sábado, 30 de julio de 2011
miércoles, 20 de julio de 2011
domingo, 17 de julio de 2011
lunes, 11 de julio de 2011
Information and Communication Technology (ICT) Applied to Modern Languages Learning
SPANISH DIALECTS: ANDALUCIAN
Learn Andalucian in Jerez (Introductory lesson); a glamorous learning system which helps you to acquire business and social success. OLE!
Improve your Andalucian with the Seville style
Maybe, you will like to try the Spanglish from La Linea/Gibraltar
Learn Andalucian in Jerez (Introductory lesson); a glamorous learning system which helps you to acquire business and social success. OLE!
Improve your Andalucian with the Seville style
Maybe, you will like to try the Spanglish from La Linea/Gibraltar
domingo, 10 de julio de 2011
FACEBOOK BRINGS BACK THE GOSTHS…
Oh, how nice to read Facebook gives you the chance to contact with the old friends, relatives and also meet new people. For someone like me, who lives abroad and far from home, friends and relatives it seems to be a nice way to re-catch old relationships broken by the distance… the distance only? Are we talking about just the physical distance? I doubt it!
There is something drilling my brain, and that is the school reunion invitation I have received; the very personal, very appealing and cozy School reunion. Is it? Is it really that? Hell no! No way!
I have dreamed with such an event and now it comes. I have dreamed with going to the dinner and see how we all became older, but not wiser. I dreamed to go there and very nicely, calmly tell to some of the fellows what I think about them after all those years. I have the chance now, I can touch it with my fingers, and the only thing I can think is they can fuck off… I don’t care anymore about them, and yes, I have not maturated enough to be over them and smile and all that bullshit the good mature people should say about the good and bad times of the school years. I am not politically correct and I will never be. I do not forget; I do not forgive.
I am talking about the secondary school, what we called in Spanish Instituto Nacional de Bachillerato (INB). I came from the Primary School; a religious school run by nuns but subsided by the taxes of everyone. That religious school was already a place where I didn’t have a great time, and I will talk about it sometime.
This INB was special; part of it was administered by the Ministry of Defense because many of the students were military kids. For somebody with some historic memory, in the 70’s-80’s many of the glorious Spanish army, navy etc. was made up by old stale officers and sub officers very closed to the old regime, Franco’s regime. And of course, the military often carry on family traditions, which mean that male kids were educated to be military men, and female were the future breeders of more military men. Military girls were then, a sort of idiotic decorative figure, good baby-machines, heroines and warriors of the good morals and values of a good fascist, competing with each other, and more proud of their boyfriends, husbands, brothers, sons and fathers, than of themselves. They were really fanatic about their men, like if their life (status) depended on them (well… it was true!)
The INB was newly built, and I found it appealing because it was new and it was in front of the beach. I was happy to leave the religious school for good, and happy to be free from the company of other catholic school girls, nuns and that sort of people who I disliked so much. I was the black sheep. But I was also afraid. Afraid of getting the same rejection I had in the primary school and having to start the same old bad feeling all over again.
As a partly military INB, the non-teaching personnel were made up by functionaries of Defense, also bunch of ex-sergeants with bulldog looks and manners of psycho Doberman dogs. For some reason, they wore a sort of paramilitary uniform I never saw in other INB’s. The INB had the services of transport, a fleet of buses, the worm sort, in dangerous and appalling state. The School premises were in military terrain, including a Bunker I had the pleasure to peak when the dogs, the real ones and the human ones were distracted. The place was always occupied by military men officers, sub officers and the poor soldiers who were suffering the compulsory military service. The teachers, as far as I can remember, were the most decent people one could find there…
----
Ok, I have made some friends there. The first day I went to that school I had the sneer face of Selu in the bus stop. Selu… man, almost 30 years and what can I say about you… you are just scumbag. By then, your personality was already formed. I don’t think you have ever changed to improve in all these years, but to become meaner. For me, going to that bus stop on a daily basis was a torture until fortunately, I made a few friends, and you didn’t bother me so much. You, disgusting son of a bitch, were already shaving your ugly adult face, you had to wear adult jeans because you had an adult shape. When I was 14, you were already driving khaki Seat 600. And as the time was passing by and I was dreaming you would leave the school because you were old enough, bloody more than enough… But, no, you continued going to school because for your disgrace (and mine) you were stupid, you were lazy and you kept repeating and repeating courses. Unfortunately, you also repeated and repeated year after year, the same idiotic insult to me “OWL”, plus the rest… ugly, retard (yeah), abortion, fetus etc. etc. You also had that horrid charisma to attract other scumbags like you, but with less appeal, to echo your insults and to laugh your “witty” remarks.
