El Concejo Deliberante aprobó la ordenanza que establece que todo lugar cerrado, ya sea público o privado, deberá ser un ambiente “cien por ciento libre de humo de tabaco”

29/05/08

En una medida inédita en el territorio bonaerense, el Concejo Deliberante de Berazategui aprobó la ordenanza que establece que todo lugar cerrado, ya sea público o privado, deberá ser un ambiente “100 por ciento libre de humo de tabaco”.

La medida fue impulsada por alumnos de la Escuela Media N° 17 de esa municipalidad, quienes, a instancias de su director Carlos Lumbrera, elaboraron el proyecto.

“Todo empezó en 2004 cuando creamos la materia Prevención de Adicciones, Tabaquismo y Alcohol. Luego se incorporó al polimodal y el año pasado empezó a impartirse en otras escuelas”, contó Lumbrera a LANACION.com .

“A fines de año pasado hablamos con el intendente y nos dijo: «¿Por qué hacerlo sólo en las escuelas, extendámoslo a todo el municipio»”, agregó.

“Para nosotros es una alegría muy grande. El objetivo principal no es prohibir que se fume, sino cuidar al no fumador”, subrayó.

Lumbreras, de 53 años, dedicó la mitad de su vida a la docencia. Antes de estar a cargo de la escuela de Berazategui, contrajo cáncer por estar expuesto al humo en otro trabajo.

La medida fue aprobada por unanimidad en una sesión extraordinaria que tuvo lugar en el gimnasio municipal Roberto De Vicenzo.

“Tiene un gran apoyo del pueblo de Berazategui”, dijo por su parte el intendente, Juan José Mussi.

Alrededor de 1000 personas escucharon la lectura de la ordenanza, a cargo de dos alumnas, relató Lumbrera.

Además, la municipalidad promoverá una fuerte campaña de concientización denominada: “Me mata que fumes”.

La comuna impulsó una legislación diferente a la que rige en la ciudad de Buenos Aires, ya que no permitirá áreas diferenciales para fumadores y no fumadores en espacios cerrados -públicos ni privados- y todos los espacios serán 100 % libres de humo.

El proyecto se basa también en que en el 2002 la exposición al humo del tabaco fue declarada como carcinogénica por la Agencia Internacional de Investigaciones sobre Cáncer de la OMS (Organización Mundial de la Salud).

Es esa organización la que fijó el 31 de mayo, como Día Mundial sin Tabaco, este año el lema de la OMS es: “Jóvenes libres de humo de tabaco”.

Parece que los chicos piensan….

http://www.asteriscos.tv/noticia-13734.html
Inés

http://infobae.com/contenidos/383091-0-0…men-tabaco

Argentina, entre los países que más consumen tabaco

La Organización Panamericana de la Salud aseguró que nuestro país tiene una de las mayores tasas de consumo de cigarrillo en el continente. Llamó a “romper la red que promociona el tabaco”

En el marco del Día Mundial sin Tabaco, a celebrarse el sábado próximo, la Organización Panamericana de la Salud (OPS) emitió un informe en el que destaca que la alta tasa de consumo de tabaco en la Argentina “se da especialmente entre las mujeres jóvenes, con un inicio promedio de entre 12 y 13 años” .

El informe llamado “Acta de Compromiso por una Niñez y Juventud Libres de Tabaco”, que firmarán directivos de la OPS con la ministra de Salud, Graciela Ocaña, destaca que “casi el 70% de los niños argentinos está expuesto al humo del tabaco en su hogar “.

El organismo internacional, bajo la consigna “Juventud Libre de Tabaco”, anunció que promoverá una campaña para prohibir totalmente la publicidad, promoción y patrocinio del tabaco.

La campaña se basa en que el tabaco “es el único producto de consumo legal que mata entre un tercio y la mitad de sus consumidores , cuando es usado como lo indican sus fabricantes”, precisa un comunicado.

