¿Are you kidding?

Recently I have heard of Cristiano Ronaldo supporting the narcissistic idea that he is an idol for youth, or better, an example for youngsters. Well, this doesn’t exceed those unforgettable words about being criticised because he was handsome –arguably–, rich –indisputable– and a good player –one of the best, actually, if not the best right now–, but this epitaph renews old flaws in egotistic CR7.

And the blame isn’t his. Not totally, at least. He has been remembered once and again of his almost godlike qualities, much over the reasonable, until the point in which one doesn’t know if he is a demigod or a whole one. A good deal of euros per minute complete the spell and convince the most self-critical one. If a pornographic current account and the vacuous and neverending cheers and raw admiration of mindless fans hungry –if not starving– for epic don’t convert the humblest person on earth into a stupid brat nothing will.

Ronaldo will be another victim of football. A millionaire one, yes, but have a look at him five years from his retirement. There is no other field of failure and collapse like that of former sports men, being idolized and workshipped with interminable inconditional admiration and money just to end up alone, forgotten and bankrupt after a host of bad decisions closely related to luxury, glamour, compulsivity, vice and everything that money and fame can buy.

The twilight of the Gods must be something that no one can bear, that’s true. It makes you blind and deaf, if not completely dumb. And the worst is when you lose perspective, when you really believe that you are an example for others. I won’t deny that the Portuguese striker has got plenty of qualities, that he is one of the best in soccer history, that his pectorals are to be envied and desired, but from that to consider him a referent there is a huge stretch. I admit that his obsessive love for vigorexia, fitting and good shape make him a superhuman athlete, that those virtues can be extrapolated as effort, working hard and insist in life, but no more. The way he handles his fame is selfish, arrogant and childish. He is more a divo and a celebrity than a footballer. In spite of that, he is still a superb one, which makes it clear to what extent Ronaldo has been alienated by a massive overdose of idolatry.

It’s a pity that the youth don’t use common people as referents, but these are the market rules. Take it or leave it. The world will not change in a sigh. Well, maybe, if it is the phenomenon from Madeira who emits it.

Black is better

We could be talking about garments, wall colours or chess pieces, but actually this article is about the physical supremacy of black people over the white ones.

We have to admit it, negroes do better in a bunch of significant roles related to sports and are highly esteemed in terms of penis dimensions. Maybe size is not important. That is what we white people tend to say, but it is. At least, for males. Otherwise we won’t be all the time making comparisons in which, by the way, we always lose for an inch –or even far more. In porn, for example, black actors are continuously hired for their monster dicks. It doesn’t matter if only well-endowed guys appear on films moving foward and backwards and short-sized negroes are not allowed to fuck for film purposes. The fact is that I have never seen a black man without a long attribute.

As far as physique is concerned, they are again much better gifted than the average bloke in other races. Therefore it’s not strange if they do better at basketball or athletics, where is unthinkable that an Aryan could ever overcome them.

Nevertheless, things always have another side, and usually far more ugly than the previous one. Negroes are certainly the best in some aspects, but not necessarily in all. Coming back to sexuality, for instance, their elephant-size members have the same problem as that of the pachyderms: their penises are so huge that they usually can’t guarantee a complete erection. A flabby cock, no matter how big it is, is worse that a hard tiny willy. Flaccidity has always become a real battlehorse for Africans in action, as if skin colour paleness were strongly connected to hard-ons. At the end, no matter if prick size is good for its long proportion or the desire it awakes on women –and homosexual men, I guess– but functionality is even more important.

As for sports, black people are very good at them, but not at all. Have you ever seen a negro swimming like a mermaid in any major competition or skiing down a snowy mountain in any Winter Olympic Games edition? Maybe you guys can fuck deeper and jump higher, run faster and play better, but you won’t screw first in the Hymalayas or across the Amazon. You can’t win always, dudes.

Positive discrimination

I am totally fed up with this new custom of awarding the underpriviledged more than the reasonable. I mean, of course we all have the serious responsibility of eliminating all kind of barriers –physical, psychological, academic, labour–; in short, to guarantee equal opportunities for the handicapped.

By extension, we tend to include here all kind of groups susceptible of suffering any sort of abuse, either concious or unconciously. I am talking not only about disabled, but also children, the poor, the young, foreigners, especially from Third World countries, women, the elderly and so on.

I absolutely agree and support the need to protect people in severe risk of exclusion in any situation, but to reach a real even level. The problem is... what if the undertaken measures become so powerful and convincing that instead of securing equality of rights they provide the underpriviledged with more than the rest?

