jueves, 31 de marzo de 2016

miércoles, 30 de marzo de 2016

Isla de Pascua

Gerardido Machortiz (a) el autoincinerado

-¿Tienes algo qué decir antes de ser quemada, mujer infiel?
-¡Quemada la policía de Zapopan! Y qué nacocorrido misógino tan chafa compusiste, eres infiel al buen gusto y al oído musical

Miércoles caricaturizador/ O los candidatos republicanos gringos: el monstruoso, el ultramocho y el zombie

Trump por Marconi
 Trump por Fahyeh
 Ted Cruz por Hagen
 John Kasich por Taylor Jones

lunes, 28 de marzo de 2016

domingo, 27 de marzo de 2016

Passio Domini/ Nova Schola Gregoriana/ Alberto Turco, director

En (P)ascuas

Papá Fred, sub-junior Donald y mamá Mary


Making the man: to understand Trump, look at his relationship with his dad 

The art of understanding Donald Trump is much in demand right now. What is his appeal? Why does he talk in that very recognizable cadence? What is his relationship with truth, exactly? And how does he manage to spout out such gibberish – especially in front of the editorial board of the Washington Post – and get away with it?
There are many possible angles of attack. We get op-eds about his alleged similarities with Hitler, about the era of Republican decadence, about how the media gives him too much attention. But one angle that largely goes unexamined is the place even the dimmest of therapists would start: his dad. And of course, there’s more to heredity than money. For example, there’s hair.
Everyone agrees that Frederick Christ Trump (the biblical middle name came from his mother’s family) was a more retiring sort than his son, Donald. But he was not immune to the siren song of hair dye. According to Gwenda Blair’s book The Trumps: Three Generations of Builders and a Presidential Candidate, he was, late in life, particularly fond of a shade of red that bore a hint of magenta. Photographs also reveal that Fred liked to wear his hair a little longer than the average man, combed up into a smooth wave away from the head. Stop me if this starts sounding familiar.
And then there’s the myth of the self-made man. In his autobiography, The Art of the Deal, Donald claims that he learned a strong work ethic from his father. “I never threw money around,” he also wrote with a straight face in those innocent days before his first bankruptcy, and before the Apprentice let America get a view of the inside of his apartment. “I learned from my father that every penny counts, because before too long your pennies turn into dollars.”
That sounds nice. Unfortunately, The Art of the Deal is a difficult book to trust, not least because it contains at least one giant whopper with respect to Fred: it claims that the Trumps were of Swedish ancestry, when in fact they were German. As the world knows now, courtesy of John Oliver, the family’s original name was Drumpf and Fred even spoke German. But he, too, worked to conceal this, in part because at the height of his working life it wasn’t such a good idea to be a German in America. In the late 1940s and 1950s, it gave off entirely the wrong impression.

Though perhaps, in the end, it would not have been a wrong impression: last fall, reports surfaced that Fred Trump may have had ties to the Ku Klux Klan. In 1927, the New York Times reported that a Fred Trump was arrested in Queens during a Klan rally of about 1,000 people. The address matched the address of Fred Trump’s childhood home. To the New York Times itself, Donald Trump replied, “It’s unfair to mention it, to be honest, because there were no charges. They said there were charges against other people, but there were absolutely no charges, totally false.”
And although Fred Trump’s fortune was made mostly in building low-income housing, he had repeated run-ins with civil rights groups about racial discrimination in his housing allocations. In fact, in Donald Trump’s first New York Times mention in 1973, he’s defending his father and his company, Trump Management, from charges that they discriminated against potential black tenants, outright refusing them apartments because they were black. (The matter was settled without the Trumps admitting to any guilt.)
“His story is classic Horatio Alger,” Donald Trump said, bulldozing right over that narrative in The Art of the Deal. But as reported in the Blair book and numerous articles about Trump over the years, Fred Trump actually didn’t start out in poverty.
Fred Trump’s endeavors were much less flashy than his son’s, of course, and Donald benefited from the fact that the Trump family’s eldest son, Freddy Jr, never wanted to be part of the family business and died at 43. But few men of Donald Trump’s age and virility are eager to see themselves as the beneficiaries of privilege. To prove you were a man, you were supposed to come out of your (mansion-like) cave and eat only what you killed yourself.

