Mia Thorn

New Media Focus on web development

2008-02-15T12:25:00.002+01:00

So - the Spanish chapter is well and truly over - now it's time to start ranting about the web development world.

The ensuing posts are going to be comments about new web stuff, thoughts on various marketing methods - viral emarketing, direct mail campaigns, web marketing, newsletters and all that jazz...

2006-07-25T14:56:00.000+02:00

patxi this picture is crap

More photos please Patxi

2006-07-25T14:28:00.000+02:00

Hey man, i really need to get better pics of you and ariela. This one sucks! I know there's some cool ones of us with cowboy hats on - send 'em over, or this item stays on my blog. I may even paste your ugly chin on other sites!

La Fortaleza Roja

2006-07-25T13:52:00.000+02:00

Granada is incredible.

Maria tired at every step. We tempted her with Arabian arches and pools flushed with colourful fish but she was having none of it. Her Italian blood seeked a siesta in the shade of the benevolent ficus trees and refused to move. Clara and I ate paté sandwiches philosophically while Nicolas tempted stray cats with stale bread from the bottom of his rucksack. The sun had already bleached all the tiny spaces in the courtyard white and it had hadn’t even hit 11 am.

I had luckily heeded my house mates advice from Madrid and headed to La Alhambra straight off the night bus. There were around 30 people already camped out at the entrance when I arrived, blank-faced, white-washed and bleary-eyed. I inwardly thanked the hotel porter who’d directed me from the city centre and joined the queue.

An impromptu history lesson, two coffees and an hour and a half later we paid our rite of passage and climbed the hose-dampened tarmac in search of gorgeous architecture and culture. I love the fact that you can rock up alone somewhere with a backpack and soon almagamate friends like dust. 'I' becomes 'we', and you take it from there. I never carry a camera so this is a very useful aspect of solo travel – the age of digital and email exchange allow bonds to be forged for as long as it takes to download the day trip snaps.

La Alhambra – The Red Fortress – was originally built by the invading Arab tribes who conquered most of Spain for centuries until the disparate aristocratic families got their acts together, intermarried, and pushed against the tide. Consequent buildings were added to the fortress until it became what it is today: the best place EVER to have a party – if you can afford it!

Carlos VI couldn’t have cared too much for architecture as the join between his round bull fighting arena obscures part of the most beautiful interior walls I have ever seen. How can you mess with a wall that has the Koran painstakingly inscribed into its surface?

Don’t get me wrong – Charlie’s palace is impressive if you’re into acoustics or blood sports. What really hit me in the gut more was the jasmine gardens to the north-west of the estate. They ‘breem’ with life. Long boulevards paved in ancient stone, spurting fountains that shoot arcs over the succulent surface plant life. Clara obsessed over certain camera angles and I mooched in an alvcove, wondering what people in the facing hill of Albaicín were doing that morning.

We finally left the palace gardens at around 2, over 6 hours after we arrived.

This is a full-on day trip. Pack water, food and energy to sustain a whole day in paradise. This place rocks!

Revelation

2006-06-24T02:57:00.000+02:00

wow. just realised that i've had the most beautiful night that could be cut and pasted into any point in the timeline of past, present and future me. Even in those parallel transparent universes where i'll never go i would hold this night dear. It's that irreversible 'self' that evaded my conscious for so long that was there all the time. It was there on the nights when i was too young to join the party, when i'd sit on the landing and hug Gemma and think into the dark spaces of Revel Cottage. It will be there when i'm old and grey (or hopefully white) and will have lived a hundred lives. It's me, on my own, having been invited to several different places and deciding instead to stay here with myself, with good music, in a place where i can write and appreciate how unbelievable existence is. The clouds are scattered and pink across my outside view. In here I've got the glow from my laptop, Sade singing to me in a place outside of time and a feeling of more content than i could ever have in real-time. It all stops here, in these madrugada hours. You can pause, freeze-frame, think away from the present and just float...

"That bright blue sky..."

