Louis Vitton

A rare example of pre-NYsubway graffitti (Calle Hermosilla, March 2006) ..

 

Paul Bocuse

"Poire au vin" made by Parvesh, February 2006

António Damásio

Emotional blog-verbal communication...

Collage of Scientist, Books and Brain

Although not assuming it out loud both the Right Honourable Reader and this blogger of yours know how readers are greedy about auto-biographical information regarding bloggers. "View My Complete Profile" is never enough..

Yes, I do confess that at some point in my last year in University I felt tempted to embark in a journey into the Neurobiological Eldorado. I told a friend that if only I could take family pressure out of the way (and the obvious financial rewards of being a Dad's Son) and if I could switch from cultivating B-cells (lymphocytes), which I was already doing , to Brain cells, I would love to dedicate my life to research in Neurobiology (as it was named then, before being rechristened, pompously, "Neuroscience").

At that time very few of us in the Fundamental Research in Biology international masonry-like world knew that a compatriot of mine was a pioneering genius. I knew it because my Neurology tutor was AleksanderCC and I could sense Antonio Damasio was the modern guru for that Neurology Centre in Lisbon named after the previous guru, Egas Moniz, a Nobel Prize for Medicine, whose ghost still cursed those rooms.

Yesterday, Antonio Damasio and his wife Hanna came to town. For a lecture on "La Era De Las Enfermedades Emocionales" at the auditorium of the "Museo de la Villa". When I arrived at the gates of the Museum, twenty five minutes in advance, there was a still 200-meters queue even when the doors had been opened half an hour before! I waited patiently for ten minutes on the street until I realized a usher had closed the door in a "sold out!" mood. I had to flash the card issued by the local MFA to get myself a chance to go inside. I had to flash it again in order to get a seat.

Why this tremendous appeal? A lecture at 7.30 pm on emotions having the same sexiness as a rock and roll concert? I guess the Premio Principe de Astúrias ( the local Nobel) that Professor Damasio got just a few months ago explains a lot, including the best-selling of the Spanish version of his " The Feeling of What Happens: Body and Emotion in the Making of Consciousness.". Or is it just the eagerness of all thinking women and men in understanding why we feel and suffer, why are we sad rather than happy, blushing in embarrassment at the idea of acknowledging it?

I felt like in good old days at Medical School. Just a slight technological upgrade from retroprojection of slides to powerpoint computer projection. Damasio was introduced to the audience in Spanish with the obligatory mention of the Asturias and a quick overview of his current job (I'm glad he has moved in the mean time from slightly un-cool Iowa to glamorous USC (Southern California). No mention whatsoever of where he was born or of the P-word (Portuguese). ("Meaningless? - I thought to myself. " Would we, let's say in Lisbon, introduce a famous American scientist but Madrid-born before an audience omitting his Spaniard condition? I doubt it. QED".)

I'm afraid ( I know, I know, I'm not being excessively diplomatic here...) that there's an overenthusiasm in this country to Damasio - after the overt courtship of Saramago - in an almost child-like greediness to turn him in "one of us". Is Saramago still a Portuguese writer in the eyes of the Spanish cultivated elite? Is Brel a Belgian poet-singer in the eyes of the French? Is Paula Rego nothing but a Brit in the eyes of the Londoners?

But Damasio gave his lecture and answered the questions in English and that gave me some heart. (Saramago probably thinks in Castellano his answers to the Spanish media for a long time now). The only moment when the tail of the cat was out of the box was during the Questions & Answers session, when someone in the audience asked about the "sonrojar" reaction to embarrassment. In Damasio's understanding of the questions fired in Spanish there was a flickering moment of hesitation.. Someone explained then that it should be translated as "blushing". Damasio smiled and said: "Ah! 'Blushing'.. I see.. In Portuguese it's 'corar'...". There! The P-word had come out!

I don't intend to blog about the lecture itself. Those who want to get into the neurobiological substratum of emotions and feelings and state-of-the-art analysis of neurological paths and systems will have to do their homework themselves. They are gently but firmly ushered into reading Damasio's books or googling in their spare time.

I managed to put a question in the debate period, "compatriot to compatriot about a third compatriot, Egas Moniz: "Would there be a brainsurgeon out there, curious about Damasio's studies on a small "a c" spot , just bellow the Corpus Callosus, that could be a crucial brain hub for sadness, who could feel tempted to use the bisturi to get read of deep depression on a patient? " .Damasio's answer vindicated the excellence, both ethical and as a scientist, of Antonio Egas Moniz. Apparently one of the first to think about surgery for Parkinson's (something that has been having some encouraging results, in France namely, fifty years later) was Moniz himself!