When I became 16 my looks improved dramatically. Still, I didn’t have the military-girl charm. I didn’t fucking want it. Anyway, you didn’t bother me so much but the danger was always there. The danger of your public humiliation was the worse punishment I could ever have. I hated you so much I wished your death and I didn’t care how bad my feelings were.
I had some friends, but no one would have the guts to face you or help me to face you because your bullying was as normal as taking the bus, having a shit, or breathing. And for your friends, well, they always were willing to please his master, and they humiliated their victims with dedication and joy. Still, I didn’t give you the chance to show myself broken, and with my heart beating fast, the adrenaline rushing, the taste of metal in my dry mouth, and feelings hurt and down I faced you sometimes… you laughed, but you never saw me crying.
Last year at school, when the course was almost finished and I knew I would pass, I was excited. I swear that I wasn’t excited because I wouldn’t see you again. I didn’t even think on you. I was a happy time. I remember I went to the library with a couple of fellows, I don’t even remember who they were. We were in one table, just wasting time, not reading, just chatting. We didn’t care, and we made noise. And you, you were there, in another table with your friends, in a busy time with books and papers trying to catch up in a few days what you didn’t do in a complete year. And for the very first time, you rebuked me with a good reason, but this time, I had it…
- You, shut up! We are studying here!
- No answer but more chatter…
- Hey, shut the fuck up, we are busy here. Get out!
I don’t know how the sparkle came to m,e but this time I wasn’t afraid of public humiliation. I stood up and approached you and your servants.
- Are you talking to me, grandpa?
- What?
- I am asking if you are talking to me, grandpa!
- Grandpa? What the fuck are you talking about?
- Ah, you don’t know… Not a bright man regardless your age. Ok, you are telling me to shut up because you are busy… too bad because as usual, like every year, you are going to fail, again, and again. You know, you are at least 5 years older than me, and I am in my way out, and you see your friends, or some of them, going… and you stay, one mooooooooooooooore year… you stay!! and your friends are becoming younger… ops, no… you are becoming older and…
- What the fuck...!!!????
And your friends were laughing, but this time not of me but they laughed the argument and your reaction. And you stoop up like coming to me to do what? Hit me or what?
I took a chair and I lifted it, and the noise was increasing… so, you stop and I put the chair down. I stood on the chair and this time I was in rapture… screaming!
- What are you going to do? Hit me? Or kick me like a donkey? DONKEY? Because that is what you are! A malicious donkey, and I go, you stay forever. When time passes and we have children and they come to this school they will find you here… you will be using a walking stick or a wheelchair grandpaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!
You left. And your friends followed. And I was still on the chair, still in rapture. Then, one of my fellows put the hand on my leg…
- Come on, let’s go…
- Don’t touch me! Fucker, now you talk…
After that incident, I don’t know how you managed but I didn’t see you again. I swear I didn’t avoid you. It is more, I was looking forward to see you again and look at your eyes and laugh, loud, clear… it is a pity I didn’t have the chance.
