Speaking about friendship, Ravi Mohan writes:

One Man Hacking: The Importance of Having Friends Who Disagree

...and it's difficult not to agree.

I'd just add two notes of caution... Remember being not too loud either about

1. Politics, because, in your friends' view, you're as good a person as you're so leftist or rightist as them, or about

2. The entertainment business, aka The Arts (literature, film-making, music, paintwork, etc.) because you'll be as intelligent a person as you conform to their tastes (which, not incidentally, they don't usually regard as tastes, but as statements of culture).

And never, ever, think of giving them your sincere opinion when they've asked you explicitly for it.

El historiador David Irving es condenado en Viena a tres años de cárcel por negar el Holocausto | elmundo.es

M'avergonyeix ser ciutadà d'un estat on també ser ignorant, imbècil o malintencionat és delicte. Mal defensam les nostres llibertats si les anorream. Si contra l'estupidesa malèvola no ens basta la ignomínia, i per contra ens cal recórrer a l'eliminació física de la seva expressió i dels seus expressors, és que hem començat a recórrer, perillosament i lamentablement, el camí de la tirania.

Que se veu que ens ataca des de fora i des de dins, i ni ens n'adonam.

Al contrari, la celebram com a progressista.

UPDATE 17:29

PS. Addendum:

Marginal Revolution: Holocaust denial and hypocrisy

Alex Tabarrok on the same topic.

Explica Pere Quintana Seguí a bitsenblocs perquè s’ha d’enllaçar i s’ha d’ésser enllaçat, i me convenç:

La meva experiència em diu que molts blocaires no són prou conscients de la importància que tenen els enllaços en aquest món. No són poc els blocs que escriuen articles sense enllaçar a ningú i esperen amb els braços creuats que els lectors arribin.

De motivacions per escriure blocs n’hi ha moltes, d’això en podríem parlar en un altre fil, però, siguin quines siguin, en general ens interessa que el que hem escrit sigui llegit pel màxim nombre de gent possible, encara que no sigui el nostre bjectiu principal.

[...]

L’única manera d’aconseguir això és ser actiu i participar a les converses de la xarxa. Si un troba en un bloc un article interessant que mereix ser comentat, és millor escriure un comentari elaborat en el teu propi bloc, en el qual enllaçarem l’article original, que deixar un comentari ràpid al bloc. És probable que l’autor el primer article detecti el teu article mitjançant serveis com Technorati.com, o gràcies a un missatge de correu electrònic queli hauràs enviat, i que et contesti des del seu bloc, tot enllaçant el teu article. Així, no només hauràs guanyat un enllaç, amb l’augment de puntuació als cercadors i de visites que això comporta, si no que també hauràs participat en una reflexió col·lectiva que sol ser sempre més interessant que els curts i, en general, ànomis comentaris al peu dels articles.

Gràcies Pere, tens raó. Anem per feina, idò.

Marta Contreras, la catalana del món, thinks aloud about friendship here and asks what she should do about a (not so concreted) situation. She graciously let my reply in, which went as follows:

>What should I do?

Stop thinking other people mustn't disappoint you. That's not saying people should disappoint you, either :-) I mean it's a common but erroneous assumption to think friends should never let you down; and that if they do, they're not friends of yours anymore. Friends are not out there to please you or satisfy you; you shouldn't force them to act the way you think they ought to act in order to gain your favour...

Having said that :-) my take on your entry is that if you're in doubt about that particular friend of yours, the friendship is over. You know who your friends are, and friendship doesn't depend on phone calls or frequent contact...

So start coming, links. And you Google guys, upgrade my pagerank, now! And you my dear hasty visitors, my statcounter is telling me seventy five percent of you spend less than five seconds in this place... Five seconds? Five secs when you could do it in three and have a coffee on the remaining two? Please begin considering not so lamely wasting your time here...

