quinta-feira, 31 de dezembro de 2009

Happy 2010, So Long 2009

(whatever it is that means)
So far, so good. I´ve started to write about five posts since the Holidays started, all incomplete ill-written paragraphs. I´m bored but not as bored as usual. Read a couple of books, couple of blogs, seen a dozen movies, got back to The Mentalist, went to the movies enough times to watch everything, bought a CD, ate way too much cheese and tomatos, printed some wanna-play sheets, said the Merry Christmas, and now I´m eating homemade pizza and avoiding housework.
But here´s what I really wanted to share and was too bored to log in to Twitter: John Mayer´s New Year´s Eve Concert. In case you are also too bored to click, JM proposed to go in to 2010 looking 1970ish, meaning suits, dresses, gloves and hats. And come on, that´s so coool! It should be huge, which would make it even better... jealous, jealous, jealous.
Probably spending New Year´s in my pajamas. Again.
Traditions are traditions afterall.

The Choice [spoiler]


by Nicholas Sparks

It was a nice reading, the guy´s got style and a few books to back him up, and it´s a love story so there´s not much way to go wrong, but here´s what I didn´t like about it:
#1 Gabby is a cute, shy, non-agressive young woman, you´ve got the whole "Let´s pluck up the courage to confront the lazy neighbour about his dog getting my dog pregnant" scene to back you up on that, and suddenly the next day, when they go out on his bike, she´s a sensuous, sassy, witty full-grown woman. What the hell happened there?
#2 You know how novel language - as well as movie language - sounds different than real life? Ironically more natural and frequently to the witty/Friends type? This guy´s dialogues are UBBERLY witty - so much it makes it too heavy, too perfectly choreographed. You can see that they´ve been rewritten several times by both author and editor, they´ve been gone over and over until they looked plastic. Mostly, it feels like the characters are just standing and shooting scripted lines, no real emotion, no real nothing.
#3 But let´s not get carried away, it´s still a touching love story. It begins by implying they were getting a divorce, and all the back and forth narration makes you think that the choice was Gabby´s: between safe boring Kevin and loving exhilirating Travis - and that apparently she chose wrong. He keeps on backing up leading you to believe a huge fight will happen and all will make sense (she was too guilty from the break up; she planned the whole wedding between shifts, maybe Travis wasn´t as involved as he should; maybe he got bored with her attempts to make the perfect home; maybe they couldn´t have kids and she couldn´t cope... so many possibilities). Only to then realise that she´s either dead or dying and all had been perfect. The problem is, the expectation created by the divorce idea kind of ruined all the happy perfect-life moments. Makes you doubt they could happen.
#4 Which then brings me to: what the hell was that ending? A happy ending? By Nicholas Sparks? Was he hammered? It was a very odd thing for him to do, especially considering Travis chose to ignore her wishes, but the speed of it all left my head buzzing. And the lack of loving moments between the two of them after the coma bothered me a bit. Again, the perfect-happy-family-ending felt plastic.
#5 I think he could have written another trip to the beach with the whole "family" to really show the happiness of the thing, because it kind of seemed like they were only friends with Stephanie after the accident (which I was betting would be a parasailing one, btw).

Things I really loved and made it worth it:
#1 Travis´ friends and pseudo family are truly great. Can´t tell anyone who wouldn´t love to be a part of the group.
#2 Stephanie is a fantastic character, the insights, the talking, the everything. Joined the Favourite Characters group.
#3 Travis himself is great. Even apart from his group. He leads a good lifestyle and tops it with great upbeat attitude (at least until he meets Gabby) - the sort of fella you would want to be around.
"I´m a student. I´m thinking of making it my career" Stephanie
Overall, looking forward to reading more Nicholas Sparks. Probably won´t be as lucky as to find another non-killing one, though.

quinta-feira, 5 de novembro de 2009

Delusional writing. Go read about the uniban nazi.

I hate to go back to same effing thing, but don't you sometimes feel like you're an expectant? You're so tired or bored you just sort of lean back and watch? Only you're not really leaning back, you're on autopilot. And that autopilot does the strangest things. And you can only be stunned by the words coming out of your mouth, or your new walk and that new way of staring at nothing every couple of sentences? And what's so weird is that you're not making any effort. You're not thinking. Or at least the thinking doesn't become words. And yet there you stand, apparently really interested in discussing food packages, saying how much you like pizza. No need to focus, no need to feel the doubt, just talking and listening and gesticulating, sort of the same way you make your heart beat, almost a reflex. And everything is so calm and... neutral. And you begin to wonder where the hell that girl came from, and why had she been away all this time. Don't you ever feel like that? Don't you have the impression that sometimes the person speaking isn't even you? And it's not even a bad thing, specially not while it's happening, it's just so weird.
Okay, maybe I'm way too bored and sleepy and my brain is on standby due to the fighting bacteria stage. Or maybe I only make sense to the little person coughing in the back of my head. But whatever. What are blogs for anyway?

sexta-feira, 30 de outubro de 2009

Confia na idiota

Já que a oportunidade veio, lá vamos. Acho que todo mundo já ouviu aquela história de "Em você eu confio, o problema são os outros". O que embora clichezaço, faz sentido, afinal adoramos uma história cavernosa de menininhas inocentes que são drogadas e violentadas/seqüestradas/mortas/afins, além do mais é uma variável sobre a qual você não tem controle, então não dá nem pra argumentar. Mas para mim, isto soa mais como se você fosse confiável porém idiota. Como se você não fosse ficar bêbada, mas também não fosse perceber que o cretino do lado colocou alguma coisa no seu refrigerante quando você saiu para ir ao banheiro. Como se você não fosse agarrar ninguém, mas também não percebesse que a maioria é babaca bom de lábia. E aí dá vontade de falar, "Mamãe, eu já vi CSI, até demais. Papai, vocês já me fizeram tão paranoica quanto humanamente possível" eu sei o que pode acontecer, eu estou assumindo os riscos e tomando todas as providências para que eles não ocorram. Mesmo. Acho que isto está incluso no pacote "CARETA". Aliás, de que adianta formar uma criatura careta, law-obeying, que não sucumbe à pressão do grupo (parcialmente porque também anda com bela e careta gangue), vê resultados em suas ações, importância nos estudos, se o mundo lá fora vai continuar sendo o argumento principal para o "não" absoluto? Ouvi até um "ela nem tem perfil, não bebe, não vai a lugares cheios e barulhentos, não fica com ninguém... não tem porquê ir". Curiosamente este foi aceito como supporting argument para os meus pais. Vai entender. Vai ver que se eu fosse uma puta bêbada e surda ia fazer mais sentido e me permitiriam.
O que me incomoda mais ainda é que daqui a um pouquinho mais de um ano eu serei maior de idade, oficialmente. Quer dizer que perante a lei eu já posso andar por aí sem precisar de autorização parental. Se eu for fazer universidade fora da cidade, vou morar fora. Cara, daqui a um ano e um poquinho eu posso estar morando sozinha (ou tão sozinha quanto financeiramente possível) e eu ainda sou considerada incapaz de dar uma voltinha sozinha, ou ir a uma festinha não-tão-comum? Serei tão responsável e chata quanto sou agora, e o mundo vai ser tão problemático e assustador quanto é agora, mas, de alguma forma extraordinária, vai ficar tudo bem. Será que é só porque os meus anos contarão dezoito?

quarta-feira, 7 de outubro de 2009

Guia Essencial de Tipografia para Professores

...(e outros profissionais que fazem/tentam fazer apresentações ppt) - já que esta capacidade parece faltar na maioria deles.

I Lei de Ouro: NUNCA, sob qualquer hipótese, use Comic Sans. EVER. Just say no. Sério. É feio. Não é profissional. Incomoda. Poupe sua audiência de uma tortura dessas.
II Lei: Títulos NÃO precisam ser em capslock. Capslock é usado para ÊNFASE, assim como itálico. Estou falando sério.
III Lei: Em geral, é bom usar fontes seriff para o texto e sans para títulos e subtítulos. (Seriff são estas bonitinhas como a Georgia, Garamond, Times New Roman, Courier New e a detestável Monotype Corsiva, com todas as voltinhas que, em teoria, facilitam a leitura. Sans-seriff são as mais básicas, como a Arial, Verdana, Tahoma, e a detestável Comic Sans, que chamam mais atenção e não ficam esquisitas em tamanho grande.)
IV Lei: Não use Monotype Corsiva. Sério. Sei que curvinhas e voltinhas te lembram de monogramas e a única fonte default do Windows Office que tem isso é a Monotype Corsiva, mas por isso mesmo ela impregna um zilhão de anúncios, plaquinhas e praticamente todo tipo de cartões. Faz parecer que você tentou fazer ficar bonitinho mas não com tanto empenho assim. Baixar uma fonte nova e bonitinha, com curvinhas, não é tão difícil assim. Olhe as de script da Dafont. Procurar fontes é divertido, dê um descanso para os clichês da microsoft, por favor. Mas, se você persistir neste HORROR favor lembrar que suas maiúsculas são para começo de frase, então o capslock dela fica deveras estranho. Não importa se você gosta das tais curvinhas.
V Lei: Não precisa colocar efeitos. Não mesmo. Já passou o boom dos olhares aturditos para as letras que de repente caem e formam títulos. Nem precisa se incomodar com eles. Mesmo. Colocar fotos, no entanto, é um exercício talvez interessante, dependendo do assunto. É só colocar uma pequenininha do lado. Tem até no modelo automático do Office. Quão difícil é isso?
VI Lei: A cor das fontes importa, e ela depende do fundo. Particularmente, gosto de fundos pretos porque acredito que a projeção fique melhor, mas tem muita gente que não gosta - e creio que a maioria dos seres que usam Comic Sans não sabem mudar o fundo de qualquer maneira - então atenha-se a fundo branco, fonte preta. Quer inovar? Coloque um vermelhinho e azul para grifar, mas ainda recomendo aquele vermelho-vinho e azul-marinho - senão fica parecendo publicidade ruim. Mas vai que é por um motivo didático de choque/marcação na retina? Porém quão difícil é usar preto, vermelho e azul, com cores NEUTRAS? Fuccia não vai muito bem. Choca. Mais que vermelho. Mesmo. Choque constante perde o efeito e meio que cansa. Só uma recomendação. Mesmo.