I don’t even remember your surnames, and I have to admit that I was quite curious about you after all these years. I had the wicked wish that you were a miserable old failed piece of shit. You really are that, but you have succeeded in one thing and that is to make some people very miserable for years. And even after almost 30 years I remember you, your car, your stupid face, your voice and I don’t feel like to go to any stupid school reunion because of you, your friends, and even the coward bastards I thought as my friends.
Congratulations!
There is something drilling my brain, and that is the school reunion invitation I have received; the very personal, very appealing and cozy School reunion. Is it? Is it really that? Hell no! No way!
I have dreamed with such an event and now it comes. I have dreamed with going to the dinner and see how we all became older, but not wiser. I dreamed to go there and very nicely, calmly tell to some of the fellows what I think about them after all those years. I have the chance now, I can touch it with my fingers, and the only thing I can think is they can fuck off… I don’t care anymore about them, and yes, I have not maturated enough to be over them and smile and all that bullshit the good mature people should say about the good and bad times of the school years. I am not politically correct and I will never be. I do not forget; I do not forgive.
I am talking about the secondary school, what we called in Spanish Instituto Nacional de Bachillerato (INB). I came from the Primary School; a religious school run by nuns but subsided by the taxes of everyone. That religious school was already a place where I didn’t have a great time, and I will talk about it sometime.
This INB was special; part of it was administered by the Ministry of Defense because many of the students were military kids. For somebody with some historic memory, in the 70’s-80’s many of the glorious Spanish army, navy etc. was made up by old stale officers and sub officers very closed to the old regime, Franco’s regime. And of course, the military often carry on family traditions, which mean that male kids were educated to be military men, and female were the future breeders of more military men. Military girls were then, a sort of idiotic decorative figure, good baby-machines, heroines and warriors of the good morals and values of a good fascist, competing with each other, and more proud of their boyfriends, husbands, brothers, sons and fathers, than of themselves. They were really fanatic about their men, like if their life (status) depended on them (well… it was true!)
The INB was newly built, and I found it appealing because it was new and it was in front of the beach. I was happy to leave the religious school for good, and happy to be free from the company of other catholic school girls, nuns and that sort of people who I disliked so much. I was the black sheep. But I was also afraid. Afraid of getting the same rejection I had in the primary school and having to start the same old bad feeling all over again.
As a partly military INB, the non-teaching personnel were made up by functionaries of Defense, also bunch of ex-sergeants with bulldog looks and manners of psycho Doberman dogs. For some reason, they wore a sort of paramilitary uniform I never saw in other INB’s. The INB had the services of transport, a fleet of buses, the worm sort, in dangerous and appalling state. The School premises were in military terrain, including a Bunker I had the pleasure to peak when the dogs, the real ones and the human ones were distracted. The place was always occupied by military men officers, sub officers and the poor soldiers who were suffering the compulsory military service. The teachers, as far as I can remember, were the most decent people one could find there…
----
Ok, I have made some friends there. The first day I went to that school I had the sneer face of Selu in the bus stop. Selu… man, almost 30 years and what can I say about you… you are just scumbag. By then, your personality was already formed. I don’t think you have ever changed to improve in all these years, but to become meaner. For me, going to that bus stop on a daily basis was a torture until fortunately, I made a few friends, and you didn’t bother me so much. You, disgusting son of a bitch, were already shaving your ugly adult face, you had to wear adult jeans because you had an adult shape. When I was 14, you were already driving khaki Seat 600. And as the time was passing by and I was dreaming you would leave the school because you were old enough, bloody more than enough… But, no, you continued going to school because for your disgrace (and mine) you were stupid, you were lazy and you kept repeating and repeating courses. Unfortunately, you also repeated and repeated year after year, the same idiotic insult to me “OWL”, plus the rest… ugly, retard (yeah), abortion, fetus etc. etc. You also had that horrid charisma to attract other scumbags like you, but with less appeal, to echo your insults and to laugh your “witty” remarks.
