This is the Critical Hit D20 Mug available for $13 from ThinkGeek. It holds 12-ounces and even comes with a lid so coworkers will have a harder time smelling the booze I pour into my coffee because I can't stand this place and it's the only thing that helps get me through the day (besides my two hours after-lunch nap in a bathroom stall). I don't take kindly to nosy coworkers getting all up in my business and accusing me of drinking on the job. You know what happened to the last person who accused me of drinking on the job? He fired me.
One more shot with the lid on after the jump.
Thanks to CJ, who drinks directly from the coffee pot when nobody is looking.
Mucho se está hablando últimamente sobre el documental que acaba de sacar la plataforma de distribución americana Netflix.
“Hot girls wanted” nos descubre las entrañas de la pornografía amateur mientras sigue los pasos de unas cuantas chicas que acaban de adentrarse en el negocio ¿Y qué tiene esto de interesante? Pues que han decidido tratar el tema (para variar) desde la perspectiva de la explotación y victimizando a sus participantes. La pobre chica de 18 años que contesta un anuncio de Craiglist y se ve inmersa en una debacle de caos, sexo y destrucción de la que no sabe cómo salir. Y es que claro, es muy fácil estigmatizar nuestra profesión: todo el mundo quiere oír lo malo que es el porno y cuánto daño hace a nuestra sociedad, pero nadie quiere escuchar la parte positiva. Que existe, y es grande.
Quien busque información realista ¡Que no pierda el tiempo con este documental! Su crítica no es objetiva ni está razonada y presenta únicamente un fragmento del negocio. Pesados, que sois unos pesados.
¿Existe explotación dentro de la pornografía? Si, es cierto. Igual que existe explotación dentro del negocio de la música, la moda o la hostelería. ¿O es que una camarera que se mata a trabajar ganando una miseria no está explotada? ¿Y porqué a esto no se le da bombo y platillo?
Porque claro, el sexo es malo. El porno es malo. Las actrices porno entran en esta industria completamente engañadas.
¡Quién en su sano juicio y con pleno uso de sus facultades deciría meterse al porno, disfrutar de su cuerpo y de su sexualidad delante de las cámaras!
Los usuarios, los fans y el público en general no quieren oír la verdad, sino reafirmar sus opiniones. Quieren oír lo mismo que llevan oyendo desde hace años: que nuestras condiciones laborales dan asco, que estamos obligadas a realizar prácticas que no queremos, que nos sentimos sucias, a disgusto, engañadas. Que no encontramos empleo, que nuestros hijos se avergüenzan de nosotras. Que nos arrepentimos de haber pertenecido a la industria. ¡Era joven y me engañaron!
La gente quiere saber lo mal que lo pasamos, porque el sensacionalismo ¡oh, queridos! vende mucho. La felicidad no.
Y pensar que una chica por el mero hecho de ser guapa y disfrutar del sexo pueda estar ganando en un mes lo mismo que tú en un año, jode. Y jode mucho. Así que lo mejor, para nuestro confort y paz mental, es pensar que son unas putas, unas guarras. Que no merecen nuestro respeto porque están sucias y nadie va a quererlas el resto de su vida.
Pensar en la infelicidad de los otros nos hace sentirnos un poco más a gusto con nuestras frustraciones.
Pero claro, el problema de todo esto es que no es cierto. Hay muchas chicas que están en la mierda, y otras tantas muchas que no lo estamos.
A ver si nos damos cuenta de que la mayoría de estereotipos y prejuicios que tenemos respecto a la industria vienen dados por documentales como este. Información sesgada, que omite datos importantes y te ofrece una visión parcial.
Se que muchos de vosotros todavía pensáis que la industria pornográfica es sórdida, dañina y oscura. Que nosotras odiamos lo que hacemos. Ahora paraos a pensar un segundo ¿No será que la información que os ha llegado está manipulada? ¿No estarán vuestras opiniones fundamentadas en unas premisas que simplemente no son reales? ¿Tal vez preferís no darle muchas vueltas, no vaya a ser que os deis cuenta de que las cosas no están tan mal?
Ahora, si habéis leído esto, es el momento para pensarlo.
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| Recipe: Enrique Olvera's Octopus Aguachile Don't be overwhelmed by the idea of cooking octopus. It's almost as easy as bringing pot of water to a boil. If you're using frozen octopus, let it thaw out overnight in the fridge before cooking. To learn more, read "Carrying the Torch." |
| Get the list of ingredients and directions on TastingTable.com |
There’s no shame in sangria. Unless it’s bad sangria.
Unfortunately, there’s a lot of subpar sangria out there these days. It’s easy to fall victim to a syrupy glass (or four) of “sugar wine,” and wake up the next day with a splitting headache. Sangria should be floral, fruity, and fragrant. It should be easy to sip, but not mindless entertainment. Learn the art of well-balanced sangria and never make these common mistakes again. ¡Salud!
Spanish Rioja is the traditional red wine option, but you can also make Sangria Blanco with white wine, or get really fancy and use sparkling wine, like Cava. Of course, we wouldn’t turn down a Rosé-based sangria, either.
1. Cheap Wine Makes Bad Sangria
“Fruit and brandy can’t hide cheap wine,” says Bon Appétit recipe developer Rick Martinez. Is this the time to bust out the $250 bottle of Burgundy? Uh, no. But that’s no excuse to dump a sour jug wine into a carafe with some sugar and orange slices and hope for the best. Unlike wine that is cooked (as in a sauce or stew), in a sangria, the wine’s nuances and subtleties remain intact—for better or worse.
2. Don’t Settle for Unripe Fruit
An unripe apricot tastes bland or bitter. A subpar orange is dry and barely sweet. A crappy apple is mealy at best. None of them are satisfying to eat alone, so don’t expect alcohol to transform them into something tantalizing. Besides: Part of the magic of sangria is that the sliced fruit releases juices that mix with the alcohol, flavoring and sweetening the entire mix. If the fruit is unripe, there’s no juice to jump-start the party.
This sangria-style punch is perfect for your backyard cookout. Photo: Ashley Rodriguez
3. Go Easy on the Booze
Yeah, we know it’s a cocktail. But just because traditional sangria includes both wine and brandy doesn’t mean it’s an excuse to don a lampshade on your head and get crazy. “The liquor should complement and bring out the darker notes in the wine, not get your guests drunk,” says Martinez. This recipe for Red Wine Sangria, for example, includes only ¼-cup brandy for 4-6 full servings.
