Random journal (9)

And now that this year is about to be over, how would I rate it? From "A" to "F", I'd definetely give him a "F". A big, red "F". Of failure. That would define it, this bloody year: failure. One after another, in a big, wicked chain of failures. And it started well, very well to be honest, in the best party I've ever had, with the best friends one can get. I've felt happy then, quite happy, and the only thing that clouded all that positivity was the fact that returning to Portugal would force me to something that I didn't know how to do it. I've failed at that, too, and ended up fucking up big time. And what for? What was the outcome? Wounds too deep to ever heal completely. The biggest waste of time of my rotting life.

Another word that would define it would be loss.

Some notes on this one:
i) It wouldn't be true for the whole year, even if I'm ending it in a weird way. At least this year brought me some good things - whether they will last or not remains yet to be seen.
ii) This one didn't started well. It started with me alone with everyone. Next time I decide I'll spend my new year's eve alone, I'll do it. And I mean it. I will just not tell anyone. They wouldn't understand, and they would pity me. And I can do well without someone else's pity.
iii) How I miss Denmark. What a shame I cannot go back there right now.
iv) I was wrong. Even though I fucked up big time, what followed was not a waste of time. It was something like the last taste of a long lost sweetness. And it helped me healing. It was totally worth it.

Twenty years

I've seen it happening once. I've seen a life crumbling down slowly over the course of twenty years - twenty years of quiet hatred, resentment, suspicion, obsession, paranoia. Twenty years of war, gone way beyond the point of no return. Twenty years of loneliness, of breaking in every possible way to salvage what could never be salvaged. A life wasted, rushing to catch up now when everything, even the hatred, was spent. I've seen it happening to someone dear to me. And I surely as hell wouldn't want the same for me.

Random journal (8)

I can live with arrogant people. With conceited people. With people excessively humble. With cynical people. With people who are seldom in a good mood. With (mildly) obssessive people. With jealous people. With envious people. With bad people. I'm a bad person myself. What I cannot live with is with people who have no self respect. I can't even understand how someone can live with one self without any self respect.

Gravity

Gravitation, or gravity, is a natural phenomenon by which objects with mass attract one another. In everyday life, gravitation is most familiar as the agent that lends weight to objects with mass and causes them to fall to the ground when dropped. I know this all too well. And I do know that some things are inevitable. Just like when dropping a stone: it always falls to the ground.

Random journal (7)

Christmas. I've been trying to write something about it for hours to no avail. Nothing comes out. As if I had nothing to say. Well, after five years in blogs, pretty much everything has been said and done. There's no point in going again for the "ten things I hate about Christmas" - everyone knows that I despise this time of the year, starting from the first day I get a "merry x-mas" text to the second day of January, when hopefully all the euphoria is gone and people start walking again over the broken glass of their own lives, realizing that nothing has really changed. Nothing changes overnight, even if it is the last night of the year. The wreckage will still be there by the morning, no matter how hard we try to hide it for the party's sake.


Note: Since I cannot really update the blog - if everything went well, as you read this I'm at my parents, and there I have no connection - I suppose this random, unpublished note from last year is as good as anything to post here right now. Anyway, merry Christmas, or whatever it is supposed to be wished at this time.

Catching up

I have a feeling that my original and then dropped plans for last year's new year's eve will be inevitable this year. Just in case, please remind me to buy a bottle of Jack Daniels, shrimps, nachos and cookies. Need to buy wine as well, but somehow I feel it would be a very good opportunity to open that expensive wine I was given months ago.

2010

On a second thought, I see I was unfair here. Of course, a new Radiohead album is always great news, but that's not the only thing I can look forward to in 2010. I could mention that the next year will also give me the chance to see Tim Burton's view on Alice in Wonderland. Or rather: the way Tim Burton imagined a sequel to Carroll's classic. 2010 will also give me the chance of seeing The Cranberries live (and, apparently, Muse again). And it will also be the year (I hope) when I'll start playing the sequel of the best videogame ever: Starcraft.

