Monday, October 29, 2012

El Torzón



Hicham había pasado algunos días en la ciudad de México. Haber crecido en África lo había forjado para estar siempre atento, mantenerse seguro, y disfrutar de unas vacaciones en la ciudad monstruo sin problema alguno. Todo había ido bien. Rápidamente había hecho amigos en el hostal con quienes salir en la noche. De día, hacía turismo por su cuenta. En algunas ocasiones había salido a comer/cenar con viejas amistades. La bestia estaba domesticada para nuestro héroe marroquí. Hicham era como un local, su español era bastante bueno y el acento no lo hacía resaltar. Todo parecía extrañamente familiar. Incluso las empanadas que vendían afuera de las estaciones del metro. Ese día había poco tiempo para recorrer muchos lugares. Tenía que ser bastante eficiente, Decidió comer mientras viajaba en el metro. Del puesto mas cercano de empanadas escogió una de atún (después de todo, las vendían también en Marruecos). La comió en el camino sin prestar mucha atención. Y entonces, le dio el torzón.

Rulo había ido a México por pocos días. Debía tramitar una visa para empezar a trabajar en Estados Unidos. Habían pasado catorce meses desde su última visita. Tras atender a la cita en la embajada en la ciudad de México, viajó a San Luis a visitar a sus amigos. Era fin de semana, y por dos días enteros la fiesta no paró. Fue tan grande que Mano no se presentó a trabajar ni sábado ni domingo (así es, Mano trabajaba sin fines de semana, sin descanso, de sol a sol, a veces más). Ya no eran tan jóvenes como antes. Las borracheras no se curaban tan rápido. El domingo en la noche decidieron llevarla tranquilo, ver un par de películas con Minoru y dejar al cuerpo reposar. Hacían años que no visitaban un puesto de hot-dogs y nachos que estaba a unas cuadras del departamento. Decidieron compartir unos nachos grandes entre los tres. Y de repente, les dio el torzón.

La última navidad que pasé en México fue en el 2010. A pesar de que tan solo seis meses antes había recorrido el país con algunos de mis mejores amigos de Montreal (Irene, El hermano de Irene, y Blanka), al llegar sentí el peso de tanto tiempo lejos. Había creado un evento en Factbook para saludar a todo el mundo. Invité a mucha gente: amigos de la infancia, la carrera, y el antiguo empleo. La cita fue en un bar en el centro de la ciudad llamado la mezcalería (si, tenían muchos tipos diferentes de mezcal). La noche se pasó bastante bien. Invité tragos, me invitaron tragos, todo muy bien. Entonces, alguien me pasó un shot de mezcal con un escorpión adentro. Normalmente traen un gusano, esto era bastante especial. Como era mi fiesta debía tomarlo. Amarrándome de valor mastiqué un poco el escorpión y lo trague con el mezcal. Era tiempo de regresar a casa. A la mañana siguiente, efectivamente, me dio el torzón. 


Saturday, October 27, 2012

Crisis As an Area of Opportunity



Crises tend to overwhelm. They bring loss of stability and a sense of uncertainty that makes us feel uncomfortable. Have you ever worried about things that might happen in the near future and felt that weird variation of the stomach-butterflies that’s not enjoyable? I tend to worry too much, so I have. The latest Dalai Lama likes to say: if there’s a solution to it then there’s no need to worry, if there’s no solution, then there’s no need to worry either (last time we were hanging out he told me the same thing like 5 times).

America’s economy (along with the economy of the rest of the western world) has recently gone through a big economic crisis, and even though things have slowly improved, people still feel down about it. They weren’t used to experiencing crisis; not like we are used to back home. In Mexico we’ve learned to struggle with money; but lately we’ve been going through a political and social crisis that we had never seen. Thus, spirits back home are also down.

A good way to stop worrying about the crisis is looking at the opportunities it presents. Crisis is an agent of change. If the US needs an economic model change, right now would be the time to make it happen. In the same way, in Mexico we should be more prone to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them, to die to sleep, no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to?

