Uc Supplemental Questionnaire 2010

III Top Ten

ago a handful of months I wrote two post with the same heading. The first and second part of my ten most favorite. Novels, short stories, film. From what little I've seen and read my lists and I made public at the initiative of one or a magazine, do not remember exactly, but I found one other interesting idea. And as I copy, copy.

I also remember that remained outstanding songs and albums. And I came up to add writers, both to their works. I was never so fond of music, and Lucy always teases me by my meager and often no knowledge of music. She, pianist and dancer best sports like no dancing around the room even when alone, I'm sure would make a list of envy and fully prepared and infinite quality. I, in my modest taste for music, 90's and 80's somewhat less detailed in this post my playlists, albums and musicians, who scored and became the soundtrack of my life.

I'm more of letters, definitely, and I recognize that the greatest of my faults is humming songs and invented letters simply because I will never learn. I've two left feet when dancing. And I had fun like a pig with chiquichiqui, resounding musical success in the summer that left us here in Spain. So with this caveat and with the excuse man of letters who has no music lover nails, I list here are two lists that have cost me more than childbirth. Of the writers come, I suppose, a quarter.

Due to the countless string of songs and to not come together sweet potatoes, divided the list in English and English, but for the discs themselves have been able to unite them all into one.

Ten Songs (in English):

remained one step away from joining the list of ten successes so good and so present in my life that was worth it to extend the list to twenty, but In short, needlework editor and adhere to the rules, ten is ten. Could be issues such as Lithium, Nirvana, Heal the World, Michael Jackson, Creep, Stone Temple Pilots, Fly Away, Lenny Kravitz, Say what you want, Texas with Wu Tan Clan, One, U2, Crush, Dave Mathews Band, Losing my Religion, REM, Je T'aime, Jane Birkin, Creep, Radiohead, or Free Falling, Tom Pety.

These, then ten, and in that order:

1. Black, Pearl Jam.

2. Fade to Black, Metallica.

3. Lightning crashes , Live.

4. Lucy in the sky with diamonds , The Beatles.

5. Soul Sacrifice, Santana.

6. Black dog , Led Zeppelin.

7. November rain Guns n 'Roses.

8. Behind blue eyes, The Who.

9. Linger , The Cramberries.

10. Son of a preacher man , Dusty Springfield.

Ten songs (in English):

Just could enter the final list of these other songs that marked an era, mine: Image pagan Virus; Things mine, Abuelos de la Nada, Mass, Mercedes Sosa, The Girl from Ipanema, Joao Gilberto (not in English, but very nearly), A kiss and a flower, Nino Bravo, The dinosaurs, Charly Garcia, or The yerberito, Celia Cruz.

ten

Here, then, again sorted by author's taste.

1. Penelope , Robi Draco Rosa.

2. The arm, Fragile.

3. I can live on love , Rubén Blades.

4. On the boulevard of broken dreams , Joaquín Sabina.

5. The flower of the cinnamon , Chabuca Granda.

6. City fury, Soda Stereo.

7. As we changed , Presuntos Implicados.

8. A day without seeing , John Secada.

9. singer Hector Lavoe.

10. Melancholy , Camilo Sesto.

Now, here's ten albums. On this occasion, yes I could get either the language grouping. On this occasion list of ten is related to the year it appeared on the market, not favoritism:

1. Abraxas (1970), Santana.

2. Signs (1986), Soda Stereo.

3. Black Album (1991), Metallica.

4. Ten (1991), Pearl Jam.

5. Use Your Illusion I and II (1991), Guns n 'Roses.

6. Dogs (1992), The Dogs.

7. This a peep (1994), Joaquín Sabina.

8. Throwing Copper (1994), Live.

9. Buenavista Social Club (1997), Buena Vista Social Club.

10. Supernatural (1999), Santana.

Editor's Note: You may have noticed that are not on my lists are displayed so deservedly on the list of Rolling Stone. We must take into account that groups like The Police, singers like Prince or local groups such as Arena Hash never been to my liking.

Now, to receive kicks, punches and spitting, pogo same.

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Tell me who read and tell you what pose you

this blog I've posted two years and many months and throughout the time I received comments of all calibers, some of them unprintable, although the authors believe me, I keep them with love and respect. I have said all, I have called around and reminded me everything. I read phrases fierce, intelligent, quick, warm. I have stumbled upon liver trials, suffering, flattering. This was to be a post dedicated to them, because they are an important part of this page.

