30 de nov de 2012

Escândalo em Sciences Po!

Não que alguém mais se importe com ScPo, mas achei têressantzi saber que tá rolando uma major crisis lá. O M. Descoigns era uma figura bem interessante e, certamente, um líder carismático, mas como se trata de uma escola, não achei que fosse rolar esse caos depois da morte dele. Apesar da história toda ser preocupante e talz, eu curto uns babados, so..

A campus tale in Paris

A management scandal at Sciences-Po could undo its global ambitions

Flags drooping on the left bank

IT IS rare for a tale of academic mismanagement in a small institution to grab national attention. But Sciences-Po is no ordinary university. The four most recent French presidents, including François Hollande, studied there. In the heart of the Parisian left bank, it attracts top-rated students and staff. And it has been without a head since its former director, Richard Descoings, died suddenly in April in a New York hotel room.
Now a report on Sciences-Po by the national auditor that talks of “management failure” and “numerous irregularities” has sparked furious debate. Critics have seized on managerial extravagance. Aggrieved students, whose tuition fees have risen sharply, have denounced excessive pay. Others have called for board resignations. And the higher-education minister, Geneviève Fioraso, has overruled Sciences-Po’s choice of successor—Hervé Crès, its deputy director—and imposed a caretaker.
Sciences-Po is an odd creature. The state finances half its budget, but the school is run by a private foundation and is thus unconstrained by rules about selection, fees and salary caps that bind other public universities. Between 2005 and 2010, the school’s budget jumped by over 60%, the state subsidy rose by a third and Sciences-Po more than doubled its student intake, to 3,500. But, says the auditor, it added too many administrative staff, paid them and faculty members too much (Descoings earned €537,247 or $711,585 in 2010) and also took on “risky debt”. The mismanagement, concedes one professor, was “scandalous”.
Sciences-Po says it will clean things up and improve transparency. But the debate has broadened: should it return to its old role as a public-service feeder for the Ecole Nationale d’Administration (ENA), the top civil-service graduate school? Or should Sciences-Po continue with Descoings’s project to turn it into an American-style university that competes globally for students and researchers?
For all his faults, Descoings boldly took on the French establishment. He built exchanges with American universities and lured foreign students to Paris. He recruited students from heavily immigrant banlieues. And he got the school to set up new research centres, such as an economics department. He did all this with a flexibility over recruitment that the French university establishment disliked. “It is very difficult to attract the best and maintain a centre of excellence without this autonomy,” says another faculty member, fretful that it could now be compromised.
The trouble is that in the conservative mind, the saga of Sciences-Po’s mismanagement has undermined its credibility. The old elite may now have a stronger hand against the international-minded inheritors of Descoings. Ms Fioraso wants a new director to be chosen by January. The caretaker who must find one happens to be a former ENA classmate of Mr Hollande’s.

http://www.economist.com/news/europe/21567425-management-scandal-sciences-po-could-undo-its-global-ambitions-campus-tale-paris

 

12 de nov de 2012



Artista svenska, mas o sol é brasileiro, né?

Mais coisas dele aqui.

9 de nov de 2012

I knoooow

Eu sei que eu sumi, mas a vida tá super corrida, I swear.

Apesar disso, I have newzzzz

Recomecei a fazer ourivesaria!!!! A primeira aula foi absolutamente genial. Eu cheguei toda animadinha e não tinha ninguém lá. Entrei em pânico, porque eu estava há semanas planejando brotar lá e começar a fazer jóias lindas. Depois de ligar para o André e tecer teorias complexas sobre como os deuses se voltaram contra a minha pessoa desde o meu nascimento, encontrei meu professor, que estava chegando! Detalhe, eu cheguei com meia hora de antecedência, então, néam...