Estas muertes prematuras, sigue, “acortan la vida, en promedio, en unos 15 años. En la actualidad, esta epidemia mata a 5 millones de personas cada año, incluyendo un millón en América”.

El documento precisa que la industria tabacalera “gasta miles de millones de dólares cada año para ampliar al máximo posible su red de comercialización y así atraer a clientes jóvenes” y la consecuencia es que “la mayoría empieza a fumar antes de los 18 años y casi una cuarta parte empieza antes de los 10“.

No estoy tan equivocada entonces.
Me desespera esto.
I

Respeto tus ganas de morir.
Respetá mis ganas de vivir.
¡GRACIAS POR NO FUMAR ACÁ!

Decidí poner aquí algo que me parece que no todos saben: Lo que contiene un cigarrillo.

Me espanta lo que está sucediendo, al menos en nuestro país, donde mueren CUARENTA MIL personas por año. Y no hago más que ver gente que fuma y fuma sin parar. Sobre todo mujeres. No los critico. Sólo me temo, que como yo alguna vez, no sepan ni tengan idea de que la nicotina actúa sobre las células de la voluntad en el cerebro, ni tampoco sepan que los fabricantes aumentan la cantidad de nicotina durante el verano para que la gente que hace deportes y fuma menos, fume más.
Seguramente tampoco saben esto que acabo de leer en un gran cartel del Hospital Italiano de Buenos Aires:

EL CIGARRILLO CONTIENE:
Butano
Fenol
Cadmio
Polonium 250
Monóxido de carbono
Benzopireno: En especial, el a-benzopireno es uno de los derivados de mayor factor de riesgo, tras largos periodos de consumo, puede desencadenar desórdenes celulares produciendo cáncer. Está considerada la novena sustancia más peligrosa debido a su potencial tóxico en la salud humana (CERCLA Priority List of Hazardous Substances de 2003).
Cloruro de vinilo
Amoníaco
Metanol
Uretano
Tolueno
Arsénico
Difenilnitrosamina: (La sustancia se descompone al arder, produciendo óxidos de nitrógeno. Reacciona fuertemente con oxidantes. La sustancia se puede absorber por ingestión. RIESGO DE INHALACION: La evaporación a 20°C es despreciable; sin embargo, se puede alcanzar rápidamente una concentración nociva de partículas en el aire cuando se dispersa.
Ácido cianítrico

Ojalá sirva para algo. Ojalá comenten. Ojalá escriban.
Si podemos ayudar a salvar una vida, bienvenido sea.

Esta estampilla que incluyo acá como adjunto es parte de una campaña que hizo el gobierno allá por 1981 y que mi hija levantó como bandera para salvarme la vida. No exagero en lo más mínimo. Me pregunto por qué los demás gobiernos no lo han hecho. No lo entiendo. Hay una generación que fuma menos.

¿QUIÉN CONSUME A QUIÉN?

Si deseas dar una flor

no esperes a que se muera

mándala hoy con amor;

en vida, hermana, en vida.

No esperes a que se muera

la gente para quererla

y haz que sienta tu afecto;

en vida hermana, en vida.

Nunca visites panteones

ni llenes tumbas de flores,

llena de amor corazones;

en vida, hermana, en vida.

Que sirviendo y ayudando

a tu hermano en la creación

alcanzarás el perdón;

en vida, hermana, en vida.

