He's very talented. Amazing I would dare to say. He’s got cheekbones to die for and is a living god on a snowboard.
But we are not here to discuss his affinity with winter sports, or the fact that he made more than a few designers drool not long ago. We are here to talk about his videos.
I believe this is the first one he publishes under the name of “Gringoteca”. We hope for plenty of more to come.
“20 DOLLAR” by Guido Carminatti.
Monday, 28 March 2011
DRESS THE PART.
Mail:
Alex Anda vestido bien masculino y camina bien varon, porque es Cardon. Sin pulseras, ni collares, nada de accesorios.
Sorry, pero te lo tengo que decir sabes?
Beso enorme
???
Translation:
Alex Make sure you dress masculine and walk like a boy, cause is Cardon. No bracelets, no necklaces, no accessories.
I’m sorry but I just had to tell you, ok?
Huge kiss
???
Me:
What the fuck? I understand is Cardon, and is a super conservative old school gaucho-style brand. I understand if I go to the fitting for the show wearing a fucking dress that might throw them off a bit, but: Firstly, my walk IS quite masculine. I have never had anyone complaining about it because of being too feminine. I had once someone telling me to make it “less rock’n roll” (very intriguing I must say, cause it got me thinking on how a pop walk would look like, or a jazz one… still, I understood the point and it was a very accurate suggestion), but I was never requested to make it more “macho”.
Secondly, there are much, MUCH better ways of saying the same thing.
My ideal mail would kind of go like this:
Alex You have fitting for Cardon, right? Well, remember they are very conservative, so make sure you dress the part just for the fitting. You know they are not very forward with these things, and I don’t want you to miss the show!
Huge kiss.
???
I guess the “I’m Sorry I just had to tell you” thing is what really got me. Is like I was being lectured over something, instead of advised/-warned about it, like I should have been.
Well, I guess politeness is not on the menu today. If everything works out, and they buy the idea of a standard-properboy looking me, I’ll be doing the show on Thursday. And because of this, I’ll be more than happy to go to the show in my weirdest outfit. I might even recur to my electric blue, lace bluse. Yeah. Maybe some lipstick even.
I sometimes forget how AWFULLY SHOCKING it can be for certain people to see a blonde guy in some random thrift shop mismatched ensemble. Is not like I’m trying to twist people’s preconceptions, it’s just clothes for fuck’s sake. I’m not freaking Leigh Bowery.
Alex Anda vestido bien masculino y camina bien varon, porque es Cardon. Sin pulseras, ni collares, nada de accesorios.
Sorry, pero te lo tengo que decir sabes?
Beso enorme
???
Translation:
Alex Make sure you dress masculine and walk like a boy, cause is Cardon. No bracelets, no necklaces, no accessories.
I’m sorry but I just had to tell you, ok?
Huge kiss
???
Me:
What the fuck? I understand is Cardon, and is a super conservative old school gaucho-style brand. I understand if I go to the fitting for the show wearing a fucking dress that might throw them off a bit, but: Firstly, my walk IS quite masculine. I have never had anyone complaining about it because of being too feminine. I had once someone telling me to make it “less rock’n roll” (very intriguing I must say, cause it got me thinking on how a pop walk would look like, or a jazz one… still, I understood the point and it was a very accurate suggestion), but I was never requested to make it more “macho”.
Secondly, there are much, MUCH better ways of saying the same thing.
My ideal mail would kind of go like this:
Alex You have fitting for Cardon, right? Well, remember they are very conservative, so make sure you dress the part just for the fitting. You know they are not very forward with these things, and I don’t want you to miss the show!
Huge kiss.
???
I guess the “I’m Sorry I just had to tell you” thing is what really got me. Is like I was being lectured over something, instead of advised/-warned about it, like I should have been.
Well, I guess politeness is not on the menu today. If everything works out, and they buy the idea of a standard-properboy looking me, I’ll be doing the show on Thursday. And because of this, I’ll be more than happy to go to the show in my weirdest outfit. I might even recur to my electric blue, lace bluse. Yeah. Maybe some lipstick even.
I sometimes forget how AWFULLY SHOCKING it can be for certain people to see a blonde guy in some random thrift shop mismatched ensemble. Is not like I’m trying to twist people’s preconceptions, it’s just clothes for fuck’s sake. I’m not freaking Leigh Bowery.
Thursday, 24 March 2011
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BSf2Kznpj4Q&feature=autoplay&list=PLB68C15CDD394935F&index=12&playnext=1
The cold days are coming. There was rain, then today. It’s already autumn. I threw away so much stuff. I didn’t need all that. I need new lamps. I’m kind of hungry.
I’ve been listening to music. I’ve been partying a bit as well.
Soma, like in the song, like in the book. Like I hate you.
We'll float... and new sweaters, cause people seem to take all the cool ones I find.
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
Monday, 7 March 2011
Saturday, 5 March 2011
BACK HOME.
London was ok. Some highlights. Some lowlights. Thanks to the Mars Bars, the bus number 10 that would take me from Picadilly to the West, Alister, the kids that were there for me, specially Tomás, and “The Sanctuary”.
Fuck you Toms, you kept my sweater and didn’t even deign to say goodbye.
I guess it’s always hard the first time.
