Monday, September 27, 2010

Can you the can can?

So...I thought I'd blog you a true story, because this is a story that comes to mind often, and I feel is kinda crucial for peeps to know about...

Jup, it's THAT kinda story....

Here goes:

A few years ago, my cousin and a group of friends organized a cozy beach barbecue.
Everybody brought tons of food, there was music, and even a campfire.
They had a total blast for a few hours...then...things started to go wrong....

People started to feel really really sick, that after a few attempts at helping the sick to feel better, the party moved to the emergency ward of the nearest hospital.
However....the doctors had great difficulty figuring out what made them feel so sick.
So, they instructed the ones that weren't sick, to bring in as much of the food that they had consumed at the barbecue, in order for them to check it for germs and whatever.
This they did.
The meat, the salads, the bread, everything was checked.
And everything turned out fine.

The doctors were baffled.
What had made all those people super sick?
Why didn't any of the medicine they tried on them work?
And why the hell were they getting sicker by the minute?

Then, a nurse suggested to look at the packed goods like the beer, wine, soda & etc.
Everything was checked, and again....nothing...

As a last desperate attempt they decided to take samples of the outside of the packing materials.
Maybe there had been a problem there?

There was a problem alright.

What they found was;
that a couple of six-packs of beer-cans had rat urine residue on them...
Apparently they had been stored in a space where rats had roamed free, and used the cans as their little playground, and then those cans were shelved in the store to sell them to the public.
The urine had dried up, but the bacteria and viruses that were in that rat pee were still very much alive.
So when people drank from the beer-can, they ingested the dried up pee, together with all the nasties that had been in it...

Thankfully, however; knowing what had caused all those people to feel sick, they quickly provided them with a cure. A cure that would take weeks to fully take effect. But at least it was manageable.

Morale of the story: ALWAYS clean your cans of soda or beer before you drink from them.

Cuz, you never know who partied on top of them the night before....

Saturday, September 11, 2010


Some moments in life make such an impression that they stick with you.
Some are good like marriages, or births, or your first kiss...
But some are in your minds eye thanks to their impact and shock value.

September 9th 2001 is such a moment.

Following my buddy @davesusetty's blog on the matter, I thought I'd shed some light on how I lived that day, and the bizarre turn of events that went with it.


A group of 7 actors and a director gathered that day, to watch disaster movies.
I was one of the actors.

We were preparing a play based on a book that had been written in the '60's by economists; in which they predicted the future in terms of economy, population growth, environmental issues and...humanitarian disasters.
The idea was to pair the findings of the book, with disaster movies; analyze them, mirror the finds with reality and create a multi-medial play with our findings.
For weeks we had been reading and painstakingly analyzing the meaty material presented in the book, having heated discussions about it, and slowly but steadily coming to the shocking realization that the predictions had actually been correct...for the most part.

That week, however, we had finally started to watch us some juicy movies.
A welcome relief after all the economics.
We saw '80's movies about plane crashes, earthquakes and even "Volcano".
Again, we discussed them fanatically.
Were these realistic scenario's in any way?

That day, we gathered in a small and dirty attic room of the theatre where we were to perform the play, crashed down on the old battered sofa's and chairs that stood there, and watched yet another couple of movies.
They were "Airport" and "Earthquake in New York".

We laughed through the movies, watching scenes that looked very unrealistic to us.
And then we discussed whether this was a plausible scenario.
The group consensus was that people really don't react that way during a major crisis, that it was exaggerated for dramatic emphasis, and that really all the movies we'd seen so far were funny because of this. Plus; what were the odds in NY? It isn't constructed on any fault-line, is it?

Then we walked to the station, on our way to the city where our school was located, chatting animatedly about the movies we just saw, and carrying bags full of papers filled with notes, and of course the big economic predictions book.

But the streets were strangely quiet...

Then, one of my fellow actors got a text message.
It said that a plane had crashed into the Twin Towers in New York.

At first we thought it was a joke: hadn't we just seen the Twin Towers collapse in the movie we just saw? And didn't we see dramatics on a '70's passenger plane?
Didn't people know we were working on this project?
Nah, this was definitely a joke.
"Ha ha, lame joke", she texted back.

And then we walked past a shop, where everybody was staring at a T.V. screen....

On the screen we saw how real this message had been.

In disbelief we stared at the T.V.
How could this be?
Had there been an accident?
It HAD to have been an accident, right?

Then a second plane crashed into the 2nd tower.

