The Weekly Spud

The Death of Our Blog Community

2009-12-21T08:03:00.002-06:00

Facebook has made blogging obsolete. Blogs rushed onto the crazy internet scene all the kids are doing these days and rushed out just as quickly. I suppose this is no surprise as this is the trend most software technology follows.

Is it worth posting something worthwhile here anymore? Even the blogger program is so excited I'm posting something, it is frantically saving my work every few seconds. Our blogs have been good to us. Is it right for us to discard them like cheap whores? Or the whores that were expensive because your buddy didn't check out their background and they ended up being trans-gendered? Is that right?

I just don't know. I feel like with the death of blogs, a small part of me that may have been the only part left that enjoyed the internet after chat rooms died, then IMs, then Ultima Online, is also now expired.

.................

Cry

2008-12-20T08:16:00.001-06:00

Something to Think About

2008-11-12T20:22:00.000-06:00

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

Palin FTW

2008-10-03T13:21:00.000-05:00

Here it is; # 1 Surprise!

2008-08-26T13:12:00.003-05:00

I might color them in later; I haven't decided yet. Enjoy!

I would just like to take this moment to say...

2008-08-25T12:27:00.000-05:00

MCCAIN SUCKS

The best part of waking up...

2008-08-11T11:21:00.001-05:00

I couldn't help myself.

Biggest drawing in the world

2008-06-05T14:37:00.001-05:00

Overwatch Part 2

2008-05-30T14:33:00.002-05:00

Commander Ryland leads his forces with the assistance of the Cerebrate Nez'diel against the nefarious zerg which have infested the remote space platform.

Overwatch

2008-05-26T14:19:00.002-05:00

The cerebrate Nez'diel destroys an enemy zerg infestation.

UH......OH......

2008-05-16T11:09:00.000-05:00

Starcraft...

2008-05-07T10:17:00.002-05:00

As Wlfsamurai stated, this game is sheer awesome with a side of kickass. Thank you Blizzard for making some of the best games ever in the history of gaming. I want to have your cold, blizzardy babies.

Even my cat, who is like a zergling, loves this game; she watches me as I play it.

!!!

2008-05-06T10:38:00.002-05:00

SWEET!

2008-05-02T11:40:00.001-05:00

Zombie Jesus

2008-05-02T11:36:00.001-05:00

o_0 !

Jesus People - Episode 1

2008-05-01T14:07:00.001-05:00

JediGym Trailer

2008-05-01T14:00:00.001-05:00

IRON MAN FIRST REVIEW

2008-05-01T13:58:00.001-05:00

Real life Prince of Persia!

2008-04-25T12:32:00.001-05:00

Free Running

The Kings of Youtube - Youtube Rap Video

2008-04-16T12:09:00.001-05:00

YouTube MadLibs Finale: The Date

2008-04-16T12:02:00.001-05:00

Rrrrooooosssaaaa!

The Job

2008-04-16T11:54:00.001-05:00

Democrats, you have nothing to worry about.

2008-04-10T13:45:00.001-05:00

*shudder*

Jedi Baseball

2008-04-04T14:15:00.001-05:00

New Star Wars Gangsta Rap

2008-03-24T16:40:00.001-05:00

o_0

What the hell is wrong with this country?

2008-03-24T14:18:00.003-05:00

http://www.cnn.com/2008/CRIME/03/24/iowa.city.shooting.ap/index.html?eref=rss_topstories

I saw the vehicle crash on my way into town today but didn't know what it was until just now.

Everybody got an automated "Hawk Alert" saying "Warning, there is an active shooter in the Iowa City area."

Hey Andy...

2008-03-23T18:56:00.002-05:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!