But Trump bent those rules for himself, taking his father’s money to get himself established. The Washington Post tried to do the math on that recently, and they came up with no clear answer. Trump says he simply took out a small million-dollar loan when he was getting started, and numerous articles over the years suggest Donald Trump took out several other loans from the Bank of Dad. Once, to evade bankruptcy law, Fred Trump lent his son $3.5m in casino chips. And that’s not to mention his actual inheritance when Fred Trump died in 1999.
Trump’s grandfather Frederick Trump, who also invested in real estate, left behind an estate of just over $30,000 when he died in 1918, according to Blair. It would be the equivalent of just under $500,000 in today’s dollars. And Trump’s grandmother, Elizabeth Christ Trump, was actually the one who set up the family business. According to Blair’s book, 15-year-old Fred Trump simply slipped into the role he named for her. He made the best of the situation, for sure. But it was more like a cheap-suit-to-riches story.
It is true that Fred Trump kept things going by penny-pinching. A 1940 interview in American Builder and Building Age compared him to Henry Ford, the car magnate, because Fred Trump hated to borrow money. He was also cheap on the overhead. “The stories that are told about Fred Trump are legion,” the profile said.
“For example, until last year he never had an office, and carried all his bookkeeping records around in his pocket. The ‘office’ he now has is a little structure of about 90 square feet of space in which the only occupant is a girl to write letters and answer the telephone. He still does most of his office work on the breakfast table at home. He keeps most of his records, including payroll and material disbursements, in a little black book carried in his inside pocket.”
This information certainly makes Trump’s giant towers and mahogany boardroom tables look like a kind of overcompensation.
The one area where father and son never seem to have competed was over the sexual love of a woman, or more specifically over the love of Mary Trump, Fred’s wife and Donald’s mother. Mary Trump actually seems to have been at best a marginal figure in the Trump family altogether, rarely meriting much time in any of the articles about Trump over the years. Instead, business was father-and-son’s Jocasta.
“I was never intimidated by my father, the way most people were,” Trump wrote in The Art of the Deal. “I stood up to him, and he respected that.” It probably says something that, in Trump’s world, this amounted to a close relationship. Other friends, to Blair, described the pair as friendly but not precisely working together. “The two of them together in the same room was very strange,” she quotes one of them saying. “They were both talking, supposedly to each other, but I was sure neither heard what the other was saying. They talked right past each other.” In fact, every aggressive word Donald Trump ever directed at his father seems to have been about business. When Fred died, Donald Trump gave a cheerful quote for his father’s New York Times obituary, focusing on the way his dad had never wanted to expand into Manhattan. “It was good for me,” he said. “You know, being the son of somebody, it could have been competition to me. This way, I got Manhattan all to myself!”
That might seem like a weird thing to say when your father has just died. But then, the family Trump didn’t do things the ordinary way.

¿Qué pasó con el hermano mayor de Donald, el primogénito Freddy Trump?/ O, en efecto: papá castra

For Donald Trump, Lessons From a Brother’s Suffering

The Trump siblings — from left, Robert, Elizabeth, Freddy, Donald and Maryanne — in an undated photo. Freddy Trump, who died in 1981, was eight years older than Donald. 

One evening in the 1960s, Donald J. Trump, still in college but eager to make it big, met his older brother, Freddy, for dinner in a Queens apartment complex built by their father.
Things went bad fast.
As Freddy, a fun-loving airline pilot with a gift for imitating W. C. Fields, joked with his best friend at the table, his younger brother grew impatient. Grow up, get serious and make something of yourself in the family business, Donald scolded.
“Donald put Freddy down quite a bit,” said Annamaria Schifano, then the girlfriend of Freddy’s best friend, who was at the dinner and recalled Donald’s tendency to pick fights and storm out. “There was a lot of combustion.”
For Mr. Trump, a presidential candidate whose appeal is predicated on an aura of toughness, personal achievement and perpetual success, the story of Freddy, a handsome, gregarious and self-destructive figure who died as an alcoholic in 1981 at the age of 43, is bleak and seldom told.
In a telephone interview last week, Mr. Trump said he had learned by watching his brother how bad choices could drag down even those who seemed destined to rise. Seeing his brother suffering led him to avoid ever trying alcohol or cigarettes, he said.