Right now I cannot really think of anything else. Of course, I do hope to keep my job (or find a better one), and I still dream of finding a house for myself alone. 2010 could as well be the year when I leave Lisbon and go back to the countryside, something that I'm finding more and more appealing. And I hope it to be the year when I will get into a plane again, to travel somewhere even if for a handful of days only. We'll see. Anyway, as long as it doesn't get any worse than 2008, I'll be cool with it.

Waking up late was a sign, it seems

There are, indeed, days that should not ever come to pass. In such a days, we should break the alarm clock that insists on waking us up early in the morning and stay in bed, safe, not daring to go out and face a day. First I woke up late for work. The I couldn't buy my regular breakfast, and had to go for a sandwish made on the crappiest bread ever. Then I leave for lunch and the sun vanishes and it starts to rain - and I had still a long way to walk. Then I get back to the office and learn that one of my favourite places in this city burned down last night. All of a sudden I'm not really sure if I want to see how this day will end.

So far, the only reason to find that 2010 might be a promising year:

Radiohead to hit studio in January 2010 (new album in the making). Thom and Ed, remember that we here in Portugal are dying to see you guys again.

Random journal (6)

There will come a time when every step that we take will be under someone else's control. There will be a time when freedom will be an old-fashioned concept, one that people will vaguely remember. There will be a time when not even our thoughts can be our last haven. There will be a time when the world will be rather like the one Orwell described in Nineteen Eighty-Four. And I fear that I'll live to see it. It has already begun.

Note: I miss reading that book

The play

My problem is, I can't even remember a happy christmas. I mean a happy one, a really happy one - happy as in those silly television commercials, or in those movies we can now watch on the telly. It's not that they were bad - I just remember them as I remember my childhood, a time that passed with nothing really relevant happening. But it changed some years ago. Before I wasn't happy, but I wasn't sad either; I had in me a feeling of indifference, as if that time of the year mattered little (which it did). I don't remember what happened some years ago, or what changed; I do know, though, that at some point christmas became a sad time of the year, one that every year I wished to pass swiftly and without much trouble. I could say that one gets used to everything but there's no way I can get used to it. Not because it's christmas, but because I just don't like to feel the way I do, regardless of the season. Nonetheless, it has started, and now it cannot be helped. A long act will be played by myself, one that I've played year after year with relative success. At least from the way everyone around me sees it. For I know what it truly means, and I know what I have to bear for the sake of something I cannot even name. One more time. I'll handle it. Next year we'll see.

Collateral damage

It will backfire, but not in the logical way. Pride is always a dangerous weapon to draw, for by it's nature it outburts unexpectedly. Pride combined with despair leads to dangerous results to the self. Pride sparked by wrath, on the other hand, often means collateral damage, for it fires towards places considered safe. There are no safe places though. No safe places.

Change

Things do change, and not always in the way we would like them to, or not always in the way that would be more convenient to us. I saw this one coming a long way, and it became true at last. Another change. Life teaching me a lesson, yet another one: there will be no rest in this time. No rest, no peace.

The soft spots

This is the time of the year when we look back and remember what we expected the year to be and compare to what it has become as its days went by. I do remember how it started. The best moment was not at midnight though, when the spirits were high with euphoria and hope. It was in the morning, as I was sitting alone in the porch outside, smoking and watching the pouring rain. There was an endless melancholy inside my chest, a sadness that I couldn't help feeling - but at the same time I felt at peace. I didn't know what the year would bring me. I knew back then that I was about to start something new, which thrilled me. I also knew that I was about to face my past and see what would become of it. And besides that there was nothing else: just me, my cigarrettes, my beer and the rain. This year will end differentely. Some things have changed already, and I know I'll feel them in ways I could never anticipate. There goes a long distance between what I made everyone think that I feel and what I feel for real. That is a matter of weaknesses though. We all have our soft spots. And we all hope that they never become visible to others.