2006-06-24T01:09:00.001+02:00

I realised that this had become a repeated phrase of mine last summer yet I can't explain it any other way. Madrid is encapsuled in this beautiful clean deep azure dome during the summertime that defies all of us who rot her skies. God, i've even resorted to the latin 'azure' to explain how blue it is! How the hell else can i describe it?!

It's like the sky i saw when i was wee. 4 years-old in the garden, having a party for the first Live Aid concert in '85. My sisters friends playing cricket with shards of hard French bread while i squeezed the hose at our big black dog...

7-years old and playing with David in the back yard. Inventing guns, warships, armadas... We'd cruise by our older siblings (bird-watching suckie individuals) and shoot them to shit. Laying in sticky sweat afterwards on the itchy lawn, we'd laugh against huge lung-fuls of anaerobic slack breath. Acid limbs hung limp at our extremities as we looked up into that incredible innocent deep bright blue sky...

Hop to a Halfords trip, anytime in my childhood. There'd be me and my dad and several planks of wood poking out the back of our trashy gold Ford Estate... Status Quo wailing from the casette player full blast and a pissed off mum ready to greet us in the drive with admonishing looks. Too much fun in the wood yard, you two. And what exactly are you doing with all that pine?! Blanket blue remained in the corners of my vision all the way through those days that seemed to last forever...

Renera

2006-06-12T00:16:00.000+02:00

Un pueblecito en el medio de la nada. Población: 64 personas, pues, según al padre de Patxi pero creo que eso es un poquillo exagerado. Muy buen rollo. Hace unas horas estuvimos andando por el rio y las letras de "time" por Pink Floyd estaban corriendo dentro de mi cabeza:

"so we run and we run to catch up with the sun rays sinking..."

"we fritter & waste the hours in an off-hand way..."

"the sun is the same in a relative way but we're older,
shorter of breath and one day closer to death..."

Seguimos el sol hacía la casa y de repente era la hora de salir...

Tempting Apples

2006-06-11T23:33:00.001+02:00

The discovery of a new band that will no doubt stay with me for a long time is quite a joyous occasion. Today I am just reeling again under the consecutive blows of loneliness that rain down in waves, in sheets, sometimes as a light patter that can be ignored and sometimes in a way that covers me like the sea. The undercurrent drags me back and forth against the rasping bottom but eventually pulls me back to safety. I hate emotions. They won't come when you call. They refuse the rule of logic and ignore the big strikey stick of will.

So that's a shame really.

This is the band though. They rock:

www.theorgan.ca

go fug yourself

2006-04-16T23:39:00.000+02:00

Although i've loved this site for, like, EVER, this particular bit of writing has had me in stitches the last FIVE times i read it. If you are reading my blog because you're bored and surfing, or want to see how many other people have put "The War of Don Emmanuel's Nether Parts" in their favourite book section (there's three of us lovey), take a look at this website instead because it's a hell of a lot more entertaining:

www.gofugyourself.com

what made me larf far too much today:

"...I'm frustrated that the fashion industry is apparently trying to stamp out the mighty trouser. Because although I secretly love the idea of a world in which we all walk around ready to deploy jazz hands at any moment, I really do think it's unwise to make nylon the foundation of our society."

What's it all about, ay?

2006-04-05T23:33:00.000+02:00

I read an article about Idi Amin yesterday that made me think that anything is possible. If an illiterate former potato peeler can take over a country, get all his mates into high ranking positions, torture and humiliate just for fun, print his own money and run the economy of a blossoming nation into the ground then absolutely anything can come to pass. The history read like a macabre sick-man's fantasy - and one that couldn't possibly happen in 'real' life. I wonder if that's how future generations will look back on mine, as Dubya continue's to make a mockery out of the American political system, Tony Blair continues to rule the UK after lying to the entire nation and peace is still very far from the Middle East. I've stopped reading the international news this week because I can't take any more...