Enfim, entrei com esse outro aluno e já fiquei animada, afinal, o cara consegue dar aula para duas pessoas ao mesmo tempo, então talvez não fosse tão hippie como o meu antigo professor. Bom, entrando, a coisa ficou ainda mais interessante. São várias bancadas, umas seis. As coisas são bastante organizadas e tem váááárias ferramentas. Aí, começou a chegar um monte de gente e, no fim, todas as bancadas estavam lotadas! Bom, o professor é um doce, tem um aluno que é um véio arquiteto suuuper cool que se inspira em escultores ingleses, uma veinha que não faz nada e fala um monte e mais umas outras pessoas que ficaram trabalhando super concentradas.

O professor me explicou algumas coisas, eu fiz algumas perguntas e, aí, ele me pediu pra fazer alguns anéis de massinha. Depois de algum tempo, conversando e modelando massinha, ele me pediu para escolher um dos anéis. Eu escolhi e, adivinhem; fui instruída a executá-lo em cobre - eu ainda não comprei o material, essa era uma aula teste e ele precisava saber como eu trabalho, o que eu sei fazer etc etc. Bom, terminei o anel e ele parece uma peça de chuveiro! Amei, lógico, e prometo colocar uma foto aqui mesmo nesse post, assim que possível.

Other than that, tenho algumas notícias que, provavelmente, não são suuuper interessantes, mas ..

Bom, a Ju me abandonou aqui no Ethos e já estou duas semanas sem a pessoa distinta dela por aqui, mas ela teve a decência de me deixar uma carta linda comigo antes de partir, iniciando o meu projeto das cartas, que anda meio abandonado por covardia minha.

Vou pirar em Brasília no feriadão em uma festa da Ada, que morava com o André, e pretendo beber todas e voltar desacordada no avião.

Hummm what else? Ah, não ando lendo muito por falta de inspiração, de modo que não tenho muito o que comentar. Ando com muita vontade de ficar toda artística nesse fds, mas ainda não sei se vou levar esse plano até o fim, porque o skate do André chegou e ele vai pirar em sjc e, provavelmente, vai querer companhia (ou não, né? vai pegar as gatas urbanas e skatistas..).

Other than that, eu tenho uma máquina cute de 10 dólares que bate fotos coloridinhas na mesma frame em cores pop arte e queria brincar com quem estiver afins.. Alguém topa? Alguém quer escrever cartas pra mim? Tô carente, né? Credo...

Tá, tirando isso, go Obaaaama uhuuuu e talicoisa..

Bisous




24 de out de 2012

Culpa pós Kindle?

Yellow,

Eu li esse artigo aí e fiquei super guilty. Assim, eu super leria um livro com aquela plot que ele descreve no último parágrafo e, para evitar ser alvo de chacotas, certamente leria esse livro no meu novo e belo kindle.

Apesar disso, meu kindle tem outras funções que precisam ser mencionadas.

Fiquei pensando se não seria possível pensar em fontes complementares de leitura. Eu raramente guardo revistas, de modo que o kindle é jóia para esse propósito. Eu leio porcarias, porque, embora eu super valorize a boa literatura e blá, eu leio por diversos outros motivos e em diversos estados de espírito. Enquanto Marian Keyes produzir alguma coisa, seus livros serão minha leitura de dia 31 de dezembro. Pode me chamar de tola, de mongol e até de mainstream, mas nada cura minha depressão de ano novo como ela e ponto. Porque eu tenho momentos de querer um final feliz com um background de alcoolismo de vez em quando, acho super justo ler esses livros no meu kindle, já que não sou tão obcecada por eles a ponto de precisar ter suas cópias físicas comigo.

Além disso, eu super compro várias cópias do mesmo livro quando ele é um dos meus favoritos, de modo que não dá pra afirmar que eu valorizo apenas o conteúdo/essência/informação. Eu sei que a discussão sobre leitores low brow, middle brow  e high brow discrimina leitores, e não livros, mas acho que, se pensarmos nos livros como belos artigos de valor cultural, sentimental e estético, alguns livros valem menos. E tudo bem, sério.

