FACTS ABOUT WOMEN

Les dejo este artículo de Esquire, está buenísimo. Son como mil datos que le preguntaron a diversas mujeres sobre los hombres. Hay algunos bastante ilustrativos y varios que dan miedo. Como el 216. Aqui les dejo unos cuantos para abrir boca.

No. 216: The moment you invite us to meet your mom is the moment we begin planning our wedding. —Lindsay Coluccio, 33, Newport Beach, California

No. 171: Some of us — some of us — prefer movies with explosions or bad jokes. —Kt McBratney, 27, Omaha

No. 214: You'll get automatic bonus points for everything you remember about us: our birthday, eye color, favorite restaurant... as long as you don't get carried away. Then all you'll get is an automatic restraining order. —Kt McBratney, 27, Omaha

No. 967: Yes, we'll have another glass of wine, thank you. —Meredith Blake Matthews, 26, Pittsburgh

OJO CON ESTE:

No. 145: We sometimes pretend to forget things to make forgetting things a little less painless — but really, we remember everything. Just play along. —Jennifer Katanyoutanant, 21, Irvine, California

Y ESTE...PERDÓN, PERO NO ES CIERTO (VAN VARIAS VECES QUE LO COMPRUEBO, NUNCA APRENDIERON, BUENO, HABRÁ ALGUNAS QUE SI):

No. 611: Sure, we can do it ourselves, but we love it when you help us change a flat tire. —Nicole French, 37, Denver, Colorado

No. 153: Our excitement over the fact that you drive a Ferrari is reduced by exactly 50 percent if you live with a roommate. —Lindsay Coluccio, 33, Newport Beach, California

No. 584: The only thing we really want to hear about our ex-boyfriends is that they are doing something boring very far away. That is all we want to know about your ex-girlfriends, too. —Erin O'Neill, 24, Columbia, Missouri

No. 122: We are more likely to go down on you in the winter just because we don't want to shave our legs. —Shannon Lawson, 26, Denver

No. 102: No short-sleeved button-downs. Don't ask why, just trust us. —Leticia Frazao, 25, New York

112: We secretly wonder whether or not you will be a help or a hindrance when the zombie uprising happens, because it's totally going to happen. —Jennifer Smith, 34, Atlanta

No. 240: Don't try to figure out what will make us happy. We have been trying to get to the bottom of that mystery since the beginning of time and we have no clue either. —Michele Pepio, 35, Staten Island, New York

No. 244: We like it when your phone does what it's good for — getting us the reservation and enabling you to order flowers — but if you play that fucking "Plants vs. Zombies" game while we're talking to you one more time, you're sleeping alone. —Ainsley Drew Nelson, 28, New York

ESTE ES BUENÍSIMO. RECUERDA A HIGH FIDELITY, MI PELICULA FAVORITA Y LA QUE VEO CADA VEZ QUE ME MANDAN A LA CHINGADA (NO, NO AYUDA, LO HACE PEOR, QUIÉN SABE POR QUÉ COÑOS LA VEO)

No. 181: Stalking only works if you're John Cusack, circa 1985 to 1997. —Stephanie Weir, 29, St. Louis

DAMN! YO TENGO UN PAR!! CREO QUE I WILL NOT BE GETTING LAID WITH AINSLEY DREW.

No. 246: Don't admit to owning an Ani DiFranco album, unless you got it in college to help you get girls. —Ainsley Drew Nelson, 28, New York

DAMN! TAMPOCO TENDRÉ SEXO CON RACHEL BARON!:

No. 541: We think guys who actually want to watch Sex and the City are kind of weird. —Rachel Baron, 26, Chicago

ATENCIÓN CABALLEROS!:

No. 933: Lots of things are silly reasons to break up while being perfectly legitimate reasons not to start a relationship in the first place. For example, please let us know in advance if you don't like performing oral sex. —Rachel Giuliani, 27, Brooklyn

NI PEDO, LO VALE:

No. 823: If you're going to have a one-night stand, we expect you to give up an article of clothing. Love is a battlefield. Your button-down is a casualty. —Jess Goldstein, 21, Berkley Heights, New Jersey

WHAT IS A MAN BY TOM CHIARELLA

Les dejo éste artículo. Soy Fan (de hecho ya soy fan en facebook) de Tom Chiarella. Escribe muy bien. Casi siempre en Esquire.

