. We all laughed, groaned, and giggled in unison, and that's frankly a very enjoyable collective experience. Much like in the early years of cinema, where people in the cinema ate loudly, screamed insults at the villain and threw popcorn everytime he appeared. That collective response, I think, was the most enjoyable and the most successful part of the film. 

Everything else was as usual: the action within the film is mostly coherent, but the scenes are only vaguely related with each other. Despite the obvious efforts of the director, who overused the typical "fading into the next scene" image and joined the scenes through lines of dialogue, the scenes still seem like scrap pieces taken from the book joined together without a fluid connection. Most of it seems rushed, to me.

The three main actors are still horrible and unconvincing in their acting, although my irrational dislike of Emma Watson made her scarce improvement less obvious for me. I did enjoy Luna (who played her?), McGonagall and Snape. I have come to like Alan Rickman's Snape, even though he has never coincided with my mental image of the character. Michael Gambon still doesn't look very Dumbledore-ish, I have to say. He looks fat and incompetent. Umbridge looked a little too false for me, but that's perhaps the essence of the character. And I just hate Emma Thompson. Maybe I got this thing about Emmas, I don't know.

Oh, but Natalia Tena (Tonks)? I'm in love. 

I loved the flying scenes, as always, and I particularly enjoyed the too-brief flashbacks of Snape's past. 
Young Snape is quite nice, actually, in a way only people like me would find attractive. I loved the Ministry of Magic, although I was a bit disappointed by the Department of Mysteries, and even more so by the exclusion of St. Mungo's and the Room with the Brains. Oh, but Umbridge's office? A delightfully horrible depiction; just as I had pictured it.

So: the film is entertaining but not very good. No big surprise there. 

I'm afraid the surprises might come in a few week's time. The film has got be a little back in the fandom, but I still dread the coming of the last book. Because, in my mind, it will be either a great, exciting, gut-churning book, or a terrible, gut-churning mess. Honestly, I'm not in much of a hurry for the book to come out. 

Current Mood: amused

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Drilldozer Head
Slightly literary entry with the hopes of becoming all of a sudden the young promise of Contemporary Mexican Literature. Well yes, I'm writing my literary CV and it's quite pathetic. I've got virtually nothing published (well, nothing I'd like people to actually read)-(A Yaoi magazine which only survived two issues published a Harry Potter slash fanfic of mine a couple of years ago. I think I'll stick to my two creative writing courses and my one "literary" prize). In the very unlikely case I get the grant I'm applying for I'll end up living in Mexico City for a whole year. 

Seems terrifying anyway. 

Modernism kills me, but I've managed to survive today's exam and thus end my three weeks of torment. I have a week left to clean the flat, arrange reparations, pack my stuff and move it to my friend's house. And meet (or make?) friends, in addition. Sushi restaurants await me. 

But I just want to go home. Seven days to go. Time goes so quickly, before I realise it I'll be 42 years old, a crippled old lady who's lived her entire life from place to place to place. 

I won't care, provided I have a flat for myself. I know in my heart, deep deep in my heart I won't be able to stand shared flats for much longer. The Bitch is still there, grumbling and stinking and walking her dog around our house, leaving sticky pee - poo marks all over the floor. Wasn't she supposed to leave today? She hasn't said a word, and I know I'll love the opportunity to punch her stupid face, her dull blue staring eyes, her fucking grimace. She's not the only one who pisses me of, though, for the flatmate who had to tell her how much she had to pay for the water and electricity bills hasn't said anything yet, although we've been imploring her to do so for weeks now. Since The Bitch is leaving today or tomorrow or soon (and if she doesn't I'll be leaving soon) we were forced to invent a quantity to cover for the costs. It turned out to be too high a quantity, and now The Bitch suspects we're having her on. Which of course we are, but I didn't mean this to be this way. 

I like things done correctly: to pass an exam you need to go to class, study, and begin answering the questions one by one in detail. If the Bitch Flatmate must leave AS SOON AS POSSIBLE then the costs must be calculated and communicated to her with the utmost speed. But no, she isn't living here so she doesn't care. 

Well I won't give a fuck if she has to pay The Bitch's part of the costs, as well. I don't want to hace to face anybody about this shit, because it is not my responsibility, it's not my fault. 