Desde que eu comprei o kindle, fiquei pensando se os livros acabariam mesmo. Ainda não cheguei á nenhuma conclusão definitiva, mas me parece que os e-readers/tablets não podem nem mesmo ser questionados. Talvez, seguindo as trends de tudo que é considerado refinado/cool/vintage, os livros podem ficar reservados aos colecionadores, às pessoas das gerações passadas (porque as pessoas que nasceram nos anos 1990 lerão tweets apenas, né?) e às pessoas das áreas mais visuais, porque não dá pra ter um belo livro de fotografia/decoração/pintura/etc em versão digital, né?

Apesar dessa minha "traição", continuo apaixonada pelos livros e achei o artigo fofinho - e o Rafa Safa vai amar por motivos óbvios.


The Wall Street Journal

My 6,128 Favorite Books

Joe Queenan on how a harmless juvenile pastime turned into a lifelong personality disorder.


I started borrowing books from a roving Quaker City bookmobile when I was 7 years old. Things quickly got out of hand. Before I knew it I was borrowing every book about the Romans, every book about the Apaches, every book about the spindly third-string quarterback who comes off the bench in the fourth quarter to bail out his team. I had no way of knowing it at the time, but what started out as a harmless juvenile pastime soon turned into a lifelong personality disorder.

[image] Thomas Allen
If you have read 6,000 books in your lifetime, or even 600, it's probably because at some level you find "reality" a bit of a disappointment.
 
Fifty-five years later, with at least 6,128 books under my belt, I still organize my daily life—such as it is—around reading. As a result, decades go by without my windows getting washed.

My reading habits sometimes get a bit loopy. I often read dozens of books simultaneously. I start a book in 1978 and finish it 34 years later, without enjoying a single minute of the enterprise. I absolutely refuse to read books that critics describe as "luminous" or "incandescent." I never read books in which the hero went to private school or roots for the New York Yankees. I once spent a year reading nothing but short books. I spent another year vowing to read nothing but books I picked off the library shelves with my eyes closed. The results were not pretty.

I even tried to spend an entire year reading books I had always suspected I would hate: "Middlemarch," "Look Homeward, Angel," "Babbitt." Luckily, that project ran out of gas quickly, if only because I already had a 14-year-old daughter when I took a crack at "Lolita."

 
 
Joe Queenan, author of the new book "One for the Books," discusses reading books, loving books, saving books and hating e-books with WSJ's Gary Rosen.
 
Six thousand books is a lot of reading, true, but the trash like "Hell's Belles" and "Kid Colt and the Legend of the Lost Arroyo" and even "Part-Time Harlot, Full-Time Tramp" that I devoured during my misspent teens really puff up the numbers. And in any case, it is nowhere near a record. Winston Churchill supposedly read a book every day of his life, even while he was saving Western Civilization from the Nazis. This is quite an accomplishment, because by some accounts Winston Churchill spent all of World War II completely hammered.

A case can be made that people who read a preposterous number of books are not playing with a full deck. I prefer to think of us as dissatisfied customers. If you have read 6,000 books in your lifetime, or even 600, it's probably because at some level you find "reality" a bit of a disappointment. People in the 19th century fell in love with "Ivanhoe" and "The Count of Monte Cristo" because they loathed the age they were living through. Women in our own era read "Pride and Prejudice" and "Jane Eyre" and even "The Bridges of Madison County"—a dimwit, hayseed reworking of "Madame Bovary"—because they imagine how much happier they would be if their husbands did not spend quite so much time with their drunken, illiterate golf buddies down at Myrtle Beach. A blind bigamist nobleman with a ruined castle and an insane, incinerated first wife beats those losers any day of the week. Blind, two-timing noblemen never wear belted shorts.