4. …But Not Too Easy
Although brandy is traditional, we also like adding intrigue to our sangria with other spirits like pisco, Suze, Cointreau, or St. Germain. Aim for alcohol that has inherently fruity or floral notes, and complements, rather than detracts from, the wine and fruit.
This sangria is great with plums, apricots, or other stone fruits—as long as they’re ripe. Photo: Christopher Baker
5. Longer Isn’t Better
The fruit should “steep” in the wine and liquor so the flavors meld (kind of like a good salsa), but don’t let it all hang out for too long. “The fruit will get mealy and limp, and the sangria will taste bitter,” says Martinez. In general, aim for at least 30 minutes but no more than 2 hours, as in this recipe for Blood Orange Sangria. If using sparkling wine, let all of the other ingredients mingle and top it off with the bubbly at the last minute. Otherwise, the wine will go flat.
Make the Blood Orange Sangria pictured at the top of this page.
The post How Not to Screw Up Sangria, So You Can Make Fruit & Booze Magic at Home appeared first on Bon Appétit.
¿A quién no le gustan unos taquitos de pollo? Yo creo que es uno de los platillos más típicos, fáciles y ricos, que pueden existir en una mesa mexicana. Existen mil formas de prepararlos, y aunque probablemente la más común sean los tacos dorados, hoy les comparto una receta para preparar unos tacos de pollo encebollado con chorizo.
En lugar de utilizar chorizo de cerdo, decidí utilizar chorizo de soya. Sabe muy bien y lo puedes encontrar en cualquier super. En mi casa nos gustaron mucho, tienen un sabor muy diferente y muy rico.
1 pechuga de pollo sin piel, 1 cebolla, 1 lata chica (105 gramos) rajas de chile en vinagre, 1 cucharada de mantequilla, 1 cucharada harina, 125 gramos chorizo de soya
Cocer la pechuga a tu gusto. Cuando este suave, sacar, escurrir, deshuesar y deshebrar. Colar el caldo, y reservar 2 tazas.
Cortar en rebanadas finas la cebolla y las rajas de chile. En una sartén, calentar la mantequilla, freír las rajas y las cebollas hasta que estás últimas estén translúcidas. Añadir la harina y freír. Con cuidado, agregar el caldo de pollo, sazonar, tapar y cocinar hasta que la mezcla este cocida y espesa, mover constantemente. Agregar 2 cucharadas del vinagre de los chiles, cocinar a fuego medio hasta hervir. Agrega el pollo deshebrado. Sazonar.
Desmenuzar el chorizo. En una sartén pequeña, calentar una cucharadita de aceite de oliva y freír por unos minutos. Espolvorear sobre el pollo y mezclar.
Te recomiendo que sirvas los tacos de pollo encebollados con chorizo, junto con tortillas calientes de maíz. Si te gusta el picante, los puedes acompañar de más rajas de chiles.
Porciones | 4 Dificultad | Media
En Directo al Paladar México | Tacos orientales de lechuga y carne. Receta En Directo al Paladar México | Tacos dorados de atún. Receta
Hamburguesa de chorizo y camarones. Receta
Bocados de mozzarella y chorizo. Receta
Pimientos rellenos de pollo y chorizo. Receta
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La noticia Tacos de pollo encebollado con chorizo. Receta fue publicada originalmente en Directo al Paladar México por Sweet Cannela .
O Movemento Galego de Saúde Mental alerta de que a asistencia sanitaria non está garantida como dereito. “Non se están achegando os coidados nin a atención adecuada”, denuncian.
Four of everyman author/poet Charles Bukowski's typically coarse and captivating poems are adapted to animated short form in this collection. The piece above, "Laughing Heart" read by Tom Waits, is profound. This is a message about finding light in life from someone who was well acquainted with its dark pitfalls and was often challenged in doing so. Contains NSFW language.
Visit the treasure trove of poetry recordings by a wide range of authors at Open Culture.
Let’s get one thing clear: I am not a feminist. But just because I am not a feminist does not mean that I don’t wish all men should die. As a matter of fact, I hate them. I think men are disgusting, horrible creatures who should die violent deaths. But I also simultaneously recognize their general superiority to women and want for them to remain in control of most things since women are generally less competent. Deal with it.
For example, I believe women should stay away from being world leaders. What if they get their periods and set off a nuclear war because they’re feeling crampy? Men are more levelheaded and decisive. They belong in office. They also belong lifeless in a mass grave, but that’s beside the point.
Women do not deserve to be paid as much as men for doing the exact same job. Men do the work better because they want it more and are more focused. They’re not worried about their kid’s dance recital or have silly opinions like who wore that hat better. Men deserve more money for equal work so they can support their wives who should be staying at home in the first place. Men also deserve to be wiped off the face of the earth. Don’t put me in a box!
And don’t even get me started on women wanting to have combat roles in the military. How is a woman going to fight for our country when she can’t even lift a gun with those scrawny arms? Men belong on the front lines. Conveniently, this will also make them more susceptible to the death that they all so clearly deserve.
And I love how those bra-burning feminazis get all upset when a man on the street tells them to smile or that they have ass for days. It’s called a compliment—say thank you! Be glad you’re still getting noticed. One day, after my master plan is complete and all the men are dead, you’ll wish someone was telling you where to put those lips.
Finally, what’s with some women’s obsession about having control over their bodies? Who do you trust to make the tough decisions about what to do with your reproductive system: a strong man, or someone who cries at that Wells Fargo commercial with the two mommies learning sign language for their deaf adopted daughter? Exactly. Also, all men must die. That’s just where I stand on that particular issue.
In conclusion, a woman’s place is in the home and a man’s place is in a coffin. You can call me a murderer. You can call me a psychotic freak. Just please, for the love of God, don’t call me a feminist.
I Am Not A Feminist, But I Do Think All Men Should Die is a post from: Reductress
You’ve probably heard by now that the Syrian Kurds have taken Tal Abyad, the key border town due north of Islamic State’s capital, Raqqa.
It’s a huge loss for Islamic State, and a big boost for the Kurds. But it’s something more than that: a glorious victory. That’s not something I get to write very often.
Most war stories are the dead opposite of glorious. You start out, as a war-nerdy kid, believing that Gettysburg is the norm—a good clean fight between brave, simple soldiers, ferocious against each other but sparing non-combatants. There was exactly one civilian death at Gettysburg, and that was from a stray bullet.