Could well be my eleventh reason to hate Christmas

I'm hopeless when it comes to buy christmas gifts to women.

Two thousand

This is the post number two thousand in this blog. Considering this blog has lasted for four years and two months, which translate into 1522 days, it means that my average post per day is 1,32. It's funny to see that I'm way better as blogger than as a journalist - what a shame the blogs do not pay off.

Random journal (5)

We are fiercely aware of each other. As strange as it might seem, it is what's happening. We are aware of each other. I won't deny there's something about you, something special, something that pulls my attention and my drifting mind towards you. And we go on, silent, never speaking to each other, while we notice each other's presence by never daring to look into each other's eyes.

Earthquake

Lisbon was shaken by a little earthquake last night, one strong enough to be felt, but not strong enough to cause any damage. I suppose that sooner or later a big one will come and destroy the whole city again. I just hope that when that happens I'm living in a stronger building, really.

Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.

The action is not new - I suppose it has been done throughout history, even if Joseph Stalin was perhaps the most famous character on such deeds. Everyone knows what I'm talking about: the story of the people methodically erased from the photos, as if they had never existed. As if they had never walked the Earth. As if the past could be changed, forgotten. It was interesting to watch yet another futile attempt at erasing the past. A futile, and obvious failed attempt. Time, as ever, will prove it.

It happened, and you didn't know it. You couldn't: that is one of my most well-kept secrets, one that even my best friends do not suspect. But you've hit the mark by saying what you should never say. You have no idea of what you brought back. Of what memories you've triggered. Of what feelings you've unleashed. Probably you think you do, but you don't. My attempt was never real; it didn't even had the consistency of a threat. However, other threats were made, in a long lost past, long before you or your knowledge of me. And I had to watch it all, I had to sit there and listen to the ugliest words I've always listened to in my whole life, and only one thought came to my mind as I tried to cry and couldn't: no one deserves this. That was what you did. You brought it all back. You couldn't know it. And I can't forget it, or forgive it.

Memory, that vile, treacherous thing

Easy to say. Not so easy, it seems, to remember a time not that long ago when our positions were reversed. Back then it was okay. It's always okay when it does not concern us.

Random journal (4)

I'll miss many things, but i'm sure I won't miss those pointless discussions between deaf-mutes, the permanent hostility lying behind every muttered word. I'm glad i'm now done with it all.


Note: And in the end, it turned out that I was jumping into the fire. Back then I did not know it, of course. Still, it was worth it.

Between the lines

If you want to have your revenge on me - whether there is a reason for you to want it or not, but that's another story - then do it for real. Revenge must be grand or it bakfires, revealing more about us than about our target. So, for heaven's sake, cut the crap. Either you do things right or you don't do things at all. You might hit me all right, but it is sad to see you chewing that fat and making a fool out of yourself, showing how petty and small and meaningless you truly are.

I had to reach December

to find my music of the year, but here it is, live version and all:

A Fine Frenzy, Electric Twist, in Bomb in a Birdcage (2009). And is it just me, or Allison Sudol is one of the prettiest women in nowadays' music?

Quiet and shy

Sometimes I think I should start caring about what people think of me. For a change, that is. Not that I would start pretending I was someone else, but I'm pretty sure I'd keep my god damned mouth shut more often. Sometimes it is pointless to speak. People don't understand. They cannot. They wouldn't want to, even if they could. For them, I'd always be some sort of alien. I should feign death, so to speak, and start making everyone think that I'm not alien, only a quiet, maybe shy one.


Most of my friends laugh if I tell them that I'm shy. If only they knew...

Opposite feelings

Sooner or later it had to happen, I guess, but I wasn't expecting it to affect me the way it did. I suppose that our beliefs are, after all, vulnerable to opposite feelings.