E acho que é só. Por hoje pelo menos.
Go Garamond, Out Comic!

segunda-feira, 5 de outubro de 2009

Just popped on my head and i´m too bored to explore the subject

My Sister´s Keeper **
Okay. Out of 10, it´s a 4. Out of 5, it´s a 2. And it´s not only because it´s a truly horrific adaptation (sex? honestly? on the cutest, sweetest cancer-love-dying-kid story? NOT cool), but because it also feels weird. Like it´s staged. Like it´s not real (which I know sounds like a weird comment on a fictional work, but the things that look most real are fake - hello, we are studying Fernando Pessoa). Kinda like Twilight. Only worse. ´Cause in this one there are actual scenes with ONE freaking sentence and the devastated look from Cameron Diaz. And things just felt... artifitial. C.D. didn´t feel SO fake, just more hate-able than the book one. And she always had the nice dying girl to make it up. Still... it looks like they thought it was an easy story - who doesn´t like moving cancer stories with little death-conscious girls?
Blargh. Sorry. Very disappointing.
I miss Julia.

Becky Bloom
I just finished reading the first volume (which cost me a productive weekend studying History, so I´m catching up now, thanks very much, Br), and it was so damn weird. I had a Bridget Jones, delusionally funny image of Becky Bloom, which sort of came out of the - very cute - movie. And she is sort of Bridget-y. Only it´s also terribly sad. Because as you read you feel her lack of control, her desperation, she must get that, so that she can feel a tiny bit better about herself. That scene on Octagon-? got me weeping. Probably just as much as the - real - ending to My Sister´s Keeper. The thing is, everyone feels bad for the cancer girl, everyone should. But people like Becky Bloom, who also deserve a great deal of compassion or... I don´t know, something, don´t get it. They´re just crazy people with credit cards.
The ending got me all messed up - she´s still a goddamn shopaholic! (But I guess that´s more believable than the movie magical version.) And she´s British! I love that she´s British.
Bitting off fingernails so I don´t read the other one tonight. Must. Learn. About. Crazy. Portuguese. Fellas. Who. Ran. Off. To. Brazil.
Maybe I should read 1808. You know, since things like THE DANISH MASSACRE by England´s navy months before they escorted D João to Brazil and that MAY have had some sort of influence are COMPLETELY neglected. Oh, effe it. 1808 it is.

why does 'vampire diaries' feel so goddamn twilight-y?

terça-feira, 15 de setembro de 2009

Novela

Assisti um tantinho da Caras e Bocas e lembrei porquê eu não assisto novela. Aquele trechinho da garota com câncer, que o tal do Benjamim está rejeitando, é meio irritante. A garota propriamente dita já é tão fraquinha... Da última vez que eu assisti, ela estava chorando desesperadamente - mal, diga-se de passagem - porque sofreu uma mastectomia e falou que o cara não sentia mais atração por ela, e ele não negou. Recado para todos os namorados/companheiros/maridos/amiguinhos/ou-sei-la-o-que-voces-acham-que-sao: nuuunca faça isso. Nunquinha. A não ser, lógico, que você saiba o quão idiota você é. Nesse caso, vá catar coquinho. E o tal de Benjamim é um baita de um idiota - "Oh... eu me apaixonei por ela porque ela era viva e alegre e de bem com a vida... e agora..." E AGORA QUE ELA TÁ COM CÂNCER VOCÊ SE PROVA UM COMPLETO BABACA!
E qual é a do "vamos raspar a sua cabeça porque você vai fazer quimioterapia"? Não dava para esperar ela COMEÇAR o tratamento, perder uns cabelinhos e DAÍ decidir raspar tudo? Também não vejo o porquê de chorar tanto para cortar cabelo. Ca-be-lo. Novidade, minha querida, CABELO CRESCE. Que tal voce parar de chorar, acabar com o cancer, crescer cabelo, botar umas roupinhas mais bonitinhas e achar um cara MENOS babaca que o judeuzinho indeciso? E daí quem sabe escrever um livro sobre a sua grande jornada. E expôr o babaca. E fazer muito dinheiro e mudar para... Copacabana? (Se passa em SP, mas todo mundo fala carioquês...)
Get a grip, woman!
Rggghhh. Novela me deixa com raiva. Por que eu não estava assistindo a Two and a Half Men? Não dá para ficar brava com ELES.

quinta-feira, 10 de setembro de 2009

Familiarity

You know one thing that really bothers me? It´s about the whole normal/abnormal thing. It´s when people act like it is the most normal thing in the world to do what they are doing, and I see it as the strangest thing ever, because it´s not on the book.
When I had my intern-thingie last year it was a nightmare. Not a nightmare in the common sense (sure, Anglo didn´t pay for my insurance so I couldn´t touch anything until I finally got one myself, but it was a nice lab-experience and I got to be amazed with several biological processes), but it was the strangest thing not to follow a set of rules. The first month I didn´t manage to find the ones who were in charge of making us do something, so I just stood there and watched as people were jungling petri dishes and long, pointy seringes. I´m shy, I only asked stuff if it was a completely maddening procedure and the researcher was looking prone to answer it. It felt so ridiculous not to know exactly what I should do - well, not knowing what to do at all. And then I finally joined people my age who had the scholarship and insurance and thus power to make an actual experiment, and I got to watch and make notes and listen to the instructor´s guidelines. I knew how to behave, I followed the others and stayed way back whenever there were Bulsen thingies around.
But what really bugs me is that no one else seemed uncomfortable, no one else seemed completely lost. They all acted normally - nothing was a surprise, nothing was unusual. And I thought "How the hell do they do it??" while gaping at graphs and charts filled with Salmonella recognition info. Then some time ago I found myself in a situation that was not unusual, but still unfamiliar, and I acted just as I had seen people do. Nonchalant-ly. Indifferent. And it suited me. It was still fiction, but there was no other way to react. So that got me thinking that perhaps all those people back at the lab (and so many others) were doing just that. Too lazy to figure something else out. Adopting what they had once saw, read or heard about.
When I moved schools, from the mostly traditional to the mostly "cool", it was a shock. I couldn´t find anything, I couldn´t understand why the teachers actually presented themselves as people, with ideas and classes that went further than the rulebook suggested. I couldn´t understand how grades could be improved with some begging, and deadlines postponed with feasable explanations. That had certainly never happened before. And four years later, it still freaks me out sometimes. So how long do you have to be in contact with something until that becomes familiar? Or acceptance has nothing to do with time? I´m pretty sure if I go back to the old school, it won´t feel non-awkward either.

Things are just too damn weeeird. Slowly trying to change the "everything that is not customary is essencially problematic" kind of reasoning. Any suggestions?

