Deixa Que...

Hoje na praia eu vi e escutei, em cores e alto e bom som, o que é a doença deste país. Sentado sob minha barraca, assistia uma senhora de uns cinquenta e muitos e sua filha de vinte e poucos juntando seus pertences para encerrarem seu dia sob o sol escaldante da Barra. Sobrou, como de praxe, um montinho de lixo contendo copos de mate, sacos de biscoito Globo, cocos e outros detritos. Eis que escuto o seguinte diálogo:

Filha: Pega esses copos aí que eu pego o resto!
Mãe: Ah, deixe que os caras fazem isso!

Com essas sete palavrinhas, esse senhora resumiu, com eloquência, a atitude que domina grande maioria do povo brasileiro. E graças a Deus, posso escrever aqui a palavra "maioria" porque a própria filha dela se encarregou de catar o lixo. Ainda assim, nada mais me espanta; nem a total falta de consciência, respeito e classe da senhora (não somente dela) e nem o tradicional descaso com o meio ambiente. Aliás, pobres praias do Rio que são obrigadas a suportar essa gente porca e folgada que é o carioca. Mas isso é outra história...

O tema aqui é o "deixa que". Sina mor dessa gente que assiste, impassível e incólume, a extinção de tudo que é digno e essencial ao bem-estar de uma sociedade. É um defeito que varre a população em geral, desde o mais pobre, que às vezes parece não se interessar em aprimorar a própria existência (leia-se aqui PREGUIÇA para se instruir e se educar), até o mais rico, que lamentavelmente adota uma postura de desinteresse devido ao seu poder aquisitivo (leia-se aqui PREGUIÇA para usar de seu arsenal financeiro no melhoramento das instituições que regem este país).

E assim...

Deixa que o outro faz.
Deixa que o outro paga.
Deixa que o outro sofre.
Deixa que o outro pega.
Deixa que o outro reclama.
Deixa que o outro fala.
Deixa que o outro vota.
Deixa que o outro chora.
Deixa que o outro deixa.......

Eis que, deixando para o próximo, deixando para depois, o Brasil é largado às traças, exposto aos ladrões e aproveitadores, todos da mesma laia, que se proliferam nas favelas, passando por todas as classes e culminando escandalosamente no governo.

Mas não os culpem não! Não me venham dizer que o problema deste país é a corrupção e a incompetência de nossos governantes! O problema deste país é que temos 180 milhões de OVELHAS que, lideradas por absolutamente ninguém, se permitem serem encaminhadas placidamente a um penhasco. Isto sim é a maior vergonha.

Continents and Climates

Another picture taken by me (I took the one below as well but you wouldn´t know it if you don´t speak portuguese), this one in Segovia, Spain. Since I'm being cooked by the Rio de Janeiro heat here, I thought I would change continents and climates. So, you think I have a chance as a photographer?

Silhueta

Entre luz e sombra, qual oferece mais conteúdo?
A luz é o deleite dos olhos.
A sombra decora a imaginação.
Ou será a silhueta, que te dá um pouquinho de cada?

(Foto tirada por mim - a primeira de muitas que mostrarei aqui. Espero que gostem.)

A Second Chance

And a third. And a fourth. And a sixty-fourth, if necessary! Because good music is not necessarily the one that immediately pleases your ears. It´s the one that makes you think a little harder, listen a little harder, so that ultimately you might rise and fall a little harder. It doesn´t invade, it asks permission - and even in that, within all the sound, it does so in a silent manner. It begs for another "PLAY", even if it is not the center of attention. And it is often here that it makes itself heard more intensely, more meticulously. Soon enough, you are delicately assaulted by a pulsing of pitch, rhythm, melody and harmony in such a manner that it becomes addictive. It becomes essential. It inspires. It enslaves you and sets you free at the same time.

Several bands have afforded me such pleasures, from giants of music like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and the Beatles to lesser known bands such as Marillion and not-yet-giants Coldplay or the Dave Matthews Band. They have all contributed to my undeniable awe of music´s capacities and influences.