But the painful case of Freddy Trump, eight years his brother’s senior and once the heir apparent to their father’s real estate empire, also serves as an example of the dangers of failing to conform in a family dominated by a driven, perfectionist patriarch and an aggressive younger brother.
In the upwardly mobile Trump family, Donald was the second and favorite son, the one who got into the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School, relished the combat of New York real estate and ultimately made the Trump name an international brand. Freddy was the disappointment, who lacked the killer instinct and drifted so far from his father’s ambitions that his children were largely cut out of the patriarch’s will.
Freddy, as he was known, “was caught sort of in the middle as somebody who didn’t really love it, and only because he didn’t really love it, he wasn’t particularly good at it,” Mr. Trump said. “My father had great confidence in me, which maybe even put pressure on Fred.”
Asked whether Freddy’s experience in the family business, which friends described as miserable, contributed to the drinking that ultimately killed him, Mr. Trump said: “I hope not. I hope not.”
From the beginning, Freddy stood out as different from his authoritarian, workaholic father. As Fred Sr. became one of the master builders of the New York boroughs, his mischievous son drank Cokes, and eventually beers, with friends in the family recreation room.
Less quick-witted than his older sister, Maryanne Trump Barry, now a federal judge, he was also more welcoming of outsiders than his father.
When Ms. Schifano moved to Jamaica Estates, Queens, the wealthy enclave where the Trumps lived, Freddy confided to her that his parents had panicked because, as Italians, the Schifanos were “the first ethnic family to move into the neighborhood.” But Freddy was less concerned with ethnic distinctions. When he enrolled at Lehigh University in Pennsylvania, the boy with blond hair who had attended an Episcopalian boys’ preparatory school on Long Island joined a Jewish fraternity.
“It may have been Freddy’s first attempt to make his own statement to his father,” said his best friend at Lehigh, Bruce Turry, who, like several other former fraternity brothers, remembered Freddy claiming that his father, the son of German immigrants, was Jewish. (He was not.) “Freddy was a classic illustration of someone who had a father complex.”

The Jewish fraternity brothers kidded Freddy about his middle name, Christ. He found the ribbing, like much else in life, hysterical.

Freddy Trump circa 1965. He would die at age 43. “I watched him,” his brother Donald said. “And I learned from him.” Credit via Annamaria Schifano
In his junior year, he and Mr. Turry called themselves the “mysterious two” and went through the fraternity house short-sheeting beds. But Freddy was also generous to his fraternity brothers.
He gave Mr. Turry, who was saving to buy his girlfriend an engagement ring, a stock tip and left notes for him about his improving investment. “Your eighth of a carat is up to a quarter-carat,” he wrote.
It eventually became apparent to his fraternity brothers that Freddy, who wore Brooks Brothers clothes that draped his thin frame, was wealthy. He drove a Corvette and owned a Century speedboat. Sometimes he would take his little brother Donald, then a student at an upstate military academy, onboard for summer fishing expeditions off Long Island.
“I hope you don’t mind, I have to take my pain-in-the-ass brother Donald along,” another fraternity brother, Stuart Oltchick, recalled him saying.

At the time, Donald looked up to his brother and kept a photograph of him, standing next to an airplane, in his dorm room at military school.
But he also looked toward a future without him in the way. According to “The Trumps: Three Generations That Built an Empire,” by Gwenda Blair, Donald told his roommate that Freddy’s decision to be a pilot rather than run the family business had cleared a path for him to succeed his father.
Freddy developed his passion for aviation at Lehigh’s flying club, where he flew under electrical lines and raced storms home. But as his 1960 graduation neared, his father began building Trump Village, an enormous development on Coney Island and the first to bear the family name. Freddy was eager to make his mark.

