¡Mi firma acaba de perder toda dignidad!
Este hombre firma dibujando animales espectaculares y uno lleva años autenticando un rayón que parece un mosquito atropellado. Compártelo con ese que firma como médico.
Released in 1996 as the second single from Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, “1979” became the Smashing Pumpkins' biggest American hit, reaching No. 12 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 1 on both the Modern Rock Tracks and Mainstream Rock Tracks charts. The album was eventually certified 10× Platinum in the United States. “1979” was almost left off the album: producer Flood gave Corgan a final deadline to complete the unfinished song or remove it from the record. Corgan went home, finished the lyrics that night, and returned the next day with a new demo that convinced Flood to keep it.
Billy Corgan wrote the track as a nostalgic reflection on adolescence and the transition into adulthood. Although the title refers specifically to the year Corgan was 12, the song is less a literal autobiography than an idealised reflection on what it felt like to be young.
There is an old clip that still makes people stop and watch: Michael Douglas, Kathleen Turner, and Danny DeVito, clad in matching white suits, lip-syncing and executing the choreography without a hint of embarrassment. DeVito even pretends to play a saxophone solo as if he were a conservatory graduate rather than a man who had just played an over-the-top treasure hunter. The actual player was Vernon Jeffrey Smith, but never mind that—DeVito performs as if he’s single-handedly saving the song.
It is the 1985 music video for Billy Ocean’s "When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Get Going," the theme song for the film *The Jewel of the Nile*. These three movie stars didn't just stand there for show; they fully committed to the performance. Billy Ocean would often recount later that getting Michael Douglas, Kathleen Turner, and Danny DeVito into his video was no small feat.
Filmed at the Brixton Academy in London, the video was originally intended merely to promote the movie. Instead, it became one of the most memorable music videos of his career. The British musicians' union was even so incensed that they briefly banned it from airing on *Top of the Pops* because the actors—who weren't union members—dared to mime playing instruments. Rules were that strict back then. Nowadays, people fake all sorts of things online without anyone batting an eye.
Looking back, that clip captures exactly what people miss: a joy that needs no explanation. No profundity, no metaphors, no "statement." Just three big stars game for a laugh, a soul singer pouring his heart out, and a crowd dancing as if at an office year-end party—only that party turned into an international hit.
So why is that kind of energy so hard to find these days?
Because the very machinery that once generated collective joy has had its screws undone.
Back then, there was MTV. A single video would be played on loop, watched by the entire nation. Movie soundtracks were hit-making machines. Studios took a simple approach: when a film was released, they��d throw the actors into the music video for fun—serving as both promotion and a conversation starter. Douglas, Turner, and DeVito didn’t need branding meetings or to ask a stylist, "Does a white suit make me look less masculine or feminine?" They simply put the suits on and danced.
How about now? Everyone has their own playlists and algorithms; the first seven seconds have to "hook" the viewer, or they’ll just swipe to the next clip. Movie stars guard their images as tightly as pension fund managers. Dancing as a backup in someone else’s music video? That sounds like voluntarily signing away your star power. There’s no shortage of great pop music, but the kind of fun where "everyone acts adorably silly together" is becoming a rarity. Everything is either too cool, too introspective, or too calculated.
To be fair, we’re remembering the best version of the past. The 80s had bad music and videos so bizarre they make you want to cover your eyes when you watch them now. But that specific combination—a massive hit, A-list actors willing to goof off, and a collective party atmosphere—was the hallmark of a system that no longer exists. It’s not that no one wants to do it; it’s just that the conditions allowing it to happen naturally have vanished. It’s like trying to recapture the feeling of the whole neighborhood watching a soccer match on a single tube TV—the technology remains, but the atmosphere is gone.
So, the next time you see that clip of DeVito pretending to play the sax in a white suit, go ahead and watch it again. Not because the old music is better than the new, but because sometimes we need a reminder that there was a time when Hollywood’s biggest stars were willing to stand behind Billy Ocean, dance like there was no tomorrow, and no one thought it was weird at all. That’s the part worth remembering.
La escultura de Sir Winston Churchill se ubica en el Parque Winston Churchill (históricamente conocido como El Mexicanito), un espacio de 2.5 hectáreas integrado a la Primera Sección del Bosque de Chapultepec, justo sobre la Avenida Paseo de la Reforma.
Esta obra de bronce fue realizada por el reconocido escultor croata-inglés Oscar Nemon y fue entregada como un obsequio del Gobierno del Reino Unido a México en 1974 para simbolizar la amistad bilateral y los valores culturales compartidos entre ambas naciones.
La obra no pertenece al academicismo clásico y rígido, sino a un realismo figurativo moderno y expresivo característico de su creador.
Nemon fue el retratista predilecto de Churchill. Lo conoció en Marrakech en 1951 y realizó múltiples sesiones en vivo en su residencia de Chartwell.
Esto dotó a sus piezas de una profunda carga psicológica y fidelidad gestual. Hay obras hermanas de esta fundición en el lobby de la Cámara de los Comunes en Londres y en el Capitolio de EE. UU.
A unos minutos de este punto, también dentro de Chapultepec, se encuentra una estatua de su homólogo de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, Franklin D. Roosevelt, conformando una discreta presencia de los líderes aliados en la capital mexicana.