Random journal (3)

We cannot pick up the threads of the old life because we burn them all to cinders.

Replacement

Time does not mend all wounds. That's merely a misconception: some wound do not heal, but eventually we get hurt again, and we forget the old sores.

A castle

We are all surrounded by walls. I remember someone - who? - saying that every men is an island, but I prefer the walls' metaphor - as if every men is, instead of an island, a castle. A castle with inner and outer walls, ramparts, battlements, defensive turrets. A castle built on the top of a hill, overlooking a wide area, always prepared to stand in its defense. And we let people into our domain: most of them remain in the land around it. Some of them live near the protection of the walls. Some are allowed to live inside the stronghold, between the inner and outer walls. A few are allowed into the main castle, but only a handful of them have access to the throne room - and nonetheless they have to walk cautiously there, making little noice and being courteous to whoever they meet. Inside our castle no rules can be broken by anyone - the penalty is to be cast out, even if only for a limited time (not everyone is that forgiving though). We should always remember this. We should always remember that we have absolutely no right to step into someone else's domain. We have no claim over someone else's being. If we are allowed into the inner castle, then we should be thankful and never make a mess. Unfortunately this isn't as obvious as it should be, and some people go on thinking that they have a right over someone else.

Random journal (2)

As it seems, I'm doomed to be hit by my past. Even here, one of the last hideouts I should have, for it is one of the few places without memories painted on its walls. I know of the taint that lies everywhere else. I know what memories are recorded in every inch of land I have walked. And I can't get rid of that, I can never simply walk away. I thought I was safe there. Ireally did. It was a brand new world, after all. But reality - always that bitch - decided to play games on me again. Oh well. As it seems, the last place I have free of visions and ghosts is a small, dark pub in a forgotten alley. It's not too bad. At least there the whisky is good, and there is always someone to talk to even if I go there on my own. I guess the only trouble is the way to get there, deep into contested land. But that cannot be avoided; I have to walk with my hands on the trigger, until I can finally vanish to some place where I can walk freely without ever looking back.

Note: And god knows how I miss that pub. Now that it is closed - or rather, now that it changed management - it really feels pointless to go out alone at night.

This is very, very good:

A Fine Frenzy, Bomb in a Birdcage (2009)

Looking for group

Next friday, December 18th, 22h, at Restart School, Ajuda, Lisbon:

Cinemuerte. If you don't know them, then check this out.

readers' blog

When we saw each other again, I had to explain him there was no reason for him to be jealous of you. I am sorry: I had to do it by comparison. I had to tell him that unlike you, he was able to guarantee me the basic condition of eternity: devotion. I told him that just because of this, he made me feel larger than the universe. That just because of this I love him with no fear, that is, without limits. This is me loving him my own way: absolutely. Fearing not death. And this is him being more beautiful and interesting and desirable – and fuckable – than you could ever be.

Special guest star: Virginia

Such a pleasure to have your text here. Thank you.

And there are moments when, for some reason, everything comes back, and I wish to make everything all right. There are moments when I feel like a fool, for merely standing here and do nothing while I watch everything falling apart. Sometimes it is incredibly hard to do what must be done - while it is so easy to sit still and lie to ourselves by saying it was meant to be that way. Nothing is ever meant to be. Unless we mean it. And sometimes, I would really like to know what the hell do I mean or want.

Fog over Lisbon

The photo is not that good but it gives you an idea. Fog was covering the city this evening, like a pale cold blanket. I don't know why but I like grey days. Most people don't, they prefer the sunny days, when the sun shines warmly and the sky is blue and everything is perfect for a postcard, one of those you buy for forty cents at any street store to send to your family and friends. I like grey days though. Always did. The best moments in the beach were not under the bright sunlight, but in those gray, misty days when one look at the wide ocean and cannot tell where the sea ends and the sky begins, they look one and the same, blended in grey. I stared at the city and it was as if it was fading away into the eerie mist, the castle's hill already taken. Could feel small drops of water falling in my skin, telling me that it was all around me. I like the mist. It feels melancholic and a sad in a way, as it blurs everything. As if everything is falling into the emptiness between worlds, the emptiness that, as beckett once said, all the resurrected dead of all the ages wouldn't fill. I'll leave this room in a bit and everything will have vanished, the city's lights will be the night's ghosts and all shapes will be faint, and the whole world will be in the palm of my hand.