Exorcist Walk

2008-03-12T16:37:00.001-05:00

Blast from the Past

2008-03-12T16:33:00.001-05:00

Very Cool Animation

2008-02-26T14:23:00.001-06:00

1-900-NERD-GIRL

2008-02-26T14:15:00.001-06:00

The Cutest Thing Ever! - Star Wars Ep. IV according to a 3 year old

2008-02-26T12:23:00.001-06:00

Barack Obama Hillary Clinton - Umbrella

2008-02-23T18:00:00.001-06:00

Stop Motion with Whiteboard

2008-02-23T17:36:00.001-06:00

Redneck Woman

2008-02-23T16:41:00.001-06:00

Bunny Animation

2008-02-23T15:26:00.001-06:00

Dilbert

2008-02-23T10:55:00.003-06:00

Blargh

2008-02-20T11:01:00.002-06:00

A History of Evil

2008-02-20T10:59:00.001-06:00

Black History Month Presents-BLACK INSIDE

2008-02-18T13:25:00.001-06:00

Very Funny

Back to da Beach | Douchebag Beach Ep 1

2008-02-16T13:58:00.001-06:00

Un-Valentine's Day

2008-02-16T13:50:00.001-06:00

Eat Your Heart Out

2008-02-16T13:47:00.001-06:00

I Love You

2008-02-16T13:45:00.001-06:00

Lil' Guy

2008-02-13T13:43:00.002-06:00

Flash - La Prohibida

2008-02-11T14:08:00.001-06:00

Just to torture Josh.

I'm Fukin Matt Damon

2008-02-10T19:21:00.001-06:00

La Pequeña Prohibida

2008-02-10T12:28:00.001-06:00

I found out this is from a comedy sketch show in Chile, so it's not serious... :)

o_0

Bro Rape: A Newsline Investigative Report

2008-02-04T12:53:00.001-06:00

This was discovered by Hans.

Good find sir!

The Poll

2008-01-30T17:37:00.000-06:00

The results are in. It would appear Scientist is the highly desired position within a "Top-Secret Government Science Facility." Unforunately, for those of you who chose this job, your career will be extremely boring, you will have no social life outside the restraints of your work, and you will become muddled with useless information and die young.

For those who chose the other career-paths, kudos to you. Except Administration, which is what I chose. They are the most stressed and tend to become sterile easily.

Nobody chose Test Subject; easiest way to make money...

Passenger Saga

2008-01-25T20:46:00.000-06:00

Yes, you read correctly. You know what to do.

http://passengersaga.blogspot.com/

Evil Eye (MOD)

2008-01-22T20:04:00.001-06:00

Freaky

:(

2008-01-22T17:10:00.001-06:00

A good man.

Bitch Slapped

2008-01-22T12:13:00.001-06:00

Andy's "frog whore" search inspired me to do one of my own, and this is what I found.

o_0

2008-01-18T16:54:00.001-06:00

Bruce Willis

2008-01-18T16:40:00.000-06:00

He's a badass.

YouTube Is My Life

2008-01-18T10:24:00.001-06:00

Oh Dear, it's the rising tide of communism. I'm afraid I'm doomed.

Future of Singapore in 2015

2008-01-18T09:58:00.001-06:00

This is awesome.

And I quoth:

2008-01-09T18:59:00.000-06:00

A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.

-William Shakespeare

Religion is what keeps the poor from murdering the rich.

-Napoleon Bonaparte

Morality is of the highest importance - but for us, not for God.

-Albert Einstein

We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.

-Winston Churchill

Government, even in its best state, is but a necessary evil; in its worst state, an intolerable one.

-Thomas Paine

You don't pay taxes - they take taxes.

-Chris Rock

FOUND

2008-01-06T01:05:00.000-06:00

George Lucas in Love

2007-12-19T09:32:00.001-06:00

"Maybe you weren't meant to write agricultural space tragedies."

Internet!

2007-12-14T10:23:00.000-06:00

I have it. The real Mccoy. For those of you wondering why this is a big deal, I will enlighten you.

As many of you know, I haven't had internet at my apartment in Iowa for almost a year, there was the internet I was uh...*coughborrowingcough*but that disappeared several months back. Well, as anyone that has lived in Iowa City knows, paying for internet is a gamble, because there is a very good chance it will suck. A lot.

So sure enough, when I finally cracked down and had it installed Wednesday, it was slower than a retarded grandmother in an 87 Buick. HOWEVER, after my angry phone call Wednesday, someone came out today (Friday) and fixed it. The douche gave me a bad router. Go figure.

Now, I can do internet things. And life is good.

Bentley Green :: Song for Ellen DeGeneres

2007-12-13T16:38:00.001-06:00

This kid is amazing.