Talking more seriously though (at least more practically), there IS real opportunity that the US crisis brought, and I don’t talk about merely taking advantage of undervalued housing, the US economic crisis is the product of a variety of factors, so there’s many ways to take advantage of it. Here’s a few that pop up in my mind:

  • Manufacture of high quality, reliable, advanced products is no longer world-competitive when done within US soil. Right now would be the perfect time to strengthen advanced manufacture in Latin America (or any other region of the world where living is less expensive and where regulations can be met). Even for US citizens, moving out of Detroit and to places with nicer weather along with their assembly companies, could be a sweet move (public health care, sandy beaches, free higher education, and coronas doesn't sound that bad).

  • Research and Development is starting to be heavily endorsed by both American companies and government. If you’ve got a master (or even better, a PhD) and always wanted to work at a high-tech lab, the US is a great place to look at right now. You’ll be helping the country and mankind’s progress.

  • In same spirit, the US needs new companies, and ventures will be sponsored happily; so it is a great moment to become the boss, create a company, and start generating some jobs (yours to begin with).

Every crisis has its winners. It would be cool to be part of the winning team for a change.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

While I Was Away (part 1)



I once heard you can’t write if you’re happy.

I’ve been quite happy lately. That being said, I’ve also been rather busy.

I also mistakenly deleted the registry of the blog’s pictures by taking them away from google+ (google linked them together without me asking for it). Once I found out google owns blogger and stores everything in a single place, and it’s so easy to ruin settings or misplace information… I was quite angry with their service. Bottom line, it’s been a while since I last decided to write something for this place. But all it needed was a bit of work to make the page look nice, and fixing the pictures to make me want to write some more again. So here I am, typing, hoping it comes out cool. Maybe I’ll change blog service provider in the future. For now I’ll make do.

I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately about a few creativity related subjects:

  • Intellectual property as the purest form of capitalism: It’s quite a surreal feeling, the one I get when thinking about how our society allows us to own ideas, and more importantly, to make profit from owning them. Walt Disney, as a company pays lots of money to a group of lobbyists to get congressmen to extend the time of copyright ownership after the creator has dead, thus preventing us all from drawing naked mickey mice and selling those drawings.
  • Tablets and cloud storage: There’s no excuse nowadays not to read. They give us access to an infinite resource of material. All classics are free; we don’t even need to store them on a drive locally as they can exist in our Amazon accounts. Technology has pushed forward our society, and just made access to information a commonplace reality.
  • One can only write about what one knows: Quite a lot of the books I like are somewhat autobiographical. The hero of the story tends to share the writer’s personality traits, other characters tend to be based on real people at least loosely. When we make up the entire thing it always ends up looking plain, a bit forced… at least in my case (I’m not a good liar).
  • There are only 7 basic story plots: That’s about right. In the past century a couple more have been added but that’s only cause way too many authors were sick of the basic 7 and made a huge effort to freshen up storytelling. It would be real cool if I get to see a few more new ones during my lifetime.
  • There is no money in poetry, and there is no poetry in money: Poetry doesn’t sell, very few people like it. It’s hard, it’s personal, it asks for the reader to break a thicker wall before making a connection with the writer. Last year’s Nobel Prize winner (the Swedish poet) was widely unknown, and even now after the award we don’t see his works around.

It seems a bit unfair to dedicate just a couple of lines to each of the subjects… but I don’t really have a huge argument to present on any of them. Or do I? In any case, I would like to end this entry with a cool phrase:

There are two golden rules to success: 1) never reveal everything you know.


Saturday, August 4, 2012

¡Mueran Los Escritores Latinoamericanos!



No voy a engañarme, soy un escritor de closet, y también soy latinoamericano. Dicho eso, paso a desahogarme:

Pienso en Octavio Paz y en su empeño por ser acepado por la aristocracia. Le imagino el hobby secreto de coleccionar fotos en las que aparezca con presidentes, reyes, embajadores, etc. Su obra fue hecha para los pocos; nosotros nunca valimos, salvo quizá en el cuento del dinosaurio.