Lean la entrevista que le hizo a Guy Ritchie en la última Esquire. Es buenísima.
Está en su facebook.


Pues los dejo con el texto. A ver que opinan.



What Is a Man?



By Tom Chiarella


A man carries cash. A man looks out for those around him — woman, friend, stranger. A man can cook eggs. A man can always find something good to watch on television. A man makes things — a rock wall, a table, the tuition money. Or he rebuilds — engines, watches, fortunes. He passes along expertise, one man to the next. Know-how survives him. This is immortality. A man can speak to dogs. A man fantasizes that kung fu lives deep inside him somewhere. A man knows how to sneak a look at cleavage and doesn't care if he gets busted once in a while. A man is good at his job. Not his work, not his avocation, not his hobby. Not his career. His job. It doesn't matter what his job is, because if a man doesn't like his job, he gets a new one.

A man can look you up and down and figure some things out. Before you say a word, he makes you. From your suitcase, from your watch, from your posture. A man infers.

A man owns up. That's why Mark McGwire is not a man. A man grasps his mistakes. He lays claim to who he is, and what he was, whether he likes them or not.

Some mistakes, though, he lets pass if no one notices. Like dropping the steak in the dirt.

A man loves the human body, the revelation of nakedness. He loves the sight of the pale breast, the physics of the human skeleton, the alternating current of the flesh. He is thrilled by the snatch, by the wrist, the sight of a bare shoulder. He likes the crease of a bent knee. When his woman bends to pick up her underwear, he feels that thrum that only a man can feel.

A man doesn't point out that he did the dishes.

A man looks out for children. Makes them stand behind him.

A man knows how to bust balls.

A man has had liquor enough in his life that he can order a drink without sounding breathless, clueless, or obtuse. When he doesn't want to think, he orders bourbon or something on tap.

Never the sauvignon blanc.

A man welcomes the coming of age. It frees him. It allows him to assume the upper hand and teaches him when to step aside.

Maybe he never has, and maybe he never will, but a man figures he can knock someone, somewhere, on his ass.

He does not rely on rationalizations or explanations. He doesn't winnow, winnow, winnow until truths can be humbly categorized, or intellectualized, until behavior can be written off with an explanation. He doesn't see himself lost in some great maw of humanity, some grand sweep. That's the liberal thread; it's why men won't line up as liberals.

A man gets the door. Without thinking.

He stops traffic when he must.

A man resists formulations, questions belief, embraces ambiguity without making a fetish out of it. A man revisits his beliefs. Continually. That's why men won't forever line up with conservatives, either.

A man knows his tools and how to use them — just the ones he needs. Knows which saw is for what, how to find the stud, when to use galvanized nails.

A miter saw, incidentally, is the kind that sits on a table, has a circular blade, and is used for cutting at precise angles. Very satisfying saw.

A man knows how to lose an afternoon. Drinking, playing Grand Theft Auto, driving aimlessly, shooting pool.

He knows how to lose a month, also.

A man listens, and that's how he argues. He crafts opinions. He can pound the table, take the floor. It's not that he must. It's that he can.

A man is comfortable being alone. Loves being alone, actually. He sleeps.

Or he stands watch. He interrupts trouble. This is the state policeman. This is the poet. Men, both of them.

A man loves driving alone most of all.

Style — a man has that. No matter how eccentric that style is, it is uncontrived. It's a set of rules.

He understands the basic mechanics of the planet. Or he can close one eye, look up at the sun, and tell you what time of day it is. Or where north is. He can tell you where you might find something to eat or where the fish run. He understands electricity or the internal-combustion engine, the mechanics of flight or how to figure a pitcher's ERA.

