The best of times is now (and a moral) - On La Cage aux Folles

The synopsis of La Cage aux Folles is not likely to drag the crowds to Longacre Theatre: Laurent invites his fiancée and her ultraconservative parents for diner to his family house. The problem is that Laurent's family is formed by his gay father and the boyfriend of the latter, owner and main artist respectively of a club at Saint Trophez, something Laurent would rather conceal. But bear with me, because this play is worth watching. Let me give you three reasons.

In the first place: Douglas Hodge, who plays the role of Albin, the transvestite lover of Laurent's father. Hodge performs in the best tradition of male actors posing as women. This includes, in my personal and surely arbitrary account, Dustin Hoffmann in Tootsie, Robbie Williams in Ms. Doubtfire, and of course and above all, Jack Lemmon in Some Like it Hot. It is very easy to be excessive in these kind of roles, but Hodge manages to be exactly what Albin is: an effeminate man in all his female glory, not a hystrionic likely to make the audience raise an eyebrow. Moreover, Hodge mesmerizes with his singing abilities, delivering a great range of tones without losing the power of his voice. He's so great that he dwarfs former Frasier actor Kelsey Grammer (Laurent's father), who didn't seem to keep his tone more than once, in spite of his correct acting.

The second reason are the Cagettes, the dancers in the transvestite show at La Cage aux Folles. Not only do they have incredible dancing abilities in a variety of styles, from Can-can to something-close-to-ballet, including a mix between dancing and acrobatics (check "the birds' dance"). Also, their rhytmic skills are combined with what I would dare to call dancing humor. The Cagettes constantly play with the audience, they challenge and joke with them with a pelvis movement or a twisted tongue, turning the experience into sheer enjoyment. Eventually, you end up buying their make-believe theme "The best of times is now".

The third reason to recommend this play, you'll have to forgive me, is the moral of the story. Laurent, the son of the gay couple, feels forced to ask his "false" mother Albin to leave the house during the dinner, to avoid conflicts with his fiancée's right-wing father, a defender of "traditional family values". In the end, however, he comes to realize that Albin is as much his mother as a biological mother can be, and no pressure or ill-conception by other people justifies denying him that acknowledgement. The bottom line is that the concept of mother, father, and more broadly, family, has more to do with whom has raised and taken care of you when you were a child, than with merely accidental circumstances, such as an spermatozoid or an ovule. I guess this message was quite revolutionary in 1973, when Jean Poiret wrote the original French play. Well, when the United States pass an Act to define marriage as a union between a man and a woman (the DOMA), and in countries like Spain hundreds of thousands of people demonstrate in defense of traditional family, we might still be in need of some morals.

Cosas veredes, amigo Sancho - la nueva ortografía del castellano

"Cosas veredes, amigo Sancho, que farán fablar las piedras". Esta expresión, atribuida al parecer erróneamente a la obra más universal de la lengua castellana, viene al pelo al examinar algunas de las normas que está a punto de aprobar la RAE en materia de ortografía.
No es mi intención dar cuenta de todas las modificaciones que introduce la nueva Ortografía de la lengua española. Entre otras cosas porque la obrita tendrá unas 800 páginas, a pesar de que los académicos han afirmado con notable sentido del humor que "será muy sencilla". Para un avance de los cambios, os remito a un link http://www.elcastellano.org/noticia.php?id=1597.

Simplemente quería llamar la atención sobre dos novedades especialmente llamativas:

1. Las letras ch y ll desaparecerán del alfabeto, quedando como dígrafos, es decir dos letras que representan un solo sonido. Para los que aprendimos a recitar el alfabeto en el cole, sin llegar a entender nunca por qué después de "ce" cantábamos "ceache" y tras "ele" recitábamos "elle", se trata de una muerte lingüística bastante lógica.

2. A partir de ahora podremos escribir "k" en lugar de "qu". Es decir, será correcto escribirle a nuestra amada "Te kiero", o apuntar en la lista de la compra "medio kilo de keso". No deja de ser curioso que una forma de escribir que ya estaba totalmente extendida en los "sms" o mensajes de texto pase ahora a ser bendecida por la institución que limpia, fija y da esplendor. Aunque alguna vez me haya reconocido en las críticas, se trata de una lección para los pedantes que con frecuencia denostan cualquier novedad en la escritura del castellano. Las lenguas son entes vivos, y como tales evolucionan. Es lo ke hay.