When I became 16 my looks improved dramatically. Still, I didn’t have the military-girl charm. I didn’t fucking want it. Anyway, you didn’t bother me so much but the danger was always there. The danger of your public humiliation was the worse punishment I could ever have. I hated you so much I wished your death and I didn’t care how bad my feelings were.
I had some friends, but no one would have the guts to face you or help me to face you because your bullying was as normal as taking the bus, having a shit, or breathing. And for your friends, well, they always were willing to please his master, and they humiliated their victims with dedication and joy. Still, I didn’t give you the chance to show myself broken, and with my heart beating fast, the adrenaline rushing, the taste of metal in my dry mouth, and feelings hurt and down I faced you sometimes… you laughed, but you never saw me crying.
Last year at school, when the course was almost finished and I knew I would pass, I was excited. I swear that I wasn’t excited because I wouldn’t see you again. I didn’t even think on you. I was a happy time. I remember I went to the library with a couple of fellows, I don’t even remember who they were. We were in one table, just wasting time, not reading, just chatting. We didn’t care, and we made noise. And you, you were there, in another table with your friends, in a busy time with books and papers trying to catch up in a few days what you didn’t do in a complete year. And for the very first time, you rebuked me with a good reason, but this time, I had it…
- You, shut up! We are studying here!
- No answer but more chatter…
- Hey, shut the fuck up, we are busy here. Get out!
I don’t know how the sparkle came to m,e but this time I wasn’t afraid of public humiliation. I stood up and approached you and your servants.
- Are you talking to me, grandpa?
- What?
- I am asking if you are talking to me, grandpa!
- Grandpa? What the fuck are you talking about?
- Ah, you don’t know… Not a bright man regardless your age. Ok, you are telling me to shut up because you are busy… too bad because as usual, like every year, you are going to fail, again, and again. You know, you are at least 5 years older than me, and I am in my way out, and you see your friends, or some of them, going… and you stay, one mooooooooooooooore year… you stay!! and your friends are becoming younger… ops, no… you are becoming older and…
- What the fuck...!!!????
And your friends were laughing, but this time not of me but they laughed the argument and your reaction. And you stoop up like coming to me to do what? Hit me or what?
I took a chair and I lifted it, and the noise was increasing… so, you stop and I put the chair down. I stood on the chair and this time I was in rapture… screaming!
- What are you going to do? Hit me? Or kick me like a donkey? DONKEY? Because that is what you are! A malicious donkey, and I go, you stay forever. When time passes and we have children and they come to this school they will find you here… you will be using a walking stick or a wheelchair grandpaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!
You left. And your friends followed. And I was still on the chair, still in rapture. Then, one of my fellows put the hand on my leg…
- Come on, let’s go…
- Don’t touch me! Fucker, now you talk…
After that incident, I don’t know how you managed but I didn’t see you again. I swear I didn’t avoid you. It is more, I was looking forward to see you again and look at your eyes and laugh, loud, clear… it is a pity I didn’t have the chance.
I don’t even remember your surnames, and I have to admit that I was quite curious about you after all these years. I had the wicked wish that you were a miserable old failed piece of shit. You really are that, but you have succeeded in one thing and that is to make some people very miserable for years. And even after almost 30 years I remember you, your car, your stupid face, your voice and I don’t feel like to go to any stupid school reunion because of you, your friends, and even the coward bastards I thought as my friends.
Congratulations!
Decision making...
If anybody read this lines sorry. I might appear like a grumpy old far, and I might be one… As a matter of fact I was grumpy since I was born, that is why I have got premature wrinkles between my eyebrows, even when I say they are there because of my myopia. Too bad!
Since I am an Internet user I suffer from the horrendous view of bad spelling, writing, grammar, style etc. of arrogant people who think they possess the TRUTH and fancy themselves as writers. And I don’t mean typing mistakes, although a little bit of care would be appreciated.
It is an international disease; I have seen it at least within Spanish speakers and English speakers. The way they use their own language is nearly criminal. How bad to see that in Forums, articles, messages in FACEBOOK, etc.