                                 MUSIC

 feeling of emptiness and loneliness has filled the house now.  Some blinds drawn, some blinds ajar. Full of light outside, gloom and darkness inside. Shyly, the sun’s rays filtered through the clouds, casting a vanishing shadow over the mahogany furniture, over her sorrowful soul, over her life.  Some shutters drawn, some shutters ajar; the swishing of the opaque curtains, the log crackling on the fire. Drops of water pattering on the roof. Outside, some leaves rustle in the breeze. The entire house is silent except for a clock chiming in the room. Frances leans against the old oak door. The creaking of rusty hinges and the screeching of bolts startle her. The turning of the lock. Clenched are her fists. Bent is her head.  Bitter tears are rolling down her face. The sounds of silence. (Who has taken life away?) The drumming of little, pearly raindrops, the squeaking of an old rocking chair made her feel more deeply the sluggish calmness of her house. (Who has been sitting there?)Flopping into the velvet grey armchair, once more, she feels the cold in her, making her shiver. One after another the sounds die out, only silence widespreads unfolding her.As the night sinks, consciousness sinks deeper: one must fight against dreadful, intensely anguishing thoughts. Everybody has left the house. It seems as if the last one has thrown every sound into a bag and has carried them all away. Away with her hopes, away with her feelings, away with her soul. What is life then? Frances allows her to rest and falls asleep. (Some people says she is dead.)  The ticking of the clock. At first it is only a murmur, (the purring of the kitten?) the murmur becomes a melancholy voice, (the whistling of the kettle?) the voice would sing its song. Gently the melody would break her inner silence.Out of the blue her eyes are wide open. A dog barks somewhere. The birds raise their voices to the resplendent sky. The singing of the wind. Here she is. She would not die lying down.  Hardly has she breathed now. (She could have wept. but she did not.)Listening to the sounds, it is as if someone has shot an arrow into the air and it has not fallen to earth. Such an ecstasy! She feels intense gratitude. In amazement, she tiptoes to the window, hooking the window back, the brightness of the day makes her blink. The sunlight fills the room with a yellow haze. The kingdom of music is not the kingdom of this world. For a moment, it seems that it has slipped among her fingers. Music. Life. Hope.  The street full of cars, the house, and her heart full of hope is no longer a dirty grey. (One should know how to hold the scene and let nobody come in and spoil it).  Frances smiles nonchalantly. Through the open window the voice of life is coming in again. Her heart sinks a bit. Her heart. Still alive. She is wide-awake again.                                                                                   by Inés García Botana

¡Ojalá les guste tanto como a mí!

Aquí va:

Are English Cats different from Argentine cats?

By Jorge Converso

In Never Stop on the Motorway,a short story by British author Jeffrey Archer, the protagonist hits a cat when she is driving on the motorway. A small black creature had shot across her path, and despite her quick reactions, she hadn’t been able to avoid hitting it. Diana swung onto the hard shoulder. And then she saw it, lying on the grass verge. A cat that had crossed the road for the tenth time. She stepped out of the car, and walked towards the lifeless body. The cat had crossed the road for the tenth time because, unlike Argentine cats, English cats have nine lives, not seven. Thus, for the text to make sense in Spanish, the translation should be por octava vez rather than por décima vez. A cultural difference we can’t ignore when it comes to translating.

Talking about cats, it should be pointed out that the sight of a black cat affects people in different ways in Argentina and in England. In Argentina, a black cat crossing your path is a bad omen, whereas in England it means you will be lucky. Different countries, different superstitions. That is why the American film Friday 13 became Martes 13 when it was shown in our country. Another cultural difference to be taken into account. In Tim Parks´ novel Loving Roger, one of the characters considers the possibility of committing suicide: I would go and tell somebody (I didn’t know who, the Samaritans maybe, or Mum’s vicar who said he would never throw the first stone. But it would be the police in the end) -tell them how it had been between us, Roger and I… In England, The Samaritans is an organization which tries to help people in despair, especially those thinking of committing suicide. Therefore, it should be translated as: Centro de Asistencia al Suicida. The choice of the Spanish word Samaritanos would be quite inappropriate in this context, for the Argentine reader would only associate it with the biblical story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10: 30.37), and the idea of suicide, which is very clear in the original, would be overlooked in Spanish.

In England, the word tea is sometimes used as a synonym of supper, especially by working class people, in which case the translation should be cena rather than té. By the way, those people who call supper tea also call lunch dinner.