Similarly, finding oneself at the epicenter of a vast, global conspiracy involving both the Knights Templar and the Vatican would be a huge improvement over slaving away at the Bureau of Labor Statistics for the rest of your life or being married to someone who is drowning in dunning notices from Williams-Sonoma WSM -0.65%. No matter what they may tell themselves, book lovers do not read primarily to obtain information or to while away the time. They read to escape to a more exciting, more rewarding world. A world where they do not hate their jobs, their spouses, their governments, their lives. A world where women do not constantly say things like "Have a good one!" and "Sounds like a plan!" A world where men do not wear belted shorts. Certainly not the Knights Templar.

 

I read books—mostly fiction—for at least two hours a day, but I also spend two hours a day reading newspapers and magazines, gathering material for my work, which consists of ridiculing idiots or, when they are not available, morons. I read books in all the obvious places—in my house and office, on trains and buses and planes—but I've also read them at plays and concerts and prizefights, and not just during the intermissions. I've read books while waiting for friends to get sprung from the drunk tank, while waiting for people to emerge from comas, while waiting for the Iceman to cometh.
In my 20s, when I worked the graveyard shift loading trucks in a charm-free Philadelphia suburb, I would read during my lunch breaks, a practice that was dimly viewed by the Teamsters I worked with. Just to be on the safe side, I never read existentialists, poetry or books like "Lettres de Madame de Sévigné" in their presence, as they would have cut me to ribbons.

During antiwar protests back in the Days of Rage, I would read officially sanctioned, counterculturally appropriate materials like "Siddhartha" and "Steppenwolf" to take my mind off Pete Seeger's maddening banjo playing. I once read "Tortilla Flat" from cover to cover during a nine-hour Jerry Garcia guitar solo on "Truckin'" at Philadelphia's Spectrum; by the time he'd wrapped things up, I could have read "As I Lay Dying." I was, in fact, lying there dying.

I've never squandered an opportunity to read. There are only 24 hours in the day, seven of which are spent sleeping, and in my view at least four of the remaining 17 must be devoted to reading. A friend once told me that the real message Bram Stoker sought to convey in "Dracula" is that a human being needs to live hundreds and hundreds of years to get all his reading done; that Count Dracula, basically nothing more than a misunderstood bookworm, was draining blood from the necks of 10,000 hapless virgins not because he was the apotheosis of pure evil but because it was the only way he could live long enough to polish off his extensive reading list. But I have no way of knowing if this is true, as I have not yet found time to read "Dracula."

I do not speed-read books; it seems to defeat the whole purpose of the exercise, much like speed-eating a Porterhouse steak or applying the two-minute drill to sex. I almost never read biographies or memoirs, except if they involve quirky loners like George Armstrong Custer or Attila the Hun, neither of them avid readers.

I avoid inspirational and self-actualization books; if I wanted to read a self-improvement manual, I would try the Bible. Unless paid, I never read books by or about businessmen or politicians; these books are interchangeably cretinous and they all sound exactly the same: inspiring, sincere, flatulent, deadly. Reviewing them is like reviewing brake fluid: They get the job done, but who cares?
I do not accept reading tips from strangers, especially from indecisive men whose shirt collars are a dramatically different color from the main portion of the garment. I am particularly averse to being lent or given books by people I may like personally but whose taste in literature I have reason to suspect, and perhaps even fear.

 
image
Serge Bloch
People who need to possess the physical copy of a book, not merely an electronic version, believe that the objects themselves are sacred.
 
I dread that awkward moment when a friend hands you the book that changed his or her life, and it is a book that you have despised since you were 11 years old. Yes, "Atlas Shrugged." Or worse, "The Fountainhead." No, actually, let's stick with "Atlas Shrugged." People fixated on a particular book cannot get it through their heads that, no matter how much this book might mean to them, it is impossible to make someone else enjoy "A Fan's Notes" or "The Little Prince" or "Dune," much less "One Thousand and One Places You Must Visit Before You Meet the Six People You Would Least Expect to Run Into in Heaven." Not unless you get the Stasi involved.