La Fundació Catalunya Oberta diu:

Aquesta darrera setmana, arran de les protestes en el món musulmà per la publicació la passada tardor d’unes caricatures de Mahoma en un diari danès, ha semblat que es feia realitat la famosa teoria del xoc de civilitzacions. La reacció del món musulmà, dels seus sectors més integristes, dels seus règims més dictatorials, ha posat en relleu les resistències a acceptar les normes bàsiques que configuren les societats democràtiques occidentals. La resistència a acceptar la llibertat d’expressió, sense la qual no hi hauria societats lliures i obertes. La reacció d’aquest sectors musulmans no pot ser una sorpresa per a ningú. Han aprofitat una excusa qualsevol per defensar el que sempre han defensat: la lluita contra “els infidels”.

El que sí que sorprèn, i preocupa, és la reacció del món occidental. Des de la Unió Europea fins als Estats Units, els màxims dirigents occidentals han cridat a la “prudència” i al “respecte”. La prudència i el respecte mai no sobren, però Occident no pot autolimitar la seva llibertat perquè un determinat grup de persones se sentin ofeses. La prudència no ens pot dur a la submissió als desitjos d’un grup religiós. Les bases de les nostres societats democràtiques es van construir al llarg de segles de tensió entre l’àmbit religiós i l’àmbit civil. La preeminència de l’àmbit civil i de les seves lleis sobre l’àmbit religiós i les seves lleis és una conquesta irrenunciable. Ho és quan es parla del cristianisme però ho ha de ser també davant qualsevol altra religió. La llei, civil, ha de ser igual per a tots els ciutadans. Siguin quines siguin les seves creences. Igual per a totes les comunitats religioses.

No pot ser que ara, quan l’amenaça de la intolerància ens arriba des de l’islam, cedim el terreny llargament guanyat quan l’amenaça intolerant venia del cristianisme. Cal mantenir-se ferm siguin quines siguin les pressions. De res no valen els reiterats discursos del president del govern espanyol sobre l’Aliança de Civilitzacions si aquesta aliança s’ha de basar en la claudicació de la civilització occidental, en la renúncia a la llibertat que tants segles ha costat de guanyar. Davant els intolerants, davant aquells que volen fixar-nos unilateralment el que és lícit i el que no és lícit, no hi ha altra resposta que la defensa de la democràcia i la llibertat. No hi ha altra resposta que la tolerància zero amb la intolerància.

I això està ben dit i per això ho reproduesc, i perquè la sang em bull i no vull dir-ho de manera més visceral.

Siguem conscients —en aquestes coses ens jugam el ser o no ser. I siguem valents, també.

Que quan saps que te poden fer explotar per no pensar com ells, no deixa de tenir el seu mèrit.

Llegit a Libertad Digital:

Los jugadores de la selección española de fútbol cobrarán 540.000 euros cada uno si ganan el Mundial de Alemania.

Una raó més perquè no el guanyin, vet aquí...

AMBROSIES' LAST

A selection of fables from Ambrose Bierce, Fantastic Fables

The Faithful Cashier

THE Cashier of a bank having defaulted was asked by the Directors
what he had done with the money taken.

"I am greatly surprised by such a question," said the Cashier; "it
sounds as if you suspected me of selfishness. Gentlemen, I applied
that money to the purpose for which I took it; I paid it as an
initiation fee and one year's dues in advance to the Treasurer of
the Cashiers' Mutual Defence Association."

"What is the object of that organisation?" the Directors inquired.

"When any one of its members is under suspicion," replied the
Cashier, "the Association undertakes to clear his character by
submitting evidence that he was never a prominent member of any
church, nor foremost in Sunday-school work."

Recognising the value to the bank of a spotless reputation for its
officers, the President drew his check for the amount of the
shortage and the Cashier was restored to favour.

The Devoted Widow

A WIDOW weeping on her husband's grave was approached by an
Engaging Gentleman who, in a respectful manner, assured her that he
had long entertained for her the most tender feelings.