Theorizing is easy and not very down-to-earth. Let’s try to present some clarifying examples. Think of criminals. Here in Spain they’ve got a chance to rehabilitate. If they show cooperative skills and collaboration, they are offered a assembly-line kind of post, inside the prison. Inmates are not paid much –no more than 400 euros– but taking into account that they don’t pay for the “accommodation”or the “meals, and that there are around 6 million unemployed out there all over the country, maybe their reinsertion is a luxury we can’t afford.

Official posts are another field of great controversy. Exams to get a permanent job are hard, especially because the rate of applicants per post is considerably high. In these cases, some vacants are reserved for people with a certain physical disability. This is all very nice, but a lame person has mucho more chances to become a civil servant than the average guy. Preserving park spaces for reduced-mobility people is one thing, and offering them access to a post with over-exaggerated assets in proportion to the rest of mortals is a very different one.  

We must tend to equality of rights and opportunities, not to over-award those with less possibilities, because at the end becoming a handicapped –if the disability is not very accused– seems better than having nothing to declare and benefit from. Solidarity sometimes turns into counter-abusing from the part of the weak. Be aware of that, and try not to be harm by the rules.

Devoured by the pumpkin celebration

One of the most increasingly-observed festival in Spanish lands has to do with the straightforward anglosaxonization of former religious traditions. Thus, the highly respected All Saints’ Day has been biased towards the western party of All Hallows’ Eve, where children and not-so-young people hang around from house to house trick-or-treating, wearing (not very) creepy costumes and having fun playing frights or collecting a huge amount of calories and sugar.

The celebration has gone far here, since Halloween is followed by several age groups one way or another. From the very little children going not beyond their own neighbourhood, even block, frequently acompanied or distantly watched by their protective parents, to the adolescent parties including lots of make up and overwhelmingly low necklines.

Horror sells well. Everybody loves it, especially when, as if it were a Disney animated film, you can enjoy yourself in different levels of macabreness, from the very innocent disguises of small children to the creepy creatures sourrounding adult fun. People love fear, especially the youngsters, because it pops up their adrenaline when they really need new thrills. If you can also wear fancy dresses, sometimes to look like a whore, better still. Nobody is going to condemn you for that, particularly in a night where everything is allowed, either tributing Mary Shelley’s Fankenstein’s monster or imitating Count Dracula’s vampiress daughter. Notwithstanding the proximity of the sacred feast, this night is here to give free rein to terrific excesses; something similar to the Carnival spirit, swapping flesh vices for overhorrifying. Dawn will bring peace to souls and to the bodies of the wild participants. Continence will rule again on earth... and under it.

Lone Ranger or the rebirth of Jack Sparrow

One of the most dangerous things that may happen to a consummate film star is that the actor persona devours the movie character. Thus, never expect Humphrey Bogart to behave weakly or Clint Eastwood to solve trouble by means of accurate, convincing words. The same occurs with Johnny Depp. You may like him or not, but he never deceives anybody. Either directed by Tim Burton or by any other director, Johnny will always be the same funny guy on the verge of madness, taking himself not very seriously –actually, not seriously at all–, showing a huge range of soft, mild, even affectionate good manners and a pinch of idle extravagance.

 For this reason it was not surprising that Tonto, the loyal and supporting native American who finds a more dead-than-alive John Reid and save his life as the ranger had previously preserved his –according to the 80’s film, from which this movie is clearly a sort of remake–, from the very beginning overlaps and overshadows the title character who, by the way, is much duller and softer.

But we were highly warned. A production coming from Disney couldn’t be prone to the free exaltation of violence or the unreasoned revenge of the reflexive distric attorney, reconverted for the occasion in The Lone Ranger, the only survivor of a massacre of lawmen by the ruthless Butch Cavendish. Instead of highlighting the heroic abilities of the outlawed ranger, the studio prefers not to take the film very seriously, and gives Depp carte blanche to repeat all the tics and eccentricities of Jack Sparrow, including a pervading inofensive insanity, a relaxed sense of absurd humour and neverending remarks for every rough situation. Armie Hammer does his best as the ranger, and he’s not bad on his role, but audience and script are on Johnny’s side.

Apart from that naive comical tone that spoils more than improves the film, the length is excessive and the rhythm uneven. Often, accelerated action takes us from one place to another without much sense and other times the movie hungs around interminable reports about the extermination of ethnic tribes, the coming of the railroad to the West or the exploitation of Chinese slaves in the construction of the necessary network.

