Let me tell you one of my theories: when a German quote is made in a book written in Spanish, it is likely to be a mistake. Some small thing, usually: when you need an s, two s (or three), an out of place umlaut... But as one said, when you break a ashtray in an airplane, the engine comes to mind. Everyone has their own ideas, and the most flawed is mine. To tell you the truth, I have not been disappointed by this theory.

Looking for mistakes is usually fun, but sometimes when mistakes make you jump in the eye without looking, it can get annoying. In the book I am reading these days, a process lasted until June of “1870”, a man became a university professor in “1874” and another died in “1900”. The dates are not scarce in that book and it is true that there are many that are well written, but even those that I have changed here are not the only ones that are wrong. In a different passage, they have “made” something “accepted” and later “silenced” someone. Well, I don't know. I don't think it's that hard. The rules (for there are two, 23rd and 43rd) are actually simple, readable in ten minutes, and easily summarized: It is necessary to adhere to the verb “to make”. “Shut up” and “shut up.” Another quote for exhaustion: in the book I’m reading, a man studied “in four years” (well, actually, in the book he “completed” them, which is far more elegant than to do – let’s face it –), and another one I don’t know what he did in the next “30 years”. Wouldn’t it be better to do it the other way around? That is to say, do the studies take place “in four years” (since it is a whole) and rest for the next “30 years” (since they are the next ones, they are finite franks)?

Someone will say, Apika, bring to the lines that all examples are trivial. All right, let's go. I don't agree, but who knows? But if that were the case, I would like to remind you that every year thousands of students are questioned about this kind of triviality in this damned preliminary test of the EGA exam. And the date, the declination and use of the unlimited, and the purifying verbs are classic in this etsamine. So, if a student who perhaps does not use a purifying verb for the rest of his life needs to know the norm, why should no one and a writer know it? And if the writer in question is lazy, then shouldn’t someone from the publishing house that is going to publish the book – a proofreader, for example – know about it? In the red harvest of translations from a different publisher, we can see a character asking himself the following: “How would I feel?” Before we get to the light, no one has noticed?

These days – hardly – I don’t know if I’m going to finish the book I’m reading. On reaching page 74, the author tells us that the debates of the 19th century were “super-interesting”. Who knows why. I mean, who knows why they were so interesting. Maybe because they were super hot. Or the super-hot ones. I don't know, I can think of those explanations as soon as possible.

Everyone has their own themes. I've read somewhere that Roland Barthes' stupidity caused him almost a physical rejection. As for me, it's indifference that drives me crazy, to resort to iniquity. He's gluing me. It makes me burn. I'm super angry, oh sea.

The book I’m reading these days has won a prize. Oh, yeah, yeah. Someone who declines dates badly, makes them write them down like they put them on the tip of their nose, and uses the unlimited in the way they want, has won a serious and important prize. Would we accept something like that in the slum? I'm in denial. When they see that they want to “make us accept” this in us, how do they “make me feel?” Well, no, presumably, superwell.