In any case one can only hope of the best. Or else, take the drills and hammers of the builders working outside my window each day, and start DRILLDOZING heads "a piñón". 

*Sigh*

Current Mood: bitchy

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Friday Night, or Why You Shouldn't Live with People you Hate
Last night I retired early to my bedroom. I closed the door and started writing this, leaving the living room to M, the Flatmate From Hell. Let her be the queen of the living room. Let her watch whatever she wants on TV. After all it’s only fair, isn’t it? Because she’s been hiding out in her room for weeks anyway.

Right now I’m quite calm and collected, but when she first came home I was absolutely, totally PISSED OFF. I was peacefully listening to music when she rapped loudly on my bedroom window and asked me to open the door for her. She probably needed to do this, of course, because she isn’t allowed to have her keys to the flat anymore, but it just pissed me off anyway. And then she sat down on the sofa and started to smoke right there and I just felt my entire night was ruined, and I hated her, I hated her with that irrational, vicious, gut-twisting, passionate revulsion that makes you beat people to death.

I don’t really know how this hate grew inside me. When we first met M, two months ago, she seemed a nice enough girl, and a pretty interesting one at that: adopted, vegetarian, writer, performer, ecologist… one of our kind. The first days of living together, just Alba, her and me, were fabulous. We watched a lot of films and ate sandwiches and talked.

And then... M got swindled by the dealer she was trying to buy pot from, everybody lost money (Not me- the benefits of being a non-smoker), and although everybody got a bit resented at her, M was promptly forgiven. Also, M developed an irritating interest in Alba’s love life -which is admittedly very interesting, although also None of My Damn Business- and started pestering me (and others) with questions. I told Alba, of course, and although she and M finally had a Talk, things never were the same again between them.

And then came the dog, and the real shit started. When she first came to the flat, M made ABSOLUTELY NO MENTION of her desire to have a dog. After a few days she let it slip, and Alba and me told her it would be OK, so long as she kept it outside, for which we had to ask permission to the neighbours. She also needed to ask our other flatmate. Well, as it happened, it was just a couple of days after his conversation that M brought a dog, just like that, out of the blue. It was a frightful, nervous and large dog, fully grown but young, and obviously untrained. It yapped and barked endlessly in the communal garden. M claimed she cleaned the dog’s shit every day, but the space was littered with shit and puddles of pee every time I looked outside.

Any questions of “what would you have done in her situation?” actually end here: sure, I’ve done very stupid and crass things, but I would never, ever, ever have got into that situation in the first place. I’d have never taken a dog I obviously could not care after. Because M couldn’t. Not really.

I suppose you’ll need proof:

1. Less than a week after bringing the dog, she sprained her ankle while taking the dog out for a walk- the dog was incredibly strong, and M has an incredible amount of bad luck, or yeah, maybe she’s just incredibly stupid. So she found herself unable to walk, let alone take the dog out, for weeks and weeks. She used this as an excuse to send me out for cigarettes and bread on one occasion, although that very night, among tears and laments of how the dog was ruining her life, she took it out for a walk, sprained ankle and all.

2. When she finally got around to asking the neighbours if she could have the dog in the communal garden, they obviously said no. She took the dog to some friends in a squatter house. During that time the dog had escaped a couple of times. And one day the squatters were forced out of the house, and the dog returned, without permission, without a fucking warning, to our house. And since M spent half the day at work, the dog spent half the day, or more, locked up in the small space of M’s room (4m x 4m at most), living with its own shit and pee, yapping sorrowfully for hours every morning.

It was by that time that we all started complaining to her, because we’d had enough. Alba had cleaned the dog’s shit and had taken it out for a walk on various occasions. M wasn’t buying food for anyone, and she also wasn’t doing the cleaning. We told her off on various occasions, with various degrees of politeness and hostility, and she just wasn’t taking the hint.

3. And then one day, two weeks ago, the dog disappeared. M had left it barking pitifully at 7 o’ clock on a Saturday morning; Alba had let it out of the room through the window; and at midday I brought it in again because it had started to rain. I had to take the leash off to do this, and apparently, the dog squeezed out of the room under the blinds I had left down. M didn’t bother to go looking for it until some days later, when she found it… well, dead.