Not an accident then.
We looked at each other in shock.
Reality was mirroring fiction, and it wasn't fun.
At all.

Everybody was quietly staring at the screen.
Gasps filled the air.
Tears flowed down cheeks.
And when the towers fell...."Earthquake in New York" suddenly became reality....

A few days later the project was cancelled by the director. He felt too emotional to continue with it.


Years later, on the 11th of March 2004, my cousin was supposed to take the early morning commute train to her work, in Madrid.
That day, however, she overslept...
Some of her friends didn't...
And ended up with severe injuries;

Terrorists had simultaneously exploded 10 bombs on 4 busy commuter trains near Madrid, between 7:36 and 7:40 A.M that morning.
191 people died, and 1.858 were injured....
Images of September 9th kept coming back to me, as I watched the images on the news in horror.
The phone lines to and from Madrid went dead for a few hours, as people desperately tried to call their loved ones.
Nobody knew if my cousin had survived the attack, we all feared the worst.
Then, around midday, we finally had word: she hadn't been on the train.
I've never felt so relieved in my life.

Moments that stick with you, forever....

Friday, August 20, 2010


Once tried licking the tears off the world's face.
They tasted salty. And confused.
So I made crazy faces, to cheer it up.
And borrowed some of the sun's rays.

Now we're playing Parcheesi in somebody's garden...and it's smiling cuz the pieces look like M&M's....

Sunday, August 1, 2010

I've posted blogs before about seeing the beauty of small things and I'm a firm spokesperson for seeing the positive.
But even tho I myself think this way, and choose to share my views in the hope to make others see things in a brighter way, it really rocked my world to hear Henry Rollins verbalize it so well when I saw him perform his spoken word show recently.

I think it particularly touched me because it was amidst of vast mounts of humor, fantastically described imagery and logic.
It was like coming home for some reason.

Especially when I saw how the audience *got* what he was saying.
A small victory for those who believe in change towards the better, for those who see how all humans are equal and that treating people like shit doesn't solve anything.
For those who don't believe in hatred based on race, religion or sexual attraction.
In a world that keeps getting harder and harder and in which people's prejudices are flaring up like the forest fires that are currently attacking the vicinity of Los Angeles, it's good to hear people voice the complete opposite.
Especially if they're people that are in the public eye and that have the power to reach many.

Borders are a figment of our communal imagination.
Which is why I rejoice over the fact that the borders in Europe are slowly but steadily fading.
We live in the world, people.
And so, as world citizens we should accept each other for what we are and for who we are.
I'm sick and tired of racism and prejudices against immigrants.
People seem to forget that most nations are actually built thanks to immigrants, as they all do the jobs that the general population thinks they're too good for.

There's no "Us" and "Them", there's just "Us".

And the sooner everybody realizes this, the sooner we can shove wars under the carpet and coexist. Love, after all, is a far more pleasant feeling than hate. And far more constructive at that.

So yeah.
When somebody climbs up on stage and amidst of hilarious stories about embarrassing moments, strange encounters and other crazy situations, takes the time to share similar views with the world, and seeks to enlighten it, then that makes my heart skip a beat.
Because speaking out is key.

So, here I am saying to you: please please don't just listen to what you get spoon-fed by your local media, it's just a tiny selection of what's really happening out in the world. Open your eyes to what's going on around you. And to who is standing next to you. Learn. And most importantly, don't let other people's fears brainwash you into thinking the world is evil and out to get you.
Because fear never built anything.
Hope did.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Who's that girl?

So, the best thing about working in a place where people frequent is that weird and crazy people are abundant. Something very inspiring for someone like me who enjoys imitating and performing. Real life can be way more absurd than concocted stories.
Altho not all real life events are absurd in a ; "OMG-I'm-talking-to-a-creepy-guy-who's-standing-next-to-me-at-a-cocktail-party-but-he-calls--my-house-and-he's-on-the-other-end-too!" kinda way. Or any other weird thing you can imagine, or David Lynch can imagine...
But they can be quirky in a way that makes you think: ..." this for real?"

Here's what happened to me the other day:

I'm sitting behind my desk, working on some email to order stuff from Japan, when somebody comes in...
I hear the sound of soft shuffling feet and when I look up I see an old man who looks like the way an old man would be depicted in a cartoon:
skinny, crooked, a small tuft of white hair on his primarily bald head, no teeth, and a suit that has seen better days.
He shuffles towards me in what seems like slow-motion with extra vibrato, and when he's standing in front of my desk he slowly raises a trembling hand and points in the general direction of a photograph that hangs in the window.