Lately, and may I say that this is the reason for this particular blog, it is Radiohead which impresses me. I purchased "OK Computer" a while ago, based simply on word-of-mouth and musical reviews. Listened to it once. Listened to it twice, three times and declared it a "dissapointment". A few kilos of dust later, pulled it out again and threw it on the CD player for a little aural entertainment as I busied myself with other tasks. And then, ladies and gentleman, I urge you to re-read the first paragraph. Must I say more?

Eletricidade

Uma rotina vital de microchoques
Dedos pueris futucando tomadas à procura
Certas vezes nos acostumamos com a eletricidade
Torna-se despercebida e mundana, ou talvez anestésica
Baixando uma cortina sobre desconfortos maiores
Nos acomodamos, nos iludimos na calmaria
Despertados por um pico de energia
Sobrecarregados os sentidos, lamentamos, reclamamos...

Injustiça!
Pois que fique registrada minha gratidão.
A queda de um raio é mesmo fundamental, não?

Korean Monster

Aside from the booms, bangs and crashes, the laughs and giggles, the sighs and tears, a few select movies originating from the four corners of the planet have as their primary objective the exploration of the human psyche, both at its best and at its worst. Some would say, pardoning the clichê, that these movies investigate the soul.

There seems to be, and understandably so, a perduring tendency for the movie industry to focus on the "feel-good" aspects, portraying beauty, love, decency, virtue and the likes. But I ask you: How great is it when it all turns sour? Isn´t it a fantastic experience - and a satisfyingly unexpected one - when all hell breaks loose and reality hits the fan?

OLDBOY: A Korean movie which slowly crept into my "to watch" list. It is no masterpiece, it is no technological marvel, it is no great cinematographic feat. Yet, as I sat down to watch it, I could not imagine what was in store for me in the subsequent two hours. Scary to think that such a story could ever be concatenated in somebody´s head, but there it was. I will not give away the plot, as it deserves to be absorbed and deciphered individually, but please allow me to attempt a synthesis of its essence:

A monster is let loose from the depths of the mind.

The Human Flapjack

Flip over, on your stomach. Flip again, on your back. Turn to the left. Turn to the right. Shift your head on the pillow. Shift it back. Put your arms under the pillow. Take one out. Take both out. Slide your leg up. Slide it back down. Cross it over the other one. Flip over, on your stomach. Flip again, on your back. Ah, you´re getting the idea now...

Tired yet?

Well, imagine doing this for H O U R S. Welcome to the wonderful world of insomnia! Oh, if you ever get there, don´t fret. I'm right there with you! In fact, I'm there RIGHT NOW!! Isn´t it thrilling?

It´s now nearly 4 AM. I have to be up just over 2 hours. Any ideas which don´t involve pills, alcohol, or a sledgehammer to the back of the head?

HEEEEEEEEEEEEELP MEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

By A Nose...

Another classic comedic scene worth transcribing...

This one comes from the movie "Roxanne", with Steve Martin and Daryl Hannah. Based on the play "Cyrano de Bergerac", it tells the story C.D. Bales (Martin), a man who is charming with the women, who demonstrates an impressive intellect, who is well-liked by nearly everyone, but whose most evident characteristic is his hideously immense nose.
Mocked at a bar in town by a drunken barfly with the IQ of asparagus - Big Nose! the man says - C.D. takes on the challenge of exposing the creative potential of being face to face with such a frightening facial feature. Twenty jokes is the bet, but Martin´s character outdoes himself in this scene!