Estoy terminando la niña mala de Mario Vargas Llosa, y me trae bastantes conflictos, los mismos conflictos que tuve con rayuela de Cortázar. No soporto a los personajes principales de la historia, al menos el personaje de Julio no pretende ser el héroe de. Mario adora usar palabras en inglés y francés sin otro motivo que el de demostrarnos que habla los idiomas (porqué decir que los hippies luchaban contra el establishment cuando tenemos palabras más adecuadas en español, o qué tiene un clochard que un indigente no tenga), Julio es aun peor, y su vocabulario incluso en español es innecesariamente rebuscado.

Pocas veces he podido leer un libro latinoamericano y disfrutarlo de inicio a fin. Me vienen a la mente los libros para niños de Isabel Allende de la serie de la ciudad de las bestias y la noche de Tlatelolco y la piel del cielo de Elena Poniatowska. Cierto que no son autoras reconocidas por su alta calidad literaria, cierto que son muy comerciales, pero al menos son bastante entretenidas y no tan arrogantes como los escritores hombres.

Por otro lado, me alegro de haber descubierto a Roberto Bolaño. 



Nota para mi mismo: tener siempre en mente que no quiero caer en las prácticas que describo arriba

Nota para quien lea esto: por favor avisa si notas que lo hago


Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Nuestros Candidatos!




Enrique

Enrique no es tan guapo en persona; medir 1.6 metros le resta presencia al mito televisivo. Sin copete, maquillaje, bronceado, y sin ropa de diseñador queda reducido a un tipo tan común como todos nosotros, incluso un poco más corriente.

Enrique representa al cáncer del país. Su partido es el de los hijos de la revolución de hace un siglo; herederos de un trono que obtuvieron a base de matanzas y traición. Su reinado sumió a México en una era de ignorancia, abnegación, mediocridad y corrupción. Crearon televisa y nos dieron circo. Cada seis años nos daban (dan) algo de pan. Sus tentáculos estaban (están) en todos lados: promovieron carreras de intelectuales para controlar el pensamiento ideológico. Inyectaron corrupción en todas las instituciones y en todos los niveles. La educación pública tuvo como objetivo hacernos idiotas. Mientras tanto, el PRI robó (roba) y fue (es) amo y señor.

A un grupo de jóvenes en los 60s no le pareció, y animados por un movimiento mundial se atrevieron a levantar la voz. Y llegó el ejército y los mató y nadie dijo nada. El gobierno asesino del PRI acabó con ellos y con el espíritu de todo el país. Y nuestros abuelos y nuestros padres vivieron callados desde entonces, tornando la frustración en cinismo y apatía.

El partido de Enrique fue afinando su imperio. Los presidentes en turno empezaron siendo militares, y luego abogados, y en los 80s obtuvieron doctorados en Economía de Harvard, y su conocimiento absoluto y poder absoluto le vino terrible a México.

Hoy, Enrique no solo representa simbólicamente al PRI. Enrique es un personaje tan corrupto y malvado como todos sus antecesores: tiene comprados a los medios de comunicación masiva, hace pactos con las esferas criminales para garantizar su hegemonía, y reprende a los movimientos de oposición a toda costa (golpeando, violando, matando).

El acenso de Enrique al trono seria la derrota más grande que hayamos visto.

Josefina

Es difícil para la población separar a Josefina de la imagen de su partido, a pesar que la gran mayoría de los que deberían estarla apoyando han decidido pactar con el PRI. La población la vinculamos fuertemente al PAN. Durante los doce años que el PAN ha tenido la presidencia muy poco se ha logrado; por falta de experiencia, de capacidad de los gobernantes, y por culpa de un congreso que se opuso a todas las reformas. Durante esos 12 años el país ha estado estancado.