Sharing, exhibitionism and gossip- On The Social Network

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lB95KLmpLR4

My friend Paco Velilla once said that "Nobody is as ugly as in his ID picture, nor as handsome as in his Facebook profile picture". This quote certainly conveys a facet of Facebook: we all try to look good, or maybe just give the best image of ourselves, in "the" social network.

So what's all this Facebook mania about? Why do 500 million people in the world have a Facebook account? These questions were keeping me company as I was coming back home after watching The Social Network, a supposedly reliable depiction of the origins of Facebook - and the ugly things his creator, Mark Zuckerberg, did on the way.

Basic and foremost this webpage is about sharing. Even its fiercest critics must admit that Facebook offers wonderful possibilities of communicating with people and telling them about oneself - what you think, how you feel, what music you like, or even what you're doing right now, live. This is especially great when the people you care about are far away, and you can't just give them a call and meet in half an hour.

But let's face it. Facebook wasn't born to keep in touch with your mom or with that friend you made while you were traveling in Bolivia. In my case, it has never crossed my mind to suggest my parents to create themselves an account to know more about me now that an ocean separates us. Maybe it's because I don't want them to see that picture my "good" pal has tagged where you can see me far beyond tipsy in a New York joint.

Therefore, there must be other reasons why a staggering 1 in 12 human beings have a Facebook account. The Social Network talks about that. As a matter of fact, that's the very explanation of the creature's origin. One night of February 2004 Mark Zuckerberg was dumped, deservedly dumped, by his last date - a clever girl that realized that Mark was obsessed about social success, college fraternities and the like. Part as a revenge and part as a way to show off that he could do something "big" or, in other words, to get attention, that very same night he created an application in which guys could compare the degree of Harvards' girls "hotness" - yeah, quite cheesy, but effective: in 4 hours 450 people checked 22.000 pictures. Zuckerberg profited to disseminate nasty comments about his frustrated date; a pathetic and sad reaction.

And here we have our first cause of Facebook's success: pure gossip. The guys that surfed Facemash (Facebook's embryo) that night of 2004 didn't just want to see hot girls - they could arguably do that in other Internet sites, and with hotter pics ;-) - they wanted to see the pictures of girls they knew.  Facebook feeds from that idea and takes it to a higher level: users get to see not just pictures, but all that information that I previously said users want to express: feelings, political beliefs, literary likes, and most important - their relationship status! And they get that information not just from close friends and relatives (who has 300 friends and relatives?), but from people they have just met. That's probably the key of its success: Facebook users open up their privacy, allowing recent acquaintances to delve into their pictures, experiences, in short, into their lives, at pleasure.

You may be thinking that this is a little bit far fetched, as many of us won't publish really relevant information in our Facebook profiles. That's a fair point, but think for a moment: would you show a guy that has just been introduced to you the pictures of your last romantic trip with your girlfriend? Probably not, and yet the next day when you receive his friend's request - let's say he's a college mate of a buddy of yours - you won't hesitate much in accepting it.

Hence, the next question is quite obvious: why do we do that? Why are we so easily letting people encroach in our privacy? I suggest two answers. I already gave the first one, albeit implicitly: because the only way to check someone's Facebook account...is having a Facebook account! I bet you the astonishing figures of users would be much less impressive if you could just access the information without previously offering your own in exchange - quid pro quo, as the old saying goes.

As to the second one, that's where my pal's quote will give us a hint: we are in Facebook not only to show, but to show off; not only to exhibit, but because of the exhibitionist in us. We want the world to think that we are "as handsome as in our profile picture", that we read a classic every once in a while or that nobody parties like us. In other words, we need attention as Zuckerberg - hopefully a little bit less - needed it.

What's the difference then between communicating and bragging? The limits are hazy. Ascertaining it is  as difficult as knowing when a blogger is sharing ideas or just pretending he has something interesting to say... In the end, the answer is only in the reader - and in the Facebook user.

Guile

guile |gīl|nounsly or cunning intelligence : he used all his guile and guts to free himself from the muddle he was in.DERIVATIVESguileful |-fəl| adjectiveguilefully |-fəlē| adverbORIGIN Middle English : from Old French, probably from Old Norse; compare with wile .
interesting...