domingo, 6 de setembro de 2009

My Sister´s Keeper



Okay. I´ve just finished reading the interview with the author in the back of the book, so NOW I´ll finally return it to you, C, and you´ll be able to spread the weeping-leukemia-story joy to the girls.
I don´t really know if I like Jodi Picoult or not. I know she´s got style. I know she has that annoying habit of stopping the narrative just as it´s getting good and inserting some long lost memory (honestly, does that ever happen in real-non-middle-age-crisis life? I don´t think so) and then going back at the story when you´ve already forgotten all about it. I know she can work the first-person narrative so you don´t die of boredom. I know she likes to include all the polemic she can put her hands on. And I specially know she´s a cruel author - and not the Stephenie Meyer they-raped-and-left-her-to-die-in-the-cold-freaking-night sort of cruel, but the 'Making plans is challenging God' sort. And for all of that, I look foward to reading her other books. But the thing about her interview is that she tried to put a reason behind everything, and I mean everything, and that seemed like forcing it. Even if she did quote The Catcher in the Rye. Not everything happens for a purpose. I guess she´s more Freudian and more metaphorical than I´d like.
But then again, if you ignore the interview you can put meaning into the bigger, screaming things. Brian being a firefighter, for example. It´s great because then she can include all the fire and the rescuer wanting-to-be-deep kind of sentences without sounding too bold. But him being the only one who works in the household is already huge. Not only does he have somewhere to escape to whenever Kate´s issues get more complicated, but he also gets the perspective that Sara so irritatingly lacks (that combined with the astronomy factor is pretty fantastic).
Sara is the character that most bothers me. And Jodi Picoult makes me feel guity about it, afterall she is the mother of a dying little girl and that must be excruciating and blablabla. True, she should feel like the world is about to crack over her head, but she also should be a mother to all of her children. She´s so focused on Kate possibly relapsing again that she doesn´t see her husband or Anna or Jesse, and they´re all screaming for her attention, and it might be a little too much for one person, but just add that to the list of unfair things. The whole part where she describes her pregnancy and delivering Anna is just maddening, she treats her not like a baby, but rather like an organic... thing. The only one excited about having another girl is Brian, and even so, when talking about the night she was born, neither of them stood by her side, they all ran to Kate´s hospital room. That, in my non-mother non-sister view, is called neglecting. Reading how she acts and what she thinks, you kinda want to scream and point out the fact that Kate has been fighting leukemia for 13 years, and Sara has been focused on the bad all through them. What´s the point of sacrificing her children, husband and herself just to keep on being miserable?
Other than the leukemia-part, the book also has tons of sibling relationship issues, which looks new to me because as an only child I always picture it romantically. It all sounds much more complicated now: Kate feels like everyone is giving up things for her (which is true, but not her fault), Anna feels like she was only conceived because of her sister and therefore not really wanted for who she was, but what she could give; Jesse feels like he disappointed everyone because he wasn´t a match and can´t do anything for Kate. Everyone feels bad. Come on. (It´s like that House episode, with the Chinese adopted girl and the later biological ones: the adopted felt like she was disposable since they had managed to have children of their own, the biologicals felt they were disposable because they hadn´t been chosen. Everyone felt bad. People are really messy, aren´t they?)
And if you, like me, tend to hate those dying-cancer-guilt, Buy Me, sort of best seller, behold: there´re nice romantic plots parallel to the dying, and nice human characters that will bewilder you. And bewilderment is just too good to be missed.
Julia is on my Wanna Be list right next to vampire Jodi. (unnecessary comment, but she´s greeeeat. how could i not talk about julia this whole time?)
reeead it. scared of the movie. i think they´ll ruin it. AGAIN.

-
(pluuuus, see that cover? It´s a movie picture, but it doesn´t scream 'movie picture', it´s watermark-y without the actors´ name on top because it´s a BOOK. It´s cute. If it was this version I wouldn´t have read it. BOOK not trashy soap.)

sábado, 29 de agosto de 2009

quinta-feira, 27 de agosto de 2009

Hallucinating

Was I hallucinating or did Twitter really did go out of air for a couple of hours?
Freaky...
And did I really just attempt on enhancing my culinary skills eventhough God knows that one was left out of my genes?
Freaky...
Am I really about to watch a documentary, in which semi porn ought to be shown, about a dead fella from the peace and love period?
Freaky...
Am I really reading about leukemia??
Freaky...
Did I really just find the Nelson Freire cd, the one long gone, just lying on my bookshelf?
So freaky...

urgh.

Oh. For those of you who didn't know about lovely mr Alan Shore (Boston Legal, fox):




(I know the audio with the image thing is not particularly good, but audio is greaaat. transcription on the youtube page)

domingo, 23 de agosto de 2009

My Sister's Keeper, schools, and the lack of light breezy things on tv

So I'm reading this book C lent me, My Sister's Keeper, which is about a dying leukemia girl who's dragging her customized little sister down a not so much better path (C's written about it), and it's actually surprisingly well written, what with all the shifting perspectives and parallel plotting (just as you're sick and tired of feeling guilty about hating the mother, she inserts another story and it's probably going to be tragic and awful as well, but it's a relief from the Kate-Sara-Anna business). But it is depressive. It is meant to be depressing.
Which made me turn on the television, in the hopes of watching something nice and breezy that will make me think of something lighter than dying little girls. And right on AXN there's this weird High School set movie, with a girl that looks just like a thinner version of that Twilight girl, so I think, okay, I've found my movie, right? And start thinking about how my school is so different from the one in the movie. Sure, it's an American school, but schools should look like a school no matter what country they are set in, right? So why does my school feels so non-school like? Blargh. Maybe I have watched way too many American high school movies to have an unbiased opinion. Whatever, as I was wondering about that, the girl was on the photography lab or something (which is another thing Brazilian schools lack) and this guy walks in and starts attacking her and saying she was a liar for saying he had raped her. And that gets me thinking this isn't the nice and breezy movie I was in need of. But I keep on watching, because I want her to hit him or something. And she does, she throws acid on his eyes and defends herself with scissors or something (the girl knows how to fend for herself). Then there are two scenes and it's over. Just like that. Nothing like a light half-hour to take the edge off on a Sunday afternoon.
Now I'm shocked and trying to avoid any rape or cancer stories for a moment or two.

I IMDBed it. It was the Twilight girl (she still does the mouth thing). It's called Speak. And it's probably pretty great they made a movie about girls needing to speak up about rape, but again, not what I was hoping for.

All things nice,

quarta-feira, 19 de agosto de 2009

The Princess Diaries X

Forever Princess (or Princess Forever?), by Meg Cabot. The Princess Diaries X. The nothing-special blue paperback with the Arial ugly page numbers (though compensated by the cute seriff-y body text and curvy readable dating).

"See, I knew this was going to happen. Tina takes everything and wraps it up in silver tissuepaper and puts a big bow on it and it Love." p241

I read the final Princess Diary these past couple of days. (And the two previous last week, because I was so shocked after Ransom my Heart.) I don´t know why I liked it so much. I realise it is acceptable to be bubbly happy to find The Princess Diaries in the school library in fourth grade, while being so excited about reading the last one at 16 is sort of laughable, but whatever. It was fun.
That´s how the Princess Diaries have always been: fun. Not many things happen (mainly it´s just one drama written in one or two weeks of Mia´s diary), it is very predictable, and you can totally see when she´s just being nonsensical about things, which is annoying – you read it because they are comforting. All of Meg Cabot´s stories are, but this series in particular is like watching Tuck Everlasting with a bucket of Belgian chocolate Haagen Daaz. And I can´t really tell why, it just is.
Like most romance and teeny novels, it ends nicely. No, it ends perfectly, everything working out. It´s not a spoiler thing – even if you get a little nervous with the whole “Life isn´t a romance novel” part, you still have to keep in mind this is Meg Cabot. And her purpose on this world is making people happy and hopeful and relaxed (X is after Mia wrote a romance novel, so she says a lot of things supporting and defending the genre, which I, of course, agree. But then, since I read all kinds of silly-cute-predictable stories, where is the surprise there?).
Now that I´ve admitted to being ubberly and completely giggly happy about Michael´s return (in both Mia´s life and mine), allow me to share some other impressions on the book. If you, like me, don´t remember (or haven´t read) the other nine books, this is a quick, spoilerly recap: JP, the rich, handsome and boringly perfect guy Lilly had been dating (and dying hair for) dumped her, dumped her good; Michael got a scholarship and was moving to live in Japan for a year (or more) to develop some robotic surgical arm, and had ommited something Mia thought was very, very important at the time, which caused them to fight and break up; weird, non-intentional kiss with JP happened (afterall he was such a good friend she didn´t feel like losing him), which of course was seen by Michael and Lilly, which resulted in no best friend and no long time boyfriend and (in the IX) her behaving a little like Bella in New Moon, only she was dragged to therapy and worked it out with Dr Knutz (yep); exchanged friendly email with Michael; went out with JP (who liked Beauty and the Beast and all) and had press say they were dating, that later on turned out to be true. So what you need to know is that she is now friends with Lana (yeep, she proves herself to be shallow and a little too honest, but a good gal) and Tina (who, quite unfairly, I had totally forgotten about, and she´s such a great character!), and now Mia is dating JP (I´m not saying anything besides: Oh come on, he´s such a big boring clichê that looks more like a trained house pet than a boyfriend!). That´s it. In almost 400 pages you get to see Michael´s return as a the millionaire who invented CardioArm, Dr Knutz´s horse stories, Grandmére´s irritating habits and shocking advices, as well as those princessy things envolving tiaras and declining suitors. And a bit of MHC learning. Thankfully this book isn´t nearly as filled with trig and science and calculus and chemestry hatred as the others.
The one thing I didn´t get was why she decided not to write about It. I mean, the book is filled with all the sex (or sexy) scenes from Ransom My Heart (she didn´t even put any of the nice, messy family scenes!), so it´s not as if it was a censorship thing, which leaves me clueless.
Anyway, if you liked Mia, I think you´ll be pleased with the ending. Not to mention drool over the best and most wonderful fictional male ever created.

C, pleeease read it so I can share the bubbliness with someone?