I paid my compliments to the Lecturer in the end. Both his wife and he were my Father's students at the Faculdade de Medicina and they remembered the Professor. I told Damasio I had studied under AleksanderCC. "Alexandre? - he said. He was my very first pupil!".

I returned home by Metro, carrying with me conflicting emotions. What if? What if?

Felipe Gonzalez

Old Rock 'n' Rollers Never Die...

The local latex doppellganger of President Gonzalez..

This blogger of yours had a split second serious dilemma when he got an invitation for a dinner cum lecture on 8 March 9 pm, featuring Don Felipe Gonzalez, former PM. Should one accept it, doing the "noblesse oblige" thing, both in professional and political terms, or should one indulge in a diplomatic excuse to be able to see one's team in its match against Liverpool F.C.? Well, I did the right thing. Happily so, I may add. The ex-Presidiente del Govierno is in excellent form, regarding both stamina and eloquence. One can see he has not "aged badly" as so many members of that distinguished club of ex-powerful political leaders.

As with an actor, the appeal of applause and of 'oh! just one more curtain call' can lure a heavyweight has-been into staging a comeback. Bad move! The rejected by the ballot box should make themselves scarce and concentrate on acquiring a serious hobby or perfecting an already existing one. Don Felipe went for bonsai trees as Sir Edward Heath went for yachting. Much better than hoping from foundation to institute and from strategic center to think-tank in the quest for the elusive newsworthy broadcastable soundbite.

Political lecturing vs football suffering, I've won yesterday on both pitches. Gonzalez gave us a remarkable "unplugged" version of what should be our current anti-terrorisms efforts. And Benfica marches on on the way to Paris..

Just one last remark: former successful politicians who have kept their part of the deal (by not showing off and by keeping a low profile ) should be treated with utmost sympathy, even tenderness. They know they could still make a meaningful contribution if only they were not kept carefully in the dark by the inner circle of the current leader and that makes them as touchy as scorned former girlfriends. Only the warmness of a live audience can restore their former glorious self-esteem. And I want to assure the Right Honourable Reader that such resurrection is a pleasant thing to witness..

Kazimir Severinovitch Malevich

The "Russian Avantgardes" exhibition, at the Thyssen...

Mozart, Hergé, Casanova, Tiersen and Stoppard

Sunday bloggin' babblin' ..

Now, the Right Honourable Reader might be thinking why on Earth this blogger of yours has failed so utterly in his duty to feed his blog at a respectable pace? Some of us have our addictions, we might agree.. You would need the fix of my next post, honey? ...That's quite a compliment..

Truth is, I'm absofuckingly lazy.. Better go for a photo quickly extracted from my virus-prone Picassa database.. And, wham!.. A quickie night or day cybershot shoots away.. Itching fingers and guilty artistic integrity feelings just melts away.. Another day of reprieve...…

But surely, the Right Honourable Reader might insist, there is much to blog about in these recent times? … Honeymooning included, for Goodness' Sake?.. The charms and spasms of a cinquentanero lurking.. The mermaid chants of a possible New Why future ("N" "Y", very clever) .. The lifelong fantasy of dressing up as the Chevalier de Seingalt.. Come on, bloody blogger, move your ass.. Write us something..

Indeed, Sir, I will ..

What blogtexts are queuing up in now dry formerly wet paper notes that stand by the wash basin where I scribble post-showers ideas?.. Right:

Mozart, Wolfgang - Because I read in "The Guardian" that the best way to commemorate the 250th anniversary is to go and see "Apollo and Hyacinthus" which he composed at the age of 11.. A little short opera where the DNA of portentous things to come is there for all to see..

When my children, the three of them, first went to visit their diplomatic-exiled father in Moscovy I tried to concoct an unforgetable program..… From the Durov Animal Theater, the oldest animal circus in the theatrical world (awful stench of adolescent hippopotamus) to Red Arrow night train to Petrograd..

From Moscow Tchaikovsky Conservatory with babushkas hopping from place to place with careless indifference to rows and seats.. To the Winter Palace in Saint Petersburg with minus ten clear sunlight obfuscating the white and gold State Rooms..