Random journal (1)

I have a tendency to write notes. Scattered notes. In many places. Usually I carry a small moleskine notebook with me, and I write whenever I feel like it. Sometimes I cannot pick it up, fetch a pen and write on it, so I write in some random piece of paper and keep it somewhere. Sometimes I write e-mails to myself. I remember a time when I could not update the blog while I was in the office, so I sent mails for myself with things that came to my mind. Sometimes I make drafts here in the blog's dashboard. It doesn't matter the media: I always end up forgetting about them, until one day, by no reason at all, I stumble upon those notes. Sometimes all the thoughts that created those notes flood back into my conscient mind; sometimes, I cannot dig that from my memory. Remembering or not, it's always interesting to find those notes. And since I've stumbled upon a considerable cache of such notes and "thoughts in chaos" (literally), I think I must share with you. It will be my random journal. If any journal I could ever write could possibly be more random than this blog already is. Anyway. Starting now.

You couldn't hide your surprise for not being included in my long-term prediction. But if you're as smart as I believe you are, you won't find it surprising at all. The present is pretty much meaningless, and anyway it has already changed. And after this point, what will remain? What will be left? What will we both do after everything has burned down? What will we talk about then? What will we share? I think about these questions, and I can't find the answer you (and I, in a way) would like to get. The reply is always the same: "nothing".



Note: One year has passed since I wrote this note. My prediction is already halfway right.

On stereotypes (and blue-eyed music)

"You know, I really like this song."
"Yeah, it's a very nice one. Catchy, I'd say. But it's not really your kind of music, you know."

I've heard this so many times throughout my life that I'm almost getting bored, really. I know, I know: nowadays my friends, and the people that know me in general - perhaps even you who read this blog - think that I merely listen to Radiohead and Muse. It's true, I like them quite a lot, and I do think they are currently the best bands in the world. But that doesn't mean that I spend the whole time listening to Kid A or Absolution. But you know, I also listen to other things, some more alternative, others like mainstream - and I really don't care. For example, and just to mention female singers, I can have on my mp3 player A Fine Frenzy (mentioned in this blog several times) and Lily Allen, which is the typical MTV product, but by some reason I can't help liking her songs. Don't ask. Some years ago, the people that know me thought I was a huge heavy metal fan, and yes, I do like some heavy metal: give another Slayer gig and I'll be happy. But my music preferences include metal, pop, rock, indie, jazz, other strange things, and I'm moving right now to classic music, it seems. So I go for Radiohead, and I go for A Fine Frenzy, and I go for Moonspell, and to The Cranberries, and to The Smashing Pumpkins, and to White Stripes, and to Joy Division, and Magazine, and Blasted Mechanism, and Wagner, and yes, I really like the song This Is Life, by Amy MacDonald. It's mainstream, yes, it's catchy, it goes on the radio all the time and I find myself singing it along everytime I hear it. I wouldn't call the song brilliant, or mesmerizing, not the same way that Amy's eyes are stunning, but it's a nice song and I like it. I was never ashamed of my preferences - in music, in movies or in literature - and I'm not really starting now.

Quoth the raven (XLVIII):

There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.