2006-03-21T23:45:00.000+01:00

P�, looking gorgous as always

2006-03-21T23:44:00.000+01:00

Plaza Mayor, Madrid

Diario de Madrid: Tomando el sol, Plaza Mayor: Julio 9, 2005

2006-03-21T23:10:00.000+01:00

I will not begin this with comments on the heat. It is an all encompassing, overwhelming theme that drips into everyday thought and speech, impairing ability for action, work and sleep. The nights are oppressive, although lately the temperature drop of three degrees has allowed for a few consecutive hours of slumber…

So, no. I won’t write about the heat.

Actually, I wanted to write about my new situation: living in Lavapies. The immigrant district, renowned for troubles and skirmishes between its beautifully diverse populous. The architecture alone can blow you away, Moorish domes rising above terracotta slanting roofs, all at once dilapidated and sublime. The mixture of Moroccans, West Africans, Asians, guiris and Latinos form a complex society that I hope will one day change the whole city. Racism and xenophobia is a problem here if you pay heed to the papers. I just get my food from the shop two doors down while shooting the breeze with the gargantuan smiling African who refuses to stock alcohol. I nod to the dog walkers in the square, who sit and sweat, watching the canines snuffle. I avoid the hot pools of water left by the limpiezas overnight, shifting my flowing skirt high above the grey cobblestones that rumble downhill.

I still feel disconnected from this life. I came here to learn a language I love, one that I grasp ineffectually at, but one so far I have fallen dismally short of understanding. I have lived the life of a guiri, choosing to speak my own tongue for embarrassments sake, feeling shame rise into my cheeks every time I attempt a contorted sentence of sorts.

I now live with an Israeli Jew and a young German photographer. They both study the art, shooting constantly, seeing life through a different lens. Yesterday I awoke at midday to find a semi-nude woman slumped against the wall, touching her legs suggestively. Today she is covered in nothing but a type of gauze netting, drinking peach tea and pouting at the camera. I am trying not to look, which is just too ridiculous and British for words.

Diario de Madrid: Junio 2005: La mejor memoria

2006-03-21T22:46:00.000+01:00

Anyway, I was going to write about the best day in recent memory. It was last Sunday, when Emelie woke me from some drunk haze, at one in the afteroon to demand my company. We met at Tirso de Molino metro and strolled by The Rastro flea market arm in arm, where the smell of rancid clothes and sweat and skin swayed up into the bright blue sky. We sat and drank canas and spoke about the world and all that we wish to do with it. Emelie made some great quotes, that I, like a fool, cannot remember now, then we walked some more and ate some tapas in the dry afternoon air. I took a picture of her by the new theatre sign in the dusty square. She told me about some of her old loves and we laughed about her debauchery and daring and living. No one we know does these kinds of things. Her friends think that she is enlightened. Some others may think that she is a nymphomaniac but I think she is just brilliant.

And so we went to the park and a load of people were there playing and pounding the drums and I felt free like I have never felt before and suddenly I had to go and I had drank far too much Pimms and the new guy from Rhode Island said that he would call me and I said hey do that and we all staggered out of the park, under the underpass, with my head so calm and clear and happy. I skimmed the low ceiling with my fingers and thought that I should remember that exact moment, that exact happiness.

Diario de Madrid: Junio 2005: El Bar Irlandes 3: los individuales

2006-03-21T22:41:00.000+01:00

Some people just make you feel so helpless. There are a lot of these at my bar. The dull, the restless, the hoplessly useless, the undefined, the unrefined…..

The most interesting are the individuals. Nuria, the neurotic man-eater, who visits the bar on a nightly basis, always with a different guy on rotation. They dote on her slavishly, buy her gifts, paw over her warm, brown skin, then get rebuffed after they’ve paid for her entertainment. Mostly these poor creatures are so pathetic I have no sympathy whatsoever, but occasionally even my man-hating heart goes out to the wretches.

