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Recibimos su llamada desesperada: María, por favor, somos dos gemelos vírgenes y acabamos de cumplir la mayoría de edad, a pesar de que lo intentamos las chicas no acaban de hacernos caso y menos para cumplir nuestra fantasía, desvirgarnos los dos a … Seguir leyendo →

Poor Ruffles was eventually driven to complete madness by this mystery.

By David Wong  Published: February 02nd, 2016 

This dude, yeah? He's you. He's adorable. And almost completely useless.

I'm about a third of the way into another playthrough of LucasArts' seminal The Secret of Monkey Island. I couldn't tell you how many times I've seen the game to its conclusion prior to now. It's in the tens, easily, which might not seem all that many given its age—it came out in 1990, and has been available ever since (I've owned it on Amiga, iOS, and now PlayStation 3)—but since the game plays essentially the same way, every time, its "replayability" is questionable by some standards. So, too, is its length—at around six hours, assuming you suss every puzzle without too much trouble. It's a game that's going to cause some gamers, and we've all met the type, to stink up the place up with their thoughts on its value, based on some fictional ratio between money spent and screen time.

Of course, you're allowed to think whatever you like about this game, or any others for that matter, regardless of what someone you've never met writes about it on the internet. But for me, The Secret of Monkey Island remains golden, a release that I can still look to and see everything I want in any video game. Here, let me explain, beginning with how long it takes to actually play.

IT'S THE PERFECT LENGTH

There comes a point in every self-identifying gamer's life when they catch sight of themselves in the mirror and see the hollowness of their eyes, the paleness of their skin, the cracks in their lips, and yellowing of their nails, and conclude: I need to spend less time playing these fucking things. Long-ass games are amazing when their worlds are constantly rewarding—Bloodborne, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, and Fallout 4 all qualify from 2015. But so many games get bloated through pointless distractions, needless collectibles; developers swell their products with acres of shit we just don't need. The Secret of Monkey Island doesn't do that. You'll finish it in a couple of evenings. Everything you pick up has a vital part to play in the game's progression. (OK, most things.) It's so perfectly streamlined, with every ounce of fat that'd get added to proceedings if it were made today left on the proverbial cutting room floor. What you're left with is a rubber chicken with a pulley in the middle. That's what you need to zip across a cable connecting the starting (chapter one) area of Mêlée Island to the small hideaway of Meathook, the Sea Monkey crew member in waiting. Obviously.

See, the chicken works

IT HAS BRILLIANT PUZZLES THAT MAKE NO SENSE, UNTIL THEY DO

Case in point: the rubber chicken. Monkey Island is full of stuff, stuff that you—as wannabe pirate Guybrush Threepwood, who I'll get onto in just a second—pick up and shove inside your blouson, a shirt with infinite pocket space. There's room enough in there for a shovel, a sword, a couple of cooking pots, a red herring (get it, you see, at the bridge, with the troll, a red herring?), a box of delicious cereal, umpteen bananas, a fantastic idol that could get you killed, if you're a fool (or simply want to see Guybrush dead), and so much more. Sometimes items need combining to solve a story-blocking puzzle, but once it all clicks in your head, the logic jumps up and down on the skull like a blood-lusting big cat on a children's inflatable castle: It's all you can see, terrifyingly apparent now you've noticed it. The route to finding the Treasure of Mêlée Island, using dance steps, is simply glorious game design. Look, you know how when you played Portal 2, and you got to a really tough room, but then you cracked it and wow, the rush, eh? The Secret of Monkey Island has that in spades. OK, so the solutions can be more oblique, cerebrally befuddling and occasionally adroitly testing (in as much as sometimes you need to move quickly through the menus, or risk losing your grog all down your trousers), but there's no doubting their genius.

WATCH VICE'S NEW FILM, THE REAL 'BETTER CALL SAUL'?

IT HAS GENUINELY FUNNY JOKES IN IT

Not one-liners, as such, although it features its share of running-gag quips that pop up across the series, and the odd gem of a pun: "LeChuck? He's the guy that went to the Governor's for dinner and never wanted to leave. He fell for her in a big way, but she told him to drop dead. So he did." But Monkey Island has a strong sense of physical comedy to it, and a certain pungent pithiness to its patter that relays the impression that its writers might have once watch a Curtis/Elton production. Or, in other words, it's got the same high-quality ensemble cast banter—Threepwood, Governor Elaine Marley, the villainous LeChuck, the castaway Toothrot—as made Blackadder (after series one) such a treat. And it smashes the fourth wall at its end to take the piss out of itself, and you, the player, for spending your money on it in the first place. Ah-haaar.

Your man Guybrush here, and a Moon approximately way too fucking big to not kill us all by raising sea levels across the world

IT HAS A RELATABLE PROTAGONIST

Guybrush Threepwood, our protagonist who begins with no goal greater than to become a mighty pirate, is almost utterly useless at everything. His one talent from the outset: an ability to hold his breath under water for ten minutes, which may come in handy later on—assuming you're not so immediately handy with that weighing-you-down idol. We can all relate; most of us are completely without skills. This is the 21st century—robots do most things for us. Have you filled up a car lately? You can pay at the pump. It's like somebody made the world of Minority Report a reality 50 years ahead of schedule. Ask an average man to start a fire in a forest using just stones and twigs and he'll burst into tears, try to call an Uber, fail, and die there on the spot, because what's the point of going on any longer if you can't even get a 4G signal. But Guybrush is a sweetheart, a pure soul, as simple as a blank sheet of A4 and every bit as beautiful. You want him to succeed. And he will. Eventually. Not that he needs to.

BECAUSE WHILE YOU DO SORT OF HAVE TO "RESCUE THE PRINCESS", SHE'S A TOTAL BADASS

Guybrush, aka sugar boots, falls for Elaine; and Elaine, aka honey pumpkin, for Guybrush. It should be straight back to her mansion after said dockside epiphany for slaps and tickles atop some waxy lips, but the game's antagonist LeChuck, a ghost pirate terrorizing the waters of this entirely fictional Caribbean setting, goes and kidnaps her. Threepwood snaps into action, getting a ship and a crew and sailing to her rescue. Except, she keeps on escaping. She's the most resourceful character in the whole game. While the situation for her appears desperate come a climactic wedding scene, she's got the whole situation under control. Which is more than can be said for Guybrush, who ultimately needs Elaine to save him from getting his ass handed to him right across Mêlée.

