Recientemente I was in an interview with a media outlet that wanted to know what is the lifestyle of a blogger who spends two hours of his night writing for an almost anonymous world. It was easy to talk about it, but then he went on to ask a question that seemed ill-intentioned to me:
-Well, let's talk about your private life now.
Maybe the answer I heard there, but it came out very normal:
"Do you realize what you're saying?" If I tell you, it will no longer be private.
The question sounded sick, hence the answer that way. But then he started asking the same professional questions about my family, my children, my hobbies, and finally we managed to speak as people. In the end I was left with the feeling that he expected to find me telling him that at night I put on a wolf mask and went out into the streets to scare ... I get the impression that there are those who after reading the Sherlock Holmes novels always hope to find a Underworld hidden behind people's normal lives.
So it will take me a while to change the deep subject of OGC standards to loosen the knot that I have left right at the moment of inertia of the liver.
15 years ago, Life was simpler; Who wanted to write, we did for the bulletin of the school, our friends were a shout away, if we wanted to find more distant relationships we did in the philatelic section of Popular Mechanics, our leisure was to re-read Tintin, Kaliman, Obelix and Asterix or go down the mountain to see that there was beyond; Our highest aspirations were to go out into the world and see what people do elsewhere to succeed.
There was no Nintendo Wii, just if Arcade games in the corner, half of today's words did not exist in our vocabulary: blogger, wordpress, tweeter, Facebook, hi5 !, http, @gmail, adsense, workspace, cartesia ... a lot less geofumadas.
That changed with the way of life we choseIn my case, half of my time is traveling, fighting with mayors and technicians because they must modernize their paper procedures without forgetting to scan the printed format. Then the friends became nocturnal, behind social networks, half of those college and university companions whom technology privileged and another pile of friends resulting from the at. We resign our weekends to our family, closest friends and the pleasure of continuing to read two books at the same time with those ancient doctrines of the fluorescent marker and gummed postcript.
I stopped writing stories, short stories and novels; than I published two books before having Geofumadas. I abandoned a couple of local initiatives, after I was convinced that there were no more visitors in the Central American isthmus, I left the classrooms where I taught an exorcist version of AutoCAD and Microstation, and I took up some of my old manuals to recycle them in this space. Here we share news, exercises, smokes and from time to time we do a reduced version of the holy inquisition to judge the commercial platforms that feed us but do not fill our particular whims.
But I'm still myself, facing a more international medium, with Spanish, Mexican, Argentinean readers and the rest of the Hispanic world with the complicity of Google / search / reader / adwords or a select group that every three days writes that word in google to see if there is any smoke interesting. I am aware that personal opinions are diametrically parallel as we cross a false UTM, so I have barely allowed myself to talk about football From time to time, what I would never do with issues of politics, religion, and lifestyles; We finally understand ourselves in that pseudo Geospatial language of which I do not dominate its fourth dimension so I must be simplistic not to screw up.
After two months of reading me, surely the shocking part of a reader with his writer begins, knowing that a percentage of the jargon he writes sounds from another planet. We understand the easy words well: .jsp, shx, ims, prj, mxd, dgn, dwg, kmz, tab ... but it is hard for us to understand that beyond that language we share there are words from the writer's particular environment. So it sounds strange “pirouette”, “blasphemous”, “of canes”, “fuck”, “okay”, “chanfle”, “come on”, “check”, “macanudo”, “solid”, “furular” “destrompar”, “chivísimo”, “cabal”, “scary” and others that I have adopted by my South American and peninsular friends… more than any offensive to good customs without reprojecting them in geographical coordinates.
Therefore, even if our biography is not on one of the pages of the blog, after months we understand the writer's way of being ... we learn to excuse his part commitment, Its travel, Its state of humor, irony, Smoked and its resentments with Megaman X. The blog is called Geofumadas, but I'm still a human being ordinary Looking statistics of Analytics, Blog In Live WritterHe follows the mail on his mobile and also has two technological sons by inheritance, dreamers by habit, who get two new gray hairs every three days, and enough laughter not to resent them when they reach adolescence.
After a little over a year I recognize that this blog changed a space of my life, thanks to him I have met good friends, faithful critics and also because of being more talkative than instructor I have enjoyed since a starbuck in Baltimore, A Paceña in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, discerning a culín blow in Gijón, even a couple of pupusas in San Salvador. They all taste the same Laughter of native format.
As many things in my life have not been forever, I do not have the slightest idea of how long Geofumadas lasts and if it surpasses the semantic web we may find it obsolete.
At the end of the story I realize that there is no private life, the public of my weekend with the guys in Burger King is private in the blog, visible in my land, we are all we are, the most we can aspire is to be natural. For while, greetings, thanks for your honest opinion ... for reaching the end of such a personal post, also for reading anonymously.