<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980</id><updated>2009-10-13T16:15:06.363-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Last attempt (or not?)</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>21</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-5563069336002490109</id><published>2009-09-26T14:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T14:18:53.814-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Extremoduro - Coda flamenca (Otra realidad)</title><content type='html'>&lt;h2&gt;Coda flamenca (Otra realidad)&lt;/h2&gt; &lt;p&gt;*Por verme amado de ella por todo el día,&lt;br /&gt;mañana, en perder la vida, consentiría.*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y el fuego del infierno ya es sólo humo.&lt;br /&gt;Ahora el fuego ya es sólo humo.&lt;br /&gt;Después de arder, el fuego ya es sólo humo.&lt;br /&gt;El infierno ya es sólo humo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En el hueco del eco de su voz,&lt;br /&gt;vive el eje que desapareció.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Agarrados del aire, viviremos;&lt;br /&gt;no me importa adónde vamos.&lt;br /&gt;Apriétame bien la mano, que un lucero&lt;br /&gt;se me escapa entre los dedos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arráncate a cantar y dame algún motivo&lt;br /&gt;para decirle al Sol que sigo estando vivo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;¡Ay del desánimo! Que no puede conmigo.&lt;br /&gt;¡Ay del destino! Que no juegue conmigo.&lt;br /&gt;Hay un brillo mágico que alumbra mi camino.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y el fuego del infierno ya es sólo humo.&lt;br /&gt;Ahora el fuego ya es sólo humo.&lt;br /&gt;Después de arder, el fuego ya es sólo humo.&lt;br /&gt;El infierno ya es sólo humo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ay, ay, ay, ponte a cantar canijo.&lt;br /&gt;Una mijita me arregla el sentío.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;¡Ay del desánimo! Que no puede conmigo.&lt;br /&gt;¡Ay del destino! Que no juegue conmigo.&lt;br /&gt;Hay un brillo mágico que alumbra mi camino.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;¿Y qué, si me condeno por un beso?&lt;br /&gt;¿Y qué, si necesito respirar?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Canta la de que el tiempo no pasara.&lt;br /&gt;Canta la de que el viento se parara.&lt;br /&gt;Canta la de que el tiempo no pasara.&lt;br /&gt;Donde nunca pasa nada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Frase extraída de los "Episodios nacionales" de Benito Pérez Galdós&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Esta cancion junto con esta de &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBCkoDJkIOc"&gt;Moby&lt;/a&gt;, aunque no tengan mucho que ver juntas, por alguna razon son una combinacion perfecta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-5563069336002490109?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/5563069336002490109/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=5563069336002490109' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/5563069336002490109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/5563069336002490109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2009/09/extremoduro-coda-flamenca-otra-realidad.html' title='Extremoduro - Coda flamenca (Otra realidad)'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-8201524381592390105</id><published>2009-06-25T09:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T10:09:52.376-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Migrante</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;Hay una frase de una cancion de Leon Gieco que no sale de mi cabeza (quizas porque mi cabeza es muy grande y la pobre frase no sabe como escapar), &lt;span style="visibility: visible;" id="main"&gt;&lt;span style="visibility: visible;" id="search"&gt;"Desahuciado esta el que tiene que &lt;em&gt;marchar&lt;/em&gt;. &lt;em&gt;A vivir una cultura diferente&lt;/em&gt;...". La cancion ya la habia escuchado antes, es mas me parece una super cancion, Leon Gieco es tonero, quizas el ambiente hizo que la frase se me quede pegada. Mi punto era (y sigue siendo) que el significado o el posible significado depende mucho de que implica "tiene que", nadie "tiene que" y en muchos casos es que uno quiere salir por mil quinientas razones porque uno solo "tiene que" salir cuando necesitas asilo politico, yo quise salir porque ya me habian aceptado en la Vrije Universiteit en Amsterdam, y claro, aplique a la universidad en Holanda porque cuando estuve en Holanda por pocos dias en 1999 (uf! como pasa el tiempo) me encanto la idea que las bicis tenian prioridad ante los carros y peatones - y como buena turista de "primeriza" en Amsterdam casi me "atropella" una bici.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No fue la unica razon, pero quizas esa fue la razon por la que empece a averiguar que universidades, maestrias, opciones de financiamiento de estudios, y muchas otros factores hicieron que escoja Amsterdam. La &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;idea inicial&lt;/span&gt; era terminar la maestria, tesis, graduacion, fiesta de despedida, fiesta de bienvenida en Peru. Pero no fue asi, si termine la maestria, hice mi proyecto de investigacion en Uganda, termine la tesis, graduacion y las fiestas de despedida a las que he ido no han sido mias, sino de muchos de mis amigos. En medio de todo me enamore de la persona que mejor me complementa y respeta y que me hace reir muchisimo y claro lo mas importante - nos amamos. De no haberlo conocido, creo que si hubiese tenido la fiesta de despedida, seguida de la fiesta de bienvenida en Peru - y aunque en todo momento esto aplica a cualquier situacion, porque cualquier accion por chiquita o insignificante que parezca, tiene efectos - no siempre sabemos o nos damos cuenta que evento/accion/decision es el &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;determinante.