Elaine rules, and is the real "hero" of the game

THE WORLD FEELS REAL (IT'S NOT, BUT LOOK, YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN)

Obviously Monkey Island isn't an open-world game, but its locations all feel legit, like "real" places. The jigsaw pieces all come together properly. Mêlée is a believable, albeit fantastical, hideaway for pirates without guts enough to even stitch up a sail, let alone take a vessel out onto the open sea. Monkey Island itself is a tropical paradise overrun by imbeciles—a castaway with a thing for giant monkey heads, and a bunch of cannibals who'd rather watch their weight with a steady diet of nutritious fruit than dine on red human meat night after night. It all fits within the fiction. Fast travel would be nice, though, as rowing that boat is a pain in the dick.

PIRATES, OBVIOUSLY

I don't feel any need to expand on this point.

THE MUSIC IS GORGEOUS

There are moments in modern open-world games when a crescendo rises in time with your ascent of some incredible peak and you're just yes, you know, video games. Monkey Island's not like that, but the music (oh, shit, here's a cliché, strap in) is just as much a part of its character as any of its central players, amazing places, or perplexing puzzles (think I got away with it). Composer Michael Land didn't exactly get along with the tech he had to work with, unsurprising given this game dates from the Iron Age of the industry. But his arrangements, ultimately made using a bespoke music system called iMUSE, absolutely capture a Caribbean that wouldn't feel out of place in a Saturday morning cartoon. And they're wonderful today, immediately evocative of the horizons they were designed to accompany—unless, that is, you've the misfortune to stumble across some no-name dance producer's absolute butchering of its main theme.

Probably the least-threatening cannibals ever encountered in video gaming

IT'S A GAME THAT ANYONE CAN PLAY, LIKE, ANYONE, EVEN YOUR MoM WHO HATES THESE BLEEPING, BUZZING THINGS

No fiddly controls. No cursing, no violence. (Well, sort of, you know, I'll get to that, hold on). You can't die. (OK, you can. But you really have to be committed to it, or distracted by a leaking tap, or champion-gobshite Jehovah's Witnesses at your door.) That makes the game sound completely challenge free. And in terms of contemporary obstacles, it is: You need not learn crazy button combinations, or muck about with dialogue wheels while a timer shrinks, or make any decisions that will lead to the demise of an ally. It plays at the pace you want it to—save for the grog-in-the-lock bit, and the point-the-cannon-at-the-island part, and probably a couple of others I've forgotten about. But if they're proving tricky, call a mate over who's handy with the quick reactions. For the most part, it is a game that anyone, whatever their age or previous experience with the medium, can play, and, more importantly, enjoy.

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IT INTRODUCED A GENUINELY NEW COMBAT MECHANIC TO VIDEO GAMES

With its own form of grinding, too, as you couldn't just crash into insult sword fighting while green around the gills. You needed to walk the mean paths of Mêlée, stopping swashbuckling sorts and challenging them to a trade-off of pun-tickled put-downs. Losing is necessary to learn enough comebacks to go up against the island's legendary Sword Master, Carla—the second main female character in the game, and another who's way tougher than any of its dudes. Best her and she'll join your crew on the voyage to rescue Elaine—who, as we've established, really doesn't need any help. Insult sword fighting was removed for Monkey Island's sequel, LeChuck's Revenge, but reinstated for the third game in the series, The Curse of Monkey Island. Because it's great, and while LeChuck's Revenge is arguably better than its predecessor, the lack of witty ripostes while engaged in blade-clashing combat inarguably made it less memorable.

IT'S AVAILABLE AS A REMASTER THAT DOESN'T SHIT ALL OVER THE ORIGINAL VERSION

Play the game's special edition, as I am right now on PS3, and with a simple tap of the select button, the screen shifts back to the visuals I remember from the Amiga. So even if you hate the voice acting and "improved" visuals of the 20th anniversary revision, the original game's still in there, just beneath the hood. Still funnier than a game you've played a dozen times has any right to be. Still the right side of frustrating. Still fantastic, whatever other options argue their cases from the growing pile of shame. I'll probably still be playing it another 20 years from now, assuming the rising tides haven't done us all in by then.

Follow Mike on Twitter.

More from VICE Gaming:

Tim Schafer Discusses the Classic Video Games, 'Grim Fandango' and 'Monkey Island'

'Metal Gear Solid 3', I Love You With All My Heart

I've Known 'The Secret of Monkey Island' for 25 Years and I'm Still In Love

An artist's impression of BO that smells like weed. Background photo by Nathan Mac via Flickr

The first time I noticed my BO smelled like weed, I'd just had sex with my girlfriend at the time. She nudged her nose affectionately into my chest. "Hey, you smell like skunk," she said. I sniffed my underarms—she was right, I did.

Turns out I'm not the only one to have experienced skunky sweat. A Google search revealed several discussions and a Reddit thread where others talked about the phenomenon. Like me, most were baffled. "I smelt my armpit after working out," Reddit user RIP_MAC_DRE told me. "I had been smoking for maybe two or three years at this point and noticed it smelled like weed; I thought it was pretty funny."

I stayed up all night trawling the internet for answers. But my search brought up little more than the "top answer" on Yahoo Answers, which was just a description of how to wash. Undeterred, and with nothing better to do, I sought out some of the world's most eminent biologists and cannabis experts and distracted them from far worthier business in order to discover, once and for all, why my BO sometimes smells like weed.

In an original piece of research for VICE, Dr. Matan Shelomi, a researcher at Germany's Max Planck Institute for Chemical Ecology, compared studies that broke down cannabis and human sweat into individual chemicals to see if there were any shared compounds. Out of 233 elements and compounds found in marijuana and nearly 100 in human sweat, 11 matched.

"It looks like several of the compounds most strongly associated with the distinct aroma of Mary Jane are also found in gym socks," Shelomi told me. "Now all we need are a statistically significant number of sensimilla-scented volunteers and an olfactometry lab that's totally down for whatever."

Scientific breakthroughs started coming thick and fast. It wasn't long before Dr. Shelomi realized the cannabis smell probably comes from apocrine sweat as opposed to eccrine sweat. Eccrine sweat is clear and watery, and used to cool the body down, while apocrine sweat glands, clumped mainly around the armpits and genitals, activate during sex and times of stress.