Then you get serious about warfare and realize that massacre is the norm, genocide is more common than anyone wants to realize, and most conflicts are bad vs. bad, or bad vs. even worse.
But not this time. The war between the Syrian Kurds and Islamic State is as close to good vs. evil as you’ll ever meet in the grown-up world. The YPG/J are radical feminists, with women fighting on the front lines and even commanding whole fronts; Islamic State takes misogyny to a new level, actually boasting in their glossy magazine Dabiq about the righteousness of selling captured women as sex slaves.
I’d be wary of believing that the YPG/J are as good as they seem, except that I lived among Kurds. They really are heroic people. No doubt there are bad Kurds, and there have certainly been evil things done by Kurdish people, like serving as enforcers for the Turks during the Armenian Genocide.
But Kurds are working very hard, and fighting heroically, to change themselves and their world; for starters, they’re still the only participants in the Armenian Genocide who’ve acknowledged their role. And the rate of social change, especially in the role of women, in Kurdish culture is approaching light speed.
Islamic State, meanwhile, represents the most extreme reactionary position in the Middle East. Even the way the latest campaign between Islamic State and the YPG/J developed shows just how friggin’ evil Islamic State is. After being humiliated at Kobane, IS’s leaders wanted a cheap, quick victory to erase the shameful memory. After all, those Qatari, Saudi, and Kuwaiti billionaires aren’t going to keep funding your jihad if you keep getting shown up, especially when it’s mere women doing the showing-up.
So IS decided to do what it does best: Wipe out a minority sect. And they chose the Assyrian Christian villages that cluster to the west of the provincial capital, Hasakah, as a perfect target. The Assyrians have been targeted in sectarian pogroms for centuries; they’re a peaceful, quiet people, just like the Yazidii minority that IS destroyed in Iraq. Just the kind of kaffirs that IS loves to massacre and enslave.
IS fled Kobane at the end of January 2015, and by the end of February, IS had shifted men and weapons to the front west of Hasakah, planning to overrun the strip of Assyrian-Christian villages along the Khabour River. (By the way, if you want to see what happened via carefully sequenced battle-maps, go to the excellent site “Agathocle de Syracuse” and click on “Hasakah Western Front.”)
The geography is a little complicated here. As you can see on this excellent map (also courtesy of “Agothocle de Syracuse”), the Syrian Kurds control three enclaves or “cantons,” all along the Turkish border: Afrin in the northwest, up against Hatay Province (Hatay is a story in itself, one I’ve written about before); Kobane in the center; and Hasakah in the east. Hasakah is the biggest Kurdish enclave, and the most important, since it joins the KRG region controlled by the Iraqi Kurds. Those Iraqi Kurds are much more conservative than the young women and men of the YPG/J, but there’s still some solidarity there, and some quiet resupply going on.
Islamic State holds the center of the country, along the Euphrates River, and the border area due west of Iraq’s Nineveh Province, south of the Kurdish enclave in Hasakah. So, by attacking along the Khabour, IS was punching up, like a good leftist (bitter Hebdo joke; never mind)—that is, attacking due north.
IS is media-savvy as all Hell; it runs on victory videos. A campaign against a helpless minority like the Assyrians would mean lots of good video, plenty of loot, and thousands of new slave girls to sell.
They might even have thought that the Kurds of the YPG/J wouldn’t fight too hard to defend mere non-Kurdish, non-Muslim neighbors. Few communities in that part of the world put themselves at risk to help neighbors of a different ethnic group or religion.
But the Kurds…I’m telling you, the Kurds are something special. I saw it myself. In Suli, my students would say, “I have Christian (Assyrian) friends!” or “I have Shia (Arab, refugee from Southern Iraq) friends!”
When I told people back in America about those remarks, they had a hard time seeing anything very radical or impressive about them. People shrugged, as if it was banal or fake.
It’s hard to get some people to realize that not every place is America. In Iraq, calling someone from a different sect/ethnic group a “friend” is heroic. And not something you see, in other parts of the Middle East.
The Kurds are trying very hard to change, to get out of the sectarian nightmare. So when Islamic State attacked those vulnerable Assyrian villages around the town of Tal Hamer, they fought for the Assyrians.
It must have been a surprise for the sectarian scum of IS. People like that tend to judge everyone by themselves. And the history around there is pretty grimly sectarian, right down the centuries. “Tal,” the first word of most town names in the region, means “man-made hill,” or “old fort.” (“Tel Aviv” comes from the same Semitic root.) You build your town on a defensive mound, and you kill your neighbors of the wrong language/religion when you can.
Not the Kurds, though. Not this time. They fought for the Assyrians, and helped the “fledging” (i.e. “pretty well useless”) Assyrian militias. Assyrian civilians had been evacuated to the provincial capital in advance, so IS captured few women to sell or men to behead. They had to settle for blowing up the church in the Assyrian village of Tal Nasri (“hill-mound of the Christians”).
IS advanced slowly through March and April, and almost had the town of Tal Tamer cut off. The YPG/J allowed the bulge to develop, then hit back hard at the beginning of May 2015, slicing in from the northwest, cutting IS’s main supply line and leaving hundreds of IS isolated in a pocket around Tal Tamer.
I haven’t been able to find out what happened to those IS fighters in the pocket, but it’s a fair bet that their beards have finally stopped growing.
By attacking the Assyrian villages along the Khabour, IS had let its sectarian hatred blind it to basic strategic rules. Islamic State’s top priority should have been to defend and extend its link to Turkey, which runs north from Raqqa through Tal Abyad via Highway 6, and prevent the Syrian Kurds from linking up their “cantons” along the Syrian/Turkish border. If Schlieffen had been an Islamic State strategist, he would’ve said, “Keep the northeastern front strong” on his deathbed.
Instead, Islamic State had shifted men and vehicles south, to the Tal Tamer front, leaving the northern flank, along the Turkish border, weakened.
And that’s how the YPG/J was able to take Tal Abyad this week. Once IS’s attack to the south was contained, YPG/J rolled west along the border zone relatively easily. IS has a rep for fighting to the death, but they seem to have lost the will to fight lately, especially when up against YPG/J.
And thanks to their earlier victory in Kobane, YPG/J was able to close in on Tal Abyad from the west, at the same time as its Hasakah forces were advancing along the border from the east. Kobane may have vanished from the headlines, but the young women and men who liberated it never stopped fighting, advancing west, south, and east from Kobane.