A man does not know everything. He doesn't try. He likes what other men know.

A man can tell you he was wrong. That he did wrong. That he planned to. He can tell you when he is lost. He can apologize, even if sometimes it's just to put an end to the bickering.

A man does not wither at the thought of dancing. But it is generally to be avoided.

A man watches. Sometimes he goes and sits at an auction knowing he won't spend a dime, witnessing the temptation and the maneuvering of others. Sometimes he stands on the street corner watching stuff. This is not about quietude so much as collection. It is not about meditation so much as considering. A man refracts his vision and gains acuity. This serves him in every way. No one taught him this — to be quiet, to cipher, to watch. In this way, in these moments, the man is like a zoo animal: both captive and free. You cannot take your eyes off a man when he is like that. You shouldn't. The hell if you know what he is thinking, who he is, or what he will do next

GLENZZ y ROURKE

Este ilustrador está cabronsísimo, véanlo.

Hoy voy a tratar de ver a)el luchador o b)slumdog millionaire. Alguien ya las vio?

Qué pedo con Mickey Rourke? De ser el galán más cotizado a tener la cara como la tiene? Dejemos las drogas y el pedo muchachos. Eso es lo que nos puede pasar.
Por cierto, hay un gran artículo de M.R. en la Esquire...esperen, a ver si lo encuentro en línea...aqui esta

Esta muy buena. Los dejo que me pongo a trabajar.

LOS 80AS

Muy bueno éste artículo de Esquire de cómo los 80as están volviendo. Habla de David Byrne, Blondie, Bryan Ferry, etc. De como Oasis no es más que "Journey meets the Beatles with a terrible hangover"

Les pongo un fragmento, y el link, por si quieren leerlo entero.


You knew that, sooner or later, there would be nostalgia for the jump-cut eighties, that moment when the REO Speedwagon slog of rock radio was eclipsed by a flock of the truly weird, many of them British and most extremely photogenic. These people didn't look like rock stars; they wore skinny ties and pointy shoes, did their hair all fluffy or spiky, played synthesizers as much as guitar. Championed by MTV, these voices of radical insurgency spread the frenetic aesthetic of the new wave from music video to prime-time TV, then to fashion, advertising, and filmmaking.

Now new wave and other bits of eighties culture are seeping slyly back into the public awareness, haunting the blanded-out boy-pop present with distant echoes of flamboyant otherness. There's evidence of it in the mullet cuts featured in those Gucci ads. In the return of Blondie and of the punk manqués on fashion runways. In peg-leg pants and glittery suits in bold colors. In the DJs embracing eighties sounds and using vintage gear to get them. In the resurgence of interest in painting and the prospecting going on in the contemporary-art market. In the worship of money and in the phrase "sudden-wealth syndrome."

Give thanks that the eighties haven't come back as a single Billy Idol sneer. Because what remains interesting about the period is its diversity: This moment in pop culture was category resistant and summary defying. The term "new wave" applied to Cyndi Lauper and Einstürzende Neubauten and Spandau Ballet, and as it went along, expressions from the threatening fringes--downtown jazz, graffiti art, lugubrious Goth balladry, hip-hop--found their way into the upheaval. It was the end of the reign of the three networks, the beginning of the splintering of the music-buying audience into highly specialized tribes whose vitality influenced the mainstream. Suddenly pop was poked and prodded by the overtly sexual (Prince, Madonna) and the archly intellectual (Talking Heads), artists who served as a counterbalance to the suffocating, inescapable bigness of Michael Jackson and Dynasty.

MICHAEL STIPE HAS GREAT HAIR

Ahora que viene de nuevo REM (creo que es el martes) y para que se preparen los afortunados que van a ir a verlo, les dejo aqui éste artículo de la revista Esquire.
Lo leí hace mucho, pero es muy bueno. Van a ver por todo lo que pasó Tom Junod a la hora de (tratar) entrevistarlo.