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y una vez mas, al punto inicial: decision, si estoy fuera de Peru y sigo viviendo en Holanda es porque asi lo decidi; pero es verdad que es dificil, mucho mas dificil de lo que dicen en los comerciales en la tele. No he podido ver a mi familia, por cuestiones de permiso no puedo aceptar trabajos&lt;span style="visibility: visible;" id="main"&gt;&lt;span style="visibility: visible;" id="search"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; que en papel se ven super bonitos (uno nunca sabe), y no he tomado Inca Kola desde el 1 de Septiembre del 2007. Pero me gusta mi vida aqui, nunca mis amigos y familia en Peru podran ser reemplazados, por lo que no me siento desahuciada, si es dificil no ver a mi familia y tener 2 sobrinas nuevas y no conocerlas en vivo, pero al fin y al cabo - yo decidi. La reunion de ayer era una "tamalada" (asi es, de huachafos que somos hacemos una "tamalada" celebrando el hecho que alguien regreso de Milano y consiguio los ingredientes), y ninguno de los compatriotas (otra huachafada) sentiase desahuciado, pero conocian gente de otras nacionalidades que si y eran esas personas quienes menos se integraban en una sociedad que es cierto, es otra sociedad y no es la patria de uno, pero si uno siente que decide (y decide claro), se integra mucho mejor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me pregunte si las muchas personas que desde ya hace un tiempo han migrado a Arequipa desde Puno, Cuzco, Apurimac, Tacna, Moquegua, y otras ciudades, se han integrado y cuando escuche que "Arequipa no es tan limpia como antes" encontre la respuesta. Pasa exactamente lo mismo aca, los grupos que no se integran son los que sienten que estan obligados a vivir en otro pais que no es en el que nacieron, no se interesan por el lugar, ni idioma, ni de aprender tampoco - no se esfuerzan y creo que en estos casos uno se tiene que esforzar, al fin y al cabo, ser migrante no necesariamente significa ser deshauciado.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(mi teclado esta en huelga y no sabe escribir con tildes)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-8201524381592390105?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/8201524381592390105/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=8201524381592390105' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/8201524381592390105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/8201524381592390105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2009/06/migrante.html' title='Migrante'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-7046459573864259709</id><published>2009-01-07T01:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T01:31:45.900-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Les chansons d'amour</title><content type='html'>I think this film may be one of my favourites. And the place where we saw it had bottled beer for 1.50, nice music, nice people and a extremely cute dog who happened to kiss me or lick me to be more specific. I decided I need to drink more in order NOT to feel so cold, so far it is not working so much, maybe I should stick to Porto which seemed to work, unlike beer. Licking from dogs is also really helpful but I don't have a dog to carry with me all the time so that is no option.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, back to the movie. A musical trying to show that even nowadays Romance is possible, in the streets of a cold/rainy Paris. Maybe here is a good oportunity to say that fortunately the Eiffel tower was not shown in the movie, that is no couple kissing with the tower on the background - that makes it a good film already, isn't it? Or not Louvre, just Paris, plain and beautiful Paris. The Paris I long to visit again, the Paris I liked so much - not fell in love with: that is Amsterdam.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Some of the songs were re-wrote for the film, the songs are beautiful. While watching it I was so glad I spoke and understood French, the time I spent in learning it really payed off yesterday because I could get what they were saying and singing and because the guy in front of me was too tall and didn't let me watch the subtitles. The film has one of the most beautiful love scenes that just happens to be gay; and the song behind it is so powerful. Hope that the next movie we will watch at Cinemanita is as good as this one was.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-7046459573864259709?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/7046459573864259709/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=7046459573864259709' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/7046459573864259709'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/7046459573864259709'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2009/01/les-chansons-damour.html' title='Les chansons d&apos;amour'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-9096882369428911752</id><published>2009-01-06T03:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T01:36:12.500-08:00</updated><title type='text'>From scrabble book to "extreme moments" book</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Once upon a time there were two little girls in a high school in Peru. They didn't see themselves as little girls but as grown ups at that time, now I see how little I was. One of them was Canadian and the other Peruvian, they became best friends and shared their most "intimate" secrets - which at that time ranged from how to colour their hair, how to use tampons and the myths associated to that, such as: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Tampons? If you use them then you are not virgin anymore!&lt;/span&gt; How to look for clothes that were not too tight, how to skate, how to stand up after crashing the ground skating, how to prepare picnics, how to make banana muffins, how to look for the perfect sunshine and the perfect sunrise. We laughed, cried, ate, drank and smoked together. I still miss her - a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;There was this other thing, we shared a scrabble book, a safe place where we could write whatever we wanted to write about. After she left this time and space I couldn't keep up with a scrabble book, it's not fun when there is no "feedback", I decided to start my "extreme moments" book. I have no clue where are the first editions, probably in a box somewhere in the deposits of my mom's place in Arequipa - hopefully I may say. Some years ago I changed it to a "digital" version of it and just found it a few hours ago. I am amazed, that book contains extreme moments, this is moments where I laughed my ass off, I cried till not having breath, where I was just surprised by something or when I felt happy. I also found the Uganda book, with so many mixed feelings that I cannot really understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I am using a Moleskine (thank you Mikey!), which is just perfect and it already has four things written down and I have it only for a couple of weeks. I am glad that I am in a state where I am not searching for happiness, it seems that she is now looking for me and finding me, but at the same time this may be one of the hardest periods of my life where I have to work really hard if I want to get something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The food is in the oven, Copello is on her way, outside it is very cold but sunny, it is a lovely day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-9096882369428911752?