With Kurdish forces pushing east along the border from Kobane and west from Hasakah, Islamic State was barely holding on to a Polish-Corridor style strip of territory around Tal Abyad, by the end of May 2015.
On June 11, YPG/J and its FSA allies overran the town of Suluk, a few kilometers southeast of Tal Abyad. By this point, Islamic State was acting like a defeated force, blowing up bridges to stall the advance of YPG/J and trying to corral fleeing civilians back into Tal Abyad.
And yesterday, June 15, 2015, a day that will live in the opposite of infamy (“famy”?), the YPG/J took full control of Tal Abyad, finally uniting the Kurdish enclaves of Kobane and Hasakah (“Jazira”) and destroying the jihadi corridor from Turkey to Raqqa.
Now, IS will have a much harder time keeping the flow of gullible cannon fodder coming in from Turkey.
All the right people are cheering, and all the wrong ones are crying, from Erdogan’s hick reactionaries in Ankara to the fat money men in the Gulf. This is the rarest thing in all of warfare, a truly glorious victory. The good guys do win, now and then.
[illustration by Brad Jonas]
Inauguramos a nosa nova sección de descargas cuns modelos de plantillas “stencil” para que poidades intervir artisticamente nas paredes da nosa matria galega.
Trátase dunha serie onde o tiraboleiro Cristo Aleister nos agasalla con diversos autores galegos, pais do noso país. Comezamos coa figura de Alfonso Rodríguez Castelao –de todos coñecido–, que foi Pai do nacionalismo galego, intelectual, narrador, ensaísta, dramaturgo, debuxante e político.
Lembrade: O Botafumeiro non se fará responsable do uso que fagades desta plantilla, nin pagará as costas do xuízo, así que ide con coidado afumados!
Descárgar
Modelo por: Cristo Aleister
Nos derradeiros días de decembro de 1916 Galiza foi independente, durante polo menos 9 días, relacionándose só coa República Portuguesa.
Ezra Furman is a person of action and metamorphosis, someone whose comfort zone can only be described as “on the go” and “ever-changing.” This personal restlessness is one of the main focuses of the San Francisco-based singer-songwriter’s debut on Bella Union, the aptly titled Perpetual Motion People. The 13-track effort was recorded with Furman’s current band The Boyfriends – comprising Jorgen Jorgensen (bass), Ben Joseph (keyboards, guitar), Sam Durkes (drums) and saxophonist Tim Sandusky – at studio Ballistico in Furman’s home city of Chicago (though he’s currently based in San Francisco).
“The opening lines of my records tend to be summary statements,” says Furman. “Every year has been restless, physically and even more internally.”
320 kbps | 148 MB UL | HF | MC ** FLAC
Hence the title Perpetual Motion People, “That’s who it was made by and that’s who it’s for. People who feel they can never settle. I’m restless in most aspects. I don’t tend to live in one place for long. I am always changing the way I present my gender. My religious life is intensely up and down in terms of observance and personal convictions. I’ve always viewed the idea of truth itself as something wobbly, always slipping out of our grasp. That’s what the songs are about: a head that is haunted, a society I cannot join, a lover who is perpetually in the act of leaving. A central idea is the fugitive or runaway, in a hideout built in the midst of an unfriendly or alienated world.”
“The other aspect is a feeling of expansiveness, the largeness of emotion, from joy to pain. Some people think life is small or confined, but to me it’s just big, and I’d say each song has something to say, to declare themselves large. It’s also to do with trying to make something that a lot of people would listen to after Day Of The Dog got some kind of increased attention.”
In that, he’s done his job, switching from the sinewy jubilance of ‘Hark! To The Music’ to the wistful heart-ache of ‘Ordinary Life’, from the power-pop snarl of ‘Tip Of The Match’ to the wracked country blues of “One Day I Will Sin No More”. The waterfront covered marks Furman out as a true original, tapping avenues of music that most others have left alone, or wouldn’t have the guts to emulate. “There’s rarely been a scene that I’ve wanted to be part of,” he admits. “I’m just not hearing other stuff out there that I wish existed, so that’s my goal, to do it myself.
Ultimately, Furman declares, life in perpetual motion is, “a good way to be. If you are never on a sure footing you don’t get bored and the world is always new. It causes a lot of pain as well, but it seems worth it, and it is probably the only way I know how to be.”
CD1
01. Restless Year (2:25)
02. Lousy Connection (4:11)
03. Hark! to the Music (1:25)
04. Haunted Head (4:49)
05. Hour of Deepest Need (4:27)
06. Wobbly (3:00)
07. Ordinary Life (2:20)
08. Tip of a Match (2:35)
09. Body Was Made (3:31)
10. Watch You Go By (4:09)
11. Pot Holes (3:18)
12. Can I Sleep in Your Brain (3:57)
13. One Day I Will Sin No More (2:31)
CD2
01 – Devil’s Haircut (Beck cover) (3:13)
02 – The Good Book (Melanie cover) (2:34)
03 – Crown of Love (The Arcade Fire cover) (4:55)
04 – Androgynous (The Replacements cover) (3:10)
05 – I Can Change (LCD Soundsystem cover) (4:55)
ENTREVISTA No décimo aniversario das eleccións nas que PSdeG e BNG desbancaron o PP de Fraga Emilio Pérez Touriño lembra a "ilusión" daquela campaña electoral e admite tamén os erros do seu partido na "brutal" campaña de 2009. Tras a derrota electoral cre que houbo outra "peor": "a da hexemonía das ideas".
ENTREVISTA O ex vicepresidente da Xunta repasa o goberno bipartito e os "virulentos e malévolos" ataques que di que sufriu da oposición pero tamén de "axentes económicos e mediáticos". Agora, mira ao futuro esperanzado cunha confluencia política galega para as xerais e autonómicas.
Estivemos con algúns cambios na Trastenda dos Fillos da Malte, así que este artigo vai ser máis lixeiro que o anterior.
Outro dos problemas perante o que nos atopamos coa crecente oferta de cervexas artesás que estamos a gozar é lembrar o nome, estilo e demais características de todas as que imos probando. Para axudarnos con este problema de memoria chega a tecnoloxía dos nosos móbiles e demais trebellos, máis concretamente en forma de aplicativos.
