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Ralsina.Me — El sitio web de Roberto Alsina

Yo he visto cosas que ustedes no creerían Naves de ataque en llamas en el hombro de Orión...

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Ella se lla­ma Fai­th Pop­corn. Vis­to en Mar del Pla­ta.

Una de mis co­sas fa­vo­ri­ta­s, al ser un lec­tor com­pul­si­vo es leer car­te­le­s. Siem­pre hay al­go ex­tra­ño en esos car­te­le­s. O son so­bre co­sas que en otro lu­gar no in­te­re­san, o es­tán he­chos en un es­ti­lo com­ple­ta­men­te dis­tin­to.

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En Baha­ma­s, las tren­zas tie­nen pre­cio fi­jo pues­to por el mu­ni­ci­pio.

Y a ve­ces te cru­zás con co­sas que nun­ca vis­te an­tes. Esas co­sas pue­den es­tar en cual­quier la­do, y ser cual­quier co­sa, ya que... bue­no, nun­ca las vis­te an­tes.

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Un hi­dran­te con un swea­te­r, en Bu­da­pes­t.

En rea­li­dad no ne­ce­si­ta ser tan ra­ro. Tal vez es al­go que nun­ca no­tas­te an­tes, por ca­sua­li­da­d.

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Los ba­rren­de­ros tam­bién pue­den ser ob­se­si­vos com­pul­si­vo­s. Vis­to en San Isi­dro.

O tal vez te cae la fi­cha.

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Por eso los te­rro­nes de azú­car son me­jo­res. Vis­to en Bu­da­pes­t.

O ... no sa­bés que de­ci­r.

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Vis­to en Ti­gre. No sé.

O co­sas que en tu país no ha­y.

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Di­ri­gi­ble! Vis­to en Lon­dres.

O son tan edu­ca­dos pa­ra pe­dir­te...

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O no en­ten­dé­s.

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¿Có­mo lle­gó ahí ese ne­ne?

Y des­pués sí.

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Fuen­te con tram­pa! Vis­ta en Bu­da­pes­t.

O ca­paz que es al­go re co­mú­n, pe­ro en un lu­gar ra­ro.

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Che­gu­sán de mi­lan­ga com­pra­do en un kios­co en Bu­da­pes­t.

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Un DIA en Es­tam­bu­l.

Y a ve­ces es al­go tan ra­ro que no te ima­gi­na­bas que exis­tie­ra, o co­mo po­día exis­ti­r.

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Ca­pí­tu­lo de un li­bro tur­co que trans­cu­rre en mi ca­sa­mien­to.

O fue­ra de con­tex­to.

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Es­ta­cio­na­do a la vuel­ta de ca­sa.

O ra­ro.

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Toa­lla de ho­tel en Or­lan­do.

O

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Sí, me cor­té el pe­lo, vis­to en Lon­dres.

O

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Vis­to en Ju­nín

O

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Fe­rry en Es­tam­bul

O

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Con­trol re­mo­to de ho­tel be­rre­ta en Ave­ni­da de Ma­yo en 2004 mas o me­no­s.

To­do es­to, ex­cep­to el re­mo­to, es una mues­tri­ta de lo que vi es­te úl­ti­mo año. Fué un año muy in­te­re­san­te :-)

Outies

Review:

This book is a mess. There are some good ideas in there but:

1) It des­per­ate­ly needs an ed­i­tor (ex­am­ple: it us­es "com­pos­ite com­pound" as the de­scrip­tion of a ma­te­ri­al)

2) Char­ac­ters ap­pear out of nowhere, and dis­ap­pear 20 pages lat­er, to nev­er be seen again.

3) The ac­tion scenes are so con­fus­ing they would make Michael Bay blush.

4) The pub­lish­er should put the au­thor's full name in the cov­er so noone con­fus­es her with her fa­ther.

Alfajor: theory and practices

Sys­tem Me­ss­age: ERRO­R/3 (<s­­tri­n­­g>, li­­ne 1)

Do­cu­ment or sec­tion may not be­gin wi­th a tran­si­tio­n.


0708101901

An al­fa­jor is, in theo­r­y, a sim­ple thin­g. It's a des­sert san­dwi­ch. The ar­gen­ti­nian al­fa­jor is usua­lly fi­lled wi­th dul­ce de le­che, whi­ch means you just can't screw it up. Even a bad al­fa­jor is going to be good.

Ye­s, the­re are so­me re­gio­nal al­fa­jo­res fi­lled wi­th other stu­ff. Do­n't pay any atten­tion to tho­se im­pos­tor­s. They are hip­s­ters wea­ring fake gla­s­ses they do­n't nee­d. What you want is dul­ce de le­che.

alfajor heaven

But the fi­lling is on­ly half of a san­dwi­ch, and a third of an al­fa­jo­r. The­re is al­so the things that su­rroun­d, hold and con­tain the no­to­rious­ly sti­cky dul­ce: cookie­s. So­me va­rian­ts ha­ve tried to im­pro­ve on the cookie by ei­ther going so­ft (cake!) or hard (Mi­lka Mousse), but the real deal is a so­ft-ish cookie, not too so­ft (so the al­fa­jor does­n't de­sin­te­gra­te) and not too hard (so it does­n't feel like ea­ting a ho­ckey pu­ck).

