Enlaces recomendados:
miércoles, 27 de julio de 2011
Joe, Pa'l bailador!
A mí me gusta recordar al Joe Arroyo cantando y bailando, porque con su música, disfruté muchas rumbas y sigo haciéndolo. Por eso, decidí que valía la pena recodar tres canciones: la Mini Mini, Noche de Arreboles y En Barranquilla me quedo. Una pequeña muestra de su grandeza musical. Espero que las disfruten...
domingo, 26 de junio de 2011
My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant
Esta es la historia de un periodista que nació en Filipinas, creció en Estados Unidos, logró trabajar en importantes periódicos y un día, decidió contarle al mundo que era indocumentado, a través de este valioso texto que vale la pena leer en inglés.
My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant
By José Antonio Vargas
One August morning nearly two decades ago, my mother woke me and put me in a cab. She handed me a jacket. “Baka malamig doon” were among the few words she said. (“It might be cold there.”) When I arrived at the Philippines’ Ninoy Aquino International Airport with her, my aunt and a family friend, I was introduced to a man I’d never seen. They told me he was my uncle. He held my hand as I boarded an airplane for the first time. It was 1993, and I was 12.
My mother wanted to give me a better life, so she sent me thousands of miles away to live with her parents in America — my grandfather (Lolo in Tagalog) and grandmother (Lola). After I arrived in Mountain View, Calif., in the San Francisco Bay Area, I entered sixth grade and quickly grew to love my new home, family and culture. I discovered a passion for language, though it was hard to learn the difference between formal English and American slang. One of my early memories is of a freckled kid in middle school asking me, “What’s up?” I replied, “The sky,” and he and a couple of other kids laughed. I won the eighth-grade spelling bee by memorizing words I couldn’t properly pronounce. (The winning word was “indefatigable.”)
One day when I was 16, I rode my bike to the nearby D.M.V. office to get my driver’s permit. Some of my friends already had their licenses, so I figured it was time. But when I handed the clerk my green card as proof of U.S. residency, she flipped it around, examining it. “This is fake,” she whispered. “Don’t come back here again.”
Lea el texto completo aquí!
My mother wanted to give me a better life, so she sent me thousands of miles away to live with her parents in America — my grandfather (Lolo in Tagalog) and grandmother (Lola). After I arrived in Mountain View, Calif., in the San Francisco Bay Area, I entered sixth grade and quickly grew to love my new home, family and culture. I discovered a passion for language, though it was hard to learn the difference between formal English and American slang. One of my early memories is of a freckled kid in middle school asking me, “What’s up?” I replied, “The sky,” and he and a couple of other kids laughed. I won the eighth-grade spelling bee by memorizing words I couldn’t properly pronounce. (The winning word was “indefatigable.”)
One day when I was 16, I rode my bike to the nearby D.M.V. office to get my driver’s permit. Some of my friends already had their licenses, so I figured it was time. But when I handed the clerk my green card as proof of U.S. residency, she flipped it around, examining it. “This is fake,” she whispered. “Don’t come back here again.”
Lea el texto completo aquí!
Es
viernes, 20 de mayo de 2011
Idiots and angels
Hace poco me encontré de casualidad esta increíble película llamada Idiots and angels, del animador norteamericano Bill Plympton (nacido el 30 de abril de 1946), el mismo que en 1987 estuvo nominado al Premio Oscar con su cortometraje animado Your Face.
La cinta está protagonizada por un hombre algo desagradable, violento, alcóholico y obsesionado con el sexo, que lleva una vida simple y monótona. Su rutina es visitar, día tras día, un decadente bar. Pero un día, amanece con unos pequeños bultos en su espalda que con los días se convierten en alas. Unas alas que lo van obligando a cambiar contra su voluntad. La película tiene una música hermosa y nada de palabras.
Lo interesante de Pympton, que parece tener una obsesión por explorar la esencia del ser humano y sus rincones más oscuros, para lo que se vale de una estética bastante particular y de un humor negro que perturba y hace sonreír a sus espectadores. Su trabajo es inspirador y por eso espero que lo disfruten.
Enlaces recomendados:
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)