"AND THAT IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF WHAT MAJOR HISTOCOMPATIBILITY COMPLEX IS ALL ABOUT!" p267

sábado, 15 de agosto de 2009

saturday mornings

It feels so great to wake up and sleeply drag yourself to the dinning table and open up the newspaper. Of course being a saturday morning I'll be spared from all the killing, raping, and robbing and guilt-free-ly go through the Vitrine section. Shallow as it may, reading about how green fingernails are the new thing and how to pick the appropriate trench coat (eventhough Brazilian winter will never be cold enough) is somewhat comforting. As long as you avoid the price tags, that is.
You know what I've been thinking about? Hopelessness. And not just the sort that keeps you from using your democratic rights and fight for free meds, but the sort that I feel. Not some kind of life depression either. It's the one that makes me look at cloning and healing, at politicians and journalists, at peace and justice, and say "It's not gonna work". It's not gonna happen. It's gonna stay as shitty as it always has been. And I was just wondering where the hell did that come from. Because honestly, we already live in a world built by people who saw past hopelessness and did something! We got democracy, they ruled out the kings and queens and right of birth given by God. Who ever saw that one coming?? We elect people. They may be shit, but we are the ones who chose them. I would think that was going to be enough to convince us that many, many things are indeed possible. But just for the sake of arguementation, in the social part: we don't have slavery! A minority got their earned freedom. Sure, they then suffered from lack of employment and persistent prejudice and are still fighting against the latter, but a minority did it! How's that for freaking hope? Then we've got again right of birth, you can be respected without being fortuned enough as to be borned a nobel, you can earn that by being filthy rich. Sure, now the battle is to be respected (out of the paper) plainly for being human, but that's progress. And then finally we've got Medicine. How can I not have hope in cancer research, in AIDS research, when - well, not so - long ago people died of sifilis? Flu? Cholera? When treatment was bleeding, piercing holes in your skull, or just plain praying? There was great improvement, which means there probably will be great improvement. So where the hell did all the hopelessness come from?
And somehow the whole internal monologue matches so nicely with green nail polish. I love Saturdays.

segunda-feira, 10 de agosto de 2009

Reverberando sobre o Araguaia

Política e história política não são assuntos que eu prezo muito (especialmente porque tudo que eu ouvi de um lado, falam que é manipulação do outro) e que portanto não sei la muitas coisas. Entre esses assuntos está o episódio dos desaparecidos do Araguaia, que até semana passada eu não fazia idéia do que significava, e agora tenho alguma noção. A Fovest fez uma proposta no assunto, para treinar para o ENEM, o que acabou gerando bastante discussão.
Pelo que eu entendi, estavam lutando contra o regime vigente os que queriam a democracia e a república reinstalados e os que queriam a ditadura socialista. Eram chamados guerrilheiros e muitos desapareceram na região do Araguaia, no Amazonas, mortos por militares e enterrados em vala comum. As famílias dos guerrilheiros querem que o governo exuma os corpos para que possam ser enterrados adequadamente. Os militares (muitos deles políticos) são contra, afirmando que isso é passado e que a Anistia deu conta do recado, o que faz sentido porque muitos deles seriam condenados em qualquer corte respeitável.
Pessoalmente, já que é fato de que estão todos mortos, acho que a solução mais prática é avaliar quanto seria o gasto para que tais enterros fossem realizados e que, em nome e com o consentimento das mães dos guerrilheiros, o governo doasse essa quantia para um fundo de educação e/ou saúde pública; que os militares reconhecessem que o episódio foi um erro e que feriram com os direitos dos guerrilheiros (fossem eles socialistas ou não); e que fosse construído um daqueles obeliscos com os nomes de todos os assassinados, em memória.
O reconhecimento de que os guerrilheiros lutaram por uma causa e foram injustamente executados (se é que ainda não foi dado) é um DEVER do Estado. E, combinado com fundações de ajuda (de proteção e manutenção à democracia), deve servir talvez não como consolo, mas como um passo a mais para longe do terror da ditadura para essas mães e famílias.
O próximo passo seria, obviamente, julgar e condenar todos aqueles que torturaram, executaram ou feriram os direitos humanos durante o período. É assustador que tenham se passado tantos anos e NÍNGUEM tenha falado "Agora chega! Vamos fazer uma limpeza no Exército". Democracia no Brasil é realmente só uma fachada.


E tudo começou com essa pérola diplomática aí do lado, que estava no gabinete do dep. fed. Jair Bonsonaro (militar ou ex-militar? Sei lá, veja na UOL)

Damn you, tabs!

Ever since those freaking navigator tabs showed up I've been trying to control myself and not open too many of them, otherwise I get what it's happening now: two ff windows with about 15 tabs each. Which makes them a bit slow and dangerously about to shut themselves out. And that's when I should bookmark what I think it's interesting or write them down, right? But all my notes mysteriously disappear, which means Hello Bookmarks (hence all the zillion links I don't even know what are for), this morning, however, I d tricked myself in the "Oh, just checking the school site and maybe Meg Cabot's for some historical novels (as if I didn't have enough to read already)" while in mum's area. SO this is my bookmark (she always gets mad at me when I fill up hers).
BOOKMARKS FOR THIS MORNING'S DEVIATIONS:
#1 Those 22 months Mia spent writing Ransom My Heart (IX-X) are online. Dunno why I like it so much. Maybe because it's almost over (just ordered the X on Cultura). Maybe because it's worriless fun. Who cares?
#2 A nice review on RMH (nice blog, really)
#3 Their reviews on historical novels (though judging by the covers, not particularly promising - what's up with photos of bodybuilders??). She says she likes it so much I might actually give this one a try.
#4 "The Italian Gourmet Baby Food Baron's Ironically Pregnant Virgin Mistress" it's FUN. I didn't really understand if someone had an idea and they wrote chapters independantly or not, and due to lack of time and loathsome screen I only read the first chapter, but I certainly intend or reading the rest. (the whole thing on scribd)
#5 Following them would be useful, don't you think?
#6 Excerpt. This plus the A+ in C's book, it's... what? Some twenty pages or so?
#7 #8 May prove helpful/fun in a near future (that would envolve me reading that freaking pile and doing my homework in outstanding speed, so maybe not so near).

Aaaaand, Dom Casmurro and mint chocolate chips it is!
God help me

sábado, 1 de agosto de 2009

Aquelas grudentas ideiazinhas iluministas

Estava pensando naquela coluna do cara do cemento que tanto ultrajou todo mundo, e me ocorreram algumas coisinhas.
Primeiro, que eu não me sinto ofendida ou enojada ou acho que o cara é um ser desprezível. Ele falou algo... besta, quase sem pensar, eu diria. Meio clichezinho de riquinho até.
Segundo, pensei no alívio que eu senti quando estava lendo a coluna, que dizia, dentre outras cousas, que como contribuinte ele podia reclamar da situação do centro de SP. É uma idéia meio óbvia, mas ainda é um alívio lê-la. Acho que este direito ninguém contestou.
Lembro de um filminho que vi no cinema alguns y anos atrás, era aquele do agente secreto que tinha uma cena de um molequinho conduzindo um carro que ia colidir com um trem, e o agente do lado de fora pedindo pro molequinho destravar as portas - e o molequinho fazia que não com a cabeça. Eu lembro que eu fiquei com raiva do molequinho, e ao mesmo tempo não podia nem verbalizar mentalmente a coisa porque, afinal, era só um molequinho, pra que ter raiva do molequinho? E aí alguém na sala falou "Menininho filho da ****", e eu senti uma onda de alívio por saber que não era a única. Depois disso, sem mais culpa sobre detestar molequinhos, embora tenha minhas reservas sobre menininhas.
E aí me lembro de Holden e tudo mais é perdoável - eu gosto porque eu gosto, eu odeio porque eu odeio, não é uma liberdade fantástica?
Enfim, o cara do cemento me deu a liberdade de pensar abertamente (se é que esse termo existe ou faz sentido algum) sobre tudo que tem de errado na cidade, sem culpa. Fui a única?

sexta-feira, 31 de julho de 2009

Home Sweet Home



I was gone for less than a week and already it felt like a relief to get back home, to my messy room, in which everything sounds and smells familiar. Thank God we made it home.
I don´t know why it took us so long to realise that, as long as raining cold days go, it doesn´t really matter whether we are down or up the hill. So up the hill we went back. To good food and friendlier faces, I hope.
I wonder if we´ll get another week of "vacations" (when you´re supposed to be stuck at home, not disseminating the virus, it´s not really a vacation, is it?).
I have done almost nothing I was hoping to do, which only adds to the list of things I want to do when school starts (I really should quit making lists).
And now I´m bored and still smelling like the beach I never went to. Funny.
No sand, no salty water, no real sun, not that much sunscreen and still smelling like beach.
Blaaaargh.

One thing it did help was the playlist thing. I burned a CD (yeah, an mp3 CD. For some reason my cdplayer´s batteries are waaay better than the mp3 gadgets´.) with some songs I hadn´t heard for a while. Had forgotten how nice my girlie tracks were.


Get a playlist! Standalone player Get Ringtones

Prom Night´s From Hell

Nice little raining-day reading. Not scary at all, on contrary to what the back cover says.

“The Exterminator´s Daughter” by Meg Cabot
The never disappointing story of yet another cute girl and boy with a weird plot as background. MC is great because she´s never mean: you can enjoy all paragraphs without worrying if she´s going to kill some beloved cute character. [Yeah, I care when people designed to be cute die. Even if it is fictional. Shame on you, L.M.] Anyway, vampires and holly water and amazing brown eyes to go in some 50 pages.