Open program for the SBA elections

Dear friends,

As some of you already know, I'm running for one of the three individual positions that LL.M.s have in the Student Bar Association at NYU School of Law. The Student Bar Association is the main body of representation of students in the Law School, so we LL.M.s wanna make sure our voice is heard there!

My Personal Statement (aka Program) is below. However, I want it to be a starting point, that is I ask you to please make your suggestions, criticisms, etc., either here or in my Facebook account. That's why I prefer to call it an Open Program!


Dear fellow LL.M. students,

There are no magic formulas to being a good representative of a students’ body. I’ve had the chance to represent my peers both in high school and at University, where I was elected spokesperson of my class and later served as students’ rep in the Law School Council. It was during those years that I learned that you can promise many things, but in the long run the only reason justifying the confidence of your classmates is being and behaving as just what you are, a delegate. That is, someone who has been elected to convey the voice and needs of his or her peers, not to use the position as a platform to advance personal interests.

However, it goes without saying that I have some ideas on what the Law School should be and how it could be more useful for the LL.M.s. Here are some of them:

The LL.M. Program shall never be just a way of boosting the finances of the Law School. We LL.M.s have excelled in our Law studies, both in the USA and around the world, and endured a tough selection process to secure a place in NYU. Moreover, the foreign LL.M.s bring NYU the international image it is so proud of. Our voice deserves to be heard with the same strength as the voice of the JDs.

One of the main concerns of an LL.M. is job prospects. We acknowledge NYU makes an effort to propel us in the job market, but there’s much more to be done. Are three people enough staff to manage the work counseling for 450 LL.M.s? Why are there so few offers for LL.M.s in the Career Services Management system? Does OCS stress to potential employers that most LL.M.s have, as opposed to JDs, legal work experience in top law firms, national and international organizations, and academia?

In some courses there are over 70 students. Is that reasonable bearing in mind our matriculation fees? Isn’t it possible to offer more sections of the same course?

$3.45 for a coffee latte? Are you kidding? Food, which is provided in Vanderbilt Hall and Furman Hall by a well-known international company, is more expensive than in businesses in the surrounding area. What factors does NYU use to award the cafeteria service in its premises?

Constitutional Law (Sullivan), 17th ed, new: NYU Bookstore $178, Amazon $142.40, Barnes and Noble (paperback) $40.45. Geez! I actually thought NYU Bookstore was the place where books were cheaper, at least for NYU students! Shouldn’t students have at least a discount on the cover price? Why doesn’t our Bookstore have paperback editions of the recommended books, which would substantially lower our book expenses?

Ok, this is really interesting, but what about parties?! Well, those of you who know me have certainly seen me in most of the parties that have been thrown by LL.M.s since we arrived to New York! My view is that our NYU LL.M. Class of 2011 group in Facebook, greatly managed by our friends Roman and Simon, is already doing a great job in organizing social events. But there's one thing that can be done from the SBA: promoting more joint activities with the JDs.

Maybe you’ve asked yourselves these same questions, and you certainly have many other queries that can be tackled through the Student Bar Association. I encourage you to let me know about them!

After all, it is the role of a representative to pose these questions and to struggle to receive satisfying answers from the institution that we all cherish. These are the duties that I’d like to fulfill in the SBA, and I would be honored to have your support for this challenging task.

Regards from your colleague,

Guillermo

Wine, jazz and butterflies

El lunes (sí, el lunes, todavía estoy de vacaciones ;-), fui a un concierto de jazz con una pareja de amigos, Roberto y Flavia. Previamente habíamos estado cenando en un restaurante del Village llamado Camaje (www.camaje.com), un bistrot con una interesante mezcla de comida francesa y americana. El local es pequeño y acogedor - algunos dirían un tanto claustrofóbico, pero la sensación quedaba disminuida porque su fachada está completamente abierta a la calle. Me pregunto cómo lo solucionarán cuando los termómetros bajen hasta los - 10 ºC... La cocina no tiene excesivas pretensiones, así que mi steak con puré de patatas de Yukon me dejó bastante satisfecho. Roberto y Flavia comieron hamburguesa y crêpes, que aprobaron sin excesivo entusiasmo. Un punto a favor de Camaje es que tienen una carta de vinos limitada pero de precios ajustados, algo que se agradece en esta ciudad por aquellos que no nos resignamos a regar las comidas con una vil cerveza. Tomamos un Malbec argentino bastante correcto, de cuyo nombre no me acuerdo, pero tampoco es necesario recordar.