"Wretch!" cried the Widow. "Leave me this instant! Is this a time
to talk to me of love?"

"I assure you, madam, that I had not intended to disclose my
affection," the Engaging Gentleman humbly explained, "but the power
of your beauty has overcome my discretion."

"You should see me when I have not been crying," said the Widow.

A Forfeited Right

THE Chief of the Weather Bureau having predicted a fine day, a
Thrifty Person hastened to lay in a large stock of umbrellas, which
he exposed for sale on the sidewalk; but the weather remained
clear, and nobody would buy. Thereupon the Thrifty Person brought
an action against the Chief of the Weather Bureau for the cost of
the umbrellas.

"Your Honour," said the defendant's attorney, when the case was
called, "I move that this astonishing action be dismissed. Not
only is my client in no way responsible for the loss, but he
distinctly foreshadowed the very thing that caused it."

"That is just it, your Honour," replied the counsel for the
plaintiff; "the defendant by making a correct forecast fooled my
client in the only way that he could do so. He has lied so much
and so notoriously that he has neither the legal nor moral right to
tell the truth."

Judgment for the plaintiff.

Dame Fortune and the Traveller

A WEARY Traveller who had lain down and fallen asleep on the brink
of a deep well was discovered by Dame Fortune.

"If this fool," she said, "should have an uneasy dream and roll
into the well men would say that I did it. It is painful to me to
be unjustly accused, and I shall see that I am not."

So saying she rolled the man into the well.

The Man and the Viper

A MAN finding a frozen Viper put it into his bosom.

"The coldness of the human heart," he said, with a grin, "will keep
the creature in his present condition until I can reach home and
revive him on the coals."

But the pleasures of hope so fired his heart that the Viper thawed,
and sliding to the ground thanked the Man civilly for his
hospitality and glided away.

The Lion and the Mouse

A JUDGE was awakened by the noise of a lawyer prosecuting a Thief.
Rising in wrath he was about to sentence the Thief to life
imprisonment when the latter said:

"I beg that you will set me free, and I will some day requite your
kindness."

Pleased and flattered to be bribed, although by nothing but an
empty promise, the Judge let him go. Soon afterward he found that
it was more than an empty promise, for, having become a Thief, he
was himself set free by the other, who had become a Judge.

All this fearful event of the fast-spreading avian flu has reminded me of this short story by Patricia Highsmith. It would have graciously fit in her collection of stories about animals-turned-revengers, The Animal-Lover's Book of Beastly Murder, but for one reason or the other it wasn't included and was shamefully left unpublished for life. Fortunately, Highsmith's editors rescued it from their papers and published it after her death in Nothing That Meets The Eye. Although it's an outstanding story, you're warned to read it at your own risk.

Two Disagreeable Pigeons, by Patricia Highsmith.

One goes around doing his chores in an ordinary way in an ordinary day while some music's being played at the computer, and sometimes, just a few, precious times, one has to give up broom, brush and paint to stop, breathe and hear, because something extraordinary, unexpectedly, has managed to break the dull routine, and in so doing, find a way through your skin down to there where weakness is kept. This is one of those songs, and that's happened to me just a few minutes ago.


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Life is bigger
It’s bigger than you
And you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no I’ve said too much
I set it up
That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough
I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try
Every whisper
Of every waking hour I’m
Choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool
Oh no I’ve said too much
I set it up
Consider this
The hint of the century
Consider this
The slip that brought me
To my knees failed
What if all these fantasies
Come flailing around
Now I’ve said too much
I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try
But that was just a dream
That was just a dream

Nothing That Meets The Eye

Patricia Highsmith

Read on December 20, 2003

Es curiós comprovar com les narracions més antigues que són bones (The Mightiest Mornings; Where the Door Is Always Open and the Welcome Mat Is Out; In the Plaza; The Still Point of the Turning World) no es llegeixen amb tanta suavitat i facilitat com les bones més recents (Man's Best Friend; Born Failure; The Returnees; Two Disagreeable Pigeons; It's a Deal; The Trouble with Mrs Blynn, the Trouble with the World). Segurament Highsmith va anar agafant la tècnica i el seu estil propi amb el temps.