"I remember walking into a class before giving a presentation and noticing it," Trent, from Kansas, told me. "Eventually, I figured out that my armpit sweat only smells like weed during or before a stressful situation."

Dr. Shelomi used this as the basis for a potential hypothesis. "If experience holds true for others, then we can narrow down the source of the pot odor to apocrine secretions."

Another hypothesis, suggested by Dr. Justin Fischedick, a researcher at the Institute of Biological Chemistry at Washington State University, is that aromatic plant chemicals known as terpenoids and terpenes ("terps," for short) are present in the sweat. Plants release terps from their leaves and flowers in order to attract pollinators and repel munching insects. "It seems like people who work out are noticing it quite a bit," Dr. Fischedick told me. "Since are fat soluble compounds like THC they might be stored in fat cells and get excreted during exercise."

That covers people who still consume cannabis, but I haven't smoked any weed in years. Perhaps it's because, when I was young, I got through enough of it on a daily basis to permanently alter my body odor. "It wouldn't surprise me if heavy weed intake could alter your smell," Dr. Shelomi told me. "Others online also report having stopped smoking but still reeking of it."

I didn't want to second-guess an expert, but this just seemed impossible to me. The smell, I figured, is more likely caused by dietary plants that share the same terps as cannabis—an idea mooted in the Reddit discussion. "There can be some similarities between the smells," wrote user LarsHoneytoast. "I think weed, BO, and the lettuce at Subway are all in the same realm of scents."

Read on Broadly: Sticking Weed in Your Vagina Can Help Your Period Cramps

I needed to confirm this hypothesis, ideally with the help of someone who isn't named after a breakfast dish. "The smell of cannabis is produced by its terpenes," Dr. Franjo Grotenhermen, the executive director of the International Association for Cannabinoid Medicines, told me. "The consumption of other plants with the same terpenes may result in a similar smell."

Thanks to weed enthusiasts constantly breeding new strains, there are now a host of cannabis varieties that share terps with many other plants; famous strains like Blueberry Cheesecake and Orange Bud are two notable examples. So there are plenty of plants out there that could make sweat smell like skunk.

But if cannabis-smelling terps are so common, why don't more people smell like London's Hyde Park on 4/20? Well, BO is not just caused by terps, but also by skin-dwelling bacteria that break down sweat molecules into smaller, volatile compounds that evaporate into smells. Apocrine sweat is also a cocktail of minerals, pheromones, and urea. It seems the skunky smell is down to a particular combination of these composites, making it unusual but not outlandish.

There could be many more people out there who have the right combination of factors to produce the chronic whiff, even if they don't smoke weed. Naturally, they wouldn't notice because they've never smoked marijuana and so wouldn't know what to sniff for. Or maybe they know what it smells like but just don't care enough to spend all night on Google, before bothering multiple scientists about it.

All that can be done for now is to trot out the old scientific banality that "more research needs to be done." But at least Dr. Fischedick is up for it. "The only way to find out for sure would be to ask volunteers to smoke a bunch of dank, work out, collect some sweat, and measure it in machines," he told me.

Anyone interested?

Follow Nathan Thompson on Twitter.

 
Los libros "A Través del Tiempo" proporcionan a los niños una amplia introducción a la vida del pasado. Tratan principalmente de los aspectos más interesantes de la vida cotidiana: viajes, festines y batallas. 

Están diseñados para mostrar que la vida cambia y es influida por hechos históricos.

Contenido:

• A través del tiempo - Faraones y pirámides
• A través del tiempo - Roma y los Romanos
• A través del tiempo - Los Vikingos
• A través del tiempo - Caballeros y castillos

Idioma: Español.
Editorial: Plesa
Año: 1977
Guion: Varios
Dibujo: Varios
Tradumaquetadores: NoRe37 & CapitánJ & Ner0 [CRG]
Archivos: 4   
Formato: CBR   
Tamaño: 112 Mb
 


Descarga:

• A Través del Tiempo

Tres obras ya publicadas en castellano han sido galardonadas en el Festival de Angouleme de 2016:

My friends are always recommending diets to me, and I never used to listen. But after realizing how sluggish I felt all the time, I finally gave in and went on one of those “eat-clean” diets. Ever since, I’ve woken up earlier, done more each day, and unintentionally sent my co-worker Sharon to the ER! I even ran a 5K! Yeah, that’s right: couch potato me, running a 5K! I have more energy than ever before, and if I can do it, so can you!!!

 

That is, of course, unless you’re Sharon, because you’re in a medically induced coma. I’m so sorry for hitting you with my car, Sharon!!!

 

There’s so much out there about the dangers of sugar and the effects that eating poorly can have on your body over time. Finally, I listened. Now my diet consists mostly of vegetables, fruits, lean protein, and nuts—no added sugar allowed. It was hard at first, but I’ve actually come to prefer it. After being off sugar for two months, there’s just nothing like the taste of an in-season pineapple! It’s mind-blowing! I keep trying to bring some to Sharon in the hospital, but her family says she’s not ready to see me.

 

 

I feel terrible for Sharon, but I’ve also never felt better!

 

Before I started dieting, I was always tired. I never wanted to go to the gym and when I did, my workouts were short and low-intensity. But now, I go to the gym every day and have more energy than I ever thought possible! Which is probably why I flew into the parking lot on Tuesday and didn’t notice Sharon walking into the building. She hit my windshield and rolled off onto the pavement. Someone else screamed and called an ambulance.

 

I just feel bad that there are people out there who are still eating complex carbs! I feel amazing!!!!!

 

My diet has gotten amazing reviews from my friends and family who are not Sharon:

 

“ How could you do this, you monster?!?” –My coworker Sam. But the joke’s on her: I no longer need to drink two cans of Monster Energy to perk up after lunch! My energy comes from my diet! Food is medicine!

 

“You did what with your car?? Are you on drugs???” –My mother, amazed that eating clean and working out gives me great results without having to take any additional supplements. This isn’t like that time in high school when I took caffeine pills to lose weight for cheerleading tryouts—this is real, sustainable nutrition!!!

 

 

“She looks good!” –Kevin from marketing. Thank you, Kevin!!! But it’s not about aesthetics; it’s about health!!!

 

Sharon, if you’ve woken up from your coma, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry that my new and improved lifestyle led to your potential demise (fingers crossed, though!). If you do wake up, you’ll see that I left you something on your bedside table. It’s a meal plan for getting started on your own clean-eating regimen. Because everyone deserves to feel this alive!!! I really hope you pull through!!!!