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/9096882369428911752/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=9096882369428911752' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/9096882369428911752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/9096882369428911752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2009/01/from-scrabble-book-to-extreme-moments.html' title='From scrabble book to &quot;extreme moments&quot; book'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-1646369583849828076</id><published>2008-11-01T11:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-01T11:50:04.586-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So... what's next?</title><content type='html'>Today I almost had a bike accident on my way to work. I was crossing the avenue and my chain fell out and it got stuck on my front wheel and stopped suddenly and just then I heard the horrible brakes noise from a car that was coming towards me - the guy was driving extremely fast to be 8.30 in the morning, but anyway, luckily nothing happened, aside from getting my hands dirty to take out the chain from my front wheel and being scared for about one hour.&lt;br /&gt;Actually the day started quite weird, my dreams were not nice at all and I was already scared in my dreams, so the almost accident at 8.30 in the morning only made me feel even more scared.&lt;br /&gt;And being scared makes me think about the future, it has already been more than one year since I left Peru. Living in Amsterdam and three months in Uganda have very enriching in many ways. I started and finished my studies and now I am a "Master of Sciences", which doesn't really make any difference aside from having an extra line in my CV.&lt;br /&gt;Living in a student house with people from different countries and backgrounds was very fun, and sometimes tiring as well. I found very good friends that have given far more than their precious time, we have shared food, fun, laughs, tears and I am very lucky to have found them.&lt;br /&gt;Just when I didn't expect it... yes, I fell in love and I found "Alguien que cuide de mi" (Christina Rosenvinge's song).&lt;br /&gt;But things have not been smoth, I am working very hard to fight my way out, being Peruvian and not speaking Dutch fluently makes employeers to think twice or sometimes more to hire me and the overall environment and financial crisis doesn't help either. And that is why some questions pop out, what to do now then? Should I stay in NL and be patient and go on with the job hunting, or should I go somewhere else where English is the main language, or should I go back to Peru?&lt;br /&gt;Any option is hard, in every option either I am away from my family, or from the city I fell in love with (Amsterdam), or being away from the person I fell in love with. I guess there is no easy answer for this, there is no way that I can totally picture myself in a fixed scenario right now and confusion makes me feel vulnerable. Nevertheless, I know I am very lucky to have the support from my family, friends and from my blue hands non-prince.&lt;br /&gt;So decisions have to be taken, in such a serious way that scare me but it feels right to do so, for starters I will move to my own place very soon! And I am very excited about it, mainly because I haven't had my own room since April - just before I went to Uganda. The appartment is just great and the best of all it has a very nice kitchen where I am planning to cook Peruvian, Ugandan, Peruvian-Ugandan food, and anything I feel like, and of course it has a balcony, how I love balconies.&lt;br /&gt;By the way, Tony Frost lecture and workshop was much more than I expected and I am very happy to have met him. Hopefully I will find my way out soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-1646369583849828076?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/1646369583849828076/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=1646369583849828076' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/1646369583849828076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/1646369583849828076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2008/11/so-whats-next.html' title='So... what&apos;s next?'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-2773123297173764042</id><published>2008-09-24T23:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T00:03:23.664-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mr. Anthony "Tony" Frost</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hace ya 3 semanas empece mi internship como "xperiment girl" en Rijkswaterstaat y como no tengo ganas de escribir y explicar que es y solo si a alguien le interesa saber mas aca esta el link &lt;a href="http://www.rijkswaterstaat.nl/xperiment"&gt;www.rijkswaterstaat.nl/xperiment&lt;/a&gt;. Luego de haber jugado hasta el cansancio ayer en la playa, este viernes tendremos todo un dia de preguntas y respuestas con Mr. Anthony (Tony) Frost, no el cricketer sino el autor de "After the rain", que trabajo junto con Al Gore (speechwriter para ser mas exactos).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Lo mas ironico de todo es que no se me vienen preguntas concretas a la cabeza, quizas porque no estoy inspirada o quizas porque no me gusta mucho Al Gore ni "The inconvenient truth". No  todos los &lt;em&gt;environmentalists &lt;/em&gt;lo consideramos nuestro mentor, es mas ahora que lo pienso bien yo no soy una &lt;em&gt;environmentalist&lt;/em&gt; tampoco, simplemente no es de mi total agrado. El asunto es que no tengo preguntas y seguro se me vendran el sabado por la manana o durante la fiesta de graduacion - al fin estare graduada del master este, ya era hora.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Bueno la graduacion me llama, y pensar en que preguntar tambien.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-2773123297173764042?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/2773123297173764042/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=2773123297173764042' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/2773123297173764042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/2773123297173764042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2008/09/mr-anthony-tony-frost.html' title='Mr. Anthony &quot;Tony&quot; Frost'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-4628238391712472931</id><published>2008-08-22T14:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-22T14:41:22.610-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Waarom niet?</title><content type='html'>Goed, ok forget it, my Dutch is not good enough to write in Dutch - aside from the title. Why this post is in English, well because a non Spanish speaking person is reading it, as simple as that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am now going to this traditional Dutch farm where they make cheese and wooden shoes - unique by the way. Cheese is awesome! And the best part of it, I can eat as much chesse as I want during lunch and coffee breaks, and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the boss&lt;/span&gt; obliges us to take breaks and coffee or tea or whatever we want to take.