Mark Twain

Eris

One of the most interesting aspects of the old polytheist religions lies in the human character of the Gods themselves. In the monotheistic religions, God is all mighty: omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient. In the religions of old no God is all mighty for there are several gods, each with his or her own atributes and powers. As example, one could mention the Norse legend of Ragnarök, in which most of the primal Gods fall in battle. But there's more to it: not only the Gods are not all mighty, but they also have other human traits. If we go to the Ancient Greece's mythology, we learn that the Gods are not exactly good or evil - I'd say they are driven by their own selfish desires. And they fall prey to some human traits, like ambition, vanity, corruption.

This was the possible introduction to mention Eris, the Goddess of Strife, sister of none other than the merciless Ares. For her troublesome character, Eris was not invited to the wedding party of Peleus and Thetis, who would give birth to the hero Achilles. It was a wedding, after all, even if a forced wedding arranged by the Gods themselves, and no one - not even the Gods - wanted the troublemaker around. Eris could not ignore the decision of all Olympian Gods, but being a Goddess, she had her own ways of dealing with the situation. Moved by resentment (perhaps by envy?), she found a way of introducing into the party the Apple of Discord, a golden apple meant "for the most beautiful one" in the party. This, of course, made the Goddesses Hera, Athena and Aphrodite to quarrel over the possession of the apple. Zeus, being wise and definitely not a fool, didn't want to decide to whom should the apple go - he knew all too well, it seems, that it is better not to displease two women, especially if they were Goddesses themselves. So he picked up the Trojan prince Paris to serve as a judge to that delicate situation. So we see: the father of the Gods delegating an unpleasant task into a mortal man - and Paris, being a man but above all a fool, did not waste the opportunity to meddle into the Gods' affairs. Ah, the power. Who can resist it?

Anyway. As soon as the three Goddesses found out about Zeus' plot, they tried to bribe Paris, each offering him what was in their power to offer. As such, Hera offered the prince political power; Athena promised battle prowesses; and Aphrodite suggested the love of the most beautiful woman in the world: Helen of Sparta. Paris could have been a wise ruler or a great warrior, had he followed the way of Hera or Athena; but the flesh is weak, or so they say, and he decided to accept Aphrodite's offer - which in turn granted him the hatred of the other goddesses, and ignited the spark that would lead to the Trojan Wars (always the women), but I'll leave that tale for another day maybe. While the Goddesses bribed a man over their own vanity, Eris laughed. It was so simple a plot: an apple. And by the means of the apple, Eris, not Aphrodite, was the true temptress of the tale. Interesting one, Eris.

Quoth the raven (XLVII):

When life gives you lemons ask for salt and tequila.

unknown

Here we go again

I haven't written anything here about Muse's gig last sunday here in Lisbon because it was so good it's hard to say anything about it. As suspected, their new album - The Resistance - is amazing live (except maybe Undisclosed Desires, but I suppose I need to get used to it). Their stage was amazing, the best one I've ever seen. And they were... well, they were Muse: Matt, Dominic and Chris. They can't perform badly in a stage even if they wanted to.

Last year they've been in Lisbon, at Rock in Rio music festival. They played in the same day than Offspring and Linkin Park - and, were not headliners. Next year they'll be back - and they'll be the headline of the third day. So much for my savings. And so much for the countdown to November 29th: now I have to start the countdown for May 27th, while I hope that the festival's organization will bring Radiohead as well. Thank god it's Christmas.

Silence might be the way

Sometimes questions, or answers, or mere words, are not needed. More: sometimes words are invasive. If I tell you, for example, about the passing of someone dear to me, I don't expect you to ask me how that happened. I don't expect you to come and tell me the common place that everyone dies, that it was better that way, that he or she will suffer no more. I don't even expect you to try and distract me by talking about the weather, the previous night's football match or the most recent political scandal. Hell: I don't even expect you to say "I'm sorry" or to ask how I am. I only expect silence, for silence sometimes is the only possible answer. I only expect you to listen. Maybe you understand what I mean, and remain silent in respect of what I just said. Or maybe you are clueless about what I meant, but at least do not lack the sensibility to understand that it's something important, and remain silent not to spoil it all with futility. Maybe one can find the right words to say in that very moment, the words that bring light to everything else and make its sense greater in every possible way, but I dare not expecting so much from anyone.