Cierto, se ha sabido pagar la deuda, acatar las ordenes del fondo monetario internacional, y mantener al peso estable y a la inflación controlada. Una política de gasto responsable es bastante admirable. Y sin embargo el país no ha avanzado en ningún otro aspecto. El momento del neoliberalismo ha continuado creando pobres durante los gobiernos de Fox y de Calderón (en los cuales Josefina ha tenido bastante que ver). Las grandes mafias en petróleos mexicanos, en comisión federal de electricidad, el sindicato de maestros, y muchas otras ahí siguen. Las empresas trasnacionales continúan explotando a los trabajadores, pagando salarios cada vez mas devaluados, y contaminando el país (y no podemos reprocharles nada porque si ellos no dan trabajo, nadie más lo va a hacer).

Josefina se enfrenta a un país machista. También se enfrenta a su propio partido político; que no desea comprometer sus propios intereses y se vendió al PRI. Si llegara a ganar, Josefina se enfrentará también a un congreso que le dará muchos más problemas de los que le dio a Fox y a Calderón. Peor de todo, Josefina se enfrenta al escepticismo del pueblo, que gracias al evento tras el cual Calderón llegó al poder no creerá que la elección fue transparente.

Gabriel

Gabriel es una persona muy capaz. Es el único de los actuales candidatos con el nivel educativo de los grandes saqueadores neoliberales de los últimos gobiernos del PRI. Sus propuestas parecen innovadoras, y tras leer las publicaciones científicas que ha generado a lo largo de su carrera en materia de economía, control de deuda externa, planeación urbana y desarrollo sostenible, puede convencer a un pequeño porcentaje de la población de votar por él. Y es por eso que es el candidato del PANAL: la señora Gordillo lo escogió porque él podía garantizarle el porcentaje de votos que ella necesita para mantener sus ingresos y conservar su poder político.

El hecho de que Gabriel haya accedido a formar parte del partido de la señora Gordillo hace cuestionar su fibra moral. Gabriel decidió ser un títere más en el teatro electoral sabiendo que no va a ganar y que su participación solo le hará mal al país, perpetuando a un tirano (una tirana). 

Andrés Manuel

Andrés Manuel es el personaje más controversial de los cuatro. Es sin duda alguna la figura política más importante de la elección. La esperanza del país descansa (por ahora) en él. Es el que menos formación académica tiene, el de abajo, el del pueblo. Su imagen de robin hood y su discurso tienen mucha fuerza (incluso más ahora que cuando compitió contra Calderón).

Mucha gente de clase media y media-alta lo compara con Hugo Chávez o con Fidel Castro, por la naturaleza de izquierda de su partido, sin considerar que izquierda no es necesariamente lo mismo que socialismo ni comunismo, y que el PRD no sigue los ideales de Chávez y Castro. La filosofía del partido de Andrés Manuel es una bastante mediocre, una adaptación de la filosofía del PRI para un grupo de gente que en el PRI nunca pudo prosperar.

Andrés Manuel empezó su carrera en la preparatoria, militando en el PRI. Sus tácticas desde finales de los 80 a la fecha han sido las de organizar fraudes electorales, comprar votos, comprar asistencias para que sus manifestaciones estén siempre llenas, etc. Al no ganar la elección presidencial en l 2006 acusó al IFE de fraude y manejó una campaña de inconformidad para debilitar la credibilidad de su oponente. Esta táctica la usa desde 1990, cuando se enfrentó a un fraude electoral en Tabasco. A base de movilizar grupos de huelga y manifestaciones hizo avanzar su carrera política, trepando los escalones hasta llegar a su candidatura actual, a la cual llegó no por haber tenido un buen desempeño en un puesto público (no ocupa cargo alguno desde el 2005), sino por ser la voz de la inconformidad, por ser un líder de un grupo de choque cuyo principal objetivo ha sido descalificar al gobierno actual.