Feliz cumpleaños

The­re is an im­po­s­si­ble tra­deo­ff, be­tween dul­ce de le­che and the cookie. Too mu­ch cookie, you are ea­ting cookie­s. Too mu­ch dul­ce de le­che, you may as we­ll get a spoon and eat out of the jar (try it so­me­ti­me). You want to ba­lan­ce, but the al­fa­jor is wa­lking food, it has to be edi­ble by a 6-­year old schoolkid whi­le clim­bing a tree, it has to be so­lid enou­gh, and not fa­ll apar­t, and not co­ver him on melted fros­tin­g. The child has to be able to pa­ss ins­pec­tion of his han­ds after clea­ning wi­th just the wra­pper and his own mou­th.

Alfajor

The al­fa­jor san­ta­fe­sino has adop­ted a mi­ni­max stra­te­g­y, ma­xi­mi­zing the amount of dul­ce de le­che per amount of cookie, by using ex­tra-­thin "cookie­s" that are mo­re like cra­cker­s, adding mul­ti­ple la­yer­s, and making the who­le al­fa­jor thi­cke­r. I lo­ve it, but it is not for eve­r­yo­ne.

Alfajores Cordobes

The al­fa­jor de mai­ce­na goes in a com­ple­te­ly di­ffe­rent di­rec­tio­n, ha­ving a tas­ty cookie that can hard­ly hold any dul­ce de le­che be­cau­se it's too fria­ble. So­me­how that wo­rks won­der­fu­lly as we­ll.

Alfajorcito de Maizena

Then the­re is the co­ve­rin­g. Cho­co­la­te, fros­tin­g, co­co­nu­t, or no­thin­g. Cho­co­la­te is bad in su­m­me­r, mel­ting and making you eat the al­fa­jor from the wra­pper as if it we­re a ba­na­na.

Ahora si... ya puedo empezar a trabajar...

But if you ha­ve no idea what an al­fa­jor is, whi­ch one should you ha­ve? I could point you to the most su­bli­me al­fa­jo­res, whi­ch would be li­fe-­chan­ging ex­pe­rien­ce­s, but I wi­ll no­t. If you tried tho­se, whi­ch you can on­ly get in out of the way pla­ce­s, kno­wn on­ly to ini­tia­tes, whe­re could you go from the­re? It's like your first da­te being wi­th So­fía Ver­ga­ra. That would be just lea­ding you in­to a li­fe of di­sappoint­men­t.

Provecho...

So get a cho­co­la­te Ha­van­na. Get a Ca­cha­fa­z. Get a Ca­pi­tán del Es­pa­cio. Get a tu­be of Jor­gi­to­s. And when you ha­ve do­ne your appren­ti­ces­hi­p, when you are an al­fa­jor­man, when you are read­y. Then you wi­ll kno­w.

Alfajores

PS: Thanks to Juan Ro­dri­guez Monti for the idea for this pos­t.

$HOME is where .bashrc is

¿Có­mo pa­só es­to? ¿Qué me pa­só? ¿Qué es­ta­ba pen­san­do? Es una his­to­ria abu­rri­da y po­co in­te­re­san­te.

En­tré a tra­ba­jar a Ca­no­ni­ca­l. A mi no­te­book vie­ja no le da­ba el cue­ro. La nue­va no que­ría que le ins­ta­la­ra Ubun­tu. Di­je "ma sí, me voy a vi­vir a una VM". La VM era más len­ta que el Che­cho Ba­tis­ta. Te­nía que de­sa­rro­llar co­sas en Win­do­ws (sí). Al­gu­nas co­sas no fun­cio­na­ban bien en la VM. Y de a po­qui­to, las co­sas y los ar­chi­vos se jun­ta­ban en win­do­ws, en el har­dwa­re rea­l, Win­do­ws 7 Ho­me Pre­miu­m.

En ge­ne­ra­l, Win­do­ws 7 es no ho­rri­ble. La ma­yo­ría de las co­sas an­dan. Lo que sí, pa­ra un pro­gra­ma­do­r, es cul­ti­var en el de­sier­to. Po­dés ha­cer que crez­can co­sas, pe­ro hay que po­ner­le mu­chas ga­na­s.

Así que hoy ins­ta­lé Ku­bun­tu Onei­ric (¡­nin­gún pro­ble­ma!), jun­té to­dos los da­tos de la no­te­book vie­ja, de la Vm, de win­do­ws, bo­rré win­do­ws, y me mu­dé a Li­nu­x, y aho­ra Win­do­ws es la VM.

Ex­tra­ña­ba.


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