So my first idea was blown twenty-eight months that I have been writing, entering each of the post and read every one of the comments to select those who can, somehow, to summarize the history of this blog. But my laziness wins, what can I say. It's hard work and I have no secretary. What I've noticed is that the first two years turned to the letter writing for each month, typical, and were gibberish and nonsensical texts which are the majority. How far can write interesting things, transcendental, revelatory. Nothing!

pasotas Rather there are texts, surface, pure fuck. However, I also tried to write one or two who were slightly thought, thought, understood. Perhaps a sketch, a shy touch of novice painter, which of course have no depth. I do not know if bored, or Seriot, or simply because they were poorly written. But those who talk about bad girls, Peruvians recognized leagues on hi5, the music of the 90, the importance of size, etc.., Those other than were read, and above all they said. Of course, this is not the blog of Cisneros [1] does not appear in an important newspaper. But there are those here, were the most discussed.

Now, if we analyze what written here, we can reach conclusions that fall to mid-mature and rotting of the tree twisted: I do not write serious texts and what is more, or worse, I do not write them out well.

And while we're on stage vox populi going to rebel my biggest secret: I read texts either deep or serious. Never read Proust, and I am convinced that the thousands of volumes of In Search of Lost Time continue for me as lost as before. I was the first-sleeping one night in the same street concert tickets to buy Madonna's debut Jaime Bayly and read it in one day, happy, and although that is a really bad book. It was the illness, what they want to say. I still

: The only time I opened the first page of Ulysses, Joyce, I fell asleep, and I never make the same mistake. There remains closed. I enjoyed as I read Cossack Life of Martin Romana exaggerated, Bryce. And my high in life is to follow his steps: copy, and what is best: make money for copying.

repeat: I hate my pseudo public relations work in Spain and now I realize that I hated my work in Lima as a writer and editor for newspapers in the doldrums. And I must admit that the only job he really liked me in this life has been a teacher, because it was the only time I've won things that money and send others to read and I understand.

cast the first stone Let he who does not once said at a meeting of well, about a cup of coffee and cigarettes, chat rooms, which only reported in Trade and denies the pamphlets, which Vargas Llosa reads and mocks the writer Bayly, who sees only black and white movies and hates Panorama [2].

If I remember a couple of threads going about my favorite and totally arbitrary list of books, stories and movies of all time. There are the comments from more than one who claims to have read and seen nearly complete lists when I'm sure you have browsed more than one or two. Not that I do, and the rest, if I said that I have read recently and pretty bad, but because there is so much choice in the marketplace, so little time in life to embrace all that it would be much chance. What happens is that we were right.

It's like when in full session with the same people you're either telling the story of the book you just read but do not remember the author's name and then you go to the scholar of the group to ask about the name in question because it never fails, and pretend to think and toss in a hundred faces and bid as if the memory operate when you squeeze it and finally said, "I do not remember" when the rest who knows the author and the book does not have the slightest fucking idea, just a world that tells us to accept that we do not know what we know and it is better to say I do not remember.

Since long ago left that pose. When someone asks me for an author who does not know or dogfight, lift the shoulders and admit my ignorance, the same with books, records and information in general. And I'm on my own, reading what I like and write what I please. And above all, waiting for the comments on each post, the only or few out there who appear to understand a bit more to people who read me and know what they also have to say, because that's what this blog and write stories here. ----------------------------------------------

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[1] The Bride Seeking is my greatest envy. I want to be like him, you pretty well commented million and will publish the post in best-selling books and signing autographs. [2] And not to mention the pose of the many journalists who appear in photographs in the same style of César Vallejo, who by the way I read a thousand times without coming to understand ", when signing an item.

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's ahead !

I remember the first time I got on a bus alone. He was then nine years old and my father had taken me to school on a Saturday morning to meet Diosito in Catechesis of the First Communion. I stopped at the door with my pad of recycled paper in hand and my book with prayers, holy images and a profound lesson of the Body of Christ, amen. I said today I come home alone, I reached a few coins and I repeat once again how to get on the green bus that went to the Esperanza Trujillo.