Melinda is a twenty-year-old university student in Ruth Rendell’s A Judgement in Stone. Even though her parents are well-off, she sides with the working class. Geoff, one of the villagers, praises the hat she is wearing. Trying to minimize its value, Melinda replies: .I got it in the Oxfam shop.. Oxfam is the abbreviation of Oxford Committee for Famine Relief, an organization founded in Oxford in 1942 which provides practical relief in developing countries. La tienda de Oxfam would mean next to nothing to the Spanish-speaking reader.

Perhaps, in Spanish Melinda should say something like Lo compré en una feria Americana or Es de segunda mano. In The Human Factor, a novel by Graham Greene, we read: “and again he regretted his reply. It was always safer to be inconspicuous. There were times, which grew more frequent every year, when he daydreamed of complete conformity, as a different character might have dreamt of making a dramatic century at Lord’s.”A ccording to the Longman Dictionary of English Language and Culture, a century means 100 runs made by one cricket player in one innings.

(innings: the period of time during which a cricket team or player bats). Lord’s is the most important cricket ground in Britain. In the case of Greene’s novel, context does not enable the Spanish-speaking reader to infer that the topic is cricket. Therefore, some words should be added for the meaning to be conveyed in Spanish, as in Argentina, owing to cultural distance, few people know that Lord’s is a cricket ground: hacer una jugada de cricket memorable en Lord’s. Literary references can also be a drawback for translators. In Look Back in Anger, the famous play by John Osborne, which marks the beginning of the .angry generation, we find reference to one of the main characters in Bernard Shaw’s play Candida:

CLIFF: I get mixed up with all your women. Was she the one all those years older than you?

JIMMY: Ten years.

CLIFF: Proper little Marchbanks, you are!

In Candida, Marchbanks is an eighteen-year old poet who falls in love with Candida, a married woman older than him. Un perfecto Marchbanks is likely to mean nothing to the average Argentine reader. In this context, something like un adolescente precoz would be more suitable.

These are just a few examples that go to prove that cultural references and cultural distance are not a minor issue in the translation process.

A conscientious translator should be fully aware of them to avoid making gross mistakes, and to prevent his rendering of the original into the target language from being unintelligible. This implies the fact that a good translator should have a solid cultural background that enables him or her to avoid falling into the traps laid by cultural references in the source text. Thank God, countries are different. Otherwise it would be excruciatingly boring. It takes all kinds to make a world, but sometimes that.cultural variety makes a translator’s life difficult.

Igualmente pueden verlo en el enlace que copio a continuación.

http://www.salvador.edu.ar/publicaciones/ideas/i/17.pdf

Fiction

ll the way home in the bus and in the lift up to his flat ThomasYersaw was in a pensive mood. So absorbed in his memories was he that it seemed to him he was alone in a crowd. Entering his room, Thomas looked around it with a feeling of sadness, recognising most of the treasured things crammed into it through the years but not caring much. Once more, he felt disappointed. Once more fate seemed to be against him. Influenced by the veiled threats he had been tormented with from time to time, the constant derogatory looks cast upon him, the anguishing shame that others were suffering entirely because of him, he had now made his mind up: his decision could not be put off any longer. The secrecy and the shame of it were burdens too terrible for him to carry.

Almost three years had passed, no, four. It was four years to that very day. Four years he had been subjected to every kind of persecution. Bad luck had always been at his side. Shouts, struggles, reproaches (more and more unbearable as time went by), had led him to .a point of no return. Some people, he knew, would talk about responsibility, maturity, manhood.

Those magic and eternal words in which people always based their accusations! Thomas took up a wooden framed mirror and scrutinised his face. He surveyed his snub nose, his round chin. The smudges beneath his eyes were like bruises. The image of a vulnerable, trembling, exhausted face grinned back at him from the glass. The mirror reflected a window. The window. And what if…at that very moment, he were to open the balcony window.? And who would dare to prevent him from opening it.? How many steps was he from putting an end to his inner conflict?

