Posted by admin on Feb 12, 2010 in
People,
Poetry,
Religion,
zeitgeist 
Chary is the reason behind this series of interviews. She interviewed me for European Irish, the website for all the Irish expats and Hibernophiles living in on the Continent. So I thought I would turn tables and get to know her. She lives in Chiclana, Cádiz, a very special paradise with its own guardian, the Wind from the East (like the witch in the Wizard of Oz) that protects the area from overcrowding.
She studied Philosophy in Salamanca because she wanted to know EVERYTHING about this world, she really wanted to fully understand it, and she thought Philosophers would give her the answers she needed. Funny enough, they just had more and more questions. As one friend of hers says: we’re still at the beginning, but not as we were at the start. And I suppose that’s the important thing.
She got an Erasmus grant, and headed to Galway for a year. Not being able to stand the crazy climate in that country, she decided to come back to Spain, where the light of the sun makes life so much easier. But she brought a nice Irish fellow from Sligo who was delighted to get out of the rain. And since then, they’ve been living in Chiclana. they have two lovely children (one of them says about himself that he’s a miracle! And that he wants to be like the guys in The Beatles, have a band, become famous, but the most important thing, have long hair; and the other one says she’ll dance for her brother’s band, she just loves performing).
What is love for you?
Often answers depend on who is asking… I suppose love is what makes us BE. This is just a guess. So much has been said about this topic! I don’t exactly know what love is, but I’m aware of its effects. Love must be shown, or it is not love. Love is also irrational. And so are humans, even though it has been said they are rational animals… Nonsense. Computers experts try hard to make computers think like humans by getting them to be logical. The truth is that a computer will never be like a human being… because the essential part of humans is irrationality.
Why do bad things happen to good people?
Coincidence. This might be difficult to accept, but I don’t think there’s a reason beyond this.
What is the biggest problem facing the human race at the moment?
How to cope with intolerance, how to accept that difference is part of our lives. Multiculturalism is a challenge for us.
If you could change one thing in your life, what would it be?
I wouldn’t change a single thing. Not at all. Everything in life is so weaved that it is very difficult to change one thing without changing the others.
Do you read poetry? Why? Why not?
I think there might be a difference between poetry and poems. While poetry is felt, poems are written down. How many poems do you know that have a lack of poetry? And yet, sometimes, one single word could be full of poetry… Anyway, I used to read poems, yes… There was a time when I could read in loud voice. Poetry has to be read in loud voice; otherwise we just have loose words on a piece of paper. Life is made of different stages: you do exercise for a while, and then you suddenly stop. The same thing happened to me with poetry. Sometimes you have to leave the land fallow, and give time a chance. From time to time, someone delivers a poem for me on a tray –in the inbox of Outlook . And I’m starting to recite them… again.
What is your mission in life?
Mission? Missions have to do with heroes. And I don’t like heroes. Jesus was one of them. They all have a tendency to die because of a real necessity of stating that his ideas are worth a life, their own life, and sometimes their follower’s life. Therefore, I do not have a mission. I might have little goals…
Have you ever felt hate? If so, tell me about it.
No.
Is optimism a strength or a weakness? Explain your answer
Optimism is, without any doubts, strength. I’m not talking about some sort of naïve optimism for which everything is fine. As I understand it, optimism means being aware of reality and its faults and it entails a great effort in order to make it better.
What is your favourite recipe?
Shepperd’s Pie… but the way we’d cook it in Andalucía: white wine, onions, garlic…
If you had a motto, what would it be?
I wouldn’t have a motto. Humans are too changeable to have just one single motto in life. But“Nosce te ipsum”could be a good motto. However, Simone de Beauvoir said that “you cannot get to know yourself, all you can do is narrate yourself”. Isn’t it what I’m doing know? J
Add and answer two more questions that you would like to be asked!!!!
Ok. Why am I answering this questionnaire?
Because it seems to be a challenge.
(I would not add a number 13th question, sorry)
Share on Facebook
Tags: cadiz, interview, People, Poetry, Spain, spirituality
Posted by admin on Sep 18, 2009 in
Humour 
‘Macho‘ in English does not refer to the male of a species. It refers to a human male with very specific characteristics. You probably know someone just like him.
Macho Man (homo hooliganus) thinks that throwing a plastic bottle full of beer on to a football pitch is a legitimate form of protest against an unspeakable injustice. Not for him the complications of The United Nations or the corridors of power. For Macho Man there is no deeper human tragedy than having a goal disallowed or having a penalty awarded against his team.
Macho Man (homo alcolikus) thinks that testosterone is made of beer and has to be filled up in the same way as petrol in his car has to be filled up. 7 pints a night keeps this ‘He-Man’ in top form. Serious testosterone deficiency can make Macho Man drink a shot of brandy on his way to work. Especially if he is a Spanish bus driver.