In Catechesis not remember anything, thank goodness. But I will never forget the return trip. First because I was wrong to micro, rather, I took the wrong side and that was the opposite. I was just so for a single ticket - otherwise I'd spent a lot of bread with steak and onions and a chicha morada watery-so I said what goes down must go up, without regard to the reach the final idle drops to around the world and if you want to get on again you have to pay again. So let me Justito the side where the devil lost his poncho is in the middle of a clearing and surrounded by mangy dogs. What did I do? Walking. I made the same way the micro ... back. And I got back to school, then I realized that I still lacked all the way home. O followed him and arrived on Sunday night and I was up to the mike again, this time steering home sweet home. I did the second. It was the first time I went piola unpaid ticket. When I reached my stop I told the collector "and I paid you for a while, choche" and put my child's face just out to talk to Papa Lindo in Catechesis can have more devout. Thousand hours later I was finally home.

were other times. One to nine years could be lost at the end of the world, walking among mangy dogs, get on the mic alone retrace I walked and laughed years later of what bastards we were innocent. I never stole, nor frightened, nor kidnapped me, and I saw orange skies as a prelude to apocalypse. He was a boy walking down unfamiliar streets, learning a bit more life.

As an adult I've seen my cousins \u200b\u200bfor the first time to ride a bus or a van with many more years then, however, was a risk, a danger was gamble, and my aunts were accelerated presses the thought that went the poor, fourteen, fifteen years, all alone in the streets, as if the world had changed a few years, worse, infected.

Lima When I left I realized I was leaving behind this new breed of cautious people, with eyes at the back, walking down the street cautiously, as if walking from one side to another outside an obligation rather than a walk. And I realize that the world is following. If Americans are doing the light off in droves to buy water, batteries, blankets, they think of massive attacks, fleeing in terror. I talk to many people here in Spain and I have now that the crisis is unique, daunting, and as compared to the "banana republic"-with forgiveness, Jesus, I always say, " nobody can stop talking about rising oil prices, the mortgage bubble. People are crying blood against a background believe mitigates bleak and with beers on the terraces and collapses on the road for vacation in August. I talk to my parents who live in New York and tell me they are pulling their hair, that people do not know what to do, than gasoline, that food, that if Obama wins ... I talk to people in Peru despite the economic boom and the figures of envy, people can not remain silent, they see a crisis, the darkest night. Everywhere blame Bush, war, oil, Chavez. What's happening?

few weeks ago I read an article in El País Semanal on a grim new trend, catastrophic, reflecting in his absolute fog, the very end of the world only worse, because humans survive to see it, or something. Article played all eyes were on U.S. President that the new Hollywood movies, video games and new bookstore best seller had no mercy with Bush and the world in a nutshell it is going to hell.

Of the countless examples of the newspaper article because I just remember two of Claritas view. The first is I am Legend, Will Smith movie with the talking head of a lone survivor of a deadly virus has to face human beings turned into night. The second is the record book records in the U.S., The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. The story of a father and son who roam U.S. highways after the world became ashes and soot. The fiction of both stories is scary, extremist, and an excellent example-fully hyperbolic, "but at last example of what, as individuals, we can produce [1].

Le film is bad, the novel is great. But I doubt that both have been gestated and have come to light with Bush in their sights. It would be a disappointment and a shame to do so thinking of someone like him. There are more interesting things in the world. And as these other examples of the article. Nevertheless remains concerned that some call new post-apocalyptic vision. Is it what we want, what we want?

I prefer to keep seeing the world as it always was, a cyclical process, with El Niño events in five or ten years, with earthquakes every hundred, with good and bad-balance-blessed, and people coming and going, which makes and breaks to give rise to the following. I follow up on buses and taxis and subways in cities where I now have to live and I always remember with nostalgia when a combi Lima upload a child alone and pay your ticket and sit in silence, and playing Tetris, and forget that you have to give the seat to the elderly, and runs his own all the way straight home. And loose a smile. Because now be more difficult. Cities are not the same, no games, nor the world, but it remains a place to live, it is worth it's up to us. ----------------------------------------------

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[1] In plans is to get the book of American journalist Alan Weisman, The World Without Us, a crushing test on what will be this planet from the day after the man disappeared from Earth.