Alta fidelidad

[John Cusack no decepciona: ese aire de espectador neutral, algo cínico, atrapado por casualidad en la madeja y perseguido por la mala suerte.]

Anoche no podía dormir. Normalmente leer un rato funciona si el libro no es ni demasiado bueno ni demasiado malo. El Elogio de la Locura no está ninguna de esas categorías, sólo es demasiado arcano, y después de tres minutos lo deseché por High Fidelity, que desde hace tiempo me mira desde el estante como esperando que por fin lo escoja. Terminé devorando 40 páginas del tirón y apagando la luz a regañadientes, y ¿cómo no hacerlo, si una lee fragmentos que hablan directamente a la adolescente enterrada en el armario?

Anyway, here is how not to plan a career: a) split up with girlfriend; b) junk college; c) go to work in record shop; d) stay in record shop for rest of life. You see those pictures of people of Pompeii and you think, how weird: one quick game of dice after your tea and you're frozen, and that's how people remember you for the next few thousand years. Suppose it was the first game of dice you ever played? [...] But even so, I felt as though I made a face and the wind changed, and now I have to go through life grimacing in this horrible way.

Eventually I stopped posting the letters; a few months after that I stopped writing them too. I still fantasized about killing Marco, although the imagined deaths became swifter ( I allow him a brief moment to register, and then BLAM!) - I didn't go in quite so much for the sicko slow stuff. [...] I stopped constructing the killer one-liners that left Charlie writhing on the floor with regret and self-loathing.

[N. HORNBY (2000) High Fidelity. London: Penguin. Pg. 19-20.]

[La adolescente en el armario, hela aquí, Ugly Betty]