“The Corsage” by Lauren Myracle
The cutest little characters, pretty caricaturized, but lovely nonetheless. She´s brutal, though. And I... didn´t quite follow the reason behind the final paragraphs – I kept on thinking “open the freaking door, for heaven´s sake!”, but maybe that´s got something to do with me watching enough CSIs and this being a 1902 story. The shortest and most wtf? story on the book.

“Madison Avery and the Dim Reaper” by Kim Harrison
It´s weird. It´s sad. It´s a bit Bella-ish. But it´s nice. One of those “No matter what...” stories mixed up with “Don´t get in to strangers´ cars”, you just can´t say what it is about or you´ll think it´s boring and won´t read it. So just read it. It´s 60 pages long – you cannot say you don´t have the time.

“Kiss and Tell” by Michele Jaffe
It was the last one I read because I was so anxious about S.M., but it is the one I liked the most on this book. And curiously enough, the one that most suits the book´s description: paranormal stuff. Though I caught myself thinking why, oh why, isn´t this written in first person?, I liked this Jaffe woman. She doesn´t explain most of the stuff, just suggests it, which makes it unbelievably better. And all the women are amazing – not cute, not nice, amazing. Makes you want to be a little more like Sibby and Kenzi and Miranda. Plus, she writes nicely, here´s a little teaser:
Thinking, not for the first time, that life should come with a trapdoor. Just a little exit hatch you could disappear through when you´d utterly and completely mortified yourself. Or when you had spontaneous zit eruptions.

“Good book?” he asked, taking it from her and reading the subtitle, “A Guide for Good Girls Who (Sometimes) Want to Be Bad,” out loud.

But life did not come with a trapdoor.
“Hell on Earth” Stephenie Meyer
It is surprisingly not very-Twilight-Host alike. It actually has quite a nice view on the whole Good X Bad thing. It´s nice and fun to read. Envolves demons and angels, vicious and good people. Prom, really. Freaky ending, but it´s worth it.

I now realise I can´t really talk about the plot of a 50-page long story, which makes commenting on it kinda pointless, but trust me, it´s nice.


“I´m trying to keep it to one heist a month,” she said, hoping for a light, ha-ha-ha-I´m-just-kidding-foxy-is-as-foxy-does tone.


280709

sexta-feira, 24 de julho de 2009

Doomsday Machine

In Dr Strangelove a weird body fluids obsessed Army man decides to send his men to bomb Russia, knowing that there would be nothing the government could do to stop them. Later they find out Russia is in possession of a Doomsday Machine, a huge, unstoppable, computer accionable bomb that would destroy the Earth and form a toxic cloud on its surface for 98 years. The purpose of a Doomsday Machine was to tell eveyone one of its existence and make everyone fear it. Enforce peace, if I may.
Personally, I think it would be a brilliant solution. But I wouldn't worry too much about it accidentally going off. So what if something takes the whole Planet's life at once? Much better than being around a uranium leakage and slowly die and watch everyone else die of cancer. Much better than watching anyone die, period. It would be quick and easy. Unperceptible. Brilliant.
Unfortunately it seems that I'm the only one who doesn't want to save herself from Doomsday. I just got in my mail an invitation for a ceremony of an odd religion that said those exact words: "Join us and we'll save ourselves from Doomsday". They think they are the chosen ones. If they are is not the case, but chosen to watch the majority of people die while your select people live? While you select the select people who get to live? It's just maddening, don't you think?
I don't know about you, and I certainly don't know about them, but I can't find comfort in knowing that I will survive and Obama won't. That I will keep on breathing while everyone else decomposes or turns to mist. That my blood will be pumped just for the sake of it being pumped.
If doomsday does come, we've earned it. "Goodbye World, sorry for all the misfortunes, but we're just that stupid, better luck next time!"

terça-feira, 21 de julho de 2009

Done and digesting 'The Deathly Hallows'

It had been a long time since I'd last hidden book and flashlight under the covers, so mum wouldn't yell at me. Eventually the batteries did run out and she did have a fit at four-thirty in the morning, but it was still so effing fantastic! I had forgotten how wonderful Hogwarts was like, with it's Great Hall and the magic rooms. I had forgotten how much I liked Mcgonagall and Hagrid and Luna and the Weasley family! I had forgotten how great it was to weep over some character's misfortune (though the sobbings probably served as well as the lamp to revealing my ignoring curfew) or to be so preoccupied when things were going all right for too long.
The ending was mellow and mushy, much too bravery-and-loyalty-Gryffindor to my taste. The naming of the kids made me a little angry at Ginny (she couldn't name any of her children?), and it felt weird reading that they've got families. But good weird, I think. They were still united, they became that big family Harry had missed so much. Keeps things hopeful. And Ron seemed the most believable of them, it would have been fun to read more about his parenting age.
I'll probably be thinking (and crying my heart out again, I suspect) about Snape's story for quite some time, but what I'm curious at is why these series are ending so happily. Are they all trying to give this generation some sort of hope? 'Cause I honestly believe if both of them had died, it would make a far better point. But then again, I like mean books that kill good people for good purposes, though keep on cursing their authors (still doing so for Fred).
Perhaps I'll succumb and buy The Tales of Beedle the Bard at last.

PS: I'm so glad the crying-over-grave-scene will not be done by Radcliffe. Thanks for sparing us, Rowling!

segunda-feira, 20 de julho de 2009

Jornal

De quando em quando eu abro o jornal (não na Ilustrada, não na Folhateen) e tento absorver alguma coisa para não me chamar de desinformada, e geralmente acabo na Folha Corrida. É legal ver o que a redação da Folha acha importante. Semana passada saiu uma foto enorme, de uma estrutura metálica vermelha sobre um monte de destroços. Achei que era algum outro acidente de construção de metrô. Mas a legenda informava que se tratava de Nova Déli, capital da Índia. Você então pensaria que foi uma grande catástrofe e centenas de pessoas morreram - mas não, cinco pessoas morreram e 14 ficaram feridas, duas em estado grave. Perdoe a minha indiferença, mas como é que aquilo é tão importante para ter uma foto daquele tamanho nas notícias do dia?
Em cima tinha a foto da Paris Hilton, informando sobre o novo programa dela na MTV.

Hoje eu estava assistindo ao Jornal Regional, e eles mostraram aquele morador de rua que foi encontrado pela família depois de uma série de reportagens que ele participou. Passaram trechos das reportagens, incluindo um repórter perguntando "É difícil encontrar trabalho?". Hmm... ó dúvida cruel...

Acho que vou desistir da eptv.

Malditos goblins!

buenas noches

sábado, 18 de julho de 2009

Mundungus??

Who on Earth is Mundungus and why is he such a big character in Deathly Hallows? They refer to him back in Order of the Phoenix, but I just can't remember him!

Today I did nothing. Well, nothing productive, to be fair. Woke up extremely late, again, had lunch and stuck to HP and Meg the rest of the day. It had been a while since that happened. Odd.

If anyone has info on Mundungus that doesn't require pages and pages of descriptions, please let me know!

'night

sexta-feira, 17 de julho de 2009

Holidays take all the fun away from Fridays...

Some nights ago I stood wide awake until 1h30 a.m. (eventhough that's about the time I start seeing Erie everywhere) watching Dr Jivago. I didn't rent it because it was a classic. I didn't rent it because it was Russian. I didn't rent it because it was black and white (though it was an encouragement). I rent it because I had remembered "Must Love Dogs" and how the guy absolutely adored that movie. Yeah, yeah - another romantic comedy. You can't fight fate. Or John Cusak.
But the thing is, I remembered how he had these insights about Jivago, and I just couldn't see them. It's Russia. It's freezingly beautiful. All the men are assholes. All the women are strong. The "sacrifice" scene when he watches her leave - which was supposed to be a key moment for the story - just reminds me of a worsen Casablanca. Yey, so the asshole has a heart and is selfless enough to let her go somewhere safe, with two children and a rapist. How enlightening.

I was going through some channels just now and I couldn't help watching PS I Love You one more time. And this time I paid attention to someone else besides the Irish guys: Denise. I had forgotten how great she was. For those who don't remember her, she's the friend that likes men (plural) and asks the three essencial questions before she tries kissing, the one with the "After all of that, I have to right to look at a man's fine butt with shallow sexual intentions" or something like that, the one who gets married in the end. She's such a Will & Grace Karen, isn't she?

Speaking of which, aren't they just lovely? If there's one thing I love about those nice half-an-hour comedies like Will & Grace, The Nanny and Friends is that they don't take thigns personally. Remember when Will got out of the Christmas gathering with Karen and Jack to go see The Nutt-Cracker with Grace, and then that didn't work out so he came back and asked to join them again? Karen and Jack were upset, but they had Will recite some dirty song and they were fine again. No harm, just gags.
Or when Chandler started dating Joey's ex and they fought? And Joey made Chandler get in to a box to think of what he had done? No harm either. Friendship prevailed.
Stuff like that makes it all look so simple, doesn't it?

Back to reading HP 7.
It's actually quite cute.
George is cute :]

Goodnight to you all

quinta-feira, 16 de julho de 2009

Falando mais

Olhos vermelhos e amarelados, pupilas dilatadas... eu adoro meu visual drogada pós-consulta de oftalmo.
Mas enquanto a fotofobia persistir, vamos tentar alguns dos objetivos sugeridos, sim?
Falar mais nesse blog. yahooo.