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, this Dutch lady comes in and starts speaking to my friend in Dutch; my friend speaks more Russian than Dutch (no, really); then she goes to my other friend - no Dutch; finally she approaches me and starts speaking Dutch to me, the only thing I can manage to say is "Sorry maar ik spreek en kleine beetje Nederlands" and she turns around and says in English "It is funny that in this traditional Dutch place no one speaks Dutch, why?". I just heard a voice saying "waarom niet?", yes it was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the boss&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it is true, only non Dutch people are there, why? I have no clue, maybe because only non Dutch people come to visit the place - that may be one explanation. It is a pity, because work is fun and environment is fun and people there is really nice. No high heels, no black pants, and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the boss &lt;/span&gt;is always saying "take it easy, it is as simple as that" and no - he is not high. As a matter of fact I am happy that I am spending some time there, it is nice to eat good cheese for free. And somehow I get the opportunity to talk to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the boss&lt;/span&gt; in Dutch, hopefully I will master it soon, so it is time to vamp it up!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-4628238391712472931?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/4628238391712472931/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=4628238391712472931' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/4628238391712472931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/4628238391712472931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2008/08/waarom-niet.html' title='Waarom niet?'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-8028103226525932616</id><published>2008-08-14T11:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T12:33:05.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>¿Por qué dejamos comentarios con "glitter"?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Me incluyo dentro del género femenino pero no me incluyo dentro del grupo que deja comentarios con estrellitas y corazoncitos y demás cosas en los hi5 o facebook del enamoradito/novio/amigo-no-amigo. Primero por qué empecé a usar el hi5 y el facebook - simple: por alguna razón recibo más respuestas que al correo cuando quiero saber de alguien, y por qué me importa saber de alguien? Pues porque estoy en otro país y quiero saber de gente que dejé "atrás; analizar por que la gente responde más a eso que a los correos pues puede ser porque seguro escribo correos super monses sin colores ni bichos saltando y porque no mando fotos porque me aburre adjuntarlas - corrección cuando estaba en Uganda sí mandaba mucho más correos y ni tocaba el hi5 y facebook porque mi conección a internet estaba super limitada. Bien, el hi5 es más conocido entre mis amigos peruanísimos o al menos era, ya no tengo idea, pero básicamente era por eso, el facebook nació cuando crearon un grupo en el master y ahí era una buena idea compartir cosas y demás, que por que no usamos una página o algo más interesante pues si la teníamos - la de la universidad, pero no fue "atractiva" al parecer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luego de entender y aceptar que la gente responde más a los mensajes hi5 y facebook que a los correos lo que no logro entender es por qué las mujeres dejan comentarios en la cuenta de "él" cada nada con corazones y poemas e imágenes y frases no tan célebres (que espero nunca lleguen a ser célebres), mientras que el ser masculino de la relación pues no cambia ni su estado a "en una relación". La pobre &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;niña&lt;/span&gt; se pasa cinco horas pensando que ponerle y básicamente él (en la mayoría de los casos y NO en todos) tiene la cuenta para ver la cuenta de los demás y, claro (otras) mujeres incluidas. Así fue que empezó mi pequeña "investigación" - ok acá hay que resaltar que ya terminé la tesis, aprobé todos los cursos, y me estoy re-acostumbrando a tener internet en "demasía".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La primera conclusión del "estudio" (después de leer cada porquería de documento hablando de opciones alternativas de desarrollo para comunidades y diciendo que promover y usar bio-diesel era el 25avo mandamiento y nos llevará a la salvación del mundo y que podemos seguir a los mismos niveles de consumo porque simplemente el problema no es el consumo sino el problema es que las comunidades han perdido cultura y quieren "alienarse" y adoptar hábitos de consumo del mundo "occidental", lo mío es un estudio más "a conciencia" porque le pregunté a más de 4 "expertos" y estoy haciendo mis conclusiones y punto), bien volviendo al tema, la primera es que cuando alguien dice "cuando una mujer está enamorada siente la necesidad de compartir su felicidad  con todo el mundo" aplica a la mayoría de los casos (me incluyo), pero de ahí a poner un comentario en los hi5 y facebook cada minuto no me incluyo, y por qué hacemos eso? por qué queremos compartir? Pues básicamente porque para la mayoría tener &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;pareja&lt;/span&gt; es señal de éxito y siempre hay la comparación "mis amigas tienen novio y yo no"; mientras que para el machote (jeje) pues si bien a veces hay "preocupación" no es por comparación sino porque simplemente se da cuenta que ya toca tener pareja.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y a qué sirve esto? Pues básicamente a nada porque al final me desvié del tema y todo llegó a que la explicación científica detrás de la "infidelidad" masculina está en que el macho tiene que asegurar la supervivencia de la especie y por eso ha de "diseminar" su machez entre tantas hembras sea posible; mientras las hembras pues son selectivas y buscan el "mejor macho" para reproducirse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cómo entonces me explico que a veces quiero dejar un comentarios para el enamorado pero me detengo y pienso que en realidad no le va a gustar o simplemente le va a parecer una "zonzera". y si digo algo es mucho más sobrio que lo que inicialmente tenía en mente, eso de querer ser la enamoradita ideal a veces me limita jeje. Bueno no tengo idea, a ver si en estos días logro entender eso y logro escribirlo, no siempre consigo poner en palabras lo que pienso y menos ahora que acabo de terminar la tesis en inglés y como mi capacidad no da para guardar español correcto e inglés y aprender holandés, pues simplemente se me hace una melcocha a la hora de redactar y no logro expresar muy bien lo que pienso. No, no es alienación y tratar de ser "cool" es que simplemente me cuesta mantenerme en un sólo idioma, básicamente porque mi cerebro no tiene los compartimientos necesarios para almacenar cada idioma en diferentes sitios y además que nunca escribí bien español tampoco - bueno a comparación de el nu y xq y demás aberraciones soy lo más mejor :).