We didn’t know any of this until almost four days after, when she brought a one-month (old) pup to her room. (Yes: your last dog dies because you weren’t taking proper care of it and you just adopt another one! A very intelligent solution if you ask me). The next day some people from an animalist association came to see the dog, and upon seeing the room in which it was kept locked (dog hair, pee, and shit everywhere; the stink was unbearable) they decided to take the pup with them. And then M arrived, and all hell broke loose. There was much shouting and struggling, as M tried to physically take back her dog, then accused us of losing her dog and stealing her bike (??), and then ran away.

And now basically we’ve taken her keys until she has paid us the rent and other expenses, and she’ll hopefully go away sometime soon, to some nice place with a garden where she can keep her puppy. Oh sure, the puppy’s very cute, but the damn thing keeps peeing on every single spot in the living room. Our flat’s in a disgusting state right now: the floor is covered with dark blotches that reek of bleach and something else, all shiny and sticky and utterly gross.

Guess who had to clean up a puddle of pee that appeared this morning under the living room table? Oh yes, that’s right: ME. Because maybe M can live in a house littered with dog shit and pee, but I can't. I'm not the neatest person in the world, that's for sure, but even I have my limits. The flat turning into a public bathroom? Yes, that's the line you can't cross with me. I'd have left the puddle right there for M to clean, but FOR FUCK'S SAKE, I LIVE THERE, and I don't want that smelly puddle nagging me constantly, in the back of my head. It's unbearable, and I can't take it anymore. I just swept it up and left a note to M saying she should clean the living room.

So yeah, I hate her guts. 

It had started with a mild dislike at some of her comments, her Argentinean accent and her habit of addressing us in the formal style (usted), and above all, her constant tendency to put herself as the victim in every situation. I know I probably hate her for this because it’s something I particularly dislike in myself: she’s so sensitive; she takes everything as a personal attack, and cries and seems so weak and utterly detestable… I don’t know. Even in my darkest moments of despair, last year, I was very conscious that I was not really anyone’s victim: that I had got myself in a situation where I lived with people I didn’t like and hardly talked to, and that I was responsible for my actions.

And, she smokes in the bathroom. If there’s one thing that really peeves me is the smell of tobacco smoke. I’ve lived with smokers for three years now, and it’s never stopped to bother me. Some days I can stand it, some other days I can’t. I just ask everyone to NOT SMOKE when I’m eating, but that means they still smoke in the kitchen, while they’re cooking. M is not the only smoker in the flat, of course, but she’s the one who smokes in the bathroom. When you smoke in such closed, small spaces the smoke gets concentrated into an unbearable toxic stink. Normally, when the bathroom stinks of shit or urine, your nose gets used to the smell in a couple of minutes and stops noticing it. Not with tobacco: the smell creeps into your nose, and your brain, and suffocates you. You get out of there practically choking and coughing the vile stuff out. I just fucking hate it.

So, maybe my hate is completely irrational and unjustified but the fact remains that I HATE HER.

I repeat:

I fucking hate her. I want her out of my flat, out of my LIFE, NOW.
I DON’T WANT TO SEE HER FUCKING FACE EVER AGAIN IN MY LIFE. 

Because I really can’t live with someone I hate.

And that’s the whole point of this rant: why should I live with people I hate? I’m growing sick of shared flats. This year I’ve enjoyed the company, the joys of sharing a flat with interesting people I’ve grown to like, people I can become friends with. But still, I’d prefer to live in my own space, at my own pace, and not have to hide out in my room when I want to be alone.

But the problem is, I don’t have a choice. I can’t afford a flat on my own. Not here, not anywhere. It seems next year I’ll be again stuck in a flat with unknown people, struggling to keep a good relationship with the new flatmates while at the same time being able to speak about any problems that arise openly and without hostility. After four years of experience in shared flats, I don’t think it’ll be that difficult. Although I have the horrible suspicion I’ll end up, once again, living with smokers.

Ah well. Sometimes you really don’t have a choice.

(Still, I'm going to kick M out of the flat as soon as possible).



Current Mood: angry

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La Importancia de Ser Maricón
(X-posted in my Philosophy blog. In Spanish)

La Importancia de Ser Maricón

¿De dónde viene la “pluma” de los gays? ¿Por qué hay heteros que también parecen tener pluma? ¿Qué tiene que ver todo esto con nuestras ideas de la “masculinidad” y la “feminidad”?

