Monday 8 July 2013

existential carousel, spin

Deadly weather. Summer has been kind to us all so far. With this week being particularly good. Job life (as usual, and convenient in my life) has been kind as well, and unlike most gastronomic slaves around the globe (and here in Ireland as well) i found myself with the ashtonishing news that we basically work just a few days in July and not at all in August. So the craic is that until septmeber, loads of sun. Im starting to think that i might be slightly allergic to steady jobs. 
(i can see all of my friends having no surprise at this statement, reinforcing the idea of me being a idle bastard... wouldnt blame them tho.)

What do i do with all this time? I wish i could say "im focusing on writing and other sort of artsy activities" but sadly its not the case. BBQ and partying has been present. I saw Blondie and Devendra Banhart so far, and im waiting eagerly to Grizzly bear, Edward Sharpe and a few festivals like Longitude, Reading and Electric Picnic. I am trying to give my moleskine a more daily use but so far it has been nothing but a subtle effort, so it remains a hipster element (one more to the leather satchel!).  

Im doing my best trying to understand irish girls, so far i had no luck. For those not in touch with hows the reality down here, ill give you a vil picture, a satirical hyperbole for you to understand what i mean: It all seems like an acid puke, a psychotropical heavy-trip, a bunt-and-kitsch distortion of reality. Whats behind the leading aesthetics remains a mistery to me. Dye your hair blond is the first step. Of course, go for the Ombre ("californian style" for the more trashier way to describe it). Next, its the orange foundation for the face. "a fake tan" some might say, but let me say that i have never ever saw a natural-tanned face gone all tangy-cheese-Dorito before. After that is the clothing, the worst combination available in Urban Outfitters (which is not usually bad itself but this "barbie wannabes" make an extra effort) and then you'll see a fluorescent mischemaschung, a character you might expect to find in a chapter of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson. In the very streets and pubs of Dublin. 

But of course, not all of the girls are like that. You'll find the likes that knows Andy Warhols work apart from Marilyn Monroe portrait. The ones that embrace their paleness proudly, and wear only the just amount of make-up to go out. Whose outfit is either lovely or ok, but never trashy. With those, im still having trouble to understand how the game is played. The ways in here are completely opposite to uruguays (would not state its better or worse, its just different). So in the last few months i have been kissed out of the blue while dancing a fair amount of times without really quite understand what was going on (once i almost got beaten up by an angry boyfriend.. trustory). Back home we need (or i usually need) a fair amount of time talking before getting anything, after that is relatively easy to go further. In here on the other hand, things seem to be working slightly different. So after the kiss, its the time to be gentle, buy a drink and chat. Part in which i have failed, because i was in uruguay's mindset thinking "she kissed me, lets get the hell out of here" so... i can see where i went wrong. Time will tell if i succeed or not... it's not a main concern anyway.

In a more-personal piece of news, i came across Lauren Leto's "judging a book by its lover" at amazon an immediately went for it. HILARIOUS. I would never consider myself a "bookcat" (author's term) because my reading habits had become in the last years kinda lame, trying to get a good rythm back. Still i've read enough to understand most of what she was saying, or joking about, and when not, try to write down any book that seemed worth-reading. But i dont remember being that amused when reading. I felt like a child thats about to do something forbidden, expectant of what she might say about the authors i like, the profiles i fit in, or the same with people i know. I read the whole thing in two days. Yesterday (a lovely sunday) i decided to go to the park, enjoy the sun and do some serious reading that lasted at least 3 hours of pure-reading. Today, i killed the rest during the morning. To read someone whos such a well-read author made me feel actually so left behind. The inner writer in me actually died a little out of self dissapointment for not being able to say "i know what she's talking about!" but luckily i'd be able to pull off one of Laurens tips and get away with it. When it comes to the parts i relate. I must say that my bookshelf might have looked as the frustated artist's one, specially because the Bukowski and the Marky Marks bottle (which i totally did have). Went a little annoyed when describing "where wild things are" (you dont wanna mess with that)  and felt relief at describing people who read Hemingway as "cottage owners" (not bad in comparison of the likes of Brönte sisters fans, Nicholas Sparks or Stephanie Meyers). So now i am ready to jump into the next book, following Leto's recommendations: The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy.

Im going to the west-coast for a little escapade from Dublins concrete landscapes to seize the good weather properly. Its actually promising. So more on that on the next post i guess.