I gave the example of death, since it's the most obvious one. But it's the same if you open your heart to someone (I don't mean as in a romantic affair, mind you). If you say something that, as they say, "comes from the heart". Let's just not ruin it with static and noice - there's no need of that, when silence itself is so beautiful.

To tell you about the stars

I wish I could tell you about the stars.

We'd do like this: we'd sneak outside at night, alone, quietly so no one would listen to our steps down the stairs. We'd walk. Walk and walk, until we would find a place far away from any light other than the moon's, the stars' and the glow of our eyes when we stare at each other. It could be something like that forgotten place of my memories: the top of a rocky cliff by the sea, the waves crashing down in the abyss. We'd lay on the hardened ground and feel every little stone in our back, and stare at the sky above us. Or it could be further inland, near some forest, and instead of the echo of the waves crashing on the rocks, we'd listen to the wind blowing in the trees ad we'd lay in the wild grass. Have you ever heard the wind whispering at a pine tree? It's eerie and fascinating. We'd listen to it as we'd lay together on the grass. No matter where: we'd simply lay down together, the sky above, and I'd tell you about the stars. The stars that are close to us, and yet so distant. The ones that are really distant, so distant that probably no man will ever reach them. The ones that are young - young by the universe's standards - and the ones that our grand-grandchildren might see going nova in the sky. I'd tell you that some of those points of light we see glowing above might not be there as we lay down together, that they might be so distant in time and in space that what we see is not their present glow, but the glow of ages past, still travelling through the void after the fall of its source. I'd tell you about the constellations in the sky, the drawings of old that have guided generations after generations. I'd tell you about their stories, about the way Perseus saved Andromeda and gave her a place in the sky next to her mother, Cassiopeia. I'd tell you about the twins Castor and Pollux, about the hunter Orion. And we'd lose ourselves among the stars, among the legends of old painted with light upon the night sky. And we'd be together, together like never before, as we'd lay down you'd listen to me telling you about the stars.

On and on.

I must go on, I can't go on, I go on (Beckett). On and on.

Bones

In the meanwhile I've been sick as I had not been in quite a while - sick enough not to be able to work or even to leave the house. Sick enough to stay indoors until boredom nearly made me climb up the walls. Flu, the doctors said, after another odyssey through this country's bloody healthcare system. Five days at home in bed: pills and rest, and fever control. On the fifht, the gig: Muse. Was waiting for it since June, and for a moment I feared the flu would ruin it for me. But someone up there still likes me after all, and I could go and watch the gig of the year in Portugal. It was simply amazing. No kidding: Muse are indeed the best live band nowadays. There can be no rival, really. The stage, the songs, the crowd: everything was perfect. My health was the only thing failing: I was good enough to know, but I thought I was going to pass out in Stockholme Syndrome. Not strong enough, it seems. But it was worth it. Absolutely worth it.

In the meanwhile I've been watching tv again, something I had not done for years. House. Bones. Bones is a very good show, probably the show with the best cast currently on the cable (better than all CSI plus Criminal Investigation plus Criminal Minds plus any other show you want to add here. There is real chemistry between the actors in Bones, which makes the show plausible, funny and yet never ridiculous. And the main actress, of course, Emily Deschanel. God, shes's pretty. Learned now that Zooey Deschanel is her younger sister. Blessed parents, hum?

More. The Simpsons and Family Guy, of course. And anime: Death Note (amazing show) and the old school Saint Seiya. I remember seeing Saint Seiya when I was a child. Now I'm seeing it again and guess what, it's as good as I remembered it. Even if now I have to acknowledge my mistake: Shun, the Andromeda Saint, is a guy and not a gal, despite the soft features, the guardian constellation... and the pink armour. Bah. Silly androginous characters.