Close friends rarely lend me books, because they know I will not read them anytime soon. I have my own reading schedule—I hope to get through another 2,137 books before I die—and so far it has not included time for "The Audacity of Hope" or "The Whore of Akron," much less "Father John: Navajo Healer." I hate having books rammed down my throat, which may explain why I never liked school: I still cannot understand how one human being could ask another to read "Death of a Salesman" or "Ethan Frome" and then expect to remain on speaking terms.

Saddling another person with a book he did not ask for has always seemed to me like a huge psychological imposition, like forcing someone to eat a chicken biryani without so much as inquiring whether they like cilantro.

It's also a way of foisting an unsolicited values system on another person. If you hand someone whose mother's maiden name was McNulty a book like "Angela's Ashes," what you're really saying is "You're Irish; kiss me." I reject out of hand the obligation to read a book simply because I share some vague ethnic heritage with the author. What, just because I'm Greek means that I have to like Aristotle? And Plato? Geez.

Writers speak to us because they speak to us, not because of some farcical ethnic telepathy. Joseph Goebbels and Albert Einstein were both Germans; does that mean they should equally enjoy "Mein Kampf"? Perhaps this is not the example I was looking for. Here's a better one: One of my closest friends is a Mexican-American photographer who grew up in a small town outside Fresno, Calif., and who now lives in Los Angeles. His favorite book is "Dubliners."

A friend once told me that he read Saul Bellow because Bellow seemed like the kind of guy who had been around long enough that he might be able to teach you a thing or two about life. Also, Saul Bellow never wore belted shorts.

This is how I feel about my favorite writers. If you are an old man thinking of taking early retirement, read "King Lear" first. Take lots of notes, especially when the gratuitous blinding of senior citizens starts in. If you're a middle-aged man thinking of marrying a younger woman, consult Molière beforehand. If you're a young man and you think that love will last forever, you might want to take a gander at "Wuthering Heights" before putting your John Hancock on that generous pre-nup.

Until recently, I wasn't aware how completely books dominate my physical existence. Only when I started cataloging my possessions did I realize that there are books in every room in my house, 1,340 in all. My obliviousness to this fact has an obvious explanation: I am of Irish descent, and to the Irish, books are as natural and inevitable a feature of the landscape as sand is to Tuaregs or sand traps are to the frat boys at Myrtle Beach. You know, the guys with the belted shorts. When the English stormed the Emerald Isle in the 17th century, they took everything that was worth taking and burned everything else. Thereafter, the Irish had no land, no money, no future. That left them with words, and words became books, and books, ingeniously coupled with music and alcohol, enabled the Irish to transcend reality.

This was my experience as a child. I grew up in a Brand X neighborhood with parents who had trouble managing money because they never had any, and lots of times my three sisters and I had no food, no heat, no television. But we always had books. And books put an end to our misfortune. Because to the poor, books are not diversions. Book are siege weapons.

I wish I still had the actual copies of the books that saved my life—"Kidnapped," "The Three Musketeers," "The Iliad for Precocious Tykes"—but they vanished over the years. Because so many of these treasures from my childhood have disappeared, I have made a point of hanging on to every book I have bought and loved since the age of 21.

Books as physical objects matter to me, because they evoke the past. A Métro ticket falls out of a book I bought 40 years ago, and I am transported back to the Rue Saint-Jacques on Sept. 12, 1972, where I am waiting for someone named Annie LeCombe. A telephone message from a friend who died too young falls out of a book, and I find myself back in the Chateau Marmont on a balmy September day in 1995. A note I scribbled to myself in "Homage to Catalonia" in 1973 when I was in Granada reminds me to learn Spanish, which I have not yet done, and to go back to Granada.
None of this will work with a Kindle. People who need to possess the physical copy of a book, not merely an electronic version, believe that the objects themselves are sacred. Some people may find this attitude baffling, arguing that books are merely objects that take up space. This is true, but so are Prague and your kids and the Sistine Chapel. Think it through, bozos.