- C.D. Bales:

Obvious: Excuse me. Is that your nose or did a bus park on your face?
Meteorological: Everybody take cover! She's going to blow!
Fashionable: You know, you could de-emphasize your nose if you wore something larger. Like ... Wyoming.
Personal: Well, here we are. Just the three of us.
Punctual: Alright Dellman... Your nose was on time but you were fifteen minutes late!
Envious: Oooo, I wish I were you! Gosh... To be able to smell your own ear!
Naughty: Pardon me, Sir. Some of the ladies have asked if you wouldn't mind putting that thing away.
Philosophical: You know... It's not the size of a nose that's important. It's what's in it that matters.
Humorous: Laugh and the world laughs with you. Sneeze and it's goodbye Seattle!
Commercial: Hi, I'm Earl Scheib and I can paint that nose for $39.95!
Polite: Ah... Would you mind not bobbing your head? The orchestra keeps changing tempo.
Melodic: Everybody! "He's got the whole world in his nose."
Sympathetic: Oh, What happened? Did your parents lose a bet with God?
Complimentary: You must love the little birdies to give them this to perch on.
Scientific: Say, does that thing there influence the tides?
Obscure: Oh, I'd hate to see the grindstone.
Inquiry: When you stop to smell the flowers, are they afraid?
French: Say, the pigs have refused to find any more truffles until you leave!
Pornographic: Finally, a man who can satisfy two women at once!
Religious: The Lord giveth and He just kept on giving, didn't He?!
Disgusting: Say, who mows your nose hair?
Paranoid: Keep that guy away from my cocaine!
Aromatic: It must be wonderful to wake up in the morning and smell the coffee ... in Brazil.
Appreciative: Oooo, how original. Most people just have their teeth capped.
Dirty: Your name wouldn't be... Dick, would it?

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

Christmas Done Right

Santa Claus must have some sort of advanced, built-in cooling system within his red coat and trousers. How else could the lovable old furball (sorry kids!) support the Rio de Janeiro summer heat?! It should be, as always is, somewhere around "hot as all hell" when he flies overhead and drops into each house with his bundle of gifts. Speaking of which, in a tropical climate such as this, there are very few chimneys - the old man must have on hell of a keychain! But that´s another subject altogether...

The point is this: A White Christmas is magical. And unless it starts raining talc here, Christmas (Xmas for short) in Rio will always be "just-short-of-magical". I mean, it´s all rather unnatural down here. Want examples? Here´s a short list:

1. Snow - And that would be WHAT again?

2. Pine Trees - Sure, we have the fake ones which we decorate yearly, but if I had to see a pine tree right now I would have to pack.

3. Santa´s "apparel" - The clothes and hat scream heat-stroke. The sleigh is something not far from extra-terrestrial for most brazilians.

4. Jingle Bells - Everybody here sings it (in portuguese!), nobody here knows what the hell it means.

And that´s just the tip of the iceberg. Or, considering the sun and beach for which Brazil is known, maybe I should say "the tip of the sand dune".

On the other hand is New York City. I'll tell you right now: If you ever have the chance, take your family and spend two or three weeks in NYC, Xmas included (just leave before New Year´s - 500,000 people watching a ball drop is about the most foolish thing I've ever heard of). I promise you, it will be unforgetable. Why, you ask?

Cold weather and snow, coats and scarves and mittens, choirs and Xmas Carols, ice sculptures, Xmas trees, lights and decoration everywhere, eggnog, toys, street Santas, Rudolph and Frosty, chimneys and cookies and glasses of milk, Xmas stockings, candy canes, a White Xmas, and a partridge in a pear tree! Just to name a few...

You know what it is? CONTAGIOUS. That´s what it is. There is no escaping it. It penetrates deep inside your heart, it reminds you of what are the truly important things in life, it just makes you feel good all over.

I had eleven such "Chrismasses". I miss each and every one of them. I hope someday my kids will have the opportunity to discover what I was lucky enough to experience. Every kid should. And the big kid now writing these words would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Merry Christmas

Biloxi Blues

Just finished watching - far from it being the first time, mind you - Neil Simon´s World War II bootcamp comedy "Biloxi Blues", with Matthew Broderick. Besides Broderick and his character (Private Eugene Morris Jerome), which seem to have been taylor-made for each other, the scene involves a sublime Christopher Walken (Sgt. Merwin J. Toomey) as the psichotic drill sargent, and an animalistic, neanderthal-like, but disciplined and exemplary foot-soldier (Private Joseph Wykowski), played by Matt Mulhern.