¿Y por qué una mujer habría de estar pensando en estas cosas? La advertencia primera es la siguiente, pues: no he vivido como hombre y no cuento las experiencias de primera mano. Éstas son sólo suposiciones basadas en conversaciones con mis amigos, en mi experiencia con los hombres, y por supuesto, en unos artículos académicos que he leído últimamente.

Yo me preguntaba hace unos días: ¿de dónde viene la llamada “pluma” de los gays? ¿Es algo que sale natural y es reprimido hasta que el hombre en cuestión acepta su homosexualidad? ¿Es una actitud que adopta al identificarse como gay? Si es un comportamiento natural, ¿no tendrían las lesbianas algo similar a la pluma? Las lesbianas que conozco raramente son unas machorras o marimachas; me parece a mí que son chicas bastante normales, en el sentido en que no hablan distinto ni visten de una manera particular que indique su homosexualidad. ¿Entonces…?

Entonces leí un artículo sobre los estudios de la masculinidad, y voilà! Idea.

Además, ayer veía una película llamada Das Experiment, donde en un experimento sociológico se mete a un grupo de hombres en una cárcel, para simular las situaciones que se viven en una cárcel. Por supuesto todo sale mal: el primer día empiezan las tensiones, que se desarrollan en humillaciones, insultos y todo tipo de vejaciones. Y me iba fijando que el insulto más común que usaban los hombres para humillarse los unos a los otros era “maricón”. En el sentido de “cobarde”, no sólo de “homosexual”. Y por supuesto, sólo basta observar un poco las interacciones sociales de los hombres, donde en todo momento se aprecia una sombra oscura, fuente de tensión y de humor, que pende sobre sus cabezas, por así decirlo- la sombra de la homosexualidad, o más bien dicho, la del “maricón”.

Y lo que creo es esto: “maricón” no es un insulto usado contra los homosexuales, por miedo a la diferencia y la alteridad- lo es, en ciertos sentidos, pero también tiene otra función, quizás más importante: la de reprimir a los propios hombres (heterosexuales).

Lo que pienso es que el concepto de “maricón”, como lo usan los hombres, tiene dos significados distintos, que se mezclan aunque en realidad no tengan nada que ver: por un lado, un maricón es un homosexual, un hombre atraído hacia otros hombres. Por esta atracción sexual que comparten con las mujeres (heteros, obviamente) se ha identificado el maricón con una serie de características “femeninas”. Unas características rechazadas y reprimidas en los hombres, unas características contrarias al ideal de masculinidad de nuestra sociedad.

Características como la cobardía (también llamada prudencia o simplemente No Tengo Ganas de Arriesgar Mi Vida Estúpidamente*), la vulnerabilidad, la inseguridad (“los niños no lloran”), hablar abiertamente de los sentimientos, mostrar emociones que no sean “¡cómo me pone esta tía!” o el enfado, irracionalidad, histerismo, sensibilidad, simpatía por los demás, etc.

(*¿Cuántos tíos no habrán muerto por no haber querido parecer cobardes, ergo maricas? Pensemos que aunque nacen más hombres que mujeres, ellos tienen una expectativa de vida menor que nosotras: son más propensos a morir de enfermedades, accidentes, suicidio, etc. Muchas de estas muertes tienen lugar en la adolescencia. No creo que esta mayor mortalidad indique que ellos son en realidad el sexo débil: simplemente indica que ellos están expuestos a muchas más situaciones de riesgo que las mujeres.)

Todas estas características están tradicionalmente asociadas las mujeres, y se rechazan en la idea de “macho” o “masculinidad ideal” a la que todos los hombres se ven forzados a aspirar.

Rechazando, por tanto, al “maricón”, el hombre que encarna estas características femeninas (además del miedo/rechazo a la alteridad), el hombre está rechazando una parte de sí mismo. No me digáis que los hombres son naturalmente más confiados, fuertes, racionales y cerrados que las mujeres, porque no me lo creo. No hay ninguna cosa en el cuerpo masculino que los predisponga a ser más ambiciosos, competitivos y confiados que las mujeres, al menos, no según se sabe.