At the end of the day, it is the result that counts.. More than once had he struggled to keep back those tears striving to come out. His earlier memories suddenly came back to him: Men do not cry… (What do men do, then?) No answer. However, by now it was a matter of no importance.

They would cease harassing him with those absurd and menacing threats. Certainly, he had not developed his habit out of necessity but out of a very great pleasure. However hard he tried, he could not get rid of it. In the same way as things are used to starting, things come to an end. The chiming of clock. His leader’s tone had become apologetic: Everything must end this same day..

Things had come to a pretty pass… What an irony! His birthday as a deadline. Much to his concern, the die was cast. The ticking of the clock seemed to seal his fate. Time persecutes you whenever and wherever you are. Long ago he had learnt to set aside even his dearest belongings but now he almost felt he had been deprived of his dignity. To recover it, he could not live hiding

himself away any longer. Perhaps in his deeper consciousness, he considered he must face up to things as they really were. He could not live switching between fantasy and reality at his personal convenience. These things leave a bitter taste in the mouth.

Hopelessly, Thomas had observed that family of his, throwing him disapproving looks, always murmuring, always whispering, always plotting against him, and the last straw: that story of those business men had come true. In front of those .gentlemen, . a completely tactless person had revealed to them the truth about him. There is a price for everything we do. Cowardice reflects nothing but shame on one’s family. He had felt his good name sullied. If he allowed this suffering to become a routine, it would be worse. His honour was at stake.

How many stories? Ten? A hundred?

Cautiously, he stood up. Bewildered, Thomas took a breath and raised his hands to the door handle. Eyes bright. With a violent effort, the door burst open. He controlled himself. Thomas stood still. Eyes shut. (How high was that building?) It might be. That did not make any difference. Not a trace would be left. If any, even some car would run it over! Thomas felt himself no longer a human being. A metamorphosis was devastating him. At least he would have the compensation of having done his duty. The cold wind hit his face. Down in the street the usual crowd went to and fro. He stood firmly on the tips of his toes and gripped the rail tightly. In a twinkle of an eye and after fumbling in the pocket of his trousers, Thomas took out his old and beloved company. They had been together through an entire lifetime. With all his might, he threw it down the street. His dearest dummy. Nibbled and chewed. That day Thomas Yersaw was six, and his tender childhood had been left behind.

by Inés García Botana

Recién empiezo. No sé bien cómo funciona todo esto así que de a poco iré agregando lo que me gusta, lo que me hace sentir bien. Todavía no tengo muy claro cómo voy a empezar. Estuve recorriendo varios blogs, todos muy interesantes, algunos muy politizados, pero está bien porque es la manera que la gente tiene de descargar sus broncas, sus ideas, sus alegrías y sus angustias. La encontré a Mafalda, y se me saltó una sonrisa. Y no estaba Mafalda precisamente puesta por un argentino/a sino por gente de otro país. Este sitio parece ser muy interesante, vamos a ver cuánto puedo poner de mí. Aún no encontré páginas de traducción o de cuentos que es lo que a mí me gusta, pero ya intentaré algo. Veo que la gente participa. Eso es buenísimo. Claro, para escribir uno tiene que estar inspirado. O muy enojado o muy feliz. Y yo no estoy ni lo uno ni lo otro. Así que mejor me voy a dormir y a pensar qué voy a bloguear. (¿Se dirá así?) Volveré pronto. Chau.

El “sitio” si a esto se le puede llamar Sitio sigue en construcción, obviamente. No me resulta fácil ni adecuado escribir en un lugar donde no sé cómo se manejan las cosas. La mano viene medio complicada. No quiero que aparezca el “Uncategorized” y aparece, se lo cambio y vuelve a aparecer. En fin. Pero ya le encontraré la vuelta. Mientras esto sigue como ….

Creo que debo decir: SITIO EN CONSTRUCCIÓN o que tengo el