And what about Opera?.. Surely their age and their presence in the city with most opera performances going on at every given night demanded some opera? But to take an hyperactive child to more than one Act of ever present Piotr Illitch's works?.. To ask pre-teenagers for the attention span of a Bolshoi regular?. So, in the end, I took the small tribe to the Helikon Theatre, in Bolshaya Nikitskaya, to see "Apollo and Hyacinthus"

(www.openweb.ru/helikon/appollon.htm )

.. Quod erat demonstrandum..

Hergé - Because while enjoying some rare snow-filled tourist-free Loire-castling, Mayamalinkarusskaya and this blogger of yours paid a visit to the Chateau de Cheverny.. The central corpus of the Chateau is Moulinsart, the beautiful palace that King Louis XV granted on July 15th 1695 to his loyal servant the Chevalier de Haddock, captain of the Unicorn, and ancestor of Captain Haddock. (In the English version of Hergé's Tintin saga, the "Chateau de Moulinsart" becomes Marlinspike Hall.. Tintin, Haddock, Nestor and Abdullah keep their names but Milou becomes Snowy.. and Prof. Tournesol becomes Professor Calculus..).

On the grounds of Cheverny all those nostalgic of their Tintin-reading youth can have a field day.. One can see there the scale model of the Unicorn, the one first spotted in Paris' Marché aux Puces which triggered the diptych "The Secret de La Licorne/ Le Trésor de Rackam Le Rouge".. The actual hand-written diaries of the Chevalier de Haddock.. The three scrolls which when hold together against a light would give the latitude and longitude of the exact spot where the Unicorn sank.. One can see the office of Professor Tournesol/Calculus with the green felt bowler hat, some scientific devices and a framed photo of Madame Castafiore, with dedicatory .. One can see the original LP with the recording of the Jewel Song (Air des Bijoux) from Gounod's "Faust" that immortalized the Milanese Nightingale, Bianca Castafiore, in the role of Marguerite.. Would this blogger of yours need to say more?.. Any serious scholar of Tintinology has to visit Cheverny...…

The original vynil LP which triggered Ms Castafiore's star status..

Casanova, Giacomo - Oh no, not again! - the Right Honourable Reader might shout, with understandable horror.. But what can one do, when Carnival and fancy dress parties were approaching?.. This blogger of yours fulfilled his fantasy to dress up as the Chevalier de Seingalt.. Did I say dress up?.. No, rather impersonating or.. how should I put it?.. "Being" Giacomo in the twilightish zone sense of the numerous escapades of Mr Presley, Elvis from his Memphis resting place.. What was not on the cards was the heavy snowstorm that made getting a taxi an impossibility.. This blogger of yours had to walk, in high-heeled buckled shoes, silk socks and XVIII century velvet and lace outfit, under severe weather conditions, to get, 3 km away, the rescuing SUV. Madrid in the snow on Mardi-Gras night.. A Casanova keeping a brisk walking pace among other dressed up revellers.. Blogable stuff, wouldn't you say?

Tiersen, Yann - A live concert from the Parisian author of "Amélie" 's soundtrack is worth a mass, surely? Two birds caught in one shot: Tiersen music live itself and a chance to be in "La Riviera", the legendary gigs place in the Ciudad. (The madrilène equivalent of the Apollo Hammersmith, or the Fillmore East, or the Coliseu dos Recreios).. ~

Very impressive neo-jazzy "valse musette" stuff.. with guitar and organ crescendos like musical panzers sweeping through mittleuropa flatland.. Despite anxious cries of "Amélie!" from his fans, Mr Tiersen remained unimpressed throughout.. He stuck to his new album music and ignored the nostalgic public.. It was bloody cold everywhere, and a couple of honest gin tonics couldn't be of any help..

Yann Tiersen in concert at the "La Riviera"..

Stoppard, Tom - Just a quick reminder for those who believe this blogger of yours when he says Sir Tom is in the recently nobelized Harold Pinter league, just so much better.. Next June you just have to travel to the Royal Court Theatre, in Sloane Square, to attend a performance of his latest play ("Rock 'n' Roll") dealing with pre-democratic Chech Republic .. Brian Cox, Sinead Cusack and Rufus Sewell have ben cast.. Better book tickets well in advance, mind you.. I've just bought two seats for July 15th and I intend to be there, no matter the size of my family by then...…

Beau Brummell

Dandy-dressing in the hip-hop, skateboard & surf world...

Recently I found myself in the not enviable position of being the companion of Frody, a 16 year old adolescent in a shopping spree.. I’m no stranger to fashion imperatives myself ( and in my prime time I was something of a fashion trender) but I felt a bit lost.