Macho Man (homo ridiculus) does not wear protective clothing at work. To wear ear-plugs while using loud machinery or a hard-hat on a building site is a sign of weakness. Only a wimp (homo debilus) worries about premature deafness or bricks falling on his head. You never see old Macho Men.
Macho Man (homo incredibulus stupidus) thinks that women adore him (especially when he drinks) and that he is a terrific lover (especially when he drinks). The proven cause and effect of alcohol on one’s prowess in the amorous arts is not understood by Macho Man.
Macho Man (homo cerebrus minusculus) thinks that Lethal Weapon is a documentary. To him Chuck Norris is one of America’s finest actors. The less physically able a Macho Man is to perform a karate move (see photo), the more he believes himself to be the spiritual successor to Bruce Lee – although as a rule Macho Man does not approve of foreigners.
Macho Man (homo molestus un montonus) believes that owning dangerous dogs such as pit bull terriers and dobermans makes people respect him. People, of course, respect the dogs. Or the dogs’ ability to rearrange their faces.
Macho Man (homo anachronistus) will, in all likelihood, like the other dinosaurs, disappear. And good riddance! Macho Man is exactly the kind of ape who gives ordinary men a bad name.
I’m not saying we, the men, should all walk around reading poetry and crying when we watch ‘reality’ shows. Football is fantastic. A goal by Rooney is a joy forever. Forever for 90 minutes. It is, after all, only a game. Nothing to get too emotional about.
I’m Irish. I like a drink. But there is no tribal acclaim to be won by getting plastered every weekend. Women don’t really need men and men don’t really need women. So all that Macho Man nonsense is wasted really. The future doesn’t need meek women or overbearing men.
Let Macho Man (homo vomitus) walk into the sunset with his pit bull and pints, with his bigotry and beer-belly.
Share on Facebook
Tags: beer, Humour, People, sexsim
Posted by admin on Sep 7, 2009 in
Humour,
People 
The Kontxa, Donostia
“Summertime and the living is easy. Fish are jumping and the cotton is high,” suggests Ella Fitzgerald. The Beach Boys, on the other hand, inform us that they “can’t wait till summer (yeah). Because it’s gonna be a summer of love. Hey now (well it’s a love thing)…”
Well, it’s not a love thing with me. I can tell you. For many years I lived in the charming seaside town of San Sebastian and summer for me was about invasion, bad manners, and revolting children.
The invasion begins after the Easter holidays, when swarms of back-packers infest the main train station. I like to sit down and read my newspaper as I wait for a train. But in summer all the seats are occupied, not by people but by backpacks. “Where?” I hear you enquire, “are the backpackers?” I will tell you where the backpackers are. The backpackers are sitting on the floor smoking marijuana or murdering a song on the guitar.
The world is turned upside down. Around the entrance to the train station are the vulturesque landladies of the accommodation racket. These are four or five women who own Bed and Breakfast establishments not good enough to get on the Tourist Board-recommended list. They approach innocent travellers on the platform. “Are you looking for a room?” they demand. Travellers who do not have the castellano to cope with the situation are then kidnapped, charged rent, and never seen again.
A reason for celebration, admittedly, if the victim is a backpacker.
On the beach, all is permitted. Bodies that should really never see the light of day can be revealed with varying degrees of nakedness, while young people can wear rubber clothes and go surfing.
I may not condone but I do not condemn.
However, the beach is the beach and the real world is the real world. If I decide to enjoy a cold beer in a bar on the Zurriola Promenade, I do not wish to do so surrounded by pink Rubenesque tourists in ill-fitting bikinis. If they want a drink, they should dress themselves before leaving the beach. Out-of-context beachwear is like out-of-season fruit: poor taste.
Children should be seen and not heard. End of argument. They have sand, they have sunshine, and they are provided with sufficient entertainment. They do not need to run around in the streets like giddy goats. If they wish to run and shout, take them to the countryside.
Last summer I saw a North American gentleman having trouble communicating with the lady at the newsstand in the Boulevard. “Perhaps I can help?” I asked. “It’s incredible!” he blustered, “she doesn’t speak English!” I translated his comment to the lady at the newsstand. We had a good laugh and I walked away. Some people simply don’t deserve help. Summer does not have to be a time when we lose our good manners and taste. After all, we have Christmas for that.
San Sebastian is no more Benidorm than Bambi is Beelzebub. Seats for people, floor for backpacks, beachwear on the beach, streetwear on the streets, children and animals quiet and under control.
Simple rules for the general good.
Once there were travellers. Now there are tourists. A traveller follows the local customs. A tourist looks for McDonald’s. That’s why we sell them such ghastly souvenirs. The heart has gone out of summer. People just want sea, sun, and sand. So I shall avoid backpackers, the bikini brigade, and all the other flotsam of the season. I will dream of the golds and oranges of autumn and the enchantment of the San Sebastian Film Festival.
Share on Facebook
Tags: Basque Country, Humour, modern times, People, summer