Ambrosies for everybody!

A Matter of Method

A PHILOSOPHER seeing a Fool beating his Donkey, said:

"Abstain, my son, abstain, I implore. Those who resort to violence
shall suffer from violence."

"That," said the Fool, diligently belabouring the animal, "is what
I'm trying to teach this beast - which has kicked me."

"Doubtless," said the Philosopher to himself, as he walked away,
"the wisdom of fools is no deeper nor truer than ours, but they
really do seem to have a more impressive way of imparting it."

The Conscientious Official

WHILE a Division Superintendent of a railway was attending closely
to his business of placing obstructions on the track and tampering
with the switches he received word that the President of the road
was about to discharge him for incompetency.

"Good Heavens!" he cried; "there are more accidents on my division
than on all the rest of the line."

"The President is very particular," said the Man who brought him
the news; "he thinks the same loss of life might be effected with
less damage to the company's property."

"Does he expect me to shoot passengers through the car windows?"
exclaimed the indignant official, spiking a loose tie across the
rails. "Does he take me for an assassin?"

The Kangaroo and the Zebra

A KANGAROO hopping awkwardly along with some bulky object concealed
in her pouch met a Zebra, and desirous of keeping his attention
upon himself, said:

"Your costume looks as if you might have come out of the
penitentiary."

"Appearances are deceitful," replied the Zebra, smiling in the
consciousness of a more insupportable wit, "or I should have to
think that you had come out of the Legislature."

A Causeway

A RICH Woman having returned from abroad disembarked at the foot of
Knee-deep Street, and was about to walk to her hotel through the
mud.

"Madam," said a Policeman, "I cannot permit you to do that; you
would soil your shoes and stockings."

"Oh, that is of no importance, really," replied the Rich Woman,
with a cheerful smile.

"But, madam, it is needless; from the wharf to the hotel, as you
observe, extends an unbroken line of prostrate newspaper men who
crave the honour of having you walk upon them."

"In that case," she said, seating herself in a doorway and unlocking her satchel, "I shall have to put on my rubber boots."

Alarm and Pride

"GOOD-MORNING, my friend," said Alarm to Pride; "how are you this
morning?"

"Very tired," replied Pride, seating himself on a stone by the
wayside and mopping his steaming brow. "The politicians are
wearing me out by pointing to their dirty records with ME, when
they could as well use a stick."

Alarm sighed sympathetically, and said:
"It is pretty much the same way here. Instead of using an opera-
glass they view the acts of their opponents with ME!"

As these patient drudges were mingling their tears, they were
notified that they must go on duty again, for one of the political
parties had nominated a thief and was about to hold a gratification
meeting.

The Witch's Steed

A BROOMSTICK which had long served a witch as a steed complained of
the nature of its employment, which it thought degrading.

"Very well," said the Witch, "I will give you work in which you
will be associated with intellect - you will come in contact with brains. I shall present you to a housewife."

"What!" said the Broomstick, "do you consider the hands of a
housewife intellectual?"

"I referred," said the Witch, "to the head of her good man."

Ambrose Bierce, Fantastic Fables

The Discontented Malefactor

A JUDGE having sentenced a Malefactor to the penitentiary was proceeding to point out to him the disadvantages of crime and the profit of reformation.

"Your Honour," said the Malefactor, interrupting, "would you be kind enough to alter my punishment to ten years in the penitentiary and nothing else?"

"Why," said the Judge, surprised, "I have given you only three years!"

"Yes, I know," assented the Malefactor - "three years' imprisonment and the preaching. If you please, I should like to commute the preaching."

Ambrose Bierce, Fantastic Fables.

(Yeah... A good piece of advice for us conscientous
parents)

Once in a lifetime...