RatebeerRatebeer é unha das maiores páxinas de cervexas que existen. Nela podemos atopar practicamente todas as cervexas que existen ou existiron, ou se non, dalas de alta, ademais das súas correspondentes descricións, opinións e valoracións. En Ratebeer podemos atopar desde a clásica nota do 0 ao 100 a prolixas notas de cata do máis técnico.
O aplicativo depende do dispositivo. O de Android é de balde, pero tamén é o máis sinxelo, inda que ten de todo. O de iPhone (para iPad tamén terás que usar este) é moito máis completo e con deseño máis coidado, pero vale 3,99 €. Para Windows Mobile chámase Beerbasher, é de balde e vén adaptado ao estilo dos móbiles deste sistema operativo.
Podemos consultar calquera cervexa ou cervexería, poñer notas ou deixar opinións e mesmo buscar lendo o código de barras.
O bo de Ratebeer é que é das páxinas que máis tempo leva e con máis usuarios. O malo, que ás veces é demasiado técnica, pouco visual e case todo está en inglés (cando non en idiomas máis indescifrábeis).
UntappdUntappd é unha rede social máis moderna e, inda que tamén é moi completa en número de cervexas, prima os aspectos visuais, os contactos e as recompensas en forma de ‘badges’.
O aspecto do aplicativo é o mesmo nos tres sistemas operativos e de balde en todos eles. Basicamente ten as mesmas funcionalidades que a anterior: podes valorar cervexas, compartir as túas fotografías ou buscar cervexerías preto.
Untappd é máis visual e sinxelo, pero pola contra as opinións soen ser demasiado breves ou inexistentes.
Moleskine Beer JournalSe preferides escribir a man, como os escribas sumerios, sempre vos queda este útil caderno de Moleskine ao que non lle falta de nada. Ten sitio para apuntar as túas cervexas favoritas, as súas características, os lugares que frecuentas, pegatinas para personalizar, consellos e informacións varias. Tamén conta con espazo para apuntar as túas receitas e un diario, por se fas a túa propia cervexa na casa.
Esta é unha pequena mostra das máis coñecidas e usadas. Aí tedes os comentarios para deixar outros aplicativos que usedes e vos sexan útiles para lembrar as cervexas que máis vos gustan e non ter que pedir polas cores da etiqueta ou o debuxo da chapa.
Saúde!
The post Doutora, non lembro as cervexas que bebo! appeared first on Pincha(e)Discos.
Tres anos despois de que regresara á dirección do Centro Dramático Galego que xa ocupara do ano 1991 a 2005, Manuel Guede presentou a renuncia ao cargo. A Consellaría de Cultura explica que son “razóns persoais” ás que o levan a deixar a dirección.
Andee Silver en ‘Teño Saudade’.
Un feito histórico, hoxe podemos dicilo, tivo lugar no Londres de 1970. Nesta cidade, e nos prestixiosos estudios Decca, grávase unha sensible peza musical por voz dunha cantante da que en Galicia e España se escoitara o xusto. Británica e de nome artístico Andee Silver, esta muller de poucos anos entraba, sen que ela puidese nin sospeitalo nin procuralo, na historia social da lingua galega. Facíao despois de interpretar, cun sotaque plenamente inglés, unha canción composta por Andrés do Barro a partir dunha letra escrita por Xavier Alcalá. Coa saída ao mercado do single que contiña “Teño saudade”, Andee Silver convertíase na primeira artista pop estranxeira que utilizaba o galego nun repertorio discográfico. Mais esta historia —por tantos vivida ou lembrada— merece agora, corenta e cinco anos despois, ser revisitada por medio de distintas, e por veces contraditorias, testemuñas e voces.
Unha sorpresa en tempo de polémicas e compromiso
A chegada ás tendas do disco non pasou nin moito menos desapercibida. Desde o primeiro momento as emisoras de radio e as revistas musicais da época atenderon a campaña de marketing que Decca, a discográfica responsable da edición, deseñara para tratar de sumar a canción de Andee Silver a toda aquela serie de éxitos que o galego, como lingua de expresión da chamada música pop, estaba sorprendentemente a vivir neses anos. Éxitos que xurdiran, na práctica todos, de modelos musicais apadriñados desde a industria discográfica convencional e nacidos, como produto e inversión que eran, con clara vocación comercial e sempre á procura dun consumo de masas. Unha dinámica, acontecida en pleno franquismo, que foi interpretada desde os sectores que desde 1968 apostaban por unha canción en galego comprometida coa resistencia política á Ditadura como un intento interesado por parte do réxime de reconducir e mesmo domar a presenza do galego na nova música popular.
Andee Silver na prensa.
Chega pois o “Teño saudade” de Andee Silver cando estaban vixentes unha serie de polémicas que implicaban os actores principais, cos seus aliados sociais e políticos, da chamada canción “protesta” e da popularmente denominada como música pop. Tanto na prensa galega convencional como nas publicacións clandestinas repetíanse críticas, por parte de voces achegadas ao movemento Voces Ceibes, á facilidade con que cantantes como Juan Pardo ou Andrés do Barro accedían aos principais medios de comunicación e como as súas cancións, entendían, non paraban de emitirse polas emisoras de radio e a televisión. O éxito de vendas e a popularidade —masiva e socialmente transversal, no caso de Galicia— acadada polas máis afamadas pezas de Pardo e de Do Barro situou o galego, para sorpresa de todos, como un instrumento de expresión, natural e asumible, da emerxente música pop. Un fenómeno social —que permite a aparición de opcións directamente comerciais como a de Andee Silver— merecente de amargas críticas chegadas mesmo desde revistas publicadas no exilio como Nova Galiza e Información Española, as dúas ligadas ao PCE, e nas que cantantes como Amancio Prada ou Miro Casabella, con distintos matices, chegan a se queixar dos apoios que os críticos musicais de Madrid e Barcelona lles ofrecen ás cancións en galego firmadas por Pardo e Do Barro mentres que, as deles recibían non máis que silencios ou censuras. O que segundo Xerardo Moscoso, outro Voces Ceibes e tamén nun medio exiliado, caracterizaba como unha “contrapostura” política animada desde o goberno e o seu Ministerio de Información y Turismo. Dinámicas de enfrontamento e de defensa do “compromiso” fronte ao “comercial” que igualmente acadan foro na prensa galega. Críticos ligados a Voces Ceibes como Baldomero Cores —na revista Chan, e mesmo a citar a Andee Silver como exemplo prefabricado de calidade— trataba de orientar por onde debera circular a “verdadeira” canción en galego. E Ramón García Balado — neste caso desde as páxinas musicais de El Correo Gallego— sinala o que el entendía como unha adulteración do galego na música: “Ellos (por Voces Ceibes) fueron los primeiros en redescubrir el gallego como lengua para cantar; luego vino la explotación. Todos sabeis por donde va la cosa; está claro, Do Barro, Juan Pardo (…) ellos subieron muy facilmente. Vieron que cantar en gallego resultaba comercial y lo hicieron. Tenían dinero, mucho dinero. Voces Ceibes, no”.