"Who's that woman?"
Me: "What woman do you mean, sir?"
Him: "That woman, on the painting (for some reason he doesn't understand photography?) in the window."
Me: "Oh, I don't know. I'm sorry. It's a model, you see."
Him: "Maybe you don't understand. That woman in the window display."
Me: "Yes. exactly. She's a model the artist photographed. I have no idea who she is."

He looks at me with the most disappointed look I've ever seen on anybody's face.
The little tuft of white hair slightly flapping in the breeze created by the airconditioner.
Little flecks of dandruff softly blowing off his tweet shoulders.
Then he seems to come to a decision, and with shaky hands he goes through his pockets.
He takes out a small digital camera and blip blip blips through the photographs, with a tremendously serious face.
He then holds the camera in front of me and shows me a close-up of a naked model that features on the very photograph I knew we were talking about.
(the ONLY naked girl in a picture full of people)
With trembling index finger he points at the little screen and says;
"This. This. This girl. Who is this girl??"
His voice is full of determination.

Me: "Yes, that girl. Exactly. I'm very sorry, but I really don't know. She's a model."
He looks at me, his facial expression changes to total defeat.
Him: "O"
"I'm very sorry. If you want I can give you the name of the artist, so you c...", I attempt.
He shakes his head with a sad face.

Then he turns around slowly, shuffles towards the door, stops, looks at the screen of his camera one more time with a crestfallen expression, blips it off and puts it in his jacket pocket before walking the direction of the photograph....

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Split second dreams

For about two seconds there was a tweet.

"Will life someday catch up to dreams, for a split second?"

And then it was gone.
I deleted it.

I tweeted that, but as soon as I did, I realized that it was a complex question to ask, because it gets answered every day in everybody's life.

Almost impalpable tiny moments of contact between that what you dream about and that what we consider the real world flash by, like the rushed heartbeat of a mouse.
Before you're aware of it, it's already flown past, making way for the stuff you didn't ask for.
But it's in those tiny moments that you can find magic.
Magic we were aware about when we were kids, but that has moved aside for the realities of adulthood.

The one moment you finally got that blue gum-ball you've been craving all day, the squeak of crisp leather in new shoes, hearing from a far away friend...magic.

Cuz when I talk about dreams, I don't necessarily mean the dreams of ambition and wild life changes (altho they too find connecting moments, paired with great outbursts of utter joy), but (also) the tiny ones that pop up in your head while you're busy doing other things...
The little flashes of thoughts and minute cravings and yearnings that form in daydreams.
And I guess when you lose contact with those dreams and those tiny moments go by completely unnoticed, that's when you tend to feel depressed and disconnected to yourself...
Something that happens all too often, unfortunately.

So, next time you feel the bubble wrap pop under your fingers, while you unwrap a package for your boss, or when you feel a soft breeze tickle your nose while you're waiting for your bus, or a friend sends you a surprise message while you're at the photocopier,
take notice...
Cuz they're small pockets of joy and beauty...and deserve some attention and love.

Beauty is in little things, after all...



When thin dresses flutter,
and legs show some skin.
Sweat drips down dainty necks,
and trickles into exposed chests.
Leaving salty marks,
on shiny tans...

Then steam rises collectively.
And heat turns inward,

Saturday, May 29, 2010


He stared out the window, watching people walking by on the dreary and windy street.
Rain drip dripped onto the windowpane, creating a soft rhythmic pitter patter, that broke the otherwise intense silence of his apartment.
Though the glass, muffled sounds of traffic wafted past occasionally, creating a strangely melodic combo with the raindrops.
He sighed and scratched his chin.
So. This. Was. It.

He was a thirty something, single man, working at a job he didn't want, in a city he didn't care to be in. Almost palpable a wave of desperation flowed through him.

He touched the moist glass, with his right index finger, and drew a smiley face in the condensation created by his breath. As soon as it was made, the edges of the drawing started running, and droplets glided down, creating little rivers in the condensed water. The smiley didn't look so happy. It was a droopy mess.
"You too, huh?"

Suddenly the droopy smiley turned a bright flashing red.
Outside an ambulance passed at full speed.
Lights flickering and sirens wailing.
The light and sound spectacle shook him out of his reverie for a second.
He followed the vehicle until it was out of sight, then dried his wet index finger on his jeans.
He shook his head and learnt back, with his eyes closed.
In his head the smiley kept flashing red, every time he blinked.
He felt a little queasy.
"Fuck this shite" he thought.
In a sudden move, he opened his eyes, jumped off the window sill and walked into the room.