“He was going to make the Trump name known,” as his father dreamed, Mr. Turry said. “We were going to live in one of his father’s apartments and have a ringside seat at the Copacabana.”
It didn’t work out. While working on Trump Village, Freddy was berated by his father for installing expensive new windows instead of repairing old ones. Mr. Trump said that their father “could be unyielding,” and that Freddy had struggled with his abundant criticism and stinginess with praise.
“For me, it worked very well,” Mr. Trump said. “For Fred, it wasn’t something that was going to work.”
Mr. Oltchick said Freddy had “complained that he didn’t get his appreciation.”
As Freddy stumbled, Mr. Trump said, “I watched him. And I learned from him.”
Freddy left real estate to pursue his passion for flying, working for Trans World Airlines, which gave him some good years. In 1962, at age 23, he married Linda Clapp, a stewardess. They had two children, whom they named Fred and Mary, after Freddy’s parents.
The family settled in Queens and spent free time with Freddy’s childhood best friend, William Drake, also a pilot, and his wife, Ms. Schifano.
The couples went deep-sea fishing and ate clams on the half shell. Once, when they spotted a Soviet trawler in international waters off the coast of Montauk, Freddy circled it as his friends jeered, “Do svidaniya!” — Russian for “goodbye.”
But as he reached his mid-20s, he began drinking heavily. And Donald, then in college, did not approve, haranguing his older brother about wasting his time on frivolous pursuits and telling him to come back to real estate.
“I was too young; I didn’t realize,” he said. “Now I give speeches on success, and I tell people, ‘You’ve got to love what you’re doing.’ ”
Mr. Trump said he had eventually come to recognize that his brother was a talented pilot and belonged in the clouds, not amid bricks and mortar. But by the time Donald had graduated from college in 1968 and had begun ascending at Trump headquarters on Coney Island, Freddy’s drinking was out of control.
Ms. Schifano recalled that the last time she saw Freddy, one night in the late 1960s, he looked gaunt. Even though she prepared his favorite food, roast beef, he barely ate.
The years that followed were unkind. He got divorced, quit flying because he knew his drinking presented a danger and failed at commercial fishing in Florida. By the late 1970s, he was living back in his parents’ house in Jamaica Estates, working on one of his father’s maintenance crews.
By then, Donald had broken into the Manhattan real estate market and the city’s celebrity culture. A younger brother, Robert, had followed in Donald’s footsteps, joining the family company and eventually becoming a top executive there.
In 1977, Donald asked Freddy to be the best man at his first wedding, to the Czech model Ivana Winklmayr, an honor Donald said he hoped would be “a good thing for him.” But the drinking continued, and four years later, Freddy was dead.
Over the next decades, Donald put the Trump name on skyscrapers, casinos and planes.
In 1999, the family patriarch died, and 650 people, including many real estate executives and politicians, crowded his funeral at Marble Collegiate Church on Fifth Avenue.
But the drama was hardly put to rest. Freddy’s son, Fred III, spoke at the funeral, and that night, his wife went into labor with their son, who developed seizures that led to cerebral palsy. The Trump family promised that it would take care of the medical bills.

Then came the unveiling of Fred Sr.’s will, which Donald had helped draft. It divided the bulk of the inheritance, at least $20 million, among his children and their descendants, “other than my son Fred C. Trump Jr.”
Freddy’s children sued, claiming that an earlier version of the will had entitled them to their father’s share of the estate, but that Donald and his siblings had used “undue influence” over their grandfather, who had dementia, to cut them out.
A week later, Mr. Trump retaliated by withdrawing the medical benefits critical to his nephew’s infant child.
“I was angry because they sued,” he explained during last week’s interview.
At the time, he attributed their exclusion from the will to his father’s “tremendous dislike” for Freddy’s ex-wife, Linda. She and Fred III declined to comment on the dispute.
Mr. Trump said that the litigation had been settled “very amicably” and that he was fond of Fred III, who works in real estate, though not for the Trump organization. He also said that, at 69, he had grown to appreciate his brother’s free spirit.
“He would have been an amazing peacemaker if he didn’t have the problem, because everybody loved him,” he said. “He’s like the opposite of me.”

sábado, 26 de marzo de 2016

jueves, 24 de marzo de 2016

miércoles, 23 de marzo de 2016

martes, 22 de marzo de 2016

lunes, 21 de marzo de 2016


La cruz, la crucifixión: o ¿te recibo con los brazos abiertos?

The cross is a symbol of love because it resembles geometrically the form of a man with arms outstretched, about to embrace, ready to love. Psychoanalysis has demonstrated man's inability and fear to love. Crucifixion, therefore, represents a warning. It shows the man who terrified mankind by loving and demanding complete love, with outstretched arms, ready to embrace, but tied and nailed in such a way that he could no longer do so.
-Bernard Meyerson and Louis Stollar

domingo, 20 de marzo de 2016

sábado, 19 de marzo de 2016

viernes, 18 de marzo de 2016

jueves, 17 de marzo de 2016

miércoles, 16 de marzo de 2016

¿Cannaris o Cannabis?

Miércoles caricaturizable

Angelina Jolie
Rose McGowan
Nicole Kidman
Charlize Theron
Cameron Diaz
Monica Bellucci
Sandra Bullock
Whoopi Goldberg

El lenguaje de las cifras

lunes, 14 de marzo de 2016

domingo, 13 de marzo de 2016


Harley Quinn (arlequín)

Dibujantes: Conner y Palmiotti (amplíese)

sábado, 12 de marzo de 2016

Banana Banana Banana



jueves, 10 de marzo de 2016


Es jueves del Acertijo

-No veas pasar ni esperes hasta que termine, en sus cuatro últimas letras, la caterva de palabras para invocar a la diosa ¿Cómo se llama?

miércoles, 9 de marzo de 2016


Miércoles de caricatura

Antonio Banderas por Pandelet
Banderas por Arasa
Banderas por Numarti
Banderas y Almodóvar por Dafne
Banderas por Arasa
Banderas por Algeeza
Banderas por Achilles
Banderas y Catherine Zeta-Jones