Make no mistake, what happened yesterday was not New Year's Eve, it was something else.
Moreover, I would dare to say that nothing of what we saw and experienced yesterday happened.
It wasn't even.
Yes, we ate the grapes with
Anne and Ana
;
Pedroche
undressed (or almost);
José Mota
did the José Mota program where José Mota (and even his son) appeared;
people sang (or '
sang
') while the camera circled around them more than those acceptable to the human eye;
we saw the TV of the past cut up like a recent lamb and with the '
tweets
' incorporated underneath, and on Tele 5 ... on Tele 5, let's say that inexplicable things happened.
Or at least inexplicable until the results of the blood test arrive.
So far everything normal and even real.
As usual.
And yet none of that happened.
Believe me.
Sometimes it is convenient to assume that nothing that happens around us is happening.
It is not so much a defense against an ungrateful reality, as a simple admission of responsibility.
The reality that we have given ourselves (or has touched us, according to income level) is so bad that it does not even exist.
And the proof is that everyone who passed by the screen, the first thing they did was apologize.
They laughed, as is always done in these cases, but not to cry.
They were there, but they didn't want to be, or they couldn't figure out why no one was telling them to leave.
What exactly was being celebrated?
The end of the worst of years and the arrival of another that doesn't seem much better?
The slogan was to do the same old programs again, but finish as soon as possible.
It was not so much about respecting tradition as about using tradition to avoid thinking, to turn the page.
I'm not saying that things were done worse than other times, they just got done faster, looking the other way, thanking people for changing the channel.
That we already had enough.
And so.
The sublime moment (but sublime without ironies; sublime in crude) of this being but not being was due to the appearance of Ana García Obregón next to the eternal Anne.
Anne and Ana together exemplified like nobody else what was happening that, in truth, was not happening.
They wanted to wish us a happy new year, but they were in tears.
They wanted us to forget about gloomy and fateful 2020, but all they did was make us remember it even more.
They fought through thick and thin against the solitude of Puerta del Sol, but it was only cold there.
Ana moved us and Anne too.
And they did it because it gave the impression that what they really wanted was to hug, cry together, love each other.
Grape shit.
And suddenly, what things, we were all with them.
Jeez, when is it all over?
When suddenly in the image appeared the
flag of Spain
projected against the wall as everything is projected from the Community of Madrid (to what it comes out and to see who it gives) and it was clear that reality is something else.
Neither exists.
Meanwhile, on the next channel, Sofía Pedroche was showing her umpteenth dress which, in effect, was the umpteenth, tiresome and surprising non-dress.
And understand the surprise in its lax sense.
At this point, the only thing that might surprise is that she appeared in a guatiné robe
.
Glamor is the denial of glamor.
I remember that some time ago the presenter appeared and a debate raged about the empowerment of women in times of winter heteropatriarchy.
Now his is more like the last ad of the year: an innocent and profitable curiosity for some.
And that's it.
Again, and despite the fact that there was no newspaper, magazine or digital magazine that did not replicate the photos ipso facto, that, in reality, was not happening.
Pedroche dresses by undressing.
Pedroche arrives leaving.
A Mota, as always, must be recognized the gift of donosura.
It is always and always good.
You may like it more or less, but it never fails.
Or if it does, never at all.
This year he was also aware that he could not miss it.
I can't imagine what it would have been like in a year like this for the show to fall into other hands.
His, in fact, can be understood as an exercise of responsibility.
And so he did.
Its
' Goodbye two thousand go.
Cinema paraeso '
was a tribute to the elderly and serious humor and the nonsense of humor with sense.
He rarely took risks and when he did
(the King Emeritus' Christmas speech from Dubai memorable) he
proved to be in good shape.
The result was a lucid, witty and provocatively naive program that made good what Bergson said that
laughing helps to think from a distance.
It was humor, yes, but it hurt.
And then there is what people with glasses like the most: '
Cachitos
' which is a program that counterprograms and denies what Chenoa (the best possible presenter) and Flo prescribed on the chain next door.
Brili-brilli reality versus black and white reality.
Someday we will have to analyze why it amuses us so much to laugh at how we were and we danced long ago.
Maybe everything has to do with a strategy close to consolation
(we are bad, but before we were worse)
;
Perhaps it is the fault of that effort to turn everything into consumer merchandise (even nostalgia), or simply, and more so this year, everything that is to flee from reality is welcome.
Be that as it may, and I am sorry to give such bad news, we believed that last night we said goodbye to a year and there it continues.
Laugh for not crying.
According to the criteria of The Trust Project
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