Andrés do Barro-Juan Pardo
Batallas viciadas e propias dun debate baixo a pouta vixiante dunha ditadura que administraba ao seu interese a capacidade de prohibir ou non o uso do galego na canción e que, con cálculo político, non dubidou en utilizar todas as súas armas en defensa da estabilidade do réxime. O control sobre a prensa, a radio e a televisión, e o uso discrecional ou obrigatorio destes medios en favor ou na contra das tendencias que desde 1968 pulaban pola canción en galego, sempre estivo no ánimo dos dous políticos que dirixían a política de propaganda do franquismo neses anos. Un ministerio nas mans de Manuel Fraga Iribarne e Pío Cabanillas, os dous galegos, e os dous tamén empeñados en que todo estivese “atado e ben atado”. O certo é que da noite da mañá —mentres as cancións de Voces Ceibes circulaban por circuítos minoritarios ou semiclandestinos— o galego, en pleno franquismo e desde Madrid, comezou a ocupar tanto as listaxes de vendas como as ondas da radio e a televisión. Fenómeno que hoxe, tantas décadas despois, semella incomprensible e que, tempo é de dicilo, malia as axudas gobernativas que os seus protagonistas, directa ou indirectamente, puidesen recibir, só puido ser posible desde a calidade —tan distinta— das cancións de Juan Pardo e dun Andrés do Barro que nos seus comezos artísticos tivera que soportar a represión e as molestias cuarteleiras da garda civil. O autor de “O Tren” contáballe a Enrique Barreiro en 1973: “As catro primeiras veces que intentei cantar en Galicia prohibíronme os recitais… recitais, chámolle eu (sorrí)…, ben, era o que eu quería facer. Despois, a primeira vez que conseguín cantar na miña vida, foi dentro dun estudio de gravación”.
Malia pensarse en que a canción pop en galego foi favorecida polo franquismo, Andrés do Barro andou de discográfica en discográfica sen éxito porque insistía en cantar en galego.
E este comezo profesional que narra Do Barro tampouco foi sinxelo. De discográfica en discográfica a recibir negativas —pola súa insistencia a cantar en galego— até que RCA acepta gravarlle un EP con catro cancións, todas de arranxos imposibles, e no que unha delas —“Por non poder”— xa anuncia toda esa intuición e naturalidade pop que en breve o converterá en celebrada figura da canción. Con influencias recoñecidas de Donovan e do Gianni Morandi máis folk, tamén da música popular galega, o seguinte paso da súa carreira pasou por unha alianza. Un contacto natural entre un par de cantantes —os dous se sentían ferroláns e os dous foron sinalados á vez polo seu suposto uso “comercial” do galego na canción pop— que os conducirá a que se xunten para crear desde traxectorias e orixes diferenciadas. Un Juan Pardo, que entregara e triunfara con pezas en galego como “A Charanga” (1969) e “Meu ben dorme” (1970), e un Andrés do Barro que tomou o co-compositor de “Anduriña” (1968) como produtor musical dalgunhas das súas pezas máis celebradas.
Juan Pardo e Andee Silver en Londres.
Andee Silver e o galego
Á altura de 1969 ese Juan Pardo protector coñecía polo miúdo a obra de Andrés do Barro e neste mesmo ano pode situarse outra conexión que nos vai situar de novo ante a historia de Andee Silver e a súa canción en galego. Dous profesionais da música entran en contacto e, os dous, con Pardo como apelido. Un o Juan Pardo que tenta abrir contactos e novas experiencias en Londres e, o outro, un produtor musical de nome David Pardo que na capital británica se responsabilizaba das gravacións de grupos como The Casuals e Purple Heart ou de cantantes como Bobby Hanna ou Ornella Vanoni. Posiblemente os dous Pardo xa se coñeceran previamente en España onde, David Pardo andaba ocupado en lanzar a carreira musical de quen era a súa dona, tamén cantante. Ela, de nome Andrea Silverstein, nacera en Londres o 12 de maio de 1951 onde xa canta desde ben nova en grupos escolares e, que con só catorce anos, é solista na banda liderada por Joe Loss. Canda grava o seu primeiro disco en solitario (“Too Young To Go Steady”, 1964) elixe o nome artístico de Andee Silver e abre unha carreira que, xunto a David Pardo, a conduce a participar no festival de San Remo e gravar tres discos en italiano. En 1969 participa e vence no Festival da Canción de Mallorca, comeza a introducirse no mercado discográfico en español e consegue —con cancións que tentaban reproducir os éxitos de Sandie Shaw ou Petula Clark— editar dous discos nos que xa ensaia tanto co español como na colaboración con Juan Pardo.
Os contactos daquela estabelecidos eran proveitosos para as dúas partes. Juan Pardo estudaba entrar no mercado en inglés e avanzar en Londres como produtor. Mentres, David Pardo e Andee, trataban de asentar as súas carreiras facéndose un nome en España. O intercambio comeza a dar os seus froitos cando Juan Pardo lle entrega á parella unha canción de Andrés do Barro á vez que lles propón que Andee a grave en galego. Pardo, que nalgunha das súas actuacións chegara a cantar “O tren”, entendía que as composicións de Do Barro eran como un maná e unha peza como “Teño saudade” era todo un galano para a voz dunha Andee Silver que despois declarou ter preparado o galego da canción —“palabra por palabra”— con Juan Pardo. Das horas no estudio de gravación da Decca, con dirección musical de Richard Hensen e produción de David Pardo, tamén coa presenza de Juan Pardo, Andee —que nese momento tiña dezaoito anos— contaralle a Antonio D. Olano (un xornalista galego propagandista de Fraga Iribarne e Pío Cabanillas, e daquela íntimo de Juan Pardo) das súas dificultades para interpretar “Teño saudade” nun idioma do que non coñecía nada: “He tenido más dificultades que con el castellano —nos dice Andee—, porque el gallego tiene más matices. ¡Me entusiasma! Y nadie crea que he cantado como un papagayo «Teño saudade». Juan me hizo sentir toda la enorme poesía que encierran los versos de esa canción…”. Transcrición, con todas as reservas por ser recollidas estas palabras por un xornalista tan ligado tanto aos intereses das discográficas como do réxime, que se suma a súa descarada pretensión de Olano para enredar —era o seu segundo oficio— cos enfrontamentos de Voces Ceibes con Pardo e Do Barro. “¿Que dirán cuando escuchen a una inglesa cantar en gallego? Es Juan quien sale al paso: —espero que tengan el sentido de la justicia suficiente para varias cosas; una, agradecer que una gran figura extranjera cante y, por lo tanto, difunda nuestro idioma. Segundo, que no piensen que el gallego es un coto cerrado que sólo pueden utilizar ellos”.