Andy's comic discovery FTW

2007-12-11T20:27:00.001-06:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

McDonald's: The Rap

2007-12-10T09:34:00.001-06:00

Hmm...

Ron Paul

2007-11-29T12:25:00.001-06:00

Ron aside, does this guy severely creep anyone else out?

Gay Robot

2007-11-22T14:16:00.001-06:00

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=5006295

And you thought the internet wasn't fatal.

2007-09-17T14:44:00.000-05:00

http://www.cnn.com/2007/TECH/09/17/internet.death.ap/index.html?iref=mpstoryview

I think we all know what game this man was playing...

And, he's an idiot. Hi, you're human, you need that thing called water or you die. Moron.

Dofus

2007-08-29T23:33:00.000-05:00

This is a sweet, free MMORPG that Josh found. Check it out, Andy and I are hooked as well.

http://www.dofus.com/

2007-08-21T12:55:00.000-05:00

And we thought Tickle me Elmo was fun

I would not advise eating this

Children are not born, they are made...

Madtv - Apple I-rack

2007-08-04T12:11:00.001-05:00

Uh oh, Spanish just jumped ahead. English speakers are doomed.

2007-08-03T08:11:00.000-05:00

Major languages of the world
(Number of native speakers)

1.
Mandarin Chinese : 836,000,000
2.
Hindi : 333,000,000
3.
Spanish: 332,000,000
4.
English : 322,000,000
5.
Bengali : 189,000,000
6.
Arabic: : 186,000,000
7.
Russian: : 170,000,000
8.
Portuguese : 170,000,000
9.
Japanese : 125,000,000
10.
German : 98,000,000
11.
French : 72,000,000
12.
Malay : 50,000,000

Pokemon Bitches

2007-07-22T22:46:00.001-05:00

You all remember...

Bleach. Hey, it's pretty cool

2007-06-04T09:37:00.002-05:00

Watch it. They finish things in 1 episode, unlike Naruto. <3.

I'm proud to be an American

2007-05-25T10:37:00.000-05:00

http://www.idkwtf.com/videos/latest-videos/the-immigration-debate

Just chill, man.

Life Sucks

2007-05-24T10:04:00.000-05:00

http://veryfunnyads.com/ads/25041.html

http://veryfunnyads.com/ads/25116.html

http://veryfunnyads.com/ads/24911.html

Advertising no longer wastes any time on tact.

Mexican Joins Anti-Immigration Rally

2007-05-22T18:08:00.001-05:00

I love this country.

In case you wanted to learn how to dance

2007-05-22T17:54:00.001-05:00

You know you want him...

They are coming

2007-05-21T13:49:00.000-05:00

Could it be?????? Watch and cream

2007-05-19T08:52:00.001-05:00

Looks like they are maintaining the flavor of the original; we love you Blizzard!

Obi Wan Kenobi buys a used car

2007-05-16T12:29:00.001-05:00

Your bakery product is weaker now

Kitty :)

2007-05-12T21:55:00.000-05:00

Andy requested some photos of my new kitty, Isis. So here they are.

Text Message vs Morse Code

2007-05-10T03:22:00.001-05:00

In tribute to Jerry's Dad

Want to hear a cat say "Oh Shit..." ?

2007-05-10T02:31:00.001-05:00

Gets points for bravery...

Another short story by Gabriel García Márquez

2007-04-15T19:12:00.000-05:00

The Plane of the Sleeping Beauty

She was beautiful, elastic, with tender, bread-colored skin and green, almond eyes. Black hair long and smooth fell to her back, and she exuded an aura of antiquity that in it of itself could be Indonesian and not from the Andes. She was dressed with subtle taste: lynx jacket, natural silk blouse adorned with tenuous flowers, crude linen pants, and lined shoes the color of bugambilias.

This is the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my life, I thought, when I saw her pass with the large, stealthy steps of a lioness, whose tail I followed to board the plane to New York in the Charles de Gaulle de Paris airport. She was a supernatural apparition who existed only for an instant and vanished in the crowd of the terminal.

It was nine o’clock in the morning. It had been snowing since the previous night and the transit was denser than normal in the city streets, moving slower than the highway, and lined with cargo trucks filled to the brim and smoky cars in the snow. In the airport terminal on the other hand, life continued in earnest.