...these things happen :-)

I was about to leave for work when Mika said he wanted to drop by, later in the afternoon. He's fond of coming to see me at work on Fridays since the place is nice and there are some playground attractions nearby, but especially because I usually have a cheap, little new toy for him in stock for when he comes by. That day, though, I hadn't any —I felt the whole thing was going to become awkward so I tried to convince him not to come, but to no avail. At last, I agreed at his dropping by, but warned I had no toy to give him. If you're not a parent and aren't used to offspring's disdain and secular ungratefulness you won't fully appreciate the sheer elation I felt when he said it's alright dad, I won't ask you for anything, we'll just play around with the old hen-shaped rolling-stick and the balls, you and me, you with one ball, me with the other...

Hi ha dies que, no en sé el motiu, aconseguesc llevar-me les ulleres del donar les coses per descomptat; aquests dies, que en són ben pocs, m'agraden i em meravellen, i em fan caut i alhora orgullós de pertànyer a una gran civilització, la que ha fet possible això mateix: que les ulleres de la cotidianeïtat no ens deixin veure com és d'anormal que el meu fill sigui ara mateix a escola, on uns estranys se'n cuiden i l'eduquen; que surti aigua de l'aixeta i que la pugui beure; que obri la gelera i que estigui plena; que si perd la feina o em pos malalt sàpiga que no em trobaré desemparat.

Es tan extraordinari, tot això, tan històricament excepcional, que podríem i deuríem pensar, o saber, que no és l'estat natural de les coses; que la veritat no està en l'ordre, sinó en el caos; no en l'abundància, sinó en la misèria; no en la pau, sinó en la guerra. Que, com diu la lletra petita, rendibilitats passades no garanteixen rendibilitats futures, i que, per tant, més ens val no badar i perdre-ho. I en comptes d'això, de sentir-nos orgullosos, ben conscients d'allò que hem fet, i sabedors de com ho hem fet i de com ho haurem de seguir fent perquè no se'ns vagi en orris, negligim el passat, ens avergonyim del present i renunciem, cada cop més, a reconèixer i assumir la responsabilitat dels actes propis; comprometem el futur, tot lastrant-lo amb els grans errors de la peresa, l'abús, la indolència i la pusil.lanimitat.

He vist i disfrutat l'entrevista que Joaquín Soler Serrano va fer a Josep Pla l'any 76 dins la sèrie 'A fondo' de Televisió espanyola. Més enllà de comprovar que és ver tot allò que Pla va escriure d'ell mateix —la timidesa, la manca d'eloqüència, l'escassa fe en la humanitat—, i de constatar-ne l'humilitat i la lúcida sinceritat amb què Pla s'hi descriu, allò que realment copsa i admira —i que, potser paradoxalment, se fa evident veient-lo i escoltant-lo més que no llegint-lo— és que es tracta d'un home, d’una banda, profundament lliure; i de l’altra, desacomplexadament, naturalment, exclusivament català.

Mika comença l'escola dijous. La setmana passada, la mestra ens reuní per explicar-nos com aniria tot i donar-nos les instruccions pertinents. També ens va passar un petit qüestionari amb preguntes referents al caràcter, aficions i altres aspectes semblants dels nostres fills. Una de les qüestions incloses era la següent:

Quin aspecte li preocupa més de l'educació del seu fill/a?

Què dimonis, vaig pensar. Per què pregunten. I vaig contestar:

Que pares exorbitats, juntament amb professors desmotivats, en escoles imprudentment infradotades, d'idearis romànticament disfuncionals, en un marasme de lleis frívolament enactades i derogades, acabin aixecant un mur de mediocritat que deixi, en una banda, el meu fill; i en l'altra, inexplorat, el saber humà i la joia d'acostar-s'hi.

Però Júlia no m'hi va deixar presentar-lo. Així que vaig escriure:

Que li peguin i no se torni

:-)

---

Ahir vaig sentir una bona definició de solitud —que ningú no pensi en tu.