Lo mejor de la velada, aparte de la conversación con Roberto y Flavia, fue el concierto de jazz en el Zinc bar (www.zincbar.com). Yo sé tanto de jazz como de jota aragonesa, pero disfruté como un enano. Por otro lado, la buena música es como el buen vino: un melómano puede explicarte con detalle por qué le gusta una pieza y cuáles son sus virtudes, de la misma forma que un enómano (me acabo de inventar la palabra) puede dar una nota de cata acertada. Pero igual que todos sentimos cuándo estamos bebiendo un buen vino y cuándo nos están sirviendo vinagre, la buena música es fácil de apreciar por cualquiera que tenga un mínimo de sensibilidad.

El grupo que tocaba tenía el atractivo añadido de estar capitaneado por el hijo del difunto - y según me explicó Roberto, revolucionario del bajo eléctrico en el jazz, Jaco Pastorius. Felix Pastorius es un chaval que no debe pasar de los 28 años y, con sus playeras y su tatuaje en el pecho, tiene más pinta de jugador de básquet que de músico profesional. Pero si su padre viera el ritmo endiablado con el que acaricia el mismo instrumento que él tocaba estaría orgulloso de su vástago [link de vídeo casero de un momento de la actuación: http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1545547767186&ref=mf].

Lo que me fascina del jazz, ahora que lo estoy descubriendo, es el ritmo de esta música. Es fácil dejarse absorber por una escala de guitarra, por el baqueteo (nueva palabra, hoy estoy creativo) de la batería, por el sonido grave y de fondo del bajo. Es el ritmo mismo de la vida, y el jazz te habla de tu propia vida, a veces frenética e incontrolable, a veces melancólica y hasta desdichada, otras exultante y llena de brillo. Seguramente estas disquisiciones, que se iban dibujando en mi mente mientras contemplaba el concierto, se veían favorecidas por la acumulación del vino y el bourbon que, para entonces, estaba consumiendo en generosas cantidades. Y seguramente también por ese motivo me quedé alucinado cuando, al contemplar el movimiento continuo de las baquetas del batería, me pareció idéntico al batir de las alas de una mariposa. Maldito - bendito - jazz.

(English version)

Last Monday (yeah, Monday, I’m still on vacation ;-) I saw a jazz concert with a couple friend of mine, Roberto and Flavia. We previously had dinner in a Village restaurant called Camaje (www.camaje.com), a bistro with an interesting mix of French and American food. The venue is small and cozy - some could rightly say rather claustrophobic, but this sensation is diminished by the fact of having an open to the street façade. I wonder how they will work it out when thermometers drop to -10 ºC... Food is not excessively pretentious, and hence my steak with Yukon potatoes mash and shallots was quite satisfying. Roberto and Flavia had a hamburger and crêpes, that got a non enthusiastic approval. One thing in Camaje’s side is that they have a limited but inexpensive wine list, something those of us who prefer wine rather than vulgar beer appreciate. We had a nice Argentinian Malbec, the name of which I can’t recall but does not deserved being recalled in any case.

The best thing of the evening, besides the conversation with Roberto and Flavia, was the jazz concert at Zinc bar (www.zincbar.com). My knowledge about jazz is as extensive as my knowledge of jota aragonesa, but I had a great time. Moreover, good music is like good wine: a music connoisseur is able to explain with detail why he likes one special song and what its virtues are, to the same extent that a wine lover can convey a precise tasting note. But, just as we all know when we’re drinking a nice wine and when we have been served vinegar, good music can be appreciated by whoever has some sensitivity.

The group playing that night had the additional interest of being led by the son of the late Jaco Pastorius, who, according to Roberto’s explanations, completely revolutionized the use of electric bass in jazz. Felix Pastorius is a non more than 28 years old chap who, from his trainers and tattoo in the chest looks more like a basket player than a professional musician. But his father would be proud to see the devilish speed at which his son plays the same instrument he cherished so much [a link to a homemade video of a moment of the show: http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1545547767186&ref=mf].

