Vida..........
Se faz de magia..........
..........Magia se faz de imaginação
Imaginação se faz de liberdade..........
..........Liberdade se faz coragem
Coragem se faz de força..........
..........Força se faz de crença
Crença se faz de segurança..........
..........Segurança se faz de paz
Paz se faz de educação..........
..........Educação se faz de conhecimento
Conhecimento se faz de vontade..........
..........Vontade se faz de necessidade
Necessidade se faz de perseverança..........
..........Perseverança se faz de amor próprio
Amor próprio se faz de humildade..........
..........Humildade se faz de honestidade
Honestidade se faz de carinho..........
..........Carinho se faz de apreço
Apreço se faz de poder..........
..........Poder se faz de jovialidade
Jovialidade se faz de possibilidade..........
..........Possibilidade se faz de expansividade
Expansividade se faz de calma..........
..........Calma se faz de alegria
Alegria se faz de beleza..........
..........Beleza se faz de
..........Vida
sábado, junho 23, 2007
quinta-feira, junho 21, 2007
The Motorcycle Diaries
Reality Check I:
Today, I assisted in a physical therapy session of a 28 year-old man with a tragic story - one that hit home pretty hard. Coming around a corner on the highway, a sad excuse for a human being with an astronomical blood-alcohol level and big car failed to stay in his own lane and plowed into him at some 100 km/h. It would have been a bad accident had this patient been in a car as well. Not so lucky... He was on his Harley-Davidson 883 Sport motorcycle, doing his own 70 or 80 km/h.
The result? He had his right arm amputated on impact, severe nerve damage to his lower left leg (irreversible, in case you don't know) and spent a month in a coma. Today, I watched him struggling to tie his shoes with his remaining left hand and hobble out the door with a cane which will be his partner for life.
Reality Check II:
Riding my own motorcycle home tonight in heavy traffic, I came to a fork on the road. Making a soft right turn at the fork, going some 50 km/h and following a car in the middle lane, the left lane opened up completely. I proceded to accelerate and pull out to the left lane to pass him. At that exact moment, he decided he was on the wrong side of the fork and threw his vehicle to the left, only a couple of meters ahead of my front tire.
In a fraction of a second, I hit the brakes hard and nearly lost control, skidding both right and left with front and rear wheels. My motorcycle is big, bulky, not very maneuverable, and to have maintained it upright was, if I may say so, pretty impressive of me. Had I gone down, things would have certainly been ugly. The guy driving the car obviously did not see me and apologized profusely after the near collision, which, if it weren´t for my pounding heart and my trembling legs, would have made me forget that anything had even happened.
Mind you, the point here is not to illustrate what a good motorcyclist I am and how quick and accurate my reactions are. Quite the contrary: It doesn´t matter that I am (or my patient above was) a good, conscious motorcyclist with good reflexes.
What matters is - and the truth of this is quite a bit more drastic when you're sitting on a motorcycle - that life is, in essence, a one-ton weight hanging off a piece of string. And more often than not, someone else has the scissors.
Today, I assisted in a physical therapy session of a 28 year-old man with a tragic story - one that hit home pretty hard. Coming around a corner on the highway, a sad excuse for a human being with an astronomical blood-alcohol level and big car failed to stay in his own lane and plowed into him at some 100 km/h. It would have been a bad accident had this patient been in a car as well. Not so lucky... He was on his Harley-Davidson 883 Sport motorcycle, doing his own 70 or 80 km/h.
The result? He had his right arm amputated on impact, severe nerve damage to his lower left leg (irreversible, in case you don't know) and spent a month in a coma. Today, I watched him struggling to tie his shoes with his remaining left hand and hobble out the door with a cane which will be his partner for life.
Reality Check II:
Riding my own motorcycle home tonight in heavy traffic, I came to a fork on the road. Making a soft right turn at the fork, going some 50 km/h and following a car in the middle lane, the left lane opened up completely. I proceded to accelerate and pull out to the left lane to pass him. At that exact moment, he decided he was on the wrong side of the fork and threw his vehicle to the left, only a couple of meters ahead of my front tire.