As usual, nearly had myself a collapsed lung at this following conversation:

-Sgt. Toomey: Enjoy your meal now, you hear?

-Pvt. Jerome: (mocking) Enjoy your meal now, you hear? That´s good. Hominy pigs and black-pea eyeballs. I've got to make you men strong because tonight we´re going to march the entire platoon off of a 3,000 ft cliff. Dying makes a man out of you. I died in the war. They had me cremated. The ashes were buried right here in my head.

-Pvt. Wykowski: You think it´s funny, Jerome?

-Pvt. Jerome: No, I think you´re funny, Wykowski. You forgot to eat the aluminum tray.

Why is it that certain playwrights, such as Neil Simon, for starters, have such a masterful mind for comedy? If not in "Biloxi Blues, take as another example his "Brighton Beach Memoirs", in which the first half of the play/movie is a comedic assault! You may or may not find what you read above as being funny, but Simon´s comedy is, at the very least, clever! On the other hand, comedy these days seems, in many cases, like it comes out of an assembly line. Very little is new, very little is intelligent, and most of all, very little is funny.
They certainly don´t make playwrights like they used to...

Até Amanhã

Iluminado pela escuridão
Vendo as pálpebras por dentro
Alcançado pela sombra
Caindo rumo ao teto
Enfim...

Hospedado numa quarta dimensão
Enclausurado na imensidão
Impossibilitado do não
Enamorado pelo breu
Enfim...

Esquecido pelo tempo
Abandonado pelo eterno
Acorrentado ao nada
Enganado pela verdade física
Enfim o começo...

Enfim o sonho.

The Dream Between My Legs

Easy now... Don´t go brewing perversions in your head. I am merely referring to a dream of mine - one which did not exactly begin in childhood, but came about within the past five years or so - which, hopefully, will soon be coming true.
Despite the warnings and the scenarios of carnage firmly implanted in my head by those against the realization of this dream, I WILL purchase a motorbike in the very near future.

The bike? A Yamaha Drag Star XVS 650. A dream between my legs! If you want to see it, check it out at the site: www.yamaha-motor.com.br

I just read a (future) fellow Drag Star owner´s blog about his 1700 km trip from São Paulo to Cuiabá and was hypnotized. The motor´s powerful purring under the seat, the soft laid-back ride, the wind on your chest (I won´t say "face" because a helmet will be glued to me at all times) and, according to the blog, all eyes and ears on you... Not to mention the fact that there seems to be a sort of admiration, a kind of respect, on the part of those bound to four wheels and windshields.

And as I write this, I get more and more excited! Feels like I've been infected by some rather persuasive parasite - nobody can take my mind off of this dream! But just before I start playing my own role in "Easy Rider", something fundamental has to be said:

I hope that I may always have the conscience that I am indeed in a quite perilous position, in a huge and unforgiving city, surrounded by larger, more numerous and usually angry vehicles. And I pray that there is always someone, or something, to watch over me as I two-wheel my way into bliss.

Idiots Beware!

The image of a british man in a McDonald´s a year ago is forever engraved in my mind. Why, you ask? Well, this man was neon pink. And I don´t mean that figuratively. He was NEON PINK. Courtesy of the Rio de Janeiro sun.

Under his cap, his face looked nearly paralyzed. Under his t-shirt, his body seemed to be permanently grafted to a clothes-hanger - you know, like when you move in such a manner to allow as little contact as possible between your skin and your clothes. This guy was fresh out of the beach and he was already in pain. I can only imagine what his next three days were like... Or maybe not. I am presently getting a glimpse.

Someday I WILL learn. Someday I will behave differently from the british fool. But not yesterday. I went to the beach yesterday and, thanks to a nice, cool, steady wind to bring down the temperature, underestimated the intensity of the ultraviolet rays. The result? It hurts to smile. It hurts to put on or take off a shirt. It hurts to shift around in bed. It hurts to be so eternally stupid.