Nevertheless, the movie has good points, as well. Action scenes are devilishly fun, especially those that occur around the trains, the plot is rarely consistent but works and the general feeling that remains after the final credits is one of high optimism and faith in mankind. Once more, Rossini’s William Tell Overture fills the critical stills with adventure and nostalgic heroism.

Finally, the film doesn’t forget to pay a straightforward homage to some of the great themes, directors and movies of the genre: John Ford, the railroad, Anthony Mann, the confrontation of indians vs colonists, the all-American noble cowboy, as opposed to the crepuscular spaghetti antihero... even to Lucky Luke through the weird occurrencies of Silver, the white horse, which resembles clearly to Jolly Jumper at his best. Another scene is directly inherited from Once Upon a Time in the West, when silence fills the air and something is going to happen while the character is drinking from the well and startled birds flutter around.

The film deserves to be watched, but without too many pretentions. Just to have a good time and remember the old good times of westerns. To expect something else from this product would be an unforgivable error and an exercise of avoidable disappointment. Next try leave Disney and Depp at home and harden the tone. Maybe it flops the same but at least it will have cost much less bucks.

The three musketeers, by Alexandre Dumas

Few books have been so widely adapted to films as this masterpiece of cloak and dagger, doubtless the most famous from Dumas, apart from The count of Montecristo, which will probably rank second in his repertoire.

What the average person has got in mind is the popular history revisited over and over again in more than 30 or 40 films. Both original novels –for The three musketeers is only the first and best-known part of a whole trilogy– and subsequent film versions have in common the body of the plot, although it is only the first big adventure of D’Artagnan –that is, the one of Buckinghman’s diamond studs delivery– which persistently appears movie after movie.

An aspect rarely neglected in the film versions that reflects well the feeling of displacement is the arrival of a provincial D’Artganan at the city of Paris, yet a rushing metropoli up to that epoch, being this foreigner’s solitude a sensation overrepeated a thousand times here and there. But the aparent naivety of the young would-be musketter is not so real in the novel, for the Gascon is brave and resolute and, although not familiar to the customs of the Court, determined in his matters and soon affairs of other kind.

Much of the plot is ruled through luck and coincidence, being this way sometimes difficult to believe, but in general facts are fisible and, as we will know much later, logical under the eyes of the Big Brother of the era, Monsieur Cardinal Richelieu, the baddie behind the scenes. And the ending of the book seems solved sort of hastily. Milady Clarick’s perfidy has no limits, we all know that, but we don’t need five chapters to get convinced of that, nor did por Felton, the integral puritan corrupted by her beauty and manipulation into assassinating the Duke of Buckinham and freeing her at the same blow.

And the execution of the Countess de la Fere, aka Milady, whereas essential to the plot, has nothinh heroic on it so it’s frequently excluded in filmed versions. As for the men of Meung, his apparitions are crucial and very mysterious, but the long-awaited duel with the main character actually necer takes place in the novel, and is only referred to in the epilogue.

The book hooks you and ask for more pages to devour, but I don’t think I will take the second part Twenty years later. For now I have had enough of cloak and dagger stuff. Maybe in 2033.

Too numb?

In this days of crises and shortages, where everybody tries to survive under harsh conditions, and truly unaware of the harsher circumstances of the neighbour, we average people are getting used to undergoing social cuts and impoverishment without any simptom of discontent but resignation. Everyone is becoming poorer, but no one does anything apart from turning up in endless demonstrations. Getting into politics is a tricky matter, and trying to stop financial abuse a chimera, but the former and the latter are the ones to blame for the economic situation. The population seems to forget that banks are made of our capital, little, but a big amount when added to everybody else’s. And they at least have made themselves, whereas politicians are supposedly elected by us –each and every of us–, which is not a big deal but we did the choice.

Being things like they are, what really strikes me is that we all don’t go out and hang –metaphorically– these two lineages, bankers and politicians up the highest tree everywhere. Maybe it’s high time to stop swallowing corruption, overtaxing and abusive conditions imposed by the powerful, that prepotent bunch of villains and to make them eat desperation, poverty, lack of opportunities, hanger, unemployment, inflation and vital uncertainty. We need a big revolution because capitalism only makes the rich richer, and the poor, bloody poorer. We have long been ripped off. Now, ¿who’s gonna paid for the crashed lives in that huge economical accident they had with all of us sitting behind without seatbelt?