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...
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)
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.
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
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.
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)
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
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?