This is NOT the first time that I've done this. It´s happened a couple of times before. But since the last time, about two years ago, I had decided that I would never let it happen again. Sunscreen would be a must, regardless of the heat. And up until yesterday, I had been very faithful to my resolve.

Yesterday, however, was the first sunny day after nearly three weeks of incessant rain. It was the first chance to erase the bright-white from my face. And boy, did I make the best of it or what!?

So here I sit, incandescent, in obvious discomfort and above all, feeling foolish.

Got a Map?

Ladies and gentleman, I'm afraid I'm the bearer of terrible news. Alright, this actually isn´t news to anyone, but there is no way on earth that I would let this one slide:

GEORGE W. BUSH IS THE VILLAGE IDIOT.

Village, you ask? Yes, village. This is, after all, the way he treats the world. It´s his little town, he´s the big sheriff and his word is the law. As for the "idiot" part, I assume that nobody needs to ask. In either case, prepare your eyes, for you are about to read something which can only be described as surreal!

It seems that at the Brazil/U.S. Summit this past weekend, Mr. Bush needed a little geographical question answered. The question?

WHERE IS THE AMAZON BASIN?

As I type this preposterous phrase, I'm suddenly at a lost for words. How is it possible that the "leader of the free world", the "most powerful man on earth" as we've all heard before, does not have a clue as to where the world´s largest rainforest and one of the planet´s biggest issues for DECADES is located!!!

Please, this isn´t like searching a map for a little middle-eastern town (to annihilate...) This is a chunk of land several times larger than his home state of Texas!

And this is the man with the I.Q. of 92, with the itchy trigger-finger, with God in his pocket, with the planet´s future in his hands.

God help us.

Soap!

This one goes out to almost all brazilians...

I HATE SOAP OPERAS.

If you are brazilian and you are reading this, let me translate: EU ODEIO NOVELA. Why this sudden attack? Because, for lack of something better to do and to get myself a good laugh, I was stuck watching the final episode of Brazil´s favorite soap opera last night. So I thought: What better idea for a blog than to crucify, even if just for my own enjoyment, such a excruciatingly foolish brazilian tradition?

For starters, let´s go directly to the problematic heart of the matter. The very essence of soaps is ridiculous! You have a pathetic, overly sentimental, highly improbable story which, every six months or so (at least here in Brazil), gives its primetime slot up for the next pathetic, overly sentimental and highly improbable story. It´s a neverending cycle of the same annoying plot being told in a slightly different manner. Nothing is ever new!

In second place, the acting. OH GOD, THE ACTING. Of course, before I go anywhere with this, I must say that there are phenomenally talented and potentially award-winning actors in Brazil (like Fernanda Montenegro, who was nominated for an academy award a few years ago) and that many of them take part in these soaps. HOWEVER...
It seems there is a tendency (or should I say, insistence) for casting to be done on the basis of looks rather than talent. Again, there are exceptions, but let´s stick to the crucification. So let´s take, for example, the female lead (yes folks, I said LEAD!): She needs to know that dialogue is not made more intense or more dramatic if one whispers! And whispering is all she does, no matter what the character or the story demands. If this is what the leading actress does, imagine the cascade of bad acting below her! A bunch of pretty faces on empty heads which can best be summarized by "overacting, underacting or NO acting".

The third complaint is not in reference to the content, but to the effect it has on the public. It is preposterous that an entire country should be paralyzed by something so useless. And I use the word useless to illustrate the fact that the soaps have no informational value whatsoever! Once again, the exception to the rule resides in that there are "public messages" incorporated into the dialogue (for example, donate blood and organs, save energy and water, or things of the sort). But for the most part, what would be a fantastic chance to feed knowledge to a large portion of a largely uneducated population is instead a factory for stupidity.

Well, in my fury I could go on forever, but I will limit myself to dream of a future without soaps. As this seems to be next to impossible, my alternative is none other than to just crawl back into my distaste for brazilian television.