I stood in the search line behind an elderly Dutch woman who delayed the line for almost an hour discussing the weight of her eleven suitcases. I was becoming bored when I saw the instantaneous apparition which left me breathless, so profoundly that I did not know how the argument ended until the employee brought me out of the clouds with a reproach for my being distracted. As an apology I asked her if she believed in love at first sight.

“Of course,” she said. “All the other stuff is what’s impossible,” she continued with her gaze fixed on the computer screen, asking me what I preferred: Smoking or Non.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said deliberately, “As long as it’s not the side with the eleven suitcases.”

She thanked me with a business-like smile without removing her eyes from the phosphorescent screen.

“Pick a number,” she told me, “Three, four or seven.”

“Four.”

Her smile had a triumphant sparkle. “In the fifteen years that I have been here,” she said, “You are the first one to not choose seven.”

She marked on my boarding pass the seat number and handed it to me with my other documents, looking at me for the first time with grape-colored eyes which consoled me as I returned to studying the beautiful woman. Only then did she mention that the airport was about to close and all flights had been delayed.

“Until when?”

“As long as God desires,” she said with a grin. “It was announced on the radio this morning that it will be the biggest snowstorm of the year.”

She was wrong: It was the biggest of the century. In the first-class waiting room, however, spring was so tangible that there were live roses in the vases and the canned music felt as sublime and sedative as its composers intended. Suddenly it occurred to me that this was an adequate refuge for the woman, and I was shaken by my audacity as I searched for her in the other rooms. But the majority of the crowd was down-to-earth men reading newspapers in English while their women were thinking of other men, contemplating the planes dead in the snow through the panoramic panes of glass; contemplating the icy factories and the vast seed plots of Roissy devastated by lions. After midday there was no elbow-room, and the heat had become so insufferable that I escaped in order to breathe fresh air.

Outside I found an unpleasant spectacle. All kinds of people were overrunning the waiting rooms, camped in the stifling corridors and even the stairs, and spread out on the floor with their animals, children and luggage. Since communication with the city was interrupted, the palace of transparent plastic felt like an immense space capsule launched in the storm. I could not help but imagine that the beautiful lady must have also been entrapped in this domesticated horde, and that fantasy aroused within me a new vitality with which to wait.

By lunchtime the collective conscience resembled a shipwreck. The lines stretched endlessly in front of the seven restaurants, the cafeterias, the testimonial bars, and in less than three hours they had to close them down because there was nothing to eat or drink. The children, who for a moment seemed to be the only thing in the world, all began crying simultaneously, and from the crowd rose a herd-like odor. It was time for instinct. The only things I managed to grab in the mad scramble for food were the two last cups of ice cream in a children’s store. I ate them little by little at the counter, while the waiters placed chairs on the tables as a sign the restaurant should be vacated, and looked at me in a mirror on the wall, eating from the last cardboard cup with the last cardboard spoon, and thinking about the beautiful woman.

The flight to New York, scheduled for eleven in the morning, left at eight o’clock at night. When I had finally embarked, the first-class passengers were already seated, and the flight attendant ushered me to my chair. I was rendered breathless. In the adjacent chair, next to the small window, there was the beautiful woman, utilizing her space with the expertise of a veteran traveler. If at some point I write about this, no one would believe me, I thought. And I did not attempt a vague greeting in my inadequate language that she would not even perceive.

She settled in as if ready to live there many years, putting everything in its place and in order, until her area appeared as organized as the ideal house where all is within arm’s reach. While she did this, the chief flight attendant served us welcoming champagne. I took a glass to offer it to her, but she declined. Apparently she only wanted a glass of water, which she ordered, first in an inaccessible French and then in an English hardly easier to follow, mentioning that she would not get up for any reason during the flight. Her grave and warm voice carried an oriental melancholy.

When they brought the water, she opened on her knees a dressing-table jewelry box with corners of copper, like the chests of grandmothers, and withdrew two golden pills from a case where many, diversely-colored pills lay. She did everything in a methodical and parsimonious manner, as if there was nothing unanticipated for her since birth. Lastly she lowered the curtain in the window, declined her seat as far back as it would go, covered herself with a blanket up to her seatbelt without taking off her shoes, put on a sleeping mask, lay back in the middle of the seat, back turned to me, and slept without a moment’s breath, without a sigh, with little movement, for the eternal eight hours and twelve minutes of the flight to New York.