I remember all the hassle I had at school because the lack of tildes, commas, and other punctuation signs. I still now a day I can make the occasional mistake and when that occurs, I feel I would like to sink my head under the earth. What for?
I have made up my mind and I will write what I want, when I want, in the language I want. I don’t care the consequences or ridicule. I don’t care spelling or punctuation mistakes. After of what I have seen… Who bloody cares??? The search for perfection is causing me a lot of mental damage.
I would like to use this blog without self-censure, self-censure is something I had to put into practice for almost all my life and I had enough. I don’t think anybody is going to read this blog anyway… at least I have the pleasure to say what I think, just as hard as it is.
Take it or leave mate, amigo, friend, whatever… I am tired of being Ms. Goody-two-shoes!
I am going to have a bath and relax after taking this decision… I will come back with some thoughts about the invitation I have received through FACEBOOK for the School reunion event… after all these years and still I have some characters stuck in my throat, some ex-fellow students who, I am afraid, remain as stupendously moronic evil pieces of shit as almost 30 years ago.
They probably cannot read English anyway…
Since I am an Internet user I suffer from the horrendous view of bad spelling, writing, grammar, style etc. of arrogant people who think they possess the TRUTH and fancy themselves as writers. And I don’t mean typing mistakes, although a little bit of care would be appreciated.
It is an international disease; I have seen it at least within Spanish speakers and English speakers. The way they use their own language is nearly criminal. How bad to see that in Forums, articles, messages in FACEBOOK, etc.
I remember all the hassle I had at school because the lack of tildes, commas, and other punctuation signs. I still now a day I can make the occasional mistake and when that occurs, I feel I would like to sink my head under the earth. What for?
I have made up my mind and I will write what I want, when I want, in the language I want. I don’t care the consequences or ridicule. I don’t care spelling or punctuation mistakes. After of what I have seen… Who bloody cares??? The search for perfection is causing me a lot of mental damage.
I would like to use this blog without self-censure, self-censure is something I had to put into practice for almost all my life and I had enough. I don’t think anybody is going to read this blog anyway… at least I have the pleasure to say what I think, just as hard as it is.
Take it or leave mate, amigo, friend, whatever… I am tired of being Ms. Goody-two-shoes!
I am going to have a bath and relax after taking this decision… I will come back with some thoughts about the invitation I have received through FACEBOOK for the School reunion event… after all these years and still I have some characters stuck in my throat, some ex-fellow students who, I am afraid, remain as stupendously moronic evil pieces of shit as almost 30 years ago.
They probably cannot read English anyway…
martes, 5 de julio de 2011
The Shameful Bases of Modern Capitalism
Graphic Introduction
Following an excellent documentary by Professor J. Humphries
The catalyst to Britain's Industrial Revolution was the slave labour of orphans and destitute children. In this shocking and moving account of their exploitation and eventual emancipation, Professor Jane Humphries uses the actual words of these child workers (recorded in diaries, interviews and letters) to let them tell their own story. She also uses groundbreaking animation to bring to life a world where 12-year-olds went to war at Trafalgar and six-year-olds worked the fields as human scarecrows.
Following an excellent documentary by Professor J. Humphries
The catalyst to Britain's Industrial Revolution was the slave labour of orphans and destitute children. In this shocking and moving account of their exploitation and eventual emancipation, Professor Jane Humphries uses the actual words of these child workers (recorded in diaries, interviews and letters) to let them tell their own story. She also uses groundbreaking animation to bring to life a world where 12-year-olds went to war at Trafalgar and six-year-olds worked the fields as human scarecrows.
Joyita musical: La flauta mágica. Die Zauberflöte The Magic Flute Papageno Papagena
Uno de los mejores fragmentos de toda la producción de Mozart, ya de por sí aunténtico genio.
Un goce para el oido y el espíritu.
Un goce para el oido y el espíritu.
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