 

Good luck to those of you embarking on your own clean-eating diet—I just know you’ll love it. I haven’t slept in nine days!!!! (Sharon’s been unconscious for nine days, but hey, you can’t win ‘em all.)

Y además que París es una ciudad bastante triste, desde hace meses lo es.

Esta tarde estaba en la estación St Lazare y había dos desconocidos tocando a dúo en el piano disponible versiones lentas de canciones pop. Tocaban I Will Survive muy serios, y toda la gente que se paraba alrededor miraba con la cara casi compungida, de estar a punto de romper a llorar, aunque se acercaban de vez en cuando a presionar el botón de “Algunas notas musicales en la estación me ayudan a animarme” que hay junto al instrumento. Detrás había un hombre muy delgado completamente encajado entre dos pantallas publicitarias de altísima definición y una pared, que con una cerveza en la mano y escupiendo gritaba cosas que no entendía mientras nos señalaba. Pasaron ante él tres militares armados e hizo gestos como indicando que a él no le pasaba nada y que estuviesen tranquilos. Los militares se rieron de él y siguieron.

Poco después ya no quise intentar aguantarlo y me acerqué llorando al andén. Apenas importa porque toda la gente que estaba parada junto al piano podría también hacerlo. 

Hay algo más al margen de las sucesivas muertes o intentos de ataques al azar a gente que estaba haciendo lo que todos hacemos; y es que la mayor parte de nosotros estamos aquí porque evitamos estar en algún otro sitio. Y es como si ahora, por audaces, fuésemos a tener que ser los primeros en ver cómo se cae todo lo que pensamos que nos sostendría. Empecé a asumir hace meses que con todos los que elegimos irnos lejos de nuestro origen pasa alguna cosa. Por eso también me pregunto qué es eso tan horrible de lo que huyo como para ser capaz de considerar mi casa sitios como estos. Todas las ciudades grandes son un sumidero. Están más habitadas por negaciones y voluntades negativas que por verdaderos propósitos. Y eso no es en absoluto triste. Lo triste es que estábamos seguros de que podríamos encontrar paz en algo que ya ha dejado de existir. No puede haber algo mucho peor, para un occidental desarraigado, que la propia desaparición de occidente.

Para acompañar la lectura del artículo, nuestra lista en Spotify:

Binnie Willie Mae Thornton (Alabama, 1926), más conocida como Big Mama, ladeaba la cara y la boca al cantar como un lobo que desgarra con los colmillos la carne de su presa. Estiraba las palabras hasta arrancarlas de cuajo y engullirlas. Big Mama no componía, improvisaba. Por eso, sus letras, sexualmente explícitas, abrasaban como si acabara de retirarlas del fuego —«Me llaman Big Mama porque peso ciento cuarenta kilos, los puedo mover y los puedo menear, y puedo darte lo tuyo, alegrarte por la mañana si me llevas a casa contigo», recitaba en «They Call Me Big Mama»—. Ahora se la considera una de las grandes figuras del blues y la sitúan a la altura de la también cantante americana Bessie Smith, aunque jamás llegó a alcanzar la fama de esta. Murió de un ataque al corazón, sola, arruinada y borracha, en su apartamento de Los Ángeles en 1984. No sin antes dejar uno de los legados más importantes para la historia de la música: «Hound Dog», escrita para ella en 1953, y que cantaría Elvis Presley en 1956 con las piernas sueltas como dos cordones desatados de una zapatilla, y «Ball and Chain» (1967), el tema que Janis Joplin versionó y que la encumbró como artista.

La sociedad americana que la vio nacer estaba marcada por una fuerte depresión económica y por el racismo —el Ku Klux Klan era especialmente poderoso en esta época—. Thornton vino al mundo en la pequeña localidad de Ariton, aunque años más tarde diría que fue en Montgomery, un lugar más conocido para aquellos que no eran de Alabama. El sur de Estados Unidos de aquel momento era rural, sucio y mísero. Así lo describía el periodista James Agee en Elogiemos ahora a hombres famosos (1941), el relato de las vidas de tres familias de campesinos blancos pobres de una aldea de Alabama en los años treinta. La voz de Big Mama no desentonaba con aquella comunidad en la que creció, era áspera como un estropajo de aluminio: «Demasiado para la gente del norte», decía Bessie Smith. Además de ruda y obesa, su piel era «de aquel negro de hollín que ninguna luz puede hacer brillar», como retrataba Agee a los campesinos negros en su libro, «y con el que los dientes son azules y los globos de los ojos dorados».

Hasta 1920, América reservaba el mercado de la música para hombres blancos. Al comienzo de esa década irrumpen en la escena musical mujeres negras como Mamie Smith, la primera afroamericana que grabó un disco, o Ethel Waters, autora de la célebre «Am I Blue?». Por aquel entonces nacía una niña, la sexta criatura de un matrimonio formado por un pastor baptista, George W. Thornton, y una ama de casa, Mattie Haynes. Desde que apenas tenía cuatro o cinco años, Big Mama acostumbraba a cantar en el coro de la iglesia, como hacía su madre. Se desarrolló muy pronto, era alta y grandota, una mujerona, lo que en el colegio le valió el sobrenombre con el que todavía hoy se la conoce. Pronto tuvo que dejar los estudios, su madre enfermó y tuvo que hacerse cargo de ella. Sin embargo, eso no le impidió seguir con su formación musical autodidacta: a los ocho años ya sabía tocar la armónica con tan solo haber observado a su hermano mayor, Harp Thornton. En el libro Big Mama Thornton. The Life and Music, el autor, Michael Spörke, matiza este hecho: «No es que su hermano la enseñase, ella usaba las armónicas viejas que él tiraba a la basura». Más tarde aprendería a tocar la batería también por su cuenta. El volumen II de Notable Black American Women, editado por Jessie Carney Smith, recoge una declaración que prueba ese espíritu do it yourself de la artista: «Lo que canto procede de mi propia experiencia, de mis sentimientos».