What fascinates me about jazz, now that I’m starting to discover it, is the rhythm of this music. It is really easy lo give up to a guitar scale, to the percussion of the drumsticks, to the background low sound of the bass. It’s life’s rhythm, and jazz talks about your own life, sometimes frenetic and uncontrollable, sometimes melancholic and even miserable, others jubilant and full of light. Most probably these reflections, that crossed my mind while I was listening to the concert, were favored by the accumulation of wine and bourbon which, at that time, I had happily consumed. And most probably as well for that reason I was mesmerized when I observed the continuous movement of the drumsticks and they appeared to me like the flapping wings of a butterfly. Damn - holy - jazz.

Excusatio non petita (Little Italy y Chinatown)

(go to the bottom for the English version)

Una de las zonas más conocidas de esta ciudad eterna (con el permiso de Roma) es, precisamente, Little Italy. A esta fama han contribuido sin duda alguna las películas de gángsters, singularmente El Padrino. Pues bien, quien vaya a Little Italy y espere encontrar a Don Vito comprando en una frutería escoltado por dos tipos de mandíbula prominente y abrigo abultado se llevará una gran decepción. La Piccola Italia, como gustan de llamarla aquí, ha sido ido arrinconada poco a poco hasta quedar reducida a una única calle, Mulberry street. Y esta calle no es ni siquiera un lugar donde haya vida de barrio o algo que se le parezca, sino un parque temático para los turistas con dos tipos de negocios: restaurantes (italianos, eso sí, pero de escasa calidad), y tiendas de souvenirs.

El motivo de este cambio es claro y fácilmente comprobable, y también tiene nombre de barrio famoso: Chinatown. Es impresionante pasear por las calles que rodean Mulberry y comprobar como todas, absolutamente todas, están copadas por negocios chinos de todo tipo: pescaderías, fruterías, bancos, tiendas de electrónica. Si Little Italy no merece tal nombre, puesto que no representa en modo alguno una versión reducida del país transalpino, el término Chinatown describe perfectamente lo que es: una ciudad china dentro de otra ciudad, la inefable Nueva York.

Que Chinatown se está comiendo a Little Italy se comprueba en un detalle que puede pasar desapercibido a primera vista, pero resulta muy significativo: Little Italy, i.e. Mulberry Street, está copada de banderas italianas y de pancartas con el nombre del barrio. Da la impresión que los lugareños se esfuerzan denodadamente por reforzar, o quizás salvar, su identidad, como si quisieran proclamar que todavía están allí. Excusatio non petita, accusatio manifesta...
En cambio, en Chinatown no vi ni una sola bandera china. No es necesario. Sus habitantes saben que están allí para quedarse, y no necesitan convencer a los visitantes de ello. Poseen la tranquila serenidad de quien se sabe vencedor de la batalla.

English version

One of the most well-known neighbourhoods of this eternal city (with Rome’s permission) is Little Italy. Gangsters’ films have undoubtedly contributed to this reputation, most notably The Padrino. However, those who expect to spot here Don Vito buying in a fruit store escorted by two guys with prominent jaws and bulky jackets will be greatly disappointed. Piccola Italia, as locals like to call it, has been reduced to one single street: Mulberry. And this street is not even a place where you might find neighbourhood life or anything of the kind, but a touristic theme park with two kinds of businesses: restaurants (Italian indeed, but cheesy) and souvenirs’ shops.

The reason for this change is clear and easy to check, and has the name of another famous neighbourhood: Chinatown. It is truly impressing to stroll around the streets that surround Mulberry and realize that absolutely all of them are packed with Chinese businesses of all kinds: fish shops, fruit stores, banks, electronics’ shops. If Little Italy doesn’t live up to its name, since it isn’t by far a reduced version of the transalpine country, the term Chinatown accurately describes what this is: a Chinese town inside another city, amazing New York.

You can understand that Chinatown is eating Little Italy by a detail that might be unnoticed at first sight, but is highly significant: Little Italy, i.e. Mulberry Street, is full of Italian flags and posters with its name. It’s as if locals were struggling to reinforce, or maybe save, their identity, as if they were trying to shout that they are still there. Excusatio non petita, accusatio manifesta...

Conversely, I did not see one Chinese flag in Chinatown. It is not necessary. Its inhabitants know they are here to stay, and do not need to convince visitors about it. They possess the serene calmness of he who knows himself winner of the battle.