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Pulp Fiction

Jules Winnfield: Okay, so, tell me about the hash bars.

Vincent Vega: So what you want to know?

Jules: Well, hash is legal there, right?

Vincent: Yeah, it's legal, but it ain't a hundred percent legal. I mean, you can't walk into a restaurant, roll a joint, and start puffin' away. They want you to smoke in your home or certain designated places.

Jules: Those are hash bars?

Vincent: Breaks down like this, okay: it's legal to buy it, it's legal to own it, and if you're the proprietor of a hash bar, it's legal to sell it. It's illegal to carry it, but that doesn't really matter 'cause, get a load of this, all right; if you get stopped by the cops in Amsterdam, it's illegal for them to search you. I mean, that's a right the cops in Amsterdam don't have.

Jules: [laughing] Oh, man. I'm going, that's all there is to it. I'm fucking going.

Vincent: Yeah, baby, you'd dig it the most. But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is?

Jules: What?

Vincent: It's the little differences. I mean, they got the same shit over there that we got here, but it's just...it's just, there it's a little different.

Jules: Example?

Vincent: All right. Well, you can walk into a movie theater in Amsterdam and buy a beer. And I don't mean just like in no paper cup; I'm talking about a glass of beer. And in Paris, you can buy a beer at McDonald's. And you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?

Jules: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?

Vincent: Nah, man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.

Jules: What do they call it?

Vincent: They call it a "Royale with Cheese."

Jules: "Royale with Cheese."

Vincent: That's right.

Jules: What do they call a Big Mac?

Vincent: A Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "Le Big Mac."

Jules: [in mock French accent] "Le Big Mac." [laughs] What do they call a Whopper?

Vincent: I don't know, I didn't go in a Burger King.

Un día más, un día menos

Un día más, un día menos. Todos los días son iguales; tienen las mismas horas, los mismos minutos, los mismos segundos, pero no todos son iguales. El tiempo es relativo, como la vida misma.  Pero eso lo sabemos todos, no hace falta ser un genio, un Albert. Podemos mirar el pasado y sentirlo como si aún viviésemos en él, podemos ‘volver’ a sentir de la misma intensidad. Podemos mirar al futuro y sentir que ya ha llegado. Podemos sentirlo tanto que incluso actuemos de forma distinta, pensando que ya lo hemos conseguido. Pero siempre nos olvidamos del presente.

No, no soy de esas personas que tienen como hobby proclamar a los cuatro vientos la filosofía de ‘¡vive el presente, tío!’ y menos aún de los que lo difunden de palabras y de actos están contando los días para que llegue el verano. No. Siempre es bueno tener un margen de Pasado (para no olvidar de donde venimos) y de Futuro (pasa saber a dónde poner el siguiente pie).

Y tú te estarás preguntando, ¿qué cojones estás diciendo? ¿Por qué a estas horas te pones a decir gilipolleces banales?

Pero la pregunta que yo me hago es: ¿Por qué me llaman Charly?  

Primero teneis que escuchar una palabra: Boadicea