Twitter
Tá. Eu fiz um Twitter. E talvez tenha alguma utilidade. Mas ainda não consigo usar a tal coisinha direito. Ô trocinho confuso, chê.

Harry Potter
EEEEEE! Fui na estréia. Graças à dona Brasil, thank you so much, dear. Depois de uma hora e quarenta de fila, mais uma corridinha para a sala - finalmente -, o sexto filminho do Potter.
Sinceramente, minha época Harry Potter já passou faz um bom tempo. Já passei dias escondida em lobby de hotel de praia lendo e chorando com os malditos dos livros. Já fui às seis estréias. Já xinguei todos os filmes. Já tentei ir de cosplay. Agora acabou. Acabou mais ou menos na época que o Príncipe Mestiço chegou do Submarino e eu me dei conta que todos aqueles parágrafos e parágrafos de descrições não eram lá tão maravilhosos quanto costumavam ser. Li mais por tradição que por vontade - esqueci antes que pudesse atualizar o meu GoodReads.
Mas como a desgraça chegou ao fim, quando vi o sétimo, versão inglesa, ilustrada, capa dura, lindamente preservado no sebo aqui perto, não resisti. Foi parar na minha estante, e lá ficou depois que eu tentei ler os primeiros capítulos e descobri que ela não era tão explicativa a ponto de eu entender que diabos se passava. Depois deste filme, porém, estou tentando lê-lo. Minha última tentativa. Está sendo bem cômico carregar o tijolo de livro pra lá e pra cá, mas divertido. Deseje-me sorte!

Estréias (é, com acento.)
Eu não fui a muitas estréias não, e das poucas que eu fui, tirando HP, a maioria foi por engano. Filas gigantes e povo fanático geralmente fantasiado costuma ser regra (embora ontem só tenha conseguido enxergar três caras vestidos a caráter). Mas o legal é que o povo fanático geralmente fantasiado da fila gigante é bem simpático. Conviver pacificamente por quase duas horas deve exigir algum nível de bom humor. Eu sempre me surpreendo.
Convenhamos que ver qualquer coisa na estréia nunca é pelo filme propriamente dito, é pela novidade. Nenhuma pessoa sã gostaria de passar por todo o drama de conseguir ingressos, ficar na fila e achar um bom lugar pelo único propósito de ver o filme. Especialmente porque é uma experiência coletiva. O povo berra quando o Radcliffe aparece na tela. O povo assobia quando a Emma aparece. O povo ri quando o Grint faz as caretas. Aliás, toda sessão de cinema é uma experiência coletiva, mas ela tende a ser mais reservada, na forma de comentários para os vizinhos amigos. Em estréia a euforia é tanto que o comentário escapole e vai para a sala inteira.
Particularmente, acho que estréias valem a pena justamente por causa disto.
Estréias e cinema - e entretenimento coletivo em geral, vai - são que nem Halloween: eu não vou por causa dos doces, eu vou pela diversão de ver um grupo estranhamente vestido bater de porta em porta pedindo açucar e ganhando maçãs.

sábado, 11 de julho de 2009

Holidays, once again

Oh Scarlett O'Hara... no-one will ever look as beautiful as you.

I know I'm a complainer, but I'm one that doesn't remember what she's complained about, so every time there's an upcoming holiday I make a mental list (doomed to be forgotten for my own sake in the third day of vacations, of course) and I make plans for the whole 30 or 60 days I'm going to have "all to myself".
What I always forget is that I actually hate the freaking holidays. I do.
I like having a plan, I like being in bed and thinking "Wake up, wake up, you gotta get up and go do this and that". I hate being in bed at noon and thinking "Wake up, wake up. You gotta eat." And then what? Stare as my dog runs the semi-backyard? Watch some more zillion hours of TV? Do my nails for the hundredth time? Attempt to read some other book and feel my eyelids closing to get some more zillion hours of sleep?
RGH. I hate wasting time, specially when I don't know what it was wasted for.
But then the reason behind the "Oh My God, What Can I Do?" holiday crisis seems to be on the lack of hobbies. So I'm in a desperate attempt to find a hobby. And like it. Very much. Enough to give me something to do for the next three weeks. Or at least a goal. I could have a goal.
I could really use a goal, actually. Someone give a goal!
And some waking-up pills. I've been in semi-sleeping-coma all day. For DAYS!
uuurrg.
I
HATE
HOLIDAYS.

have a nice one,
mb

domingo, 14 de junho de 2009

Just stalling...

As I attempt on doing my Physics' homework (when will I ever learn to use a freaking agenda?), I got together some of the tracks I've reaaally liked in the past... years perhaps (not very innovative).
You know, a girl's gotta have some soundtracking.


Get a playlist! Standalone player Get Ringtones


Ever got the feeling that you've been in the limbo for too long?

sábado, 30 de maio de 2009

terráqueos versus alliens

I was flipping the channels looking for background noise for my homework-doing (what a nice girl i am) and bumped into The Fastastic Four II. I have no idea why I kept watching it, I hated the first one. But Jessica Alba always looks so cute, and the alternative was Teenagers... IV? Something like that.

Anyways, after the former bad guy decides to go for a uniform that´s a mix between Darth Vader and those secret society robes I should have guessed it wasn´t going to get any better. However, it´s not just a matter of bad cliches like “everyone´s gotta a choice” or “why can´t we be a normal family?”, it´s a matter of consistency. How freaking selfish is making an allien give away his world and his allien-lover and his life so that we´d stay alive? They just traded sacrifices! Wouldn´t it be muuuch nicer and original if the Fantastic Four would give up their lives so the allien could happily live?

But nooo, effe the allien and his little lover, humans are so much more important – specially considering all our care regarding the big blue planet.


haha. MariMoon falando mal do cabelo “esquisito” da Rihanna. E das roupas.

Talk about consistency

sexta-feira, 22 de maio de 2009

Martha versus Babette

Mostly Martha tem as musiquinhas envolventes, o italianão cheio de charme e uma protagonista bem likable.
O Banquete de Babette tem uns dilemas amorosos, gente falando Hallellujah! e uma trama que não é particularmente uma trama, mas enfim.
E, embora o último tenha cabeças demais, ainda são filminhos bem apetitosos e têm aquela coisa toda de "a comida nos une" e blablabla.
Martha descobriu que nem tudo precisa ser perfeitamente coordenado, Lina ganha uma família razoavelmente funcional, Martina e cia. descobrem que só porque a culinária é francesa ela não é fruto do diabo. yahooo.
Babette prepara os quitutes de um jeito diferente, acho eu. O jeito como ela mexe na massa e coloca os molhos me pareceu mais delicado do que o entusiasmado italiano e a metódica alemã. Me lembrou estranhamente daquele cara que trabalhava com os legumes e vegetais do Amélie Poulain.
Mas acho que a maior diferença entre os dois, comedia romantica à parte, é o tratamento que a comida recebe. Mostly Martha é comida, não existe qualquer referência sobre outra atividade que gere felicidade. O Banquete de Babette é sobre fazer aquilo que lhe agrada; é sobre Philipa não ter virado nem diva de Paris, nem avó adorada; sobre as rixas de gente que prega o perdão; sobre a desvalorização de coisinhas que fazem a vida ser mais que uma sala de espera para o céu.
É bem pouco sobre comida, se você pensar bem.


Get a playlist! Standalone player Get Ringtones

quarta-feira, 13 de maio de 2009

Atordoamento mental.

Hoje à tarde, fingindo assistir à eterna companheira sedentária, as pálpebras começaram a pesar, a respiração ficou mais lenta, e as palavras “Ah, se você não vai fazer nada mesmo” passaram pela cabeça. Devo ter dormido umas três horas. Mas dormir meio coberto, meio encolhido, num sofá mole, na frente de uma tevê, no meio da tarde apresenta suas complicações. Dentre elas: à medida que você adormece, parece que o volume da tevê oscila, só para encomodar; o seu termostato fica completamente confuso e de repente parece o verão do Equador; e todos os seus pensamentos das últimas três, quatro horas voltam em forma de vários sonhozinhos, semi-acordados, semi-delirantes, sem muito sentido e sem querer fazer muito sentido. Uma verdadeira salada mental. Adiciona-se o pânico que geralmente me acompanha devido à total inversão do meu relógio biológico, e voila!
De manhãzinha – de madrugada, hão de convir –, naqueles dez minutos de “soneca” do despertador, não posso evitar cair nesse sono que não é bem sono, com sonhos que eu consigo lembrar mas não queria. Só servem para eu me assustar com o próximo “Beep Beep Beep Beeeeeeeep”, mas tem tanto sonho que parece demorar horas e horas que cabem nesses míseros dez minutos que eu fico tentada a alongar o tempo.
Vê-se que ainda estou meio atordoada.
São seis horas MESMO?

domingo, 10 de maio de 2009

Pra acabar com o complexo

Saiu na Folha hoje o Dimenstein falando de uma coletanea de fotos, Mestres do Tempo, que mostra gente dos seus 70 pra cima fazendo coisinhas um tanto inusitadas. Este cara é palhaço há 50 anos.

sábado, 9 de maio de 2009

Besteira

Umas oitenta pessoas resolveram que seria muito legal se vestir mais ou menos do mesmo jeito que os vendedores de uma loja e filmar enquanto ajudavam os clientes. É meio... sem propósito, não?
Por isso que é divertido ver o alarde causado pelos gerentes e seguranças, que estipulavam razões para a invasão cáqui. Um grupinho novaiorquino, Improv Everywhere, que já parou a Grand Central, foi o culpado. Leia aqui.