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Es hora de seguir escribiendo cartas de presentación y currículos y seguir buscando trabajo y seguir buscando lugar donde vivir y seguir leyendo los business week, ver lo de la página web para KEA, uy seguir viendo Samantha Who (gracias a slayerx.org que supe de ella), seguir viendo todo lo que pasó en tres meses en Perú y el Ministerio del Medio Ambiente, en Holanda y en el resto de Uganda y que sea interesante, ya que en esos tres meses mi máxima preocupación era que la piña que habíamos conseguido no esté mala y esté jugosa.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-8028103226525932616?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/8028103226525932616/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=8028103226525932616' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/8028103226525932616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/8028103226525932616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2008/08/por-qu-dejamos-comentarios-con-glitter.html' title='¿Por qué dejamos comentarios con &quot;glitter&quot;?'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-3835361854188907253</id><published>2008-08-10T05:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T05:31:06.253-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Growing older but not smarter!</title><content type='html'>A says: Yeah? But I am definitely older than before&lt;br /&gt;D says: The sentence of the week is for you! It's a kind of J-C Van Damme's truth&lt;br /&gt;A thinks: Bloody hordes, I have to stop watching Transformers with M...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-3835361854188907253?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/3835361854188907253/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=3835361854188907253' title='1 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/3835361854188907253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/3835361854188907253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2008/08/growing-older-but-not-smarter.html' title='Growing older but not smarter!'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-1831209676063106757</id><published>2008-08-04T07:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-09T05:24:04.734-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Uganda Lariam'/><title type='text'>Los sueños interrumpidos del sábado 19 de abril</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SJcOON9lHaI/AAAAAAAAACE/RXyr6bQ5Yh4/s1600-h/goats.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230665129643023778" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 152px; height: 94px;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SJcOON9lHaI/AAAAAAAAACE/RXyr6bQ5Yh4/s200/goats.JPG" width="184" border="0" height="124" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Tres de la mañana, calor, mucho calor, demasiado calor, pero abrir la ventana es abrir la posiblidad que un(a) mosquito malarioso entre. No me creo lo suficientemente fuerte como para vencer a la más debil malaria.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Lariam y sus efectos secundarios tampoco me dejan dormir, soñé que estaba embarazada... definitivamente no ayuda a dormir. Y a pesar de mi bajo nivel de audición, logro escuchar todos los sonidos, nuestra roommate "la lagui" (una lagartija) se asusta cada vez que nos movemos o respiramos muy fuerte y ella también hace ruido, a pesar de saber que es sólo una lagartija, la ansiedad no me deja dormir. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Cuatro de la mañana y un sebbo canta. Su voz se oye no muy lejos, pero again, mi nivel de audición no es bueno y posiblemente me equivoque. La net anti-mosquitos incrementa mi sensación de claustrofobia, felizmente el sebbo y su voz me tranquilizan.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Reviso el celular, cero llamadas perdidas, cero mensajes... desacostumbrarse a revisar todos los dias el correo, periódicos online, desacostumbrarse a no usar internet todos los días a veces me cuesta. Sobretodo porque ahora si siento que estoy lejos de mi familia. Será que la propaganda funcionó demasiado bien conmigo y caí muy fácilmente en "bringing you closer to your family". Aún así, no ver a mi Ari por la webcam cuesta (y mucho). Además que en Amsterdam sólo tenía a mi familia lejos, ahora tengo a mi no príncipe de manos azules para extrañar (y como se le extraña!).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Hace un año pensaba en como conseguir el dinero para seguir mi maestría, y a pesar de no haber pensado posible estar en Uganda, sigo pensando como conseguir dinero (pero esta vez para pagar el préstamo que hice para seguir la maestría).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;No prendo la luz para no despertar a mi roommie K, a la lagui no creo que le importe, pero a K sí. Ojalá K no me deje a la mitad del camino debido a problemas con la comida, no porque tenga miedo a quedarme sola, sino que no me gustaría que pierda la oportunidad de terminar este viaje, sé que no le gustaría tampoco.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rayos, truenos, tormenta, lluvia, si abro la ventana entrarán los mosquitos? Les tengo más miedo que a las vacas, así que a seguir sin dormir por el calor que hace. K duerme, como me gustaría dormir también. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;La lluvia paró, el sol ya salió, ya puedo abrir la ventana y dormir hasta que todos despierten. Hmmm, el olor de lluvia reciente es tan bueno! Pero ahora son las cabras y los gallos y esas aves enormes (no sé su nombre) que no me dejan dormir. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Tarea para más tarde: conseguir tapones para oídos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-1831209676063106757?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/1831209676063106757/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=1831209676063106757' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/1831209676063106757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/1831209676063106757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2008/08/los-sueos-interrumpidos-del-sbado-19-de.html' title='Los sueños interrumpidos del sábado 19 de abril'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SJcOON9lHaI/AAAAAAAAACE/RXyr6bQ5Yh4/s72-c/goats.