Haciendo el indio un lunes

Poco a poco voy cogiendo carrerilla pero en las dos semanas que llevamos de 2008 no termino de arrancar esto como a mi me gustaría. Pese a que la semana pasada cumplí escrupulosamente con lo planeado -Me encanta que los planes salgan bien, que dijo el del puro- terminé la semana a medio gas y eso contando con que ni siquiera fui a trabajar en la librería como habitualmente  hago los sábados. Espero remediarlo con creces y para esta semana no duden ustedes que podrán encontrar por aquí más y mejores contenidos, con una commission personal, el peor sketch que jamás me hicieran en un salón del comic (y su jocosa historia, jajaja, cómo me río todavía), la reseña comiquera de turno y si el tiempo y las ganas lo permiten el repaso, desde la devoción y admiración de una película que ya se ha convertido en un auténtico clásico personal: The Darjeeling Limited, película tremenda, divertida por momentos, nostálgica casi siempre y eufórica cuando debe serlo.

Con los sones melancólicos de Peter Sarstedt -que acompañan los primeros momentos del film de Anderson- un servidor se despide de ustedes por el momento, deseando que tengan una semana tranquila llena de momentos en los que poder visitar este su blog amigo. Y recuerden, una vez más, tener mucho cuidado ahí fuera.

Where Do You Go To (my Lovely)?

Peter Sarstedt

You talk like Marlene Dietrich
And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire
Your clothes are all made by Balmain
And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair

You live in a fancy apartment
Of the Boulevard of St. Michel
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records
And a friend of Sacha Distel

You go to the embassy parties
Where you talk in Russian and Greek
And the young men who move in your circle
They hang on every word you speak, yes I do ...

Chorus

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do ...

I've seen all your qualifications
You got from the Sorbonne
And the painting you stole from Picasso
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does

When you go on your summer vacation
You go to Juan-les-Pins
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit
You get an even suntan, on your back and on your legs

When the snow falls you're found in St. Moritz
With the others of the jet-set
And you sip your Napoleon Brandy
But you never get your lips wet

Chorus

You're in-between twenty an thirty -
A very desirable age
Your body's firm and inviting
But you live on a glittering state

Your name is heard in high places
You know the Aga Khan
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas
And you keep it just for fun, for a laugh ahaha

They say that when you get married
It'll be to a millionaire
But they don't realize where you came from
And I wonder if they really care, they give a damn

Chorus

I remember the back streets of Naples
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their lowly brown tags, yes they try

So look into my face Marie-Claire
And remember just who you are
Then go and forget me forever
But I know you still bear the scar, deep inside, yes you do

I know where you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
I know the thoughts that surround you
'Cause I can look inside your head