Solía vestir con ropa de caballero, así que el rumor de que era lesbiana pronto se extendió, y es un tema recurrente cuando algún escritor intenta trazar la personalidad de Big Mama. No obstante, no hay ninguna evidencia que pruebe esta afirmación, como señala Michael Spörke en su libro. El músico y productor Johnny Otis decía que nunca supo nada de la sexualidad de la cantante pero que tampoco le importaba. «Lo que haces en la cama, seas homosexual o no, no es el maldito asunto de nadie. Todo lo que puedo decir sobre ella es que era una persona buena e inteligente. Personalmente, nunca la vi con ningún hombre, pero tampoco la vi con ninguna mujer». No había afrenta de la que Thornton no supiese defenderse: «No salgo al escenario tratando de parecer guapa. Nací guapa. Simplemente salgo ahí y actúo. Salgo ahí, suelto un par de bromas, canto mi canción y a la gente le encanta. Por eso están celosos de mí, porque la gente me da el reconocimiento que ellos no tuvieron, porque soy única». Big Mama siempre mantuvo que los hombres la envidiaban porque ella tenía éxito en un negocio profundamente masculino. Les molestaba que una mujer negra, gorda, marimacho y sin estudios alcanzase en el escenario la gloria con la que ellos soñaban. Su vida siempre estuvo rodeada de rumores. De ella se decía que disparó a un hombre y que llegó a bailar desnuda para ganarse la vida. «Nada de esto es cierto, pero encaja con el retrato de mujer borracha, impredecible y a veces peligrosa que se quiere transmitir sobre ella», señala Michael Spöker.

Cuando la madre de Big Mama murió de tuberculosis ella abandonó el hogar. Tenía catorce años, así que se fue a vivir con unos parientes cercanos. Encontró un trabajo en una taberna limpiando escupideras, y fue allí donde comenzó todo: una noche, el cantante habitual estaba demasiado borracho como para poder actuar, así que Thornton convenció al jefe de que ella podía sustituirle. Lo siguiente fue conocer al grupo itinerante Hot Harlem Revue, con el que actuó por primera vez en la comedia Snake Anthony, en el teatro Pekin (Montgomery, Alabama). En 1948, Big Mama deja el Hot Harlem y sigue actuando por su cuenta en algunos shows de Houston. No es hasta cuatro años después cuando conoce al influyente Johnny Otis. Grabaron singles juntos y Thornton se fue de gira con la banda del músico. Si bien no sería exacto decir que él la descubrió —ella ya tenía cierto recorrido dentro del blues—, sí consiguió sacarle brillo. Además, fue quien descubrió la habilidad de Big Mama para tocar la armónica. En The Life and Music, Spöker recoge un fragmento de una entrevista de Thornton en The New York Times en la que ella explica que una noche cualquiera, después de meses actuando juntos, se le ocurrió soplar el instrumento. «Se quedó impactado. “¿Por qué no me dijiste que podías tocar esa cosa?”. Le dije: “Bueno, no me preguntaste. Todo lo que quieres de mí es que esté de pie y cante”».

Su excelso manejo de la armónica la sitúa a la altura de las pocas pero destacadas mujeres que hicieron lo propio: Annie Raines, Cheryl Arena o Big Nancy. Sus pulmones exuberantes insuflaban vida al instrumento, recordando al lamento rítmico de las work songs de los esclavos negros. Dice Christian Val en un texto para el blog Ruta norteamericana que «la armónica es capaz de llorar». Su idioma se torna universal: cuando Big Mama sopla le sobran las palabras para transmitir un sonido que invita a menear las caderas y a caminar con los pies hacia la pena.

En agosto de 1952, Big Mama graba «Hound Dog» junto a la banda de Otis bajo el sello Peacock Records, un tema escrito por Jerry Leiber y Mike Stoller y uno de los mayores éxitos de Elvis Presley. En el artículo «The Elvic Oracle» (The New Yorker), el autor señala que el dúo compuso la canción en apenas quince minutos. «Este par de críos la tenían escrita en una bolsa de papel marrón. Empecé a cantarla y cambié algunas palabras por otras mías», comentó Thornton al respecto. En 1955 se une a la banda de Bill Harvey y ahí comienza el declive. No es hasta los sesenta cuando su voz empieza a brotar de nuevo, pero hasta que fallece su carrera es absolutamente inestable. Solo una fecha recuerda lo cerca que Big Mama estuvo de ser tan importante como Bessie Smith: «Ball and Chain», uno de los hits que Janis Joplin versionó en 1969. «Espero que haya alguien ahí afuera que pueda decirme por qué el hombre al que amo quiere dejarme con tanto dolor», cantaban ambas mujeres. La frustración de necesitar a quien ya se ha marchado es una constante en su discografía. Thornton es como una plañidera que llora en nombre de todas las mujeres que tienen algo que reprocharle a sus hombres.

Poderosa y fascinante, la música de Big Mama es nigromancia, un embrujo capaz de rebozarte por la herrumbre de la soledad y lanzarte minutos después a una especie de regazo materno donde alcanzar el consuelo. Solo necesitas un par de canciones. «Nightmare» te sumerge en la podredumbre al entonar «my whole life is filled with darkness, all I do is cry, I wanna die» —«mi vida entera está llena de oscuridad, todo lo que hago es llorar, quiero morir»—, y «Everything Gonna Be Alright» te rescata de ella como si se arrepintiese: «You know our love will never ever die, everything gonna be alright» —«tú sabes que nuestro amor nunca jamás morirá, todo va a ir bien»—. Es capaz de hacer que se te empalme el corazón y dejarte con las ganas.

Para someterse a sus arpegios y a sus gemidos hay que asumir las consecuencias: uno no debe acudir en busca de Big Mama para recobrar el aliento, no es la copa de whisky en la barra de un bar a las afueras de la ciudad; su efecto es más sutil y menos inmediato. Sus letras inoculan poco a poco una melancolía flemática que te impulsa a caer con gracia por el precipicio. «Voy a joderme el día, por qué no». Con voluntad y alevosía.

En una entrevista recogida en el libro Notable Black American Women, Big Mama reconocía que la gente no notaba que a menudo estaba triste: «Siempre tenía una sonrisa en la cara», añadía. «Laugh when trouble’s around you, laugh when you feelin’ blue» —«ríete cuando los problemas te rodeen, ríete cuando te sientas triste»—, entonaba Thornton desafiante y rebelde en «Laugh, Laugh, Laugh». Los vivos rendimos pleitesía a los muertos: obedezcan a su música, hagan lo que Big Mama dice. Si al mundo llegamos llorando, qué menos que salir de él por la puerta trasera y riendo.