In my own adolescent youth shirts and suits were tailor-made. (I remember that it was something of a joke among us customers that M. , a rather good value for money tailor , the time he spent in taking measures, delighting in what we would now call his paedophile tendencies.. ) When we (I mean bourgeois upper-middle class and toffs) started to indulge in labels it was mostly Lacoste and Levy’s jeans. I was able to keep track all these years with fashion ups and downs.. YSL, from the tops to the pits.. Serious shoe stuff (like Fratelli Rossetti) or shirts from Jermyn Street.. More recently, with income to match, the world of Hermès, or Turnbull and Asser, or Canalli..

But what can this graduation in High Fashion contribute to my initiation into surf, and skating wear? Nothing, I’m afraid. How does my proverbial daring taste walks along hip-hoppish fashion? Very clumsily, I should say.


Forget the comfortable world of Ralph Lauren or DKNY, forget both Pradas, the one and only and the Agnes Ruiz De La lesser variety, forget the accumulated wisdom in La Perla wonders - the labels for adrenaline-driven youngsters you would never had heard them before…

Shoes is the eazzy pizzy part, Nike and All Stars (the latter was my older brother favourites forty years ago, for Goodness sake!) rule the streets.. But when it comes to T-shirtology and bagging trousers or 60’s coats I’m totally in the dark..

Now, after visiting one by one all the trendy shops in Fuencarral ( good Djaying almost as important as grunge shop-girls) I think I can bluff my way out of the new street kid fashion…

If you’re into impressing surfbabes you’ll have to stick to Aussie stuff like Quicksilver or Billabong, or Oakley or Reef.. To acquire a bit more street kudos you might want to go for Gotcha, Rip Curl or, better still, Roxy, Addict and Volcom..

What about real heavy hip-hop nigger look? Man, you need a database just to keep track.. Akademiks, Def Jam, Ecko Unitd., Projekts NYC.. Never heard of?.. What about Avinex, G.Unit, UNK.. What about Joker Fubu, Rocawear or Phat Farm?

In the end Frody settled for some black Adidas, a black Volcom T-Shirt and a black Carhartt coat ..

To remain cool as a father you have to be humble and never, never, write a blogtext about hip hop or streetwear…

Jean-Michel Basquiat

Street Art in Madrid in the Hortaleza/Fuencarral counter-culture hub...

Rex Lassie

In Fuencarral, a cow-dog waits patiently for his Madrecita to finnish window-shopping..

 

Giaccomo Casanova

Braving the snow in XVIII century dress...

What could justify the presence of this blogger of yours at this year's "bal masqué" at the Circulo de Bellas Artes? A commitment towards the ancient and noble art of Carnival-induced personality change? An alibi to fulfill the life-long fantasy of dressing up as a Gentiluomo at a casino in the Rialto area, circa 1775? An urge to be part of an highly bloggable event? All the above plus making Mayamalinkarusskaya and Frody reasonably happy, one might say.

As described in the following day in "El Mundo", there was "an abundance of NewYear's Eve Party-crowds, recycled gays from Chueca and numerous foreigners".. The proliferation of pocket digital cameras produces the bizarre circumstance of everybody paparazzing everybody.

This blogger of yours was dressed as a slightly decadent Chevalier de Seingalt with satin gloves displaying high quality fake jewelry:

A portrait of the blogger-artist as a (not so) young Casanova...

What was not on the cards was the heavy snowstorm that made getting a taxi an impossibility.. This blogger of yours had to walk, in high-heeled buckled shoes, silk socks and XVIII century velvet and lace outfit, under severe weather conditions, to get, 3 km away, to the rescuing SUV. Madrid in the snow on Mardi-Gras night.. A Casanova keeping a brisk walking pace among other dressed up revellers..

Baron Pierre de Coubertin

SportFootball is not about competing but about winning, Stupid!...

The talisman-eagle "Vitória" (Victory)

before a most enjoyable SL Benfica 1 - Liverpool FC 0

Sport is about sweating your outfit, produce endorphins and end up with a near post-orgasmic sense of wellness. Coach-potatoing or Stadium-attending spectator sports are supposedly entirely different experiences. Why is it then that yesterday evening this blogger of yours, in front a plasma wide TV screen, was sweating in his chinos and cotton shirt? Why was the endorphin-secretion process evidently triggered? Why did he ended up reaching a climax at minute 83? ... We won! The "Glorious" has won!

Helena Liz

helena liz

A dinner at the artist's home...

Conde Nast

"AD" Party: a napkin and a skewer debasing a bronze statuette