In a fraction of a second, I hit the brakes hard and nearly lost control, skidding both right and left with front and rear wheels. My motorcycle is big, bulky, not very maneuverable, and to have maintained it upright was, if I may say so, pretty impressive of me. Had I gone down, things would have certainly been ugly. The guy driving the car obviously did not see me and apologized profusely after the near collision, which, if it weren´t for my pounding heart and my trembling legs, would have made me forget that anything had even happened.
Mind you, the point here is not to illustrate what a good motorcyclist I am and how quick and accurate my reactions are. Quite the contrary: It doesn´t matter that I am (or my patient above was) a good, conscious motorcyclist with good reflexes.
What matters is - and the truth of this is quite a bit more drastic when you're sitting on a motorcycle - that life is, in essence, a one-ton weight hanging off a piece of string. And more often than not, someone else has the scissors.
terça-feira, junho 19, 2007
Bodymusic
Sometime today, I will have to stop what it is I'm doing, go to a mirror in my house and verify that it is I who reflects back. Why? Because something rather strange occurred today:
I made the unlikely purchase of Madonna's "Confessions On A Dance Floor" album.
Before all you macho clowns start jeering me with your sly remarks about possibles variations in my sexual preferences, let me reaffirm my taste for women, and women only. Yes, as absurd as it may seem, 7 years into the 21st century, there are still those who might find fodder for their insecurity kicks in the mere purchase of a CD. But enough of me defending myself for crimes I don´t commit.
What makes my purchase strange is that one or fifteen years ago, it would have never happened. Madonna has been a constant in the Top 40 for the past two decades, which, in itself, would be more than enough reason for me to cringe. Mind you that I recognize Madonna's "chameleonic" talents and that she is unquestionably a artist who deserves the utmost respect, love her or hate her. But Top 40 isn´t my thing, never has been. I'm a classic rock junkie with a recent tendency for electronic sounds. This recent tendency is where "Confessions..." falls in.
I have learned, as you may or may not have seen from my previous posts, to value new and different aspects of music. Whereas before, music had to reach me at both mental and physical levels, these days I'm equally satisfied when it drives me to a heavy night of shaking my bones.
"Bodymusic", I call it.
Not that I have forgotten or laid aside my previous tastes in music - quite the contrary. Instead or repainting my horizons, I have merely expanded the canvas to fit new colors. This, by the way, is a very cool feeling. I needed the change of scenery...
I've said it once and I'll say it again: Almost all music deserves a chance (almost = everyone has their limit and I'm no different). So, Madonna got her chance with me. And here I am, typing and bouncing to the sound of "I Love New York".
I made the unlikely purchase of Madonna's "Confessions On A Dance Floor" album.
Before all you macho clowns start jeering me with your sly remarks about possibles variations in my sexual preferences, let me reaffirm my taste for women, and women only. Yes, as absurd as it may seem, 7 years into the 21st century, there are still those who might find fodder for their insecurity kicks in the mere purchase of a CD. But enough of me defending myself for crimes I don´t commit.
What makes my purchase strange is that one or fifteen years ago, it would have never happened. Madonna has been a constant in the Top 40 for the past two decades, which, in itself, would be more than enough reason for me to cringe. Mind you that I recognize Madonna's "chameleonic" talents and that she is unquestionably a artist who deserves the utmost respect, love her or hate her. But Top 40 isn´t my thing, never has been. I'm a classic rock junkie with a recent tendency for electronic sounds. This recent tendency is where "Confessions..." falls in.
I have learned, as you may or may not have seen from my previous posts, to value new and different aspects of music. Whereas before, music had to reach me at both mental and physical levels, these days I'm equally satisfied when it drives me to a heavy night of shaking my bones.
"Bodymusic", I call it.
Not that I have forgotten or laid aside my previous tastes in music - quite the contrary. Instead or repainting my horizons, I have merely expanded the canvas to fit new colors. This, by the way, is a very cool feeling. I needed the change of scenery...
I've said it once and I'll say it again: Almost all music deserves a chance (almost = everyone has their limit and I'm no different). So, Madonna got her chance with me. And here I am, typing and bouncing to the sound of "I Love New York".
quinta-feira, junho 14, 2007
Quote of the Month
"God made alcohol as a social lubricant... To make men brave and to make women loose"
quarta-feira, junho 13, 2007
Dia dos Bitolados
O dia 12 de Junho comemora, anualmente, o "acefalismo" de namorados e namoradas pelos quatro cantos deste imenso Brasil. É como se batesse uma palermice geral e avassaladora na população e, subitamente, milhões e milhões de homens e mulheres lotam restaurantes e moteis como se nestes teriam as últimas refeições e relações de suas vidas.