Durante los debates oficiales, Andrés Manuel habló de repartir once mil pesos de presupuesto por familia (800USD) en vez de pagar al poder ejecutivo del país. Lo dijo de una forma genial: su comentario fue fabricado para poder contestar que él jamás prometió tal cosa, y a la vez fue hecho para ser malentendido y plantar una pequeña fantasía en la gente.

La historia política de Andrés Manuel se parece a la de los Perón bastante, es una historia de escalamiento a base de intimidación y de manejo de masas. Andrés Manuel sabe como lucrar con la miseria*, y al estilo de Eva Duarte de Perón, sabe el verdadero poder que tienen los de abajo. El hambre es canija, y lo es más la sed (también la sed de poder).

Y aun así, y con todo y la fuerte campaña de desprestigio y de temor en contra de el que el PAN montó en el 2006 y que hoy tanto el PRI como el PAN continúan promoviendo (quizá precisamente gracias a ella), Andrés Manuel ha sabido ganar la fe no solo de la clase mas baja, sino de los jóvenes hartos de todas las clases sociales. A base de prometer una batalla en contra de la corrupción en vez de una contra el narcotráfico, y a base de formar un gabinete de celebridades intelectuales, ha sabido convencer sin necesidad de comprar. Hoy, Andrés Manuel tiene dos personalidades diferentes: la de santo de la miseria, y la de luchador social.

*Nota acerca de la miseria: en los últimos 12 años se ha incrementado el número de pobres en el país


Sunday, May 27, 2012

A Chelsea Story




He had to wait for his large French fries for more than ten minutes. He hated the wait. McDonalds was supposed to be a fast food restaurant… ten minutes was way beyond his tolerance time, even when he didn’t have much more to do the rest of his day. Before him, in line, a young redneck couple with a child was also waiting to get served. They pretty much did it just to get access to the restrooms, the kid had to use the toilet, and damn he smelled nasty.

Julio was a bit over fifty. His curly, short, greasy hair was already ash gray. He’d been running small errands the whole day and his forehead was sweating a bit. It’d been already too many years since he’d left his country for the US in search for a better future. He’d gotten used to hiding from immigration police, to changing jobs often and fast, to eating these unhealthy burgers that he so much hated, but that were charmingly convenient (secretly he liked them, and he hated himself for it). That day he’d been to western union. He’d been a bit late in his monthly money order and that had spoiled his sleep during four days; but right after sending the money to his family and by letting them know through a lengthy phone call on a public phone, he felt like a new man, like he was 25 again, like when the American dream meant something to him.

The kid in front of him was playing with a straw; he took it out of the paper envelope and threw the envelope to the ground. His father, wearing a wife-beater, red sox cap, beige shorts, long socks, and sandals, didn’t seem to mind. Julio was very pissed at them, but it all paid out once he got his large fries and a bunch of ketchup. That meant he could go and sit calmly at a bench near the window, and stare at the street for a good 20 minutes (maybe even half an hour), before heading back home. He loved looking out big windows, especially when it was sunny.

Half the sits were taken, he had to settle for a table a bit away from the really good spots, but he chose it to at least be able to look outside while he ate. The salty, crispy fries were a good comfort. Their unhealthiness felt good in his fingers and in his stomach.

Meanwhile, two tables away, a huge American (about 200kilos large) on old jeans and an even older t-shirt was saying hi to random people that just walked into the restaurant. It looked like he owned the place (at least that was his attitude). The man had a pink shopping bag next to him, full, with scrapped newspapers popping out of it. He was waiting for someone he didn’t know, and he had to play the idiot until his contact noticed him (a Latino with long hair and sunglasses). Took about three minutes for them to cut the crap and get to business. They exchanged binders, and barely spoke to each other while going through their contents. Julio remembered a T.V. show where they’d made a point about the importance of meeting in public when doing fishy business. The show within the fast-food joint was proving to be more interesting than the window view.