It was an intense flight. I have always held firm that nothing in nature is more beautiful than a breath-taking woman, such that I found it impossible even for a moment to not steal a glance at the fabulous creature that slept at my side. The chief flight attendant had disappeared as soon as we had taken off, and was replaced by a Cartesian stewardess who tried to wake the woman up in order to give her a tape player and a pair of headphones for music. I repeated the message that she had given the chief flight attendant, but the stewardess insisted to hear it from the woman herself if she also wanted to skip dinner. She had to confirm it with the chief flight attendant, and even then she scolded me because the beauty had not hung the “Do Not Disturb” card around her neck.

I ate a lonely dinner, repeating to myself silently everything I would have said to her had she been awake. Her dream was so peaceful that at one point I panicked that the pills she had swallowed were not to sleep but to die. Before each drink, I raised my glass in a toast to her.

“To your health, beautiful.”

As dinner wound down they turned off the lights, showed a movie no one watched, and the two of us remained alone in the twilight of the world. The biggest storm of the century had passed, the Atlantic night was immense and limpid, and the plane seemed unmoving among the stars. And so I contemplated inch-by-inch for several hours, and the only sign of life I could perceive was the shadows of the dreams that floated by like clouds on the water. She had on her neck a chain so fine that it was all but invisible above her golden skin, perfect ears with no earring holes, rose fingernails in good health, and a smooth ring on her left hand. Since she did not appear to be more than twenty, I consoled myself with the idea that it was not a wedding ring but an ephemeral engagement. To know that you, safe, secure, faithful channel of abandonment, pure line, so close to my bound arms, I thought, reciting into the crest of foam from my champagne the skillful sonnet of Gerardo Diego. I declined my seat until it leveled with hers, and we lay together closer than a married couple in bed. The temperature of her breath was the same as her voice, and her skin emitted a warm vapor that could only be the odor of her extravagance. It seemed incredible to me: last spring I read a beautiful novel by Yasunari Kawabata concerning the ancient bourgeois of Kyoto that paid enormous sums to spend the night speculating the most stunning women of the city, nude and narcotized, while they yearned to make love in their beds. They were not permitted to rouse the ladies or touch them; nor did they try because the essence of the pleasure was in watching them sleep. That night, preserving the dream of the beautiful woman, I not only understood that senile refinement, but lived it fully.

“Who was going to believe it,” I told myself, with my own passion exacerbated by the champagne: “Me, an elderly Japanese man by now.”

I think I slept several hours, overcome by the champagne and the silent glow from the movie, and woke up with a splitting headache. I went to the bathroom. Two seats behind mine sat the elderly lady with the eleven suitcases sunken unsightly in her chair. She resembled a forgotten corpse on the battlefield. On the floor, in the middle of the aisle, were her reading glasses with a nauseatingly-colored necklace. For an instant I enjoyed the ambiguous satisfaction of not picking them up.

After relieving myself from the excess of the champagne, my reflection in the mirror surprised me, unworthy and ugly, and was astonished by how terrible the pains of love were. Suddenly the plane dove, straightened out as much as possible, and proceeded flying at a gallop. The light advising people to return to their seats lit up. I left in a flash, with the notion that only the turbulences of God could wake the beautiful woman, and that she would have to seek solace in my arms hiding from the terror. In my haste I just about crushed the glasses of the Dutch lady, which would have made me happy. But I retraced my steps, picked them up, and put them on her lap, suddenly thrilled that I had not chosen seat number four earlier.

Her dream was impenetrable. Once the plane stabilized, I had to resist the temptation of nudging her under any pretext, because the only thing I desired in that last hour of the flight was to see her awake, even if she was infuriated, so that I could reclaim my freedom, and possibly my youth. But I was not able.

“Dammit,” I said to myself, with great scorn. “Why was I not born a Taurus?!”