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-1816477055213864027</id><published>2008-07-03T01:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-03T02:46:54.232-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Casi 4 de Julio</title><content type='html'>Quizás porque este año no estoy comprando los ingredientes para hacer tu torta favorita, o quizás porque no estoy pensando que disco darte y sólo pienso que no me despedí de tí.&lt;br /&gt;El día que llegué a Uganda, llegaste muchísimo más lejos y el viernes que es la "fiesta de graduación" y no estaré, tampoco estarás en tu "fiesta de cumple".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-1816477055213864027?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/1816477055213864027/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=1816477055213864027' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/1816477055213864027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/1816477055213864027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2008/07/casi-4-de-julio.html' title='Casi 4 de Julio'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-3397436883192026622</id><published>2008-06-21T08:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-21T08:19:18.445-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Uganda'/><title type='text'>Uganda resumed in 4 pics</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SF0ba31f04I/AAAAAAAAAB8/89jUT_E8vII/s1600-h/foreman+and+angela.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214354092043785090" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SF0ba31f04I/AAAAAAAAAB8/89jUT_E8vII/s200/foreman+and+angela.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SF0acvV_WvI/AAAAAAAAAB0/hXHvHgUdWcY/s1600-h/turkey+and+signs.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214353024612260594" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SF0acvV_WvI/AAAAAAAAAB0/hXHvHgUdWcY/s200/turkey+and+signs.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SF0Z_YgCwQI/AAAAAAAAABs/hMzO3oRH8g8/s1600-h/on+the+way+to+Kasejjere+after+heavy+rain.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214352520264204546" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SF0Z_YgCwQI/AAAAAAAAABs/hMzO3oRH8g8/s200/on+the+way+to+Kasejjere+after+heavy+rain.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SF0ZBKE1O2I/AAAAAAAAABk/Z_-8EE2ekC0/s1600-h/with+Annette.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214351451240086370" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SF0ZBKE1O2I/AAAAAAAAABk/Z_-8EE2ekC0/s200/with+Annette.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the best sky ever (which of course I could not take a pic of it).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-3397436883192026622?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/3397436883192026622/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=3397436883192026622' title='2 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/3397436883192026622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/3397436883192026622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2008/06/material-worth-68-ugandan-cows.html' title='Uganda resumed in 4 pics'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jp6jMlv4GY4/SF0ba31f04I/AAAAAAAAAB8/89jUT_E8vII/s72-c/foreman+and+angela.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-8825655293346013198</id><published>2008-03-05T00:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-05T00:17:12.129-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Uganda</title><content type='html'>El pasaje está comprado, la visa está en camino y faltan menos de 6 semanas para partir.&lt;br /&gt;Algunas personas esperan a su príncipe azul, o a "la persona", yo esperaba este viaje, esperaba África, esperaba Uganda, esperaba Mbarara.&lt;br /&gt;Mi no príncipe de manos azules se queda en Amsterdam, estoy pensando en raptarlo y llevarlo conmigo (asi puede quedar tan enamorado como yo).&lt;br /&gt;Entre vacunas, papers, deadlines, solicitudes, visas, examenes, trabajo, viajes, comidas, bares, salidas, skype, amigos, mon&lt;span style="font-family:Gill Sans MT;"&gt; chéri&lt;/span&gt; y extra&lt;span lang="EN-CA"&gt;ñ&lt;/span&gt;ar a mi familia  no he cumplido con escribir tan seguido como queria. Espero mejorar cuando llegue a Uganda (si, si hay internet).&lt;br /&gt;Over-surviving March...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-8825655293346013198?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/8825655293346013198/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=8825655293346013198' title='3 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/8825655293346013198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/8825655293346013198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2008/03/uganda.html' title='Uganda'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-1511535643723572823</id><published>2008-02-12T23:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-13T01:55:35.214-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Meat the Truth</title><content type='html'>Tenía ya tiempo que quería comentar sobre este documental "Meat the truth" auspiciado por la Nicolaas G. Pierson Foundantion.&lt;br /&gt;El documental es interesante, para algunos del corte "An inconvenient truth", pero a mi parecer este trabajo está desligado de intereses políticos (o al menos eso hace pensar). Es interesante saber que hay instituciones educativas detrás de este proyecto y que ponen sus nombres.&lt;br /&gt;El mensaje es claro: consumir la cantidad de carne que actualmente consumimos no es la mejor manera de alcanzar el tan ansiado "sustainable development" (lo dejo en Inglés para que no herir susceptibilidades entre si sustainable es sostenible o sustentable o sostenido). Las comparaciones son claras y punto.&lt;br /&gt;A pesar del paquete con miles de folletos y comida vegana, pienso que este documental sólo reafirma las convicciones de los que ya dejaron de consumir (diariamente) productos de procedencia animal, pero no creo que haga cambiar el comportamiento de los "carnívoros" die-hard.&lt;br /&gt;Me queda la duda si ver el documental y no recibir el paquete me hubiese dejado la misma satisfacción de haberlo visto... Disfruté más leyendo los artículos que el documental, pero siempre me pasa hasta con libros de cualquier cosa y que luego hacen una película, la idea es buena pero le falta fuerza para convencer a los die-hard, a pesar de tener argumentos sólidos, faltó jugar un poco más con ellos.&lt;br /&gt;Acá dejo la página aunque la información está en Holandés http://www.meatthetruth.nl/&lt;br /&gt;Al ser un caso de estudio, tiene límites, lo cual es aceptable, el área incluye sólo Holanda.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-1511535643723572823?