A presenza de Antonio D. Olano na contorna directa da produción deste “Teño saudade” por unha “inglesita, de estatura media, ojos claros, pelo rubio” pode verse como todo un síntoma da capacidade publicitaria que naqueles anos tiñan as principais compañías discográficas. Con locutores e críticos sempre da súa man —os “sobres” circulaban sen disimulo— a estratexia de difusión da tan “extravagante” aposta dunha británica polo galego logra unha recepción inmediata. Os despachos de axencia narran o comezo dun lanzamento que tiña a televisión como elemento clave: “Andee Silver, la primera cantante inglesa, que interpreta canciones en gallego, llegará a Madrid el próximo día 6, con el fin de actuar ante la TVE”. Presenza de “Teño saudade” nos programas musicais da única televisión en 1970 que foi entendida polos poucos críticos galegos que reivindicaban o movemento das Voces Ceibes como un exemplo máis do que se entendía como “explotación do idioma galego como tendencia snobista”. Tino Cabanas analizaba en 1971 estas tendencias “comerciais” da canción “con galego”: “Un idioma ha sido transformado por el capitalismo en instrumento, sólo instrumento, para conseguir sus fines inmediatos: aumentar el capital”. Cabanas, con todo, tiña razón. O éxito do “Teño saudade” de Andee Silver foi inmediato e a discográfica que a apadriñaba, conseguiu o que sen disimulo deseñara: vender discos e lograr beneficios. Insistía Cabanas: “Las casas de discos de España, ante el resonante triunfo alcanzado por Juan Pardo y por Andrés do Barro, comienzan a disputarse a los cantantes que interpretan sus canciones en gallego. A la «voz meiga de la meiga Galicia» se le reconocen valores poéticos que se le negaban desde principios del siglo XV. Y todo, en orden a la consecución de más y más dinero. El filón fue descubierto y es necesario explotarlo porque el rendimiento está asegurado”. Era, seica, o caso de Andee Silver.
Disco ‘Miña terra’, de Andee Silver, editado no 1972.
Éxito
Mentres así se opinaba, en anos franquistas, insistimos, a canción de Do Barro interpretada pola Silver logra ser cantada en miles de casas de Galicia, rádiase polas emisoras e de tal xeito asenta, naqueles complicados días, un orgullo pola lingua propia —especialmente entre os emigrados— que, hoxe, é difícil de acreditar e comprender. Éxitos da música de expresión galega, conectada coas tendencias xuvenís do pop, con recepción plenamente interclasista e a anos luz de fracasos “comerciais” como aqueles que a Editorial Galaxia sofre desde a súa alianza coa discográfica barcelonesa Edigsa. O rotundo fiasco popular das propostas que en galego se fabrican cos cantantes cataláns Luis Olivares e Jacinta, dos que editaran discos con letras adaptadas por Xosé Luis Franco Grande, puxo contra as cordas un tipo de música baseada unicamente nun chamado “compromiso” e do que, neses mesmos anos, era activo propagandista Xesús Alonso Montero. O problema, tamén daquela denunciado por Tino Cabanas, era a “ausencia de vínculos”. Mais Andee Silver, sen telos —e fóra das desiguais capacidades de promoción das que se beneficia— logra desde unha produción profesional e a contrastada calidade como compositor de Andrés do Barro, un suceso popular que acada aínda maior altura coa edición de “Teño saudade” na voz do seu autor orixinal. Meses despois, Do Barro publica (1971) a súa versión do éxito anterior de Andee Silver que pola súa parte non dubida en inserir a súa versión galega nun LP para o mercado británico que publica en 1970 baixo o título “A Handful of Silver”. O “Teño saudade” de Do Barro, malia os tristes arranxos cos que os directivos musicais da RCA (Ele Juárez, Paulo Ormi ou Ivo Ruíz) sempre o condenaron, arrasa en Galicia e entra nas listaxes de cancións máis vendidas que vai compartir por un tempo con “Meu ben dorme”, outro tema, extraordinario, de Juan Pardo e igualmente gravado en Londres coa participación de Andee Silver nos coros. Neste mesmo ano, á vez que Andrés Dobarro canta “Teño saudade” ante 25.000 persoas en Buenos Aires, Andee Silver, en xullo, actúa en Vigo e é xurado dun denominado Festival Bahía de Vigo no que participan Xil Ríos e Joan Baptista Humet, o cantante catalán que en 1977 lle dedicaría unha canción ao conflito das Encrobas. Aos poucos, a cantante inglesa insiste na súa colaboración con Juan Pardo e os dous forman un dúo que grava varios discos baixo a marca Andee & Juan. Mais a contribución de Andee Silver á canción en galego non se pecha con “Teño saudade”. Juan Pardo, a maiores de aproveitar esta temporal unión para gravar as súas primeiras composición en inglés, dálle pezas de enorme calidade —a espectacular “Soledades” ou “Nuestras manos”— e aínda reserva para Andee unha canción na que concentra toda a súa creatividade pop.