She awoke without cue the exact same moment the landing announcements sounded, and she was as beautiful and healthy-looking as if she had been sleeping in a rosebush. Only then did I come upon the realization that airplane passengers, same as old married couples, did not greet another upon waking up. Neither did she. She removed the facemask, opened her radiant eyes, raised her seat, moved the blanket aside, brushed off the horsehairs groomed only by their own weight, returned the box to her knees, and quickly applied a bit of superfluous makeup, so that she did not have to look at me until the door was opened. She then put on her lynx jacket, walked nearly on top of me with a conventional apology in a pure Castilian straight out of the Americas, and walked off without saying goodbye, without thanking me for all I did for our happy evening, and vanished into the sunlight of the day in the Amazonian New York.

Junio 1982.

by Gabriel García Márquez
Doce cuentos peregrinos. 1992.
Translation by Todd Eichmann

-Dedicated to Andy Kayacan

Excerpt (2) from "La Ley del Amor" by Laura Esquivel

2007-04-11T12:33:00.000-05:00

Let us enjoy, oh friends,
Hug one another here.
We trot now above the flowered earth.
No one here will come to an end,
The flowers and songs,
They endure in the house of Giving for all time.

Here on the earth is the region at the moment fleeting.
Is it also such in the place
Where in a certain manner one lives?
Is one happy there?
Is there friendship there?
Or only here on the earth
Have we come to know our own faces?

Ayocuan Cuetzpaltzin.
Trece poetas del mundo azteca, Miguel Leon-Portilla.
Translation by Todd Eichmann

Excerpt from "La Ley del Amor" by Laura Esquivel

2007-04-11T12:03:00.001-05:00

I am intoxicated, I cry, cause myself distress,
I think, speak,
Among my insides it is found:
If I never died,
If I never disappeared.
Beyond where there is no death,
Beyond where it is conquered,
That is where I shall go.
If I never died,
If I never disappeared.

Ms. “Cantares Mexicanos”, fol. 17 v.
Nezahualcoyotl.
Trece poetas del mundo azteca, Miguel Leon-Portilla.
Mexico, 1984.
Translation by Todd Eichmann

My first literary Translation work

2007-04-04T16:19:00.000-05:00

A short story by Gabriel García Márquez:

Spooks of August

We arrived in Arezzo a little before noon, and spent more than two hours searching for the Renaissance castle that the Venezuelan writer Miguel Otero Silva purchased; set in an idyllic bend of the Tuscan countryside. It was a Sunday in the beginning of August, ardent and boisterous, and it was not easy to find anyone that knew anything in the streets packed with tourists. After many useless attempts we returned to the car, abandoning the city for a path of cypresses not much traveled, and we came upon an old goose shepherd who explained to us precisely where the castle was. Before leaving she asked us if we were thinking about sleeping there, and we answered that we only anticipated having lunch there.

“Thank goodness,” she said, “because that house is haunted.”

My wife and I, not believing that apparitions appear at noon, doubted her credibility. But our two children, who are nine and seven years old, were ecstatic about the possibility of seeing a phantom in its material form.

Miguel Otero Silva, who in addition to being a good writer was a splendid host and a refined diner, awaited us with a lunch we would never forget. Since we had arrived late we did not have time to see the interior of the castle before sitting down at the table, but its appearance from outside was not at all dreadful, and any restlessness we experienced had dissipated when the complete view of the city was beheld from the flower terrace where we were eating lunch. It was difficult to believe that on that hill of climbing houses, where ninety-thousand people barely fit, that there had been so many men of striking genius born. However, Miguel Otero Silva told us in his Caribbean humor that not one of those men was the most impressive men from Arezzo.

“The most impressive,” he declared, “was Ludovico.”

A man with no last name, Ludovico was the great lord of the arts and of war who had constructed this castle of misfortune, and of whom Miguel spoke to us about for the duration of our lunch. He told us of his immense power, his opposing love and his frightful death. He related to us how it was that in a moment of emotional insanity Ludovico had stabbed his lady in their bed where they had just made love, and afterwards released on himself his ferocious war-dogs which tore him apart. He assured us, quite seriously, that beginning at midnight the specter of Ludovico wandered about the house in darkness trying to find serenity in his purgatory of love.