Criatura dolcíssima... Es ben coneguda la història del poema; com Llach, involuntàriament, en transcriure'l per musicar-lo transposà te per ve i transformà així per sempre el 'jo t'inventava noms i altres carícies' pel colpidor 'jo t'intentava noms'. Això i la tremenda força lírica dels versos, i el fet, preciós per com indica humana complexitat, de ser-ne Fuster l'autor —murri, malcarat, punyent, malsofrit, monstre de la raó— fan d'aquests uns dels més bonics versos que mai s'han escrit en llengua catalana.


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_______________

He sentit pena i alegria per Mika aquests dies... Alegria per veure com creix, com madura el seu cervell. Pena perquè, a poc a poc, i per aquest mateix motiu, va abandonant la felicitat sui generis de la infància i perquè això crea un sofriment nou, que arriba per quedar-s'hi. Abans era desgraciat i plorava o era feliç i reia, però això era tot —eren sentiments instantanis, actuals, producte de situacions reals i concretes, singulars. Ara, per contra, és capaç d'anticipar els esdeveniments, de situar-los en el futur i contemplar-los des d'aquesta perspectiva; i clar, també d'experimentar potencialment, respecte a ells, sentiments de por i d' inquietud, de recança. Benvingut a la vida, fill meu, aquesta contínua ansietat...

_______________

Diu Savater a 'El valor de educar':

'A lo largo de la historia los moralistas han concentrado unánimamente su mensaje en tres virtudes esenciales de las que se deducen con más o menos facilidad todas las demás: el coraje para vivir frente a la muerte, la generosidad para convivir con los semejantes y la prudencia para sobrevivir entre necesidades que no podemos abolir'.

Estic molt d'acord amb les virtuts esmentades; tan sols alteraria l'ordre de les dues primeres —generositat davant el fet de la mort (que evita que ens repleguem completament dins de nosaltres mateixos, i que fa que, malgrat saber-nos limitats absolutament en el temps, en donem als altres) i coratge per conviure en societat, que això sí que té mèrit...

'Cuidaet a l'eixir', my grandfather used to say to me every time I rushed with the bike to the gates; 'El meu xiquet', with a big smile, whenever he greeted me. He was a tender, grumpy, kind-hearted man. I managed to have all my elementary school' arts and crafts' assignments made by him —while my brother did my paintings— and so they made a good-for-nothing anti-handyman of me, but what the hell? They saved me a lot of trouble back then, and I'm thankful. I remember with special fondness what at the moment and many years from then I saw as an incredible feat. The teacher had ordered to have all and each of our 'regletes' marked with our names. There were hundreds, thousands, millions of regletes in the box —my abatement was great, I was sure I wouldn't be able to ever complete the task; and then, when come back from school the following day, I found my name marked in all and each of them — God, grandfather! Thanks for that, and for all your love, too.

I don't rush anymore

to answer the phone in dismay, if Júlia and Mika are at home at night.

Wonderful first day of beach yesterday evening at Peguera. I was joyous to see how Mika's grown up —in size as well as in ways of doing— since the previous summer.

Lately, it seems as if having children learn to swim the early the better (at one, two, or three years-old) is the parents' mission number one —swimming pools crowd with toddlers. But one figure I'd like to know — the ratio of swimmers versus not swimmers who drown every year. I'd venture the ratio be greater than one — that people who can swim drown more often than those who cannot, just because they take far greater risks.

If my guess is true, and you add to that how many infections children get at swimming pools; the horrible whiff of hot air when you go inside covered pools; the disgust and dangers of filthy shower floors; and how far away, as a rule, swimming pools are from home, I think my son will learn to swim from me, at the beach, when he'll be seven or eight years old. Surely he'll swim as clumsily as I do... Good enough, though, to survive a mere capsizing and bad enough to dare chance those silly red flags...

Què hi ha a la base del desordre? La peresa.