La entrada Haz lo que Big Mama dice aparece primero en Jot Down Cultural Magazine.

Forty years of the Ramones 'They were the smartest dumb band you ever heard': Bands from the Sex Pistols to Blondie to Talking Heads recall the Bowery punks' explosive impact

El grupo de Pablo Carbonell, Many Moure, Guillermo Piccolini y compañía siempre ha funcionado igual o mejor en estudio que en directo.

history of japan in 9 minutes by bill wurtz

In the reception of an office outside downtown Los Angeles, a woman-like figure sits at an old desktop computer; her desk is next to a shelf stuffed with wigs and statues of butts. Although, at first glance, she might pass for a human, she's actually a manikin (a.k.a. a sex doll) placed at the entrance of Sintheticsthe company behind last summer's viral sex toy sensation "the Vajankle."

"It's an awful expensive thing to fuck," says Bronwen Keller, the owner of Sinthetics.

Photos by Amy Lombard

After working for Sinthetics for a few years, Bronwen and her husband, Matt, bought the company last year. They look like a perfect match. When I arrive at the office, they're both drinking Arizona iced teas and eating subs. Matt wears cargo shorts. He styles his thinning hair in a Mohawk, and Bronwen has a string of glitter sewn into hers.

Sinthetics is perhaps best known for the Vajanklea silicone foot with a vagina built into the ankleso Bronwen shows me one signed by Ron Jeremy. The story behind the surprise viral hit is fairly straightforward, she tells me: After a customer requested an ankle to fuck, Sinthetics produced a few Vajankles. According to Bronwen, a Redditor posted about the object, creating a viral avalanche.

In 2016, Sinthetics wants to further revolutionize sex with manikins marketed towards women. The Kellers first started designing male manikins for gay customers, according to Bronwen. "The gay market felt underrepresented," she explains. Then a woman purchased a doll, and Sinthetics decided to produce silicone men specifically for women. Now they'll see if women can surpass the stigmas surrounding sex dolls. They see the risk as worth it. But they're also creating the manikins for more personal reasons: "This is a passion project," Bronwen says.

Matt designs each manikin based on clients' custom orders. Like most people in sex industries, Matt did not originally intend to go into this specific career path. He went to school for industrial design. For nearly a decade, he worked in the "Halloween industry," designing life-size scary decorations, which he loved doing. "We started out high-end," Matt explains. Then, according to him, his employer began outsourcing to China and selling to Wal-Mart. Matt's handmade art had been turned into mass-produced pieces of shit, so he quit.

A friend recommended him to a sex doll company. He took the job and fell in love with making high quality, build-to-order statues for clients to love and fuck. "We've had clients who have said it has saved their lives," Matt says. One time, he says, a client had received a terminal diagnosis for an illness and bought a doll for his last few months of life. Ten years later, he's still alive. "He's bought another doll and plans to be buried with both," Matt says. "Sometimes ... Nobody is gonna call her girlfriend and ask her to help her move a doll."

Although many see the products developed by Sinthetics and other similar companies as creepy sex dolls for bald fat men to fuck, Matt and Bronwen insist that people actually build relationships with the objects. In their marketing, Sinthetics has started calling their products "manikins" instead of sex dolls in order to combat the negative image.

Matt says he's unsure if women will buy the dolls like gay and straight men do, but the companies' previous risks have paid off in dividends: Matt never expected Vajankles to become a big seller, for example. In their office, I see container after container filled with penises that can be attached to manikins.

"We sell a lot of dicks," Bronwen says.

The dicks come in different sizes and finishes. Holding up a bag of huge penises, Bronwen says one dick is modeled after Matt's cock, but she won't tell me which one.

"For realism," Matt says, he creates balls to go inside the ball sack, so customers can squeeze the testes. He still hasn't figured out how to create realistic foreskin that slides up and down the shaft, but he notes that penises have always been difficult to create. When Matt makes a penis mold, he needs his model to keep an erection for nearly an hour. This is already nearly impossible, but when you throw in that the silicone is cold and the room is hot, it takes an Olympian to keep a boner that long.

Like a Greek artist, Matt works long hours in a separate all-white room airbrushing male dolls for female clients. To give the men a "rugged" look, he says he needs to paint multiple layers on the manikins. On the weekends, a girl spends hours hand-sewing body hair into the dolls. Thanks to men's hairy bodies, the male dolls have proved more complicated than female manikins built for men.

Matt has broken the creation process down to a science, though, so his three employees can help expedite production of the silicone statues, which can take up to six months. Bronwen sees the time it takes to make the manikins as proof of their superior product. "A lot of the mid-range manufacturers think they're high end, which is cute because they're not," Bronwen says. Matt agrees.

"They're manufactures," he says. "We are artists."

Americans spent more last year on legal marijuana than they did on Cheetos, Doritos and Funyuns combined. The Denver Post reports that the $5.4 billion total includes medical and recreational sales.

But as they also note, plenty of challenges to the industry remain. First and foremost is the vast and growing disconnect between federal policy, under which marijuana is 100 percent illegal, and laws in the states that have legalized it. Because of federal restrictions, marijuana businesses don't have access to banks. They can't take advantage of the tax breaks other industries enjoy. The threat of raids by overzealous drug cops is present, despite congressional efforts to curtail these actions.

En el año 2010, por primera vez en la historia de España, el número de matrimonios civiles superó al matrimonio católico, una tendencia que continúa a día de hoy. El Instituto Nacional de Estadística (INE) registró en el año 2000 lacifra más alta de matrimonios católicos, siendo alrededor de 160.000 los que se celebraron ante el altar. Diez años más […]

The post El matrimonio civil perpetúa su liderazgo frente al católico appeared first on Infovaticana | Religión y persona.