A emisión por TVE en marzo de 1971 de “Miña terra”, unha composición que Pardo firma co músico arxentino Adolfo Waitzman, cantada en galego por Andee Silver, foi o testemuño televisivo dun disco que, curiosamente, non logrou a difusión da que era merecente. O redescubrimento anos despois de “Miña terra” converterá este tema cantado por Andee Silver, nun dos máis versionados e interpretados polos cantantes e orquestras das verbenas populares galegas. Á altura de 1975 a colaboración de Juan Pardo con David Pardo xa rematara. Antes os intentos do anterior membro de Los Brincos por dar un salto internacional desde un LP gravado integramente en inglés —“Natural” (1972), no que tamén colabora Andee Silver— convértese no último sinal a resaltar dunha inglesa que, no parecer de Vicente Araguas, foi a que mellor interpretou “Teño saudade”. O certo é que grazas a Andee Silver e Andrés do Barro a cultura pop galega ten monumentos a escoitar e cantar. Nos últimos tempos aquel “Teño saudade” que un día de 1970 fora gravado en Londres foi celebrado, homenaxeado —o caso de Ugia Pedreira— por unha xeración que na practica non coñecera a desaparecida figura de Andrés Lapique do Barro. Un músico —e un poeta— que ocupa hoxe un lugar sinalado da nosa historia, social e musical. A Andrés —que xa vítima propicia das discográficas grava en 1972 unha versión do seu tema en español— preguntáronlle certo día en Vigo sobre que lle parecía a canción na voz de Andee Silver. E sincero que foi: “Por veces non a entendo ben, pero nós cando cantamos en inglés tampouco o facemos ben”. Era o seu carácter.
In 1889 Sigmund Freud was still relatively new in his field. He’s what we’d call pre-freudian Freud. He was 33 years old, working as an assistant to another psychiatrist, and he hadn’t had any of his big ideas yet.
[The only known recording of Freud’s voice, from the BBC]
Freud was mostly practicing hypnosis, which was a cutting edge but controversial treatment. One day Freud gets a new patient, a very wealthy woman named Fanny Moser. Moser was struggling from all kinds of ailments—hysteria, sleeplessness, pain, and odd tics, and she had lots of doctors. When Moser came to Freud, he would have her lie down on a couch, just like he did with his other patients. A lot of hypnotists used couches to get patients into a more relaxed state, but Freud especially needed it because he was kind of a clumsy hypnotist.
Freud would tell Moser, “you’re very getting sleepy” and she would insist that, no, in fact, she wasn’t. Instead, Fanny Moser wanted to talk. At first Freud would interrupt her with his theories, but Fanny wasn’t having it. She wanted to tell him her stories. That’s when the light went on. Freud realized that if you just let patients talk and don’t say anything, they will let down their defenses, and the unconscious will be revealed. This is the moment when the pre-Freudian Freud becomes the Freudian Freud. The Freudian Freud’s new techniques and theories for therapy would come to be called “psychoanalysis,” and it would be embodied, in practice and popular culture, by a single piece of furniture: the couch.
[Freud’s original couch. Credit: Robert Huffstutter]
You can actually go visit Freud’s couch, which is on display in his last home, in London. Freud had the couch shipped from Vienna after fleeing the Nazis in 1938. Freud saw patients on his couch right up to his death a year later. Freud actually had a few couches, but the one we now associate with him was a gift from a patient, a Madame Benvenisti. She told Freud that if she was going to have her head examined, she might as well be comfortable, so she bought him a plain, beige, divan-style sofa – what some people might call a “swooning couch” –which Freud covered in exotic, red Persian carpets and piled up with velvet pillows.
The more patients Freud saw on the couch, and the more he wrote about those patients, the more the couch became thought of as an essential instrument in Freudian psychoanalysis. The couch became a tool to help patients lie down on their backs, and look up at the ceiling, which forced the patients to look into themselves rather than, say out a window, or into the face of the analyst. The analyst typically sat in a chair, out of sight from the patient on the couch. Some analysts believe this positioning helps the patient feel freer to open up, but Freud, however, may have had more selfish reasons. He once remarked “I cannot put up with being stared at by other people for eight hours a day.”
In any case, the couch took on such a central role in psychoanalytic practice that it started to mean good business for analytic couch manufacturers. Imperial Leather Furniture Company, in Queens New York, sold psychoanalytic couches like hot cakes, starting in the 1940s.
[An oil painting of Irving Levy (with his wife). He patented a psychoanalytic couch the Brafman family sold for decades. Credit: Ann Heppermann]
Irving Levy patented a version of a psychoanalytic couch he’d designed with his business partner. Irving’s daughter, Alicia Brafman says he extremely proud of his couch design. Every time anyone walked into the store, he’d saunter up and say, “You know we make Freud’s couches.” Which of course, they didn’t. The couch they sold didn’t look anything like Freud’s exotic, cozy pile of cushions. These were sleek, low-to-the-ground, and free of buttons, cushions, and accessories that nervous patients could pick at.
[Alicia and Fred Brafman. Credit: Ann Heppermann]
The Imperial Leather Furniture Company boomed in the 40s, 50s, and early 60s, which some have called the Golden Age of Psychoanalysis. Then in the late 60s things changed. People started to experiment with alternative therapies and the first generation of anti-depressants offered faster relief. Traditional psychoanalysis fell out of favor. Analytic couch sales declined. But you wouldn’t know it from popular culture.
Even though real therapists aren’t using the couch all that much, cartoonists still need it. Bob Mankoff, cartoon editor of The New Yorker magazine, says the couch is fantastic as a symbol. It’s just what a joke needs. “I think the couch immediately establishes the power relationships here,” says Mankoff. “The psychiatrist is in control. You are sort of helpful, childlike, lying on the couch.”
[Selections from the Freud Museum exhibit On the Couch: Psychoanalysis in Cartoons, Art from the New Yorker]
It’s not just in the New Yorker. You see the couch all over popular culture. In the Sopranos, Tony Soprano spends a lot of time with his therapist. And even though he always sits in a chair, when the camera pans out, there’s a very typical brown analytic couch in the background, as if the set designer wanted to reassure our subconscious about what he was doing there.
[Tony Soprano in therapy. Image courtesy of The Columbus Dispatch.]
All those different iterations of the couch have compelled thousands of people to make the pilgrimage to see the original couch in London. The couch exemplifies how Freud revolutionized our understanding of the human mind. Freud has given us the id, the ego, the superego, the freudian slip, and a whole number of complexes, but beyond creating a vocabulary for the brain, he gave it a place to rest. To feel at ease. To lie down and talk.
O PP e o actual presidente da Xunta basearon na suposta ilegalidade das adxudicacións do bipartito a dura campaña de 2009. O TSXG declarou legal o concurso e ilegal a anulación que o Goberno fixo da repartición de megavatios. O Supremo ratifica agora a ilegalidade daquela suspensión.