Blargh. Passei a tarde vendo vídeos inúteis e nenhum superou o que marcelle achou:
(é propaganda, mas é britanico e é taaao legal *-* )



Tres horas perdidas

Tá. Eu não gosto de filme de guerra. Mas não é porque eu simplesmente não gosto. É porque eles sempre, sempre chegam à mesma conclusão: os soldados são jovens cheios de testosterona, atirando em qualquer coisa que se mexa, que não sabem exatamente o porquê estão ali. Acho que dava para concluir isso de Fahrenheit 9/11 de uma maneira mais direta e crítica.
Mas daí tem todas as metáforas para compor um filme de três horas: a viagem, ó, a viagem que transforma. Esta aí uma idéia tão original que é até slogan de empresa de intercâmbio. A viagem como metáfora está em tudo quanto é filme, de "Casablanca" a "Harry Potter". Ou o horror, o horror que impressiona e que possibilita o reconhecimento da verdadeira felicidade - posso lembrar de algumas comédias românticas que falaram a mesma coisa sobre o amor e o ódio, mas irei citar apenas "Xeque-mate", porque soa melhor. Nele, sir Ben Kingsley diz as seguintes palavras:
"The unlucky are nothing more than a frame of reference for the lucky, Mister Fisher. You are unlucky, so I may know that I am not. Unfortunately the lucky never realize they are lucky until it's too late. Take yourself for instance; yesterday you were better off than you are today but it took today for you to realize it. But today has arrived, and it's too late... You see? People are never happy with what they have. They want what they had. Or what others have."
Fala da mesma coisa, com talvez mais sangue, mais violência e qualidade de trilha sonora similar, em menos de duas horas com uma plotline fantástica. Se você não viu "Xeque-mate" sugiro que o faça.

sexta-feira, 1 de maio de 2009

Obama

Repressão

“Devemos intervir nas tribos da África que realizam o ritual de mutilação genital feminina?” O problema foi apresentado e discutido em cerca de 45 minutos de aula e não chegamos à conclusão alguma. Foi na outra semana que a resposta de um filósofo brasileiro encerrou a questão. “Devemos intervir toda vez que a individualiadade da pessoa estiver ameaçada.” Uma tese bela, que ninguém pode em sã consciência discordar, pois seria o mesmo que se dizer a favor da repressão. Mas como toda tese filosófica, não importa o quão bela, irrefutável ou aceita, tem sua execução um tanto quanto improvável, senão impossível. Afinal, todo mundo é reprimido em alguma ocasião da vida e quem é que vai definir o que é “menos pior” do que ser, na prática, forçada a ter milhares de terminações nervosas arrancadas com vidro quebrado?

Avaliemos uma repressão à la Marxista, do operário. João aperta parafusos numa indústria que monta motores de tratores. João não quer apertar parafusos – ninguém quer -, mas o precisa, muito embora queresse ser, digamos, compositor. Enquanto João é, na prática, obrigado a prestar serviços apertando parafusos, centenas de motores são montados e tratores remexem a terra da plantação de arroz. É este o arroz que é vendido nos supermercados e que chega às mesas das famílias. Estas famílias, portanto, comem por causa da repressão da individualiadade do João. Se intervíssemos e João se tornasse um compositor, quem iria apertar os parafusos? Consegue pensar em alguém que não sofresse repressão?

Agora pensemos em uma escola. Pense na Júlia da equipe de limpeza, que preferia estar cantando. Pense no professor Afonso, que gostaria de dirigir mais rápido, mas a estrada tem limite de velocidade. Pense na Maria, que gosta de biologia, mas está na aula de filosofia. Todos gostam e querem fazer aquilo que lhes agrada, mas têm de se conformar com aquilo que estão fazendo porque precisam seguir leis, ganhar dinheiro, passar no vestibular, e daí por diante.

Se somos todos reprimidos, o que é que acontece se, hipotéticamente, conseguíssemos intervir em tudo??



A minha resposta foi “anarquia”.

Alegria num vidrinho

“Veneno, veneno!”, foi assim que o médico descreveu 'carne' para mim. Ele é adepto da medicina chinesa, que para mim (adepta à homeopatia) é a parte alternativa da medicina alternativa, e também da tal “Dieta do Tipo Sangüineo”. Eu sou A, logo devia ser vegetariana. No entanto, sou carnívora convicta, o que, segundo o cara, é a fonte de todos os meus problemas. Todos.

Mas fora o estranhamento, o ceticismo e a ponta de raiva, ir à farmácia alternativa é sempre divertido. Na verdade, tranqüilizante. Sempre tem um stand de florais com palavras como “Medo” e “Liderança”. Parece tão simples. A vida não está tão simpática? “Alegria” ou “Depressão” cuidam disso. As notas não estão boas? “Concentração” ou “Estudante”. A carreira está indo por água abaixo? “Prosperidade Financeira”.

Esse tipo de crença é que eu queria ter. Tudo tem solução. Se não estivesse escrito em Comic Sans eu corria o risco de acreditar.

terça-feira, 28 de abril de 2009

My dog

I have a dog. A very cute, little and furry dog. I tend to neglect her according to every dog person I know, but so would you if later you had to disinfect your clothes, arms, hands and anything that might have touched the poor thing or your parents would flip with your lack of hygiene.

I occasionally do go play with her and she´s got a very soothing effect. But one thing that amuses me is that every single day, in the middle of the afternoon, she just stops running and sniffing and lies on her back on the sunny backyard. And you can only see her breathing, eyes closed, for about half or a full hour, if there´s no bird around. It´s the picture of occium. I love it.

So maybe sometime I´ll join her.

On bitterness

You know those people whose natural expression is just bitter? When they aren´t talking, listening or doing anything really, they just look like everything and everyone suck.

Bitterness is very noticeable due to the corners of the lips, that actually bend down, and the eyes that seem capable of burning.

I always hated the bitter face.

It just makes me mad.

But recently I´ve found that I´ve produced such face in more than one occasion. And that´s just plain scary.

How do I get rid of bitterness?

quinta-feira, 16 de abril de 2009

Piracy

Eu não tenho nada eticamente contra a pirataria, a razão por trás do não comprar cds piratas e não baixar músicas na internet não é a minha moral incorrompível, é o medo dos vírus e um tanto de submissão a leis nacionais. Mas uma coisa que me irrita são as propagandas anti-pirataria. Corrija-me se estou errada, mas ver como comprar dvd pirata deu o exemplo errado para o filhinho da família margarina não altera a minha visão da coisa toda. E essas propagandas não aparecem só na tv, estão no começo de quase todos os dvds com encarte em português. E são daquelas que não dá para adiantar ou ir para o menu. Delícia. E o pior de tudo é que são, de fato, dvds originais, pagos com o meu suado – nem tanto – dinheiro. Estou recebendo sermão por não fazer o condenável. Que útil.

quarta-feira, 15 de abril de 2009

Bookies

I admit, I´m lazy. Lately I have been worse than lazy, and for those of you whose book have been in my possession for longer than judged necessary, I´m sorry. If it´s any consolation I do feel guilty as hell, and if you know me you´ll know what guilt does to me.
But not only have I been lazy, I´ve also been DELUSIONAL. I´ve got, literally, a pile of books to read - some were lent, some are for school, some are books that I thought I was finally keen on reading (read: out of mum´s shelf) - and yet I went to the bookstore, just to take a look while waiting for Grandma to show up, and I couldn´t help myself. I found another book. Actually three other books, but since I´m on quite low budget, only one is now quietly resting on my nightstand, along with its fellow siblings.

My apologies, I´m sure you´re all great stories.



domingo, 22 de março de 2009

É o fim das séries??

Eu lembro de uma época distante em que eu ligava a tv no meio da tarde e assistia um Everwood velho, um The OC repetido, um Gilmore Girls... Bons tempos. Agora resolveram que investir em meia meia dúzia de séries e depois passar um moonte de filmes. Ruins ou não, eu não ligo a tv para ver filme, sinto muito.
Agora eu vou ter que arranjar um hobbie de verdade. Shit.

sábado, 14 de fevereiro de 2009

Savage I



For more savage: SavageChickens.com

Carnaval

Se existe uma época do ano que eu me sinto realmente estrangeira é o carnaval. Parece que, como o calor, a praia, o sol e o samba, todo brasileiro ama o carnaval. Mas fale honestamente, o que tem para gostar? As propagandas da Globo parecem ser sempre da mesma música. As roupas são sempre cheias de brilho, parecem desconfortáveis. As moças, sempre siliconadas, deixam pouco à imaginação. Os carros alegóricos balançam perigosamente. Os gringos invadem as praias cariocas e vão embora com a idéia de que brasileira e roupa não combinam. Superb.