Punks ridículos, monjas con armas, desnudos injustificados, motos, punk mexicano, Mad Max Clase B, violencia y más punks ridículos



DESCARGA AQUI

Muestra la historia de la fuga de la cárcel de una pandilla "punk" comandada por Tarzán (un luchador pasado de anabolizantes), quienes se vengan del policía quien los encarceló matando y violando a toda su familía, este a su vez se vengará de los punks



DESCARGA AQUI

Muchas veces uno necesita huevo duro para preparar unas improvisadas empanadillas, la siempre apetecible ensaladilla, o como guarnición para un salmorejo o una sencilla sopa, y no necesitamos que el huevo mantenga su forma ovalada, es decir, lo vamos a presentar picado. Pues bien, con la ayuda del microondas y de un par de cacharrillos, podremos preparar un huevo duro excepcional aplicando solo unos segundos de calor y una pequeña técnica de cocción. Muchos dirán que aprender una nueva técnica de cocción del huevo no merece la pena porque en un cazo se pone el huevo a cocer desde frío, y se apaga dejando enfriar 20 minutos y ya está cocido. Cierto, pero es que de esta forma se consigue algo delicioso y rápido, una textura que a mí particularmente me vuelve loco, la textura semicuajada y nacarada de la yema, justo en ese punto que se empieza a cocinar, algo similar a la textura que se consigue cocinando los huevos a baja temperatura o esa textura que se aplica a los huevos en las sopas orientales. Además también se consigue una clara cocida más gustosa e hidratada, una verdadera delicia.


No obstante, también os vamos a enseñar cómo cocer el huevo también obteniendo la textura tradicional harinosa, lógicamente será más rápido e inmediato, y con las garantías de estar perfectamente cocinado. Os insistimos que al final lo que conseguimos en ambos casos es un huevo duro que tiene muchas aplicaciones, sobre todo cuando improvisemos, siempre y cuando se sirva picado o cortado en tiras alargadas para poder acompañar muchos de nuestros platos.

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Great collection compiled by Bruno Blum.Bruno Blum, himself part of the Punk movement in London in the late Seventies, here returns to the original forms of subversion contained in Rock.

El entroido Ribeirao, como se conoce a este ancestral carnaval, se celebra en las montañas de Lugo, en Santiago de Arriba. Fue prohibido durante la guerra civil bajo pena de multa. Los más viejos cuentan que pese a la prohibición los hombres salían por el pueblo desafiando a las autoridades. El cura, por aquel entonces, se encargaba de avisar a la policía y cuando llegaban estos la gente corría a sus casas.

Todo gira entorno al fin del invierno y la crítica a los señores feudales. Los "maragatos", hombres vestidos con pieles de animales escenifican en tono satírico los problemas de la sociedad y custodian a la primavera.

Hoy, se celebra en una plaza de tierra en lo alto del pueblo, rodeada de berzas y patatas. "Volantes", "puchos" y "maragatos" atraviesan los campos mojados y saltan encima de las legumbres, aunque el recorrido ha cambiado un poco, ya que un vecino con mala hostia se niega a que pisen su terreno.

A video posted by FOR PUPPY & DOG LOVERS (@pupflix) on Jan 17, 2016 at 3:17pm PST

It's still January and you are about to take your full annual capacity of cuteness. Enjoy this video of newborn puppies and a baby napping together. Just be aware that it will not be safe to watch anything else that is cute because this video alone is nearly a lethal dose.

-via Gifsboom

Pocos ingredientes han conseguido tanta fama mundial como los nachos. Es curioso, pues su nombre original es totopos y son fundamentales en la cocina de México, tanto es así que forma parte de las mejores recetas mexicanas que os ofrecemos en DAP, pero su juego va mucho más allá del país centroamericano.

Lo más normal es que servir los nachos con queso y pico de gallo, una preparación muy tex-mex que ha causado furor, pero si hablamos puramente de nachos o de totopos la realidad es que son unos triángulos de trozos de tortilla de maíz que se fríen hasta que quedan bien crujientes, sí las mismas que usaríamos para hacer tacos, quesadillas, fajitas o chilaquiles.

No tienen ningún misterio y apenas necesitan levado, así que con dejarlos un rato en la nevera antes de cortarlos y freírlos será suficiente. También podéis amasarlos en la Thermomix y ahorraros parte del trabajo y, si queréis que sean más ligeros, podéis hacerlos al horno en vez de fritos.

Con qué acompañar los totopos o nachos mexicanos

Servir los totopos o nachos mexicanos con guacamole o con pico de gallo, aunque pueden prepararse de muchas formas, por ejemplo con queso fundido o carne picada aromatizada con especias. Os aseguro que vale la pena prepararlos, aunque las masas fritas no son lo mío estoy segura de que a partir de ahora los prepararé siempre.

En Directo al Paladar | Cómo hacer guacamole en casa, la receta más sencilla y auténtica
En Directo al Paladar | Nachos con carne

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La noticia Cómo hacer totopos o nachos caseros: receta mexicana fácil fue publicada originalmente en Directo al Paladar por Maria Jose .

ENFP: Believe in them

ENFPs set their sights high and their ambitions strong. This type is constantly being told by others to ‘be realistic,’ but it’s their unrealistic nature that helps them accomplish so many incredible feats in life. To be a good friend to an ENFP, make them feel as though you truly believe in their wildest ambitions and dreams. Emotional support is infinitely more important to this type than practical or instrumental support.

INFP: Support them emotionally

INFPs experience incredibly deep, complex emotions – but they’re hesitant to reveal them to others. To be a good friend to an INFP, make them feel as though they can open up and share their inner world with you without judgment. This type needs to know that their friends will be there to support and advocate for them come hell or high water – because that’s exactly what they’ll do for their friends and loved ones. Also see ISFP.

INFJ: Take the time to understand how they think

INFJs are truly unique thinkers who often experience a disconnect between the way they process the world and the way those around them all seem to. To be a good friend to an INFJ, take the time to intimately understand the way they perceive the world around them, and to respect their intellectual strengths. This type is used to being misrepresented and misunderstood by others, so having a close friend who truly understands their thought processes is an invaluable gift.

ENFJ: Accept and reciprocate their support

ENFJs live to provide support and guidance to their loved ones – which means that allowing this type to support YOU is actually what it means to be a good friend to them.

That being said, ENFJs loathe asking for help or admitting when they’re struggling, because they don’t want to burden their loved ones. Letting them know that you’re someone they can rant to or ask for support from when they need it is invaluable to this type. More often than not, they just need someone who will listen to and help them work through their problems without judgment.

INTJ: Be genuine and proactive about maintaining communication

Everything an INTJ does is deliberate, including their approach to friendship. This type takes specific measures to ensure that they are upholding their end of a given relationship and they expect the same in return. Flaking, blowing off or being disingenuous towards an INTJ is a quick way to kick yourself out of their good books. This type wants consistency, understanding and depth from their friendships, which means they need to know what they can expect from the people they invest in. Also see ISTJ.