En este juego los gays tienen una ventaja: todos ellos se ven obligados, tarde o temprano, a enfrentarse al concepto de “maricón”. Cada vez logran aceptarse a sí mismos más temprano, decir: “Sí, lo soy, ¿y qué?”

Cuando retuerces el concepto y lo conviertes un parte de tu identidad, en algo tuyo normal, en algo de lo que estar orgulloso, el insulto deja de tener fuerza, pierde su valor como arma represiva. El gay es capaz de mostrar todas las características femeninas que el hetero no se ve obligado a afrontar; algunos, creo, incluso las toman como componente principal de su identidad y las exageran, creando lo que se conoce como las “mariconas” o mejor dicho, “locas”, lo que los identifica con las características híper-femeninas de la mujer loca o histérica.

Pero claro, el hombre heterosexual nunca se ve obligado a enfrentarse con sus sentimientos y reacciones más “femeninas”. Durante toda su vida, el hetero sigue teniendo miedo a la alteridad, a mostrar debilidad o cobardía, en fin, a ser llamado “maricón”. Todo esto resulta en la mayor tasa de mortalidad, suicidios y depresiones en general que sufren los hombres, que se complican aún más porque a ellos les cuesta más mostrar sus emociones y descargarlas. Una mujer deprimida tiene más facilidad a la hora de pedir ayuda; un hombre deprimido, portándose como todo un macho sufre en silencio hasta que ya no puede más, y en un arranque de impulsividad, se suicida.

El precio de ser duro, de ser macho, es precisamente no poder comunicarse abiertamente, sentirse constantemente obligado a ser duro, a reprimir sus emociones, a ser fuerte. Es una presión realmente considerable. Te hace sufrir toda la vida. Pienso ahora en mis abuelos, que fueron criados en una sociedad tan machista y tradicional como la mexicana. Desde pequeños les inculcaron los modelos de masculinidad agresiva, desde pequeños se les exigió que “fueran hombres” y trajeran dinero a casa para mantener a su familia, aunque sólo eran unos niños cuando empezaron a trabajar. Y ahora, en la vejez, cuando su cuerpo se deteriora, se pierde su fuerza, y se ven obligados a estar en casa todo el día, están sufriendo de pleno las consecuencias de ser un hombre en una sociedad machista: han perdido el contacto con sus hijos y con sus mujeres, casi no se hablan, y nunca hablan de temas serios o emocionales, se quejan constantemente de no poder trabajar, de estar demasiado enfermos; se sienten totalmente inútiles, incapaces de comunicarse, incapaces de hacer nada. Y dicen: "ya sólo espero a la muerte".

Los heteros también tienen que replantearse sus modelos de “masculinidad”. Es más: todos y todas tenemos que replantearnos nuestros modelos de “masculinidad” y “feminidad”. ¿De qué nos sirve a las mujeres defender un nuevo modelo de mujer, fuerte, capaz, confiada, que se merece la misma consideración y la misma paga que un hombre, si a ellos los tenemos igualmente atrapados en un modelo rígido de masculinidad? ¡Dejémosles que chillen como locas al ver una araña en la mesa, y matémosla nosotras mismas! (Por poner un ejemplo). Tenemos que crear nuevos modelos a seguir, modelos de "persona", más que de “hombre” o “mujer”, para que podamos elegir qué queremos ser, si queremos ser ambiciosos o artísticos, sensibles o duros, o una mezcla de todo. Un modelo de "persona" que permita que las categorías hombre/mujer designen, simplemente, al físico, al macho y hembra del pan/homo sapiens.

Current Mood: creative

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Vegan Cupcakes NOW!
Totally unrelated title for a random mad entry made basically to remind all the internet that yes, I'm still alive.

Yesterday I went to the cinema and watched Dasepo Naughty Girls, a funny and very weird Korean film which I absolutely recommend-

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0473028/

And here's the teaser trailer: http://www.twitchfilm.net/archives/006722.html

It's not serious drama or anything very pretentious- it's funny, sexy and very colourful. In some scenes the actors start singing while the lyrics appear on-screen, karaoke-style. It's great. And the girls are Pure CUTENESS. I think I'll try to get hold of the DVD, somehow.