A fairly good looking middle aged woman (also fairly trashy) came in a rush. She went straight to the businessmen and told them a fight was happening outside. They looked at each other. They looked annoyed. The fat guy also looked a bit scared. They left their stuff on the table and headed to the street. The woman stayed inside and just stared at the window while biting her nails. More than two minutes went by in awkward suspense; still, no signs of the gentlemen, and their stuff was just lying there; no one cared (or dared) to take it. Julio started feeling strangely attracted to that pink bag.

He’d never done anything wrong in his life (at least not by his own personal moral code). His fingers started itching a bit, longing to grab the bag and his legs tensed ready for the run. Was he really going to do it? Would he be able to get away? Would there be something worthy of the risk inside the pink bag in the end?

The woman must have realized what was in Julio’s mind. She rushed to him the same way she’d rushed to the fat guy and the Latino guy, except this time she didn’t scream. Her hand touched Julio’s shoulder, and she spoke softly while looking straight into his eyes – excuse me sir, I need some help with my groceries, would you be so kind to lend me a hand? – They smiled at each other. Julio knew this wouldn’t end right (probably); but he didn’t have anything else to do for the rest of the day after all.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

First impressions of Boston




(Started 08.01.2012, completed 11.03.2012)

Mark Twain wrote once, that when you go to New York people ask how much money you have, when you go to Philadelphia they ask who your family is, and when you go to Boston they ask how much you know. He also wrote a few diary-like entries on his first impressions of Boston. In a shameless effort to steal his idea, and hoping no one notices it, I decided to write my own notes on my first impressions of the city.

I got to Boston on a Sunday (much like Twain), but I did so at dusk. It was the middle of the winter, and since I was coming from Montreal, I thought the weather would be far nicer than that to what I had gotten used to during my recent Canadian adventures. I ventured out of the airport with just a sweatshirt, and headed to the metro thinking the weather wasn’t so bad. After a few minutes of waiting at the metro station I realized that the weather was colder than I expected, and it wasn’t pleasant at all to wait at the station since it was not under ground, nor did it provide much protection from the wind. I had to unpack my gloves and hat to stay warm. Luckily the train didn’t take much to arrive.

It took me a few minutes when I got out at State Station to figure out my way to the hotel. There were a few people still wandering the streets, many of them Latin American. I had also seen quite a few Latin Americans in the metro. I thought it was funny, since apparently there were not many of them in the city (or at least that’s what the statistics on the internet had shown a few days before). The hotel suite was quite nice. It had a glass wall to separate the shower from the bedroom, which was kind of cool but made me think the hotel’s main purpose was not to host working travelers.

I had left my mom alone in my apartment in Montreal. Down here, there was no snow, but the wind blew strong and cold, and there was not many people wandering the streets. The buildings looked cold and indifferent. I put myself together and ventured out in search of a wifi spot. Perhaps, if I could find a Starbucks café and get one of the mugs I collected, the whole trip would have been worth it. I didn’t know how the following day’s interview would go. I could only hope for the best, but to tell the truth, some strange feeling of loneliness haunted me that evening.

The following day was quite better. The people at the company were kind. I had two tests, out of which I managed to do well in one and not so well in the other one. The interview parts went quite well though. Over lunch, I was asked if Mexican coke tasted different than American coke. Apparently they sell the Mexican one in the States, and they advertise it as special. It is special in a way: it has more calories.

After a rushed trip back to the airport, I barely made it on time for my flight. I was relieved to fly back. I was happy I’d been there. Maybe I would land the job.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

First Week's Drinks



I wrote the next paragraphs after my first week here, back when there was no internet at my place. I read through them now and notice they're kind of rushed,  but oh well, I'll get better with some practice. 

Now that I think of it... a lot of good stories begin with some drinking (a lot of my stories do at least). It kind of sets the mood. 

Cheers!