The world is changing, but I am not changing with it. There is no e-reader or Kindle in my future. My philosophy is simple: Certain things are perfect the way they are. The sky, the Pacific Ocean, procreation and the Goldberg Variations all fit this bill, and so do books. Books are sublimely visceral, emotionally evocative objects that constitute a perfect delivery system.

Electronic books are ideal for people who value the information contained in them, or who have vision problems, or who have clutter issues, or who don't want other people to see that they are reading books about parallel universes where nine-eyed sea serpents and blind marsupials join forces with deaf Valkyries to rescue high-strung albino virgins from the clutches of hermaphrodite centaurs, but they are useless for people engaged in an intense, lifelong love affair with books. Books that we can touch; books that we can smell; books that we can depend on. Books that make us believe, for however short a time, that we shall all live happily ever after.

—Adapted from "One for the Books" by Joe Queenan, to be published Thursday. With permission from Viking, a member of the Penguin Group (USA).

23 de out de 2012

A condição humana - especialmente verdadeira em dias de chuva como hoje

Thursday, 18 October 2012

People simply empty out



In 1969, publisher John Martin offered to pay Charles Bukowski $100 each and every month for the rest of his life, on one condition: that he quit his job at the post office and become a writer. 49-year-old Bukowski did just that, and in 1971 his first novel, Post Office, was published by Martin's Black Sparrow Press.

15 years later, Bukowski wrote the following letter to Martin and spoke of his joy at having escaped full time employment.

(Source: Reach for the Sun Vol. 3; Image: Charles Bukowski, via.)

8-12-86

Hello John:

Thanks for the good letter. I don't think it hurts, sometimes, to remember where you came from. You know the places where I came from. Even the people who try to write about that or make films about it, they don't get it right. They call it "9 to 5." It's never 9 to 5, there's no free lunch break at those places, in fact, at many of them in order to keep your job you don't take lunch. Then there's OVERTIME and the books never seem to get the overtime right and if you complain about that, there's another sucker to take your place.

You know my old saying, "Slavery was never abolished, it was only extended to include all the colors."

And what hurts is the steadily diminishing humanity of those fighting to hold jobs they don't want but fear the alternative worse. People simply empty out. They are bodies with fearful and obedient minds. The color leaves the eye. The voice becomes ugly. And the body. The hair. The fingernails. The shoes. Everything does.

As a young man I could not believe that people could give their lives over to those conditions. As an old man, I still can't believe it. What do they do it for? Sex? TV? An automobile on monthly payments? Or children? Children who are just going to do the same things that they did?

Early on, when I was quite young and going from job to job I was foolish enough to sometimes speak to my fellow workers: "Hey, the boss can come in here at any moment and lay all of us off, just like that, don't you realize that?"

They would just look at me. I was posing something that they didn't want to enter their minds.

Now in industry, there are vast layoffs (steel mills dead, technical changes in other factors of the work place). They are layed off by the hundreds of thousands and their faces are stunned:

"I put in 35 years..."

"It ain't right..."

"I don't know what to do..."

They never pay the slaves enough so they can get free, just enough so they can stay alive and come back to work. I could see all this. Why couldn't they? I figured the park bench was just as good or being a barfly was just as good. Why not get there first before they put me there? Why wait?

I just wrote in disgust against it all, it was a relief to get the shit out of my system. And now that I'm here, a so-called professional writer, after giving the first 50 years away, I've found out that there are other disgusts beyond the system.

I remember once, working as a packer in this lighting fixture company, one of the packers suddenly said: "I'll never be free!"

One of the bosses was walking by (his name was Morrie) and he let out this delicious cackle of a laugh, enjoying the fact that this fellow was trapped for life.

So, the luck I finally had in getting out of those places, no matter how long it took, has given me a kind of joy, the jolly joy of the miracle. I now write from an old mind and an old body, long beyond the time when most men would ever think of continuing such a thing, but since I started so late I owe it to