More news? Today Björk's new album comes out, and while I'm being forced to reconsider my dislike of the artist, I still can't help finding her a little ridiculous. However, I also used to think vegetarians and vegans were crazy, ridiculous people I wouldn't like to meet, and here I am. There was even a time when I thought the Harry Potter books were just another serioes of silly novels for children I wouldn't enjoy. Anyway, I can't help being a bit excited about this news.

Today's comic-book: "Y: The Last Man". I saw it in a bookstore soe months ago and I really want to read it. I've downloaded the first issue. The idea of an apocalyptic world where the males have been destroyed seems very interesting (not to say appealing) to me.

Some info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Y_the_last_man

Well, class is starting any moment now, so I must leave.

Current Mood: anxious

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Plans for the Future
Being in my fourth year of my degree, a semester away from graduation (Dios mediante), I have naturally began to wonder, or more accurately, fret about what I'm going to do next.

Now, I already had some plans formed in my head, you see. I was going to study a second, two-year degree in East Asian Studies (specialising in Japan), get a grant from the university to work a few hours a day and gain enough money to be able to pay my last year with my own money, and to save up a little for the next step.

But now I've come to realise that East Asian Studies is not my Dream Degree, at all. It has some pretty boring stuff I'd rather not have to face, like economics and politics. I like East Asian cultures, yes; but I'm not more fascinated by Japanese culture than I am by Indian culture, Arab cultures, British and American cultures and my own Latin American culture. I love literature from all around the world. I'm not a nationalist, limited by a set of frontiers and a language; I'm an internationalist, and I love (and hate) everything there is to love. So in a sense East Asian Studies is a limitation, for me.

Also, I'm sick and tired of studying; the stressful routine of papers, essays, group work and exams. I want to be done with it as soon as possible.

Thirdly, my main purpose is to be a writer. I've known it from the start. I needed a good command of the language, textual references, knowledge in literature. Now I have it (although for some stupid idiotic reason not exactly in Spanish, because Spanish literature and linguistics bored the hell out of me and I dropped out of the Spanish degree, and now I have the sneaky suspicion that I have a richer vocabulary in English than in Spanish).

What I need now to be a writer is (apart from stopping this abusrd procrastination and starting to actually, you know, write) a part-time job that allows me to pay for a place to live in, food to eat, and some extra for transport, communications, health and all that shit. I know in Europe that's hard to find. And in Mexico much more so, because half the people there live from the money they get by selling prepared dinner in their houses and things like that.

This is why I started to consider a job in a university. Because, you know, with a degree in English Philology your options are quite narrow, and teaching is an inescapable option. But if it comes to teaching, I'd rather teach literature and writing to University students than teach English to a bunch of teenage retards who are studying because their parents and the state force them, not because they want to.

A PhD in these times, is the surest, safest way to get a job in a university in Mexico. (Spain? HAHAHA. I'm not even trying.)

So maybe I should start my PhD studies next semester (O_o) and not in two years' time as I had initially planned. And of course this upsets all my plans, because I've already bought the plane tickets to Mexico for this summer, including a ticket back to Spain on September. And I have like tons of boxes full of books and other material possessions I want to hold on to, which need to be moved to Mexico gradually, and a single trip will definitely not be enough.

And also, doing a PhD next year will restrict my options to England, the States, India or another country- if I spend two more years here I might also have the option to study in Japan, as well. (Although some grants available to me, for postgraduate courses in Japan, don't ask as a necessary requisite the knowledge of Japanese, it would certainly be a plus, and with my current level I'm still not able to read the prospectus of any university, much less take lectures in the language).

There are so many options that my head is spinning. I want to try everything, go everywhere, learn everything!! And at the same time nothing convinces me absolutely. And today I'm young and full of energy and liable to get lots of grants. But if I make a wrong choice, tomorrow I won't be able to turn back time and take the other road. This is it: I'm at a crossroads, I have to choose, and whatever I choose I won't be able to turn back. (of course one can always leave the path and take another direction, as I did when I dropped out of Spanish lit and language to have the time to do East Asian Studies).

I feel dizzy and I think I'm getting a headache. Looking at the grants my university gives for studying a year abroad in non-EU universities, I saw they actually have my home-town university listed there! How about THAT? I could go for a year to Zacatecas, back to my parents' house and study Environmental Sciences there for a year IF I WANTED!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Now, really. Give a magical moment of Illumination to know The Path I should take next semester:

Current Mood: confused

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