A few drops of rain never killed anyone

My mum is very preoccupied with everything, always has, always will. My dad worries about safety in virtually every situation imaginable. Thus, my parents are overprotective of me. I can´t not eat a lot in every meal, I can´t step on the cold stone floor at home barefoot without someone ordering me to put some shoes on, I can´t go on our backyard – fully circled with high walls and an alarm system – at night otherwise I “would get a bad cold”, I can´t get out of the house without a jacket in the slightest sign of a colder day, I can´t generally go to places other than malls, I can´t stay up too late – too late being after ten – or my mum will start screaming about the “night rituals she has to proceed in order to get me to sleep” and sometimes mention my total lack of responsability. My dad will only tell me that´s not a smart thing to do and I´m a smart girl, which works better because it makes me feel bad specially when he speaks calmly and low – it takes a bit to make him mad, but once you do you either look at him with the same wide-eyed expression, like I do, or you tell him some utterly juvenile comment and a complaint on how much you´ve been doing, like my mum.

Every time I have seen the rain it was through a shut window or under an umbrella. Usually I´m with my mum, and she always manages to find some kind of umbrella to get us safely in the car, perfectly dry. Always. Problem is, sometimes I want to get soaked from the rain. The first time I got to do that I was in a school field trip and we were getting out of the bus when the rain started to pour, three years ago. We were dripping wet by the time we got to the museum. It was bloody fantastic.

Truth is, it wouldn´t kill me to dance in the rain, walk barefoot, go out in the cold, eat just enough to supply my nutritional needs. It might even make me happier. But I have found it is of no use to discuss the matter with them – I will always be their little girl –, even if I´ve proven to be responsible enough to take care of myself since I spent five days away from home in the Graduation trip, being outside in the rain and in the beach as much as I could, and did not come back sick or traumatised in any way people expected me to be. Another major issue with being overprotected is that people – including your parents – trust you to be a total idiot with no sense of self-preservation. They don´t think I can survive on my own, even if I am surrounded by employees, restaurants, and medical help. And I can fend for myself, thank you. I am well aware that people will not treat me like my parents do (read: spoil) and therefore am not surprised by whatever unfamiliar situation I face. I´m polite, I smile and say all the right things and usually manage to work things out.

Though I love my parents more than anything in the world, being this protected makes me want to live on my own, to get an appartment next to the university I get into and stay there, do things my way for a change – use see-through breakable glasses and white plain ceramic plates! I would come back for family dinners on weekends anyway. And that future is two years away. I take some comfort in that, eventhough mum is full of stories of how she suffered when she moved to a bigger city in a little sorority or something much like that, how she was always nervous and how Grandma had spoiled her. I guess I will suffer too, but I trust it won´t be so bad – I am less naïve than she was.

Dec 21st, 2008

quinta-feira, 5 de fevereiro de 2009

Midnight epiphany

Você certamente conhece aquela familiar sensação de que está esquecendo alguma coisa. Mas você já acordou com ela?
Não sei muito bem o quão revolucionárias eram as minha idéias semi-conscientes de madrugada, principalmente porque eu não consigo lembrar de nenhuma, mas eu tinha certeza absoluta que ficariam comigo até o amanhecer. Acho que essa sensação é mais ou menos comum não é?
Diálogo mental:
-Será que eu levanto e pego uma caneta, um papel e ligo a luz? (suspiro/bocejo)
-Tá maluca? Você vai queimar as suas retinas depois de tanto tempo no escuro! Além disso, está quentinho, amanhã tem aula, você tem que ir dormir. AGORA.
-Tá bom, tá bom. Mas você tem que admitir que é uma ÓTIMA idéia.
-Lógico. Amanhã você anota. Boa noite.
-Boa noite.
O que sempre resulta num "NAAAAO!" na manhã seguinte. Sempre.
Já tentei fazer ligações mentais do gênero: Escrever-Blog-AssuntoX-FotoY, o que piorou a situação consideravelmente, porque daí eu conseguia lembrar PARTE do que eu tinha pensado, não o suficiente para deduzir o resto, só o suficiente para eu lembrar de que eram ótimas idéias.
Então eu tinha adotado a política do "Não vamos complicar o que pode ser simplificado" e coloquei um bloquinho na mesa de cabeceira. Consciencia tranqüila, fui dormir. Sonhei. Algo bom. Algo revolucionário. A idéia que uniria a humanidade, talvez. Acordei um pouco antes do sol nascer, eu acho. Rabisquei no bloquinho, nem me dei ao trabalho de ligar a luz porque tinha que aproveitar o que parecia ser minha última hora de sono.
Obviamente a caneta estava sem tinta.

mb

Playing: "New Slang" The Shins; "A moving script ending" Death Cab for Cutie (não pergunte)

quarta-feira, 21 de janeiro de 2009

The Day the Earth Stood Still

The Day the Earth Stood Still (***)

It contains spoilers.

After seeing its trailer, with all the special effects, known actors and terrific soundtrack, I was convinced I would love this movie.

It does have a very interesting point of view – this is not our planet. It should make you think about how badly you´re destroying this innocent green and blue Earth and that we should rethink our lifestyle and priorities if we intend on keep living. Problem is, yes, we should rethink what we´re doing, but how are we supposed to change it? The movie is of no help in that matter, it just thriggers guilt.

However, before we begin to remember all of mankind attrocities, we are shown just how destructive and violent we really are. Much in a The Host way, I must add. Isn´t it shocking how when an enourmous globe of shiny allien gas appears in Central Park the first thing we see are dozens of armed men and women, aiming at it? Even more astonishing: when an allien life-form comes walking out of that big sphere and almost shakes hand with the pretty human astrobiologist we shoot at it? We get this close to knowing for sure that we are not alone in the universe and before any hostile action we shoot at it??

And, though I have lapsed into using the pronoun “it”, after it takes a human form and speaks English, he´s a “he” not a “it”. (Which is one of those details that brought me to swear out loud in The Host and this movie and pretty much any other fiction on Alliens I´ve known.) Another interesting non-Let´s-save-the-Earth aspect is that even though it is an American production, it´s got some nice criticism concerning the Americans´ rather egocentric mind – clear on the dialog between K- and the U.S. Secretary of Defense when he asks her if she speaks for the entire human race.

The story rolls in an odd rhythm, things are happening to the world, some people are concerned, others relieved, but it seems that the allien is pretty easily convinced of the other side of the humans´ destructive behavior. He leaves. The only people who know they have to change the human attitute towards the planet are Helen (an important professor but not what I would call influent on global affairs), Jacob (the boy whose biological parents are dead and who is incredibly merceless regarding the allien and surprisingly merceful regarding the human annoying cop), the Nobel prize winner (let´s cross our fingers), and the possibly dead scientist who works for the government (and who was threatened to be replaced should he not oblige to the President´s orders). So much for change...

Overall, interesting idea, beautifully shot, virtually soundtrack-less, good dialogs, and no conclusion or further insight what-so-ever.


January 14th, 2009

You Suck – A Love Story " by Christopher Moore

I got this absurdly expensive and a bit worn-out novel the other day, attracted by the big red letters and cute fangs, thinking it would be a nice break from all the dramas I´ve been reading and still be about vampires.

The story revolves around Tommy and Jody. Jody has been a vampire for a few months and turned her boyfriend Tommy, who did not like the surprise. They now have to survive life in San Francisco living in the dark night and dropping dead during the day, and still getting their Christmas´ presents, cleaning their loft and doing all normal stuff people usually do in less than half the time – with the minor change on their diet and having to run away from an old creepy vampire and the cops who are after him.

It is what it promised to be: funny, a bit creepy, and lovely. Felt a little bit like reading Douglas Adams, everything seems real even if it´s totally absurd – and I´m not referring to the supernatural side. Apart from the vampire story and the surprising enlightment on the female psyche, the book tells the story of the Animals and the Emperor, the first being either a representation of a reality I´ve been fiercely protected from by parents and teachers or an utter exaggeration by a very skeptical author. Speaking of skepticism, let´s get to the female psyche again: he tells Jody´s story, how she feels so relieved now that she´s the predator and she doesn´t have to worry about the dark shadow in the corner or being alone in a random alley; he tells the story of Blue, a blue hooker who was probably the first woman I ever considered a real bitch; in a drama-less, dark-humor manner he tells Abby/Allison´s story, and how she suppresses all perkiness or excitement and forces depression in its place simply because she wants to look different; he even mentions briefly the life of Jody´s mom, a woman who would like to live in perfection even though her husband left her and her daughter didn´t go to Stanford. If you couldn´t care less about vampires or love stories, you should at least take a look in Chris Moore´s descriptions of his characters.

Even if I was not at all pleased with the ending - I should have seen it coming –, a nice light reading with a bit of love and money and eye liner and blood with all the gory details. Looking forward to A Dirty Job.

January 12th, 2009

Oh! I´ve just found out that You Suck – A Love Story is a continuing for Bloodsucking Fiends, so I´ll get more Jody stories! Unfortunately, all very very expensive if ever found in Brazilian bookstores. But oh well.
If you´re interested, the sequence is: Bloodsucking Fiends, You Suck, A Dirty Job – but I´ve been told reading in order is not really necessary.

January 17th, 2009

(4 stars)