Clothes, books, magazines, dishes, papers, his laptop, some empty cans of soda and a pair of old binoculars were strewn all over the floor. His dog Skittels lay lustless on a pile of dirty laundry.
He sighed again and waded through the mess towards the kitchen to get a fresh can of soda from the fridge.

On the fridge door there was a photograph of him in better times, with an ex girlfriend.
He looked at the picture, he ripped the picture off the fridge and tossed it in the trashcan.
Then he reached in for a can. Closing the fridge with his left foot, he opened the can. A spray of fuzzy drink sprayed out of it, soaking his t-shirt.
"Fucking fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!
He yelled, tossing the can in the full sink.
"Fucking, crap shit raaaaah!!"

Dripping, he walked back into the room and started rummaging for a somewhat clean t-shirt.
Skittles looked up, but didn't move a muscle until he threw the wet t-shirt in her direction, which made her growl. "Sorry Skittles, this fucking shite ain't your ain't your f..."
He reached down to grab a wrinkled light-blue t-shirt with a faded image of a '70's muscle car on it. As he took it in his hand, he suddenly spotted something laying underneath. Something surprisingly colorful in his room full of subdued colors.
He took a closer look and, after putting on the t-shirt, took it off the ground.

It was a pair of rocketship underwear.

He looked at it in confusion and smiled.
Those weren't familiar to him, but they were awesome!
In a sudden impulse, he took off his jeans and his blue checkered boxers, and put the rocketship underwear on. They were snug, but fit him.

Chuckling he pranced through his room.
His demeanour had suddenly changed 180 degrees.
Skittles looked at him nervously, what the hell was up with the boss?
He walked over to the soggy window and threw it open, letting the cool outside air in, and soaking the window sill in rain.
It all seemed so darn idiotic all of a sudden.
Stupid droopy smiley.
The mess in his room, in his life.
He let out a roaring laugh, prompting some of the pedestrians below to look up at him with bewildered looks on their faces.

He yelled down, and then climbed into the window sill to emphasize his words.
Somebody below yelled "Weirdo!"
He didn't care. For the first time in months he felt alive.
He stood there for a few minutes, while the raindrops dripped onto him. His body shaking with cold and excitement. So. He. Was. Alive.

He took a deep breath, and another, and let the fresh air fill his dusty lungs.
Very faintly he felt a soft pull, yanking him towards the outside of the window.
He resisted, not wanting to drop the 4 storey fall to the street below.
Then the pull got stronger. And stronger. And stronger.
He fought it with all his willpower, grabbing onto the inside of the window.
But the pull was stronger than him.
In one ferocious yank, his grasp was lost, and his body fell forward out of the open window.
He closed his eyes and screamed "NO!!!"
And felt the rush of the wind and the patter of the raindrops as he fell.

But...there was no crash onto the pavement.
No, cracking bones.
No nothing.
Just the soft breeze and the raindrops....

Carefully he opened his eyes.
And immediately let out yet another roaring laugh.

He was flying....

Friday, May 28, 2010

Midnight howls

So, last night my neighbors were fervently fighting and screaming again in the middle of the night (3am to be precise) This time, however, I channeled it into something creative.

As brains clash and dissolve
Mouths spit fire upon
burning coals

Scratching nails
Ripped clothes
Palpitating veins

Lost echo's
Howling screams that
Can't be voiced

This isn't
No more

But nobody listens
To the voice of decay
Only at self

Monday, April 12, 2010


gently she


that flow


a fuzzy

tiny letters


her cranium



round her


paper plane



sucking up


leaving. soft. calm


Monday, April 5, 2010

In your core...

I was just tweeting with my friend @winonakent about believing in oneself and how hard that can be when you work in the arts.
And immediately images of myself and my director-, actor-, writer-, painter-, musician-, well all creative friends, popped up in my mind.

Struggle with oneself and one's craft seems to be imminent in whatever art you work on.
Your craft is SO personal, it comes from your most inner depths...
You can't hide behind numbers or relativity, it's all about you, and the things that pop out of your mind...
As a result it's the scariest but at the same time most beautiful path one can choose...or better said; that is chosen for one....

We're all creating baked air, after all...
Baked air, that sprouts from our hearts and most inner core.