The castle in reality was immense and somber. But in broad daylight, with a full stomach and a content heart, Miguel’s story seemed nothing but a joke like so many others intended to entertain guests. The eighty-two rooms we walked through without astonishment after the siesta had suffered countless changes from their successive owners. Miguel had completely restored the ground floor and had been building a contemporary bedroom with marble floors and facilities for a sauna and physical fitness, as well as the intense flower terrace where we had lunch. The second floor, which had been the most used over the turn of the centuries, was a succession of rooms without much character, containing furniture from different eras left to fend for themselves. But there was one room, conserved and intact, where time had forgotten to pass. It was the room of Ludovico.

It was a magical moment. There was the bed with curtains embroidered with golden threads, and the wondrous overhang from the fabrics store still stiff from the dry blood of the sacrificed lover. There was the chimney with the frosted ashes and the leftover firewood now petrified, the armoire with swollen arms, and the oil painting of a pensive gentleman framed in gold, painted by some of the Florentine masters that did not have the fortune of surviving their time. What impressed me the most however was the recent scent of strawberries that lingered in the bedroom, suspended there with no possible explication.

The days of summer in Tuscany are long and calm, and the horizon remains lit until nine o’clock at night. When we finished seeing the castle it was after five, but Miguel insisted in taking us to see the frescos of Pierdo Della Francesca at the Church of San Francisco, after a well-talked over coffee underneath the pergolas of the plaza, and when we returned to pick up our luggage we found dinner served. So we stayed for dinner.

While we ate, under a mauve sky with a single star, the children lit some torches in the kitchen, and went off to explore the darkness of the upper floors. From the table we heard the rough gallops of horses by the stairs, the groans of the doors, and the happy shouts calling to Ludovico in the tenebrous rooms. It was them to whom the bad idea occurred of staying there to sleep. Miguel Otero Silva had us spellbound, and we did not have the bad humor to say no.

Contrary to my fears, we slept very well, my wife and me in one room on the ground floor and my kids in the conjoining room. They had both been modernized and were not frightening in the least. While trying to dream I counted the twelve restless tones of the grandfather clock in the room, and I recalled the terrifying advice of the goose shepherd. But we were extremely tired and fell asleep quickly, in a deep and continuous dream, and I awoke after seven with the sun splendidly entering through the climbing plants in the window. At my side, my wife sailed in the mild-mannered sea of the innocent. “What foolishness,” I said to myself, “that somebody could believe in ghosts in these times.” Just then, the odor of newly-sliced strawberries hit me, and I saw the chimney with the frosted ashes and the firewood turned to stone, and the depiction of the sad man in the golden frame from three centuries prior who gazed upon us. But we were not in the alcove of the ground floor where we had lay down to sleep last night, but rather in the bedroom of Ludovico, below the cornice and the dusty curtains and the sheets soaked with blood, still warm from the cursed bed.

October 1980.

Gabriel García Márquez

Doce Cuentos Peregrinos

Translation by Todd Eichmann

30 Days as a Muslim

2007-04-02T00:55:00.001-05:00

Beautiful

Newt won't grow his legs...

2007-03-31T17:00:00.000-05:00

http://www.cnn.com/2007/POLITICS/03/31/gingrich.bilingual.ap/index.html?eref=rss_topstories

Unforunately for Newt, his opinion or actions won't have the slightest effect on the languages used in this country. Language dispersion isn't something anyone or any law can stop, so guess what Gingrinch, it's time to hit up a community college for a second language.

Blood

2007-03-30T11:01:00.001-05:00

This poor kid is going to need massive therapy.

man impersonates Will Ferrell's Harry Carey

2007-03-30T10:58:00.001-05:00

Damn our soldiers are assholes...

Farting in Public

2007-03-28T15:12:00.001-05:00

I couldn't remain as composed as the camera-man.

Bill Maher to Bush

2007-03-27T13:51:00.001-05:00

Niger please!

Seven Oh Five - Zappka in The Quest to Rock

2007-03-27T13:09:00.001-05:00

Andy in the future

Oh so stupid and cute

2007-03-26T13:43:00.001-05:00

Star Wars Off the Hook!

2007-03-26T13:38:00.001-05:00

Meesa gonna fuck you with my tongue!

Tarty Bikes

2007-03-26T13:35:00.001-05:00

He is like the Prince of Persia with a bicycle.

Prison Prison Break

2007-03-25T10:24:00.001-05:00

The word sounds funny now.

Diagnosis Mystery

2007-03-21T17:09:00.001-05:00