Estou falando, é claro, do DIA DOS NAMORADOS, ou como eu mesmo melhor defini, DIA DOS BITOLADOS. Por quê este mal humor? Bem, vamos por partes:
Seria uma maravilha se a população percebesse esta data pelo que ela realmente é. Não são os namorados que comemoram. É o comércio que comemora! De repente, há uma invasão de lojas, restaurantes e moteis, e desanda a chover dinheiro. Ou seja, para os donos dos estabelecimentos que de alguma forma lucram com tudo isso, não é dia dos namorados - É NATAL!
Além disso, tamanha é a loucura que permeia os coraçõezinhos apaixonados que estes são capazes de, depois de enfrentar longas esperas para jantar, entrar numa fila descomunal de carros para esperar que outros coraçõezinhos apaixonados terminem de transar num quarto de motel para, em seguida, tomar seus lugares. É uma "linha de montagem de sexo"! Convenhamos que é uma cena positivamente esdrúxula, não?
O resultado disso tudo é de uma cafonice ímpar! Sim, é CAFONA! Cafona por ser artificial, por ser baseado em algo que não nasce da vontade e sim da obrigação. Perde-se, quase por completo, o sentido de romantismo. A data do ano que deveria ser a mais romântica é tudo menos.
É também anti-higiênico. Ou você realmente acredita que as camareiras dos moteis conseguem acompanhar o rítmo frenético de tantos acéfalos? Reconheço que não é uma cena lá muito bonita de se imaginar, mas recuso-me a acreditar que diante do tsunami sexual que invade os moteis, estas sejam capazes de realizar suas funções satisfatoriamente.
Não seria melhor se cada casal escolhesse por conta própria uma data qualquer, diferente do aniversário de namoro, para comemorar seu "dia dos namorados"? Ou ainda melhor, se numa quarta feira perdida um dos dois decidisse, sem aviso prévio, que faria daquela quarta feira o dia dos namorados deles? Isto, sim, seria romântico. Isto, sim, seria merecedor do título de "dia dos namorados".
Estou falando, é claro, do DIA DOS NAMORADOS, ou como eu mesmo melhor defini, DIA DOS BITOLADOS. Por quê este mal humor? Bem, vamos por partes:
Seria uma maravilha se a população percebesse esta data pelo que ela realmente é. Não são os namorados que comemoram. É o comércio que comemora! De repente, há uma invasão de lojas, restaurantes e moteis, e desanda a chover dinheiro. Ou seja, para os donos dos estabelecimentos que de alguma forma lucram com tudo isso, não é dia dos namorados - É NATAL!
Além disso, tamanha é a loucura que permeia os coraçõezinhos apaixonados que estes são capazes de, depois de enfrentar longas esperas para jantar, entrar numa fila descomunal de carros para esperar que outros coraçõezinhos apaixonados terminem de transar num quarto de motel para, em seguida, tomar seus lugares. É uma "linha de montagem de sexo"! Convenhamos que é uma cena positivamente esdrúxula, não?
O resultado disso tudo é de uma cafonice ímpar! Sim, é CAFONA! Cafona por ser artificial, por ser baseado em algo que não nasce da vontade e sim da obrigação. Perde-se, quase por completo, o sentido de romantismo. A data do ano que deveria ser a mais romântica é tudo menos.
É também anti-higiênico. Ou você realmente acredita que as camareiras dos moteis conseguem acompanhar o rítmo frenético de tantos acéfalos? Reconheço que não é uma cena lá muito bonita de se imaginar, mas recuso-me a acreditar que diante do tsunami sexual que invade os moteis, estas sejam capazes de realizar suas funções satisfatoriamente.
Não seria melhor se cada casal escolhesse por conta própria uma data qualquer, diferente do aniversário de namoro, para comemorar seu "dia dos namorados"? Ou ainda melhor, se numa quarta feira perdida um dos dois decidisse, sem aviso prévio, que faria daquela quarta feira o dia dos namorados deles? Isto, sim, seria romântico. Isto, sim, seria merecedor do título de "dia dos namorados".
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