Sylvia, the woman of no particular origin, sits in the corner, writing her thesis on how to analyse history purely through photos. She has 169 images of the fall of the Russian Empire. She chain-smokes and drinks tea, but only up until 6 o clock. She has her own cushion that stays behind the upright bar-flap when she’s not here. She has numerous friends who come and sit and chat round the corner table, always in Spanish, although she’s lived in Paris, Dublin and a number of other European cities. She has never been to the Orient but she has used alternative medicine to cure back problems, induced from too much bad posture: sitting on the floor with her legs akimbo and writing her first thesis, 14 hrs every day for 4 months. She has a shock of curly blonde hair that frames her face and a contented-cat smile. Her voice is gravely, and rolls out of her mouth in a soft, indeterminate drawl. There is nothing silly about her – she’s solid and certain. And kind. Sure, sometimes her blue eyeshadow falls below where it should be and she entertains the company of pseudo-intellectuals, but she has a certain place in the world. Of that I am sure. She makes me feel safe when I sit next to her. There is nothing fripperous or extraneous about her person. She needs background noise to work but she doesn’t desperately seek the company of others by coming to the bar. She people-watches and lends a kind ear to those that seek it.

Malcolm makes me want to cry at times. He’s the type of person I would like to have shot at birth. Not for any malicious intent, just purely because it would have been an act of kindness. He has a toads face, with shallow muddy eyes that bulge glassily. If those are windows to some kind of soul I give up any faith in God, as I can see nothing there. He is the worst of Nuria’s fan club – and the most fervently hopeful. I don’t think he’s ever understood a single thing about the world or where his place in it should be, so, like the rest of the truly lost, he will sit at the end of the bar, supping his pint and laugh at jokes that were not meant for him to share.

Diario de Madrid: Junio 2005: El Bar Irlandes 2: los espanoles

2006-03-21T22:40:00.000+01:00

Other types of drinkers here are Spanish pijos, snobs that like to feel international, drink interesting ‘black beer’, and patronise foreign bar staff. Many of the regulars are, however, very nice and polite, but a large office party may breeze in at 7, stay all night, demand table service, large rounds and a constant stream of free tapas, then will all pay separately and insist on ‘invitations’ (free drinks). I still have a lot to learn about Spanish culture…

Diario de Madrid: Junio 2005: El Bar Irlandes 1: los clientes habituales

2006-03-21T22:36:00.000+01:00

I have started to really enjoy my job here. The actual work is mundane and boring in the extreme, but Irish bars are fascinating places for people-watching. I have seen the like of whom I never before presumed possible to exist – from the most painfully stupid and ignorant, to professors, artists, lawyers and every type in between.

You have the inevitable expat regulars, who like to sit and scratch their balls whilst drinking Guinness and watching cricket on the BBC. This type of clientele, by and large, speak very bad Spanish and work as English teachers. I have yet to divine exactly why they are here, as they complain about every aspect of Spanish life yet have no intention of returning to the Mother Land.

Diario de Madrid: Gente Maja: Junio 2005

2006-03-21T22:35:00.000+01:00

Hot North African winds blew through Madrid this weekend, as workers celebrated the beginning of their holidays. Streets overflowed with a sweaty, noisy, excited human stream. The bustling traffic of bodies passing through dry heat swelled irregularly in knots, as friends met at metro stations, lovers pressed each other into doorways and tourists stood to stare at the street entertainers. Each road had its climax point, from Fuencarral, where a burgeoning crowd spilled out to meet the flow from Gran Via, all the way down to Plaza Mayor, as groups sat and drank in the night, chatting, all splayed out on the cobble stones. Their voices reached up past the muralled walls into the clear deep ocean of dark blue sky.

Primavera Sound 2005-06-05

2006-03-21T22:23:00.000+01:00

Scorching heat and warm canned lager. The beat of sound systems competing in the warmth of an early morning in June. A sea of dancing figures waving and jumping to dj sets… the international arena… shameless fame spotting edith bowman… ridiculously small indoor arena… queues for tickets for food, queues for tickets for drinks… queues for drinks, queues for food…. Nouvelle vague roxked my world while iggy pop wailed at the rest... The Russian couldn’t stand it and pouted in hooded defiance for the duration of the fiesta. New Order failed to get my juices flowing, whereas live brass and balls made me fall in love with Broken Social’s Scene’s “Lover’s Spit”… Beautiful pink sea glinted as “Sells Like Teen Spirit” got mixed up, chopped up, fucked around and charged by the awesome Optimo dj’s…

Barcelona is beautiful. I had forgotten this simple fact.