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/1511535643723572823/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=1511535643723572823' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/1511535643723572823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/1511535643723572823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2008/02/meat-truth.html' title='Meat the Truth'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-316452210687005339</id><published>2008-02-05T08:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-13T01:58:59.361-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Enamorada (ísima) de W</title><content type='html'>Recuerdo el primer día que nos conocimos, tú "normal" y yo fiel seguidora del facepaintology. Recuerdo tu expresión ante la máxima expresión de mi amiga. Recuerdo tu mirada cuando supiste lo que llevaba en la espalda. Recuerdo tu mirada siempre.&lt;br /&gt;No preciso más nada que poder decir te quiero, no quiero promesas que no serán cumplidas y que sólo llevan a reclamos. Cada "buen día" es mejor que miles de esas promesas. No espero nada de tí, sólo no te asustes cuando te digo que estoy enamorada de vos.&lt;br /&gt;Te quie(ro) mu(cho) W.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-316452210687005339?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/316452210687005339/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=316452210687005339' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/316452210687005339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/316452210687005339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2008/02/enamorada-sima-de-wralth.html' title='Enamorada (ísima) de W'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-1203351278944711304</id><published>2007-11-24T05:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-24T06:18:56.526-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nothing to do</title><content type='html'>I cannot write poems or pretty things, I can only say I love you, you are my little brother, you know that. I have no answers for your questions, I have no right questions to make you.&lt;br /&gt;I would like to hold you in my arms, to sing you one of those songs you always liked (included Ni wa wa), to tell you about the After Forever concert and to show you the pictures. To hug you and sing to you until you fall asleep and you don't feel that pain anymore.&lt;br /&gt;Hope is the only thing that keeps you going, that keeps us going. I know you hope to live, so I do too. I know you hope not to feel that pain anymore, so I do too. I know you hope to come here to visit me, so I do too. I don't want to hope something that you are not hoping for.&lt;br /&gt;Forgive me if I cannot stop crying, if I don't say the right words when I talk to you. It's just that feeling of not being able to do anything that makes me cry, it's not you. There is nothing I can do but keep calling you and tell you stories, those stories of things you never experienced and you (we) don't know if you will ever do.&lt;br /&gt;I miss you so much, I want to be with you so hard. I am sorry for not being there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope&lt;br /&gt;Emily Dickinson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  Hope is the thing with feathers&lt;br /&gt;That perches in the soul,&lt;br /&gt;And sings the tune-without the words,&lt;br /&gt;And never stops at all,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  And sweetest in the gale is heard;&lt;br /&gt;And sore must be the storm&lt;br /&gt;That could abash the little bird&lt;br /&gt;That kept so many warm.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;  I've heard it in the chillest land, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And on the strangest sea; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Yet, never, in extremity, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; It asked a crumb of me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-1203351278944711304?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/1203351278944711304/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=1203351278944711304' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/1203351278944711304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/1203351278944711304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2007/11/nothing-to-do.html' title='Nothing to do'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-2555994586190343441</id><published>2007-11-05T13:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-05T13:42:03.235-08:00</updated><title type='text'>el poema que ya no te recitaré</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="titulo"&gt;Táctica y estrategia&lt;/div&gt;   &lt;div class="titulo"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Mario Benedetti&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="cuerpo"  style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Mi táctica es&lt;br /&gt;             mirarte&lt;br /&gt;aprender como sos&lt;br /&gt;quererte como sos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mi táctica es&lt;br /&gt;             hablarte&lt;br /&gt;y escucharte&lt;br /&gt;construir con palabras&lt;br /&gt;un puente indestructible&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mi táctica es&lt;br /&gt;quedarme en tu recuerdo&lt;br /&gt;no sé cómo       ni sé&lt;br /&gt;con qué pretexto&lt;br /&gt;pero quedarme en vos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mi táctica es&lt;br /&gt;             ser franco&lt;br /&gt;y saber que sos franca&lt;br /&gt;y que no nos vendamos&lt;br /&gt;simulacros&lt;br /&gt;para que entre los dos&lt;br /&gt;no haya telón&lt;br /&gt;              ni abismos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mi estrategia es&lt;br /&gt;en cambio&lt;br /&gt;más profunda y más&lt;br /&gt;                       simple&lt;br /&gt;mi estrategia es&lt;br /&gt;que un día cualquiera&lt;br /&gt;no sé cómo         ni sé&lt;br /&gt;con qué pretexto&lt;br /&gt;por fin          me necesites.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;porque polonia está muy lejos de perú y más de holanda.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-2555994586190343441?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/2555994586190343441/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=2555994586190343441' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/2555994586190343441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/2555994586190343441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2007/11/el-poema-que-ya-no-te-dar.html' title='el poema que ya no te recitaré'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-260658727585148771</id><published>2007-10-28T05:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-28T05:56:59.080-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blackle</title><content type='html'>Go Blackle and save some Watt hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blackle.com/"&gt;http://www.blackle.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-260658727585148771?