The fact that I didn’t have any fucking internet access in my stupid apartment was a real drag. I can't believe the amount of hours I spent in this really crappy cyber-cafe, sitting next to pervs watching soft-porn and foreigners like me trying to hear their loved ones on Skype, while shouting back to them through their microphones.
I felt very lonely most of the time.
I bought a lot of second hand clothes. That's what I do when I need comfort.
I woke up on Monday morning and it was time to leave. I took the Eurostar to Paris and spent the day there. Shona came with me all the way to the airport just to say goodbye.
I noticed this strange feeling I always have. It’s something like a mixture between the anxieties generated by the highly anticipated return, a bit of fear, and possibly a bit of disappointment. I know that disappointment sound a bit harsh. But it’s really hard for me to describe it differently. Is like, there’s always a feeling of not being able to achieve as much as I wanted. I think that’s kind of the case.
I was home the next morning.
The landscape of the city of Buenos Aires comes across like a mural from Klimt’s “Golden Phase”. The setting sun transforms the countless genre-less buildings into a magnificent composition, turning the grimy walls into the luminescent little pieces of a delicate mosaic.
I step out to the balcony and lean over the railing. I can feel the summer breeze bringing ease to the suffocated city spreading in front of me. I take a deep breath and smell the air. It’s a smell I’m so familiarized with.
It’s easier every time. The comeback. The going back to real life thing. I was in deep need of home. It was easier this time.
It’s not so simple though. There are decisions to be made. And many things look disturbingly strange; many things feel disturbingly strange. Like if this was not exactly my life either. Like it’s a bit of a loan. Except for Max, he’s my anchor.
I can’t really think. I feel my head is heavy, and it’s getting harder and harder to focus on anything.
I’m going out tonight. I’m going back to the club I always go to. I hope I’ll have some fun. My friends are gonna be there. I like them so much.
My manager is talking to me on msn. There’s something very important he needs to discuss with me, and he wants to meet me next weekend. He always does that. He makes me wait. Like, “hey kid, I just had this conversation with your bookers from XXX and there’s a couple of things we should talk about – like if I had done something awful, like if they just realized that I’m ugly as hell and they can’t work with me anymore – and then he says “I’ll explain later, let’s meet some day”. I used to get super angry. I couldn’t just drop it and wait for a few days until he would finally release the information. Now I’ve finally learned to just not care. I’m done with frustration.
Another of my friends is talking to me as well. She’s such a sweet girl and I think she is awesome. We couldn’t help mentioning university though. Immediately after I felt myself being dragged down to the underground. I really don’t feel like planning out my life on a random Saturday night.
I’m slowly starting to get a grip on my current situation. Life goes on.
Fuck you Toms, you kept my sweater and didn’t even deign to say goodbye.
I guess it’s always hard the first time.
The fact that I didn’t have any fucking internet access in my stupid apartment was a real drag. I can't believe the amount of hours I spent in this really crappy cyber-cafe, sitting next to pervs watching soft-porn and foreigners like me trying to hear their loved ones on Skype, while shouting back to them through their microphones.
I felt very lonely most of the time.
I bought a lot of second hand clothes. That's what I do when I need comfort.
I woke up on Monday morning and it was time to leave. I took the Eurostar to Paris and spent the day there. Shona came with me all the way to the airport just to say goodbye.
I noticed this strange feeling I always have. It’s something like a mixture between the anxieties generated by the highly anticipated return, a bit of fear, and possibly a bit of disappointment. I know that disappointment sound a bit harsh. But it’s really hard for me to describe it differently. Is like, there’s always a feeling of not being able to achieve as much as I wanted. I think that’s kind of the case.
I was home the next morning.
The landscape of the city of Buenos Aires comes across like a mural from Klimt’s “Golden Phase”. The setting sun transforms the countless genre-less buildings into a magnificent composition, turning the grimy walls into the luminescent little pieces of a delicate mosaic.
I step out to the balcony and lean over the railing. I can feel the summer breeze bringing ease to the suffocated city spreading in front of me. I take a deep breath and smell the air. It’s a smell I’m so familiarized with.
It’s easier every time. The comeback. The going back to real life thing. I was in deep need of home. It was easier this time.
It’s not so simple though. There are decisions to be made. And many things look disturbingly strange; many things feel disturbingly strange. Like if this was not exactly my life either. Like it’s a bit of a loan. Except for Max, he’s my anchor.
I can’t really think. I feel my head is heavy, and it’s getting harder and harder to focus on anything.
I’m going out tonight. I’m going back to the club I always go to. I hope I’ll have some fun. My friends are gonna be there. I like them so much.
My manager is talking to me on msn. There’s something very important he needs to discuss with me, and he wants to meet me next weekend. He always does that. He makes me wait. Like, “hey kid, I just had this conversation with your bookers from XXX and there’s a couple of things we should talk about – like if I had done something awful, like if they just realized that I’m ugly as hell and they can’t work with me anymore – and then he says “I’ll explain later, let’s meet some day”. I used to get super angry. I couldn’t just drop it and wait for a few days until he would finally release the information. Now I’ve finally learned to just not care. I’m done with frustration.
Another of my friends is talking to me as well. She’s such a sweet girl and I think she is awesome. We couldn’t help mentioning university though. Immediately after I felt myself being dragged down to the underground. I really don’t feel like planning out my life on a random Saturday night.
I’m slowly starting to get a grip on my current situation. Life goes on.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)