Is this David Shrigley?

The world seems upside down, at least for Mexicans even when we are out of Mexico. Swine flu paranoia seems out or proportion and every friend I talk to reminds me of the hidden data that is kept by the government to avoid fear. Others just prefer to stick to the conspiracy theories. I rather stop watching the news.
My office building hasn’t turned the AC on and we’ve been sweating since yesterday, writing progress reports with sticky hands and trying to breathe without ventilation.
On a personal note, I’ve been thinking about Javier’s thesis statement “be careful of what you wish for”.

It’s great to have a best friend. Capuchi and I went to L' Pettite Abeille for dinner last night and talked for more than two hours about our plans, project and script ideas, love and sex, movies, new media, meditation and the existence of God. “It’s not important to find out if God actually exists” he confirmed, “what really matters is what you can do for yourself.” Two glasses of Cabernet and a shared steak au poivre were enough to put me in the thoughtful mood. Capuchi has been reading Jodorowsky’s Psycho Magic and believes we should start focusing more on our dreams. “What about these mice matting by the table?” I interrupted. “Nothing, it’s irrelevant to think where they come from or what their purpose is,” he said laughing.

Central Park makes me feel good. A blond teenager takes his dog for a walk and I wonder if I will ever have a 12-year old son. It’s probably because of the weather, but there is a swarm of mosquitoes flying above my head. People speaking Chinese, French and Arabic. A young Hasidic couple walks by me, an old guy is sitting five benches away from me, a tourist asks me to take his photo by the pond. I can feel the cold humidity on my face, the fog covers the buildings, the ducks rest over the lawn laying their extended necks. I close my eyes and take a deep breath; it smells like spring.

The week started with bad cramps and allergies. I open my email a dozen times an hour in the hopes to find something that I’m not even sure what it is. I don’t even respond to emails or letters; I just like to be entertained. What was I doing before I had constant access to internet? I should change my habits, unplug the damn thing and just go for a walk even with the cold weather. I don’t want to wait anymore; I want to feel alive with what I have.

Paloma, Capuchi and Oscar are in the living room discussing Buddhist philosophy while I try to edit the video of Ira Sachs and Daniel Burman. I arrived last night from Mexico, my body is aching of tiredness, my nose is bleeding and I somehow regret drinking a glass of red wine. Paloma switched the subject and is now talking about mental disorders and how easy you can suddenly loose it and wake-up in “lala-land”. It scares me. The last time Paloma came to visit was almost four years ago when she was in transit from London. We had both experienced panic attacks without knowing how to name them. Sharing our stories made us feel better; I haven't felt one ever since.

My body is still aching; probably I’m getting a cold. A few days ago we were driving the 1959 Karmann along the Chapala Lake Riviera, I was wearing a long silk scarf and sunglasses, feeling like Isadora Duncan but drinking cold Mexican beer and sightseeing small huts selling fried trout and tiny fish called charales.

I found my weekly philosophy from a list of ten banking principles: what is fragile should break early while it is still small. Nothing should ever become too big to fail. (I love the Financial Times)

I walked as fast as I could on Park Avenue while repeating the same song on my iPod over and over again. I turned left on 54th Street and cross 5th avenue skipping tourists. Laura and Oscar were already at the Burger Joint; it was Laura’s last night in New York but it felt like any other. We are so used to change that these events stopped being surprising.
Genoveva’s wedding was very emotional. Martha and I were standing in front of her, with watery eyes, while she accepted her vows. We know her story and how important it is for her to build her own family. After the ceremony in Central Park everyone was invited to Ben’s apartment for the petite celebration; kirs and sangrias with empanadas and guacamole. I danced all night, until my feet were in pain. There’s no one to blame when someone knows the right steps.

I’ve been always nostalgic about driving in tropical rain; it reminds me of Guadalajara. I loved the sound it made on the car’s roof and how humidity evaporated making my skin wet. We used to drive across the old parts of town listening to Portishead drinking 1-liter beers. I just have one driving memory in New York. Sarah had just bought her old red sedan and we drove one night from Washington Heights to Greenpoint in Brooklyn. As we drove on the FDR we could see all the apartment buildings with their lights on. I multiplied each window by what it represented in terms of stories: love, success, loneliness and defeat. I had just divorced from Javier, and as each window had its own story I wished one new for my own. Now I have it.

Genoveva’s wedding is tomorrow in Central Park. I’m excited about it.