2005-06-05T17:17:00.000+02:00

David Thomas & Two Pale Boys

2005-06-05T17:16:00.001+02:00

Iggy Pop & The Stooges

2005-06-05T17:16:00.000+02:00

Tarantula

2005-06-05T17:14:00.001+02:00

Optimo DJ's

2005-06-05T17:14:00.000+02:00

Nathan Fake

2005-06-05T17:12:00.000+02:00

The Secret Society

2005-06-05T17:10:00.001+02:00

Broken Social Scene

2005-06-05T17:10:00.000+02:00

The Human League - alot younger than today

2005-05-26T18:10:00.000+02:00

Faithless, Brighton Centre, 13/12/04: We Come 1

2005-05-26T02:19:00.000+02:00

slightly out of focus yet ever so good

Primavera Sound

2005-05-25T17:47:00.000+02:00

The next festival on my agenda is Primavera in Barcelona this weekend. Rather excited, if the truth be told. It will rock, especially as I am accompanying a group of attractive Spanish chicas, who will all, no doubt, be able to understand my rough attempts at Spanglish... Viva la difference as they say...

Is This Desire?

2005-05-25T03:13:00.000+02:00

La Madrugada is Spanish for early morning. I love these moments, when most people are asleep, the apartent is silent, save the warping gurgles of the pipes and that constant buzz hum of electric generation. I live in a leafy barrio to the south west of Madrid, beneath the benevolent shade of horse chestnut trees and away from the heat, pollution and grime downtown....

Belief Structures

2004-10-14T06:30:00.000+02:00

The main problem with what I can find in the world is this ridiculous idea of Right and Wrong.

Why do people have do boil everything and anything down to these two opposing extremes? G W Bush has a fanatical belief in his own righteous knowledge. But so does Al Qaeda. So does Tony Blair. So does my mother.

Isn't it a tiny bit naive? Doesn't it smack of a large portion of egotism with fries please?

The universe is FAR too complicated for the human mind to comprehend. Jesus, if we can't even grasp the concept of a fourth dimension of curved space-time, nor fathom infinity, how can we possibly know what is right and wrong for the trillions of organisms that coexist on this planet?!!

And what 'right' have any of us to dictate the foundations of a shared reality to those in a different culture?

Never mind Islamic extremists vs extreme puritanical Bible-bashers. What about the way my parents live vs my lifestyle choices? Who is to say which of us have made the better decisions in life, let alone define each others fundamental truths as 'right' or wrong'?

This whole situation is ridiculous. To get rid of a murderous dictator by force and brutality, in the name of 'democracy', (which can be viewed as a compromise at best,) without even considering the belief system and social structure of the 'oppressed' nation is EVIL in my opinion. But that's just it. An opinion. An idea. Thought. Conjecture.

I am of the opinion that the war in Iraq, my Prime Minister and George W Bush are evil, bad and very very wrong. This conclusion can be backed up with reams of eloquent debate and argument but I have come to it via the more primeval, emotional reasoning of gut instinct. My body violently opposes this war. My guts churn and twist at the hideous hypocrisy and lies i hear.

But I'm not right. I only hold an opinion. This opinion is part of what makes up my world, or reality and so I'm obviously sitting on a very different planet to the one that my elected representatives currently hold power over. Or at least, I wish I was, because we all have to participate in a shared global existence now.

Which is why the modernist/fundamentalist approach is derisable. And dangerous.

I believe that the only tools we have at our disposal to forge a path through the unfathomable complexity of existence are:

Ideas

Decisions

Actions

Perceptions

But i could be wrong... What do you think?

Outrageous Procrastination

2004-10-12T14:36:00.000+02:00

Christ. I need to get this dithering sorted. Perhaps the distinct lack of fun in both my work and personal life has shifted me towards a larger length of time spent procrastinating. In any case this has got to stop....