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/260658727585148771/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=260658727585148771' title='2 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/260658727585148771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/260658727585148771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2007/10/blackle.html' title='Blackle'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-9148041022824497863</id><published>2007-10-10T16:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-21T16:26:11.890-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Going vegan</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Going vegan has been an ephemeral thought for me over the last years. I am in the way to become vegan simply because in order to produce it, meat takes so much more resources. Although it is hard, since I do like meat and most of dinners back home involved a considerable amount of meat since I was a kid; then it must have generated some kind of connection between family-feeling and eating meat.&lt;br /&gt;My friends reaction was "it is not going to change anything" they remain skeptical, but from I have seen, eating meat involves a bigger impact to the environment, many crops are there just to feed the cattle and that involves a greater water consumption, among others (this is not a scientific paper, although I am still working on that). According to scientific based studies, it is possible that there will be a shortage of water in the coming years. Possible, which means that it may be better than we think (or worse, of course).&lt;br /&gt;I can choose to be or not a vegan, but if a water shortage comes up in upcoming years future generations will narrow down their choices. I don't feel I have the right to do so hence I will become a vegan.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-9148041022824497863?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/9148041022824497863/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=9148041022824497863' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/9148041022824497863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/9148041022824497863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2007/10/going-veggie.html' title='Going vegan'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-4208444596458199403</id><published>2007-10-03T09:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T10:34:20.163-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Apples and REC</title><content type='html'>There I was, during the coffee break, reading the article I should have read the day, almost everything is highlighted, and then D guy comes and starts talking to me, I cannot answer because I have half of an apple in my mouth (I should have taken smaller bites, I know), so I nood and point at the apple, he realises I cannot speak, and is so gentle not to mention it but continues  talking. I manage to swallow that half of an apple, and actually start talking and just then coffee break is over, he goes to take a seat somewhere else, I am still holding the other half of that apple with this big smile in my lips.&lt;br /&gt;Between the apple and D guy I forgot about the REC framework and land contamination. It looks like a good article, however it assumes that opinions from "scientific experts" is something we have to take as "correct", and doesn't point out the importance of time (lines) if we want to say something is correct.&lt;br /&gt;So far, so good, I am loving it here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-4208444596458199403?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/4208444596458199403/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=4208444596458199403' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/4208444596458199403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/4208444596458199403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2007/10/apples-and-rec.html' title='Apples and REC'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9189683590179400980.post-4825278734639328471</id><published>2007-10-02T04:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-02T04:47:27.515-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not so lucid dreams</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;This must be the third or fourth time I start my blog, I promise myself every time I won't erase it, but somehow at the end I always do. I do hope this one it's the last time I have to go through all that registration process, it's pretty boring.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;Here I am, again, in another country, going back to university, learning to study again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;Before leaving my country for one year for the second time, I knew it was going to be hard.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;I love being here, go "fietsen", see how people go crazy in coffees and coffeeshops, even though it rains as if someone wants to disappear Nederlanders, it's a nice place.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;I think I am ok, I buy myself that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;But my dreams sometimes betray me; they wake up at 4.00 a.m. And it really sucks, it's wasted time, since I cannot do anything at all, I kept thinking and wondering if what I saw could become true or is already true and I don't know about it... yet.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;Does a person well-being is in direct relationship with what happens to his/her "ex"? Or someone else’s? When did welfare began to be a comparison and become so relative? When did we start to do in a personal level what many worldwide organizations do?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;And the most important... how to stop this hideous comparison?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;I just hope my dream isn't true, and if it is, there's nothing I could do about it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9189683590179400980-4825278734639328471?l=lastattemptornot.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/feeds/4825278734639328471/comments/default' title='Enviar comentarios'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9189683590179400980&amp;postID=4825278734639328471' title='0 comentarios'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/4825278734639328471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9189683590179400980/posts/default/4825278734639328471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lastattemptornot.blogspot.com/2007/10/not-so-lucid-dreams.html' title='Not so lucid dreams'/><author><name>Angela</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15261917824357387960</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='09536023349005786533'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>