Saturday, September 24, 2005

My son got his vlog

Alexander, my 5 years old son has been hanging out around me while I was working on my blog and my movies. At the beginning he didn't seem too interested but after a while he approached me and start asking me all these questions about what I was doing.

After a short, and hopefully understandable for a 5 yeard old boy explanation, Alex decided he wanted to create his own vblog... "so I can make movies for people to whatch" he said.

Ok, I know, I will have to do much of the work but I love sharing this with my kid, so here he goes. Alex Sanz Blog.

Good luck son.

Katrina eating cheese.
Taking care of my kids in the morning is a real challenge but the time I can expend with them and the things I learn everyday payoff.
One of the most amazing things I’ve realized is how much I need to learn how to let it go.
Let me explain.
Here I have my little daughter, trying to peel a minicheese. She is learning to use her hands. Since her fingers are still small and have to get use to grab objects, every small action becomes a learning exercise an important practice for her motor-skills development.
On the other side is daddy, looking at his daughter struggling with the cheese at hand. Pulling and pushing, biting, squeezing, everything is permitted as long as it gets you to your goal.

I start getting anxious.

The society of today, the modern and advanced times we are living in are teaching us that everything should be fast. Fast walk, fast food, fast connection, we don’t want to wait and stop to enjoy the moment, so… daddy wants to jump and peel off the damn wrap, take out the cheese and be done with it.

But then I realize I am missing the important part, she is learning and then I relax and enjoy the beautiful sight of my daughter unwrapping a minicheese.

Think about it.

Working late.


Just trying to fix some small problems with my blog and making sure the videos pop-up in a new window.

The kids are sleeping and my wife had "ladies nite" so I have the bathroom all for myself, if you know what I mean

Friday, September 23, 2005

Videos for everyone.


From now on I will be posting some videos too.
Here goes the first one.

Thanks to Ryanne and Michael from freevlog.org for the excelent tutorials and help with this new adventure.

Eventually I will post all the outtakes... hilarious.

Have to love the "Blogers"

These are some of the blogs I found around and enjoyed very much.

Principio de Incertudumbre

Kevin Airgid's Vanity Blog

My Life at the Bottom

Back to work.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Vagabond Years

Arriving in America with only $40 for a short visit, a young Dane, Jacob Holdt ended up staying over five years, hitchhiking more than 100,000 miles throughout the USA.

He sold blood plasma twice weekly to be able to buy film. He lived in more than 400 homes - from the poorest migrant workhttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifers to America's wealthiest families such as the Rockefellers. They not only gave him a hospitality and warmth, but their continuing friendship to this day.

Back in Denmark he put together the photos he had taken into a multimedia show named American Pictures.

Beautiful!!!!

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Everything is Broken-Bob Dylan

Broken lines, broken strings,
Broken threads, broken springs,
Broken idols, broken heads,
People sleeping in broken beds.
Ain't no use jiving
Ain't no use joking
Everything is broken.

Broken bottles, broken plates,
Broken switches, broken gates,
Broken dishes, broken parts,
Streets are filled with broken hearts.
Broken words never meant to be spoken,
Everything is broken.

Bridge: Seem like every time you stop and turn around
Something else just hit the ground

Broken cutters, broken saws,
Broken buckles, broken laws,
Broken bodies, broken bones,
Broken voices on broken phones.
Take a deep breath, feel like you're chokin',
Everything is broken.

Bridge: Every time you leave and go off someplace
Things fall to pieces in my face

Broken hands on broken ploughs,
Broken treaties, broken vows,
Broken pipes, broken tools,
People bending broken rules.
Hound dog howling, bull frog croaking,
Everything is broken.

Bob Dylan

Monday, September 19, 2005

Solitude

When it comes to self-knowledge, few are the times when one has the insight of a new discovery, fewer the ones when you can recognize this insight, and almost none when you have the strength to accept it.

I’ve always toyed with the idea of being some kind of solitary person. Although my past history and youth events seemingly indicate otherwise, I thought it fit well my artistic temperament, it seemed quite romantic and mysterious and not too unpleasant since I was never a real outsider. That safety net, that assuredness of established friends allowed me to enjoy my proclaimed alienist behavior.

We all want to be different in one way or another, somewhat special. We all search for the asserted ness of individuality to feed our egocentric instinct. The difference resides in the way we choose to find it.

One day, I left my country and imposed upon myself an exile; more mental than physical, without really knowing the consequences of this act. And bit by bit what had started as a game became a ghost that would haunt my soul until this day.

Loneliness and solitude went from being sporadically guest of my house to making camp in my life and since then - they have become my companions. I learned to disguise them under my prompt smile, and the easiness of my manners when I mingle in group events, whether a birthday, baptism, work-lunch or family meeting, embarrassed by their blunt and crude presence not quite socially accepted.

Don’t misunderstand me. I am lucky to have a beautiful wife I can call my friend and two gorgeous kids that fill my days, but I’ve never been able to shake the feeling of alienation, of being an eternal foreigner in a far away land.

These certainties became unbearable at those moments when walking on the street I look at people and feel how little I have in common with the rest of the world.
Until now I thought the cause of these, to be that I am living in a foreign country, with a different culture and uncommon historical past. These thoughts are meant to happen yet more often when looking at my kids and seeing there is not only a cultural gap but a generational one (for that I am scared and afraid it won’t help to mitigate the differences that are bound to exist between us as they grow to become teenagers).

I see other people with similar living circumstances to mine. Immigrants, travelers that have made what it seems to me a fulfilled life in this country. They found friends, discover new hobbies and expand their horizons. I look at them with good envy amazed at how much I’ve missed and scared of how deep I’ve fallen inside the hole. But not self-pity on these assessments just a big regret for how far I’ve dragged my family into my own loneliness.

I can’t avoid thinking about my grandfather. He was an estranged man I barely knew. A solitary one for what I heard in some sort conversations here and there. A man who died as he lived, lonely and quiet on his bed while the rest of the family kept living in other rooms of the house without noticing the life escaping as a silent sight through his mouth.

His enigma, a secret never to be known, may have been a sign of a heritage solitude that will be pass from generations to come. A predisposition to live in a world apart where not even the closest to you are allowed to trespass.

So I got to discover that what I thought to be a fashionable statement of unruly artistic character it was indeed a truth in myself, and the mask I thought wearing as a disguise has proven to be more real than my face.