09.03.2012

It’s been a bit more than a week now that I’m in Boston. My ‘First Impressions of Boston’ gig is long past due. I should hurry and finish it before the novelty wears off. But I don’t really need to start telling my story (or the stories I encounter while here) in chronological order… If there’s one profession that requires little structure, is that of the writer (even less that of the writer-wannabe. Will I be able to keep this diary going? It seems pretty possible. For the first time in quite a lot of time I find myself with free time at the end of the day on a more or less regular basis (Not having internet or TV also helps).

Yesterday was quite an awesome day. There’s a once-a-month cinc-a-sept gathering in my office. A few of the colleagues went to a nearby liquor store (a very nice one) and bought a bunch of nice assorted beers. They were all St. Patrick’s day themed. They also got a bunch of green cupcakes to go with. It’s taken me a bit to get used to my colleagues. They are very nice, but I tend to be shy when I meet too many new people. A bit of alcohol lubricates my social skills quite well. A bit too much destroys them. I think I had just a good amount.

After work, I rushed to Harvard Square to meet Daniel (my Swiss connection). He gave me the most rushed tour of the city: in about two minutes we went through the bookstore, the souvenir store, and he pointed the direction to a lot of bars and restaurants and cool things we would not get to see. We met with his lab buddies and went to John Harvard’s to get some chicken tenders and nachos and calamari (everything was very very nice) and beer (of course). On the table I met four post-docs and two graduate students (PhD). These guys are fond of google phones. I guess there’s a little revolutionary inside us all that gets worn out with time.

The night with the Harvard bunch was cool. We had huge shared drinks (served on a bowl called  the scorpion) at a Chinese bar that’s also a restaurant on the first floor (not sketchy at all). I had to rush back home before the trains stopped working for the night. After a long and nice talk over the phone, I fell deeply asleep.

Monday, April 9, 2012

A New First Entry



Hey y'all (whoever reads this) my bolg is back! This is the third time I start it over. The first time it got quite popular (if you can call popular a piece of work that's only noticed by friends and relatives), but then it got too angry, too opinionated, too much. So I had to kill my year-old blog. A few months after, while intensively looking for a job I had a great idea (or so I thought) 'reinvent my blog as an engineering blog, so that my digital footprint seems somehow more professional when potential employers look me up'. It didn't work. I didn't have much to say about engineering. I guess starting a project for the wrong reason dooms the project from the start. Will I get it right this time? I do hope so. I should be able to keep it up at least through this new chapter in my life:

Last time we saw our hero he was stuck in Canada: his student visa expired, and yet with another semester to go through to get graduated. He was trying hard to find a job. He was running low on cash. Being part of psychological studies and what not helped a bit. The only gig he could get was for a non-profit that couldn't actually pay him at the time. He had to endure a good amount of months before he was actually able to get his stuff in order. Yet, things started happening just at the right time. He traveled to the States a bit after new year's eve. He had a job interview in Boston. Even though he was nervous and didn't manage to do well in a few bits of the day-long screening event, he felt happy about it. Eventually a job offer came by post. Without delay h timee accepted, and two months and some bureaucratic struggle after, he left his beloved Canada and said "Hello America, wazup (wazup homie, don't you know me? - simón - aint you the brother of the más pingón - straight up)".

So I've been here for a bit more than a month, and things have been going quite well. I started writing a few things ever since I came for the job interview, but I hadn't decided whether to post them or not. I guess I should (as my attorney, I recommend myself to publish them). This blog, newly re-designed by the marketing team, will contain diary-like entries, the best posts of that first personal blog I destroyed long ago (I'm sorry old blog, I should have known how to treat you right and make you feel special), maybe even short stories and what-not. So be prepared, I'm going to make you laugh and cry and scream, all at the same time (Minoru, this last sentence was written thinking of you (oh yeah)).

 Now, I do realize I'm quite the hipster dude by doing this. So before going any further, I think it's important to post a few memes to get past this stage:



So that's all the hipster kitty memes I found that apply. I'd seen one that said I don't live my life, I blog it but I couldn't find it anymore when I was preparing this entry (like an hour ago).  I guess that's about it for today. I'm glad I'm back at this thing.

Peace.