I think this is the reason why it's so hard for artists to go through difficult periods.
If your performance as an actor sucks, then it wasn't due to a miscalculation or a memo you didn't get,
it was due to you.
And even tho it's a craft, and you're doing your best, it always feels like a personal defeat.
Same for directors, painters, writers...
It hurts like hell to create art, whatever kind...
But at the same time, it's absolutely essential and beautiful.

And even tho we all go through periods when we think;
"Gawd, I wish I were a administrative assistant, or a baker, so I didn't have to deal with this shite"
...we can't let it's in embedded our hearts after all.
Once it touches you...all you can do is go for it, struggle through the dark patches and lost times, and believe in yourself and your craft.
You WILL get through it, and it WILL make you stronger, and better at your craft, because you will carry your experiences with you, even if you can't see it at the time.

Believing in what you do, and who you are is always key.
(No matter what you do, really...)

Might sound cheesy, but I can't describe it in another way...
I too am a sensitive artisty person after all...


Thursday, February 25, 2010


When knuckles

tears well

In dark
internal grotto's




and release


Sunday, January 31, 2010

BlowUp - Taster

So, I decided to post a little snippet of something I'm writing at the moment.
It's not the full thing, obviously, cuz I want to keep the rest off the interwebz for the moment, but I thought I'd share a morcel with ya, see what you make of it...




There comes a time in every person's life when at some point they stand in front of a mirror and go: "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!

In the worst cases this moment entails some weird fungus procured via unruly conduct that you'd rather not tell your mother about; a sudden wart infection on the tip of your nose; an eye so red that your favorite lipstick seems bland in comparison; or whatever weird, sick and disgusting outburst you can encounter whilst searching the web for weird and disgusting outbursts in/on humans.

This morning, however, it was Shirley's turn.

Now, first let me tell you a little bit about Shirley.
Shirley 's a 32-year-old accountant who works at a loans and mergers bank, somewhere in a small town in Ohio.
Her life consists of;

* Waking up at 7 via her radio-alarm-clock (she's had it since she was in college and it has travelled extensively through several states, and two -lost- months in Mexico, before reaching its current location), it's invariably set to a '80 soft-rock radio channel.

* Eating a bowl of cereal in the morning (preferably Cocoa Puffs) with skimmed milk, and a banana side dish. Sometimes coffee, but only on Wednesdays, to cut the week in half.

* Taking a shower; not too hot, hot showers make your skin get used to heat, but also not too cold; hypothermia from taking a shower is NOT a way to go (she tried this out once during high-school, effect: the most severe cold she's ever had in her entire life)

* Putting on a dark-blue power skirt-suit accompanied with dark blue moccasins and a white shirt. Hair...well...whichever way it manages to look somewhat alright. (no haircuts since 2002 due to personal budgetary cuts. Scissors and bathroom mirror, however, don't always work their magic)

* Driving the 32 minutes it takes to get to work in her beaten down Toyota Corolla

* Spending 8 hours doing mundane and boring chores in an even more mundane and boring grey cubicle (which she adorned with a small poster of two kittens hugging, because it made her smile the first time she saw it, and a little plastic plant next to her computer screen), eating a crustless cucumber and peanutbutter sandwich for lunch between 12:31 and 12:57, and doing some more mundane work, until 17:01 when she would step out of the cubicle and get to her car via several grey passages, an elevator and a car park. To drive home again.

* At 18:12 she would take her microwave dinner out of the microwave (depending on the day: chicken curry, Swedish meatballs and mash, macaroni and cheese, lasagne, boeuf bourginon, spaghetti bolognese, and on sunday a ready-made hamburger) and eat it in front of the television whilst watching old re-runs of Dynasty.

* Weekends she would spend in her house, cleaning and doing other homely chores. Grocery shopping (which she did on Saturday for the entire week) and watching cartoon shows. All the while, dressed in a grey tracksuit with hoodie and a crisp pair of white sneakers.

* Bedtime, regardless what day it was, would be at 22:30.

It might sound a bit boring, but she liked her life that way.
No complications.
No distractions.
Nothing to break up the comfortable little bubble she had built for herself.
She had had boyfriends during her teen years, and some in college, but had decided to remain solitary, since she didn't seem to be able to figure out the romance part of it. And she didn't like how it made her feel lost and out of control.
Plus men were too complicated to figure out; she felt they never say what they want, always beat around the bush, and it thoroughly annoyed her.

Thus was her quiet life.
And she liked it that way.

Until, that is; that one morning.