ENTJ: Support and respect their long-term visions

ENTJs are the ultimate planners: they schedule everything from what they’re going to eat for lunch to where they’d like to be in ten years. And they need to maintain this consistency within their friendships and relationships. To be a good friend to an ENTJ, respect their need to stay on schedule, and support and indulge their long-term visions. In a world full of people urging each other to stay focused on the present, ENTJs need friends who understand their need to think ahead. Also see ESTJ.

ENTP: Indulge their inventiveness

ENTPs are creative, inventive and highly entrepreneurial as a rule. This type is constantly generating new ideas and they have no interest in being told to consider whether or not their plans are realistic. This type needs friends who are open to their outlandish plans and ideas – and who are willing to dwell in the realm of what could be, rather than just the reality of what is.

INTP: Take initiative and explore new ideas with them

INTPs crave social interaction – just like any other type – but they don’t always feel comfortable initiating it. To be a good friend to an INTP, take the reins when it comes to planning hangouts – but then get ready to talk about some of the strangest and wildest concepts imaginable when you do finally end up in the same place. INTPs don’t do small talk, and they crave friends and acquaintances who are comfortable in the conversational deep end. Also see ISTP.

ISFJ: Be consistent yet considerate of their time

ISFJs like to develop friendships slowly and meaningfully – through deep conversations and shared experiences. They want friends who they can rely on to be there for them in the long-run – but who also understand that they are, first and foremost, introverts who need processing time. Because this type can be reluctant in asserting their needs, they look for friends who naturally understand their need for alone time, but who still wish to form intimate, long-lasting bonds.

ESFJ: Be there to listen to and appreciate them

ESFJs are consistently giving to the people in their lives – and they need friends who both respect and appreciate their selfless nature. To be a good friend to an ESFJ, show them that you appreciate their support, and are there to reciprocate it whenever they need it. ESFJs need people in their lives who they can vent to, share their feelings with and rely on. If you have those bases covered, you’re probably in their good books.

ISFP: Get to know both their serious and silly sides

ISFPs are good-natured, playful and light-hearted around the people they like; but they’re also incredibly serious and focused at heart. To be a good friend to an ISFP, accept both sides of their personality and understand when to engage each one. Sometimes this type needs a new adventure with friends, other times they simply need to be alone to process and create. By accepting both sides of this type, you’re doing them a service that not many people are capable of.

ESFP: Be up for new adventures with them

ESFPs live for new experiences; they love meeting new people, exploring new environments and taking on new challenges. Consequently, they are always on the hunt for new partners in crime. To be a good friend to an ESFP, be up for the adventures that they are constantly taking on – and then stick around to process with them afterwards. This type needs companions who are up for both crazy nights out and analytical nights in.

ESTP: Explore and investigate with them

To the ESTP, life is one big puzzle to be explored and investigated. If you can match their adventurous spirit with an analytical mind, you’re the exact partner of crime they’ve been looking for. This type needs friends who are open to new experiences but who are also able to converse logically and intelligently. Not many can keep up with the zealous ESTP personality type but if you can, your friendship is a match made in heaven.

ISTP: Respect their independence

ISTPs need friends in their lives just as much as any other type – but they also need a great deal of alone time to explore, analyze and understand the world on their own terms. To be a good friend to an ISTP, invite them along on your adventures but also respect when they aren’t up for going out. This type is highly independent and needs friends who understand that about them.

ISTJ: Get invested in their interests

ISTJs are about depth rather than breadth – they usually have a few key interests that they know a great deal about. To be a good friend to this type, take the time to learn about and understand those interests. This will give you a great deal of common ground. Additionally, ensure that you are someone the ISTJ can rely on – they are undyingly loyal to the people they care about most, and expect the same in return.

ESTJ: Be reliable

Reliability is incredibly important to the ESTJ personality type. They want to know that their friends are people they can count on for support and company, and they dislike any semblance of flakiness. To be a good friend to the ESTJ in your life, take your commitments seriously and show up when you say you will – they’ll appreciate and value your consistency.

There are a few limited edition and signed copies of Heidi Priebe’s latest book “How You’ll Do Everything Based On Your Personality Type” available here.

Click here for more information. (You can also download a digital copy for free on iBooks here.)

If you go back and listen to early rockabilly, you’ll see how much it has in common with R&B and rock and roll. (That’s early R&B, not the electronic and vocal stuff that passes for R&B these days). When you put the two together, it’s clear that one grew from the other. The Bellfuries prove the connection between rockabilly and early R&B with the new album Workingman’s Bellfuries.
The album opens with “Loving Arms”, and one thing is readily apparent. The easiest comparison for this band is Big Sandy and His Fly-Rite Boys. Like Big Sandy, this song has plenty of rockabilly influence. Also like Big Sandy, this song has enough R&B influence that it could easily be played on some oldies station. In fact if you subtract the Latin influence of Big Sandy’s band, that is a pretty…

320 kbps | 103 MB  UL | MC ** FLAC

…good guidepose for what The Bellfuries does. If anything, the second song “Bad Seed Sown” is an even better example of this band’s tribute to the 60s. This song will get you snapping your fingers for sure. The thing is that the melody is equally divided on the line between rockabilly and old R&B. In fact, you wouldn’t be wrong to draw a doo-wop comparison to this song.
The oldies comparison is possibly not better than in “Letter to My Maybe Baby”. Something about this song is reminiscent of Del Shannon. You get the upbeat melody of rockabilly and the easy sing-along quality of 60s rock and roll in this tune. No matter where this song is performed, it could just as easily be performed on a street corner.
If you want some rockabilly influence, “Beaumont Blues” is the tune for you. This song is incredibly catchy with the boogie-woogie piano and the guitar. When you hear this song it’s impossible not to think about Gene Vincent. It has that old-time rockabilly boogie feel that is hard to resist.
The Bellfuries is not an easy band to classify. At various points throughout this album, you’ll hear a definite 60s rock and roll influence as well as a song (“Just Remembering”) that might remind you of Wayne Hancock. One thing is certain: this is a band that writes catchy songs (as well as performing catchy covers like The Beatles “She’s a Woman”). Workingman’s Bellfuries will be available from Hi-Style Records on August 21. If you – like Bob Seger – are a fan of old-time rock and roll, this album will fit right into your collection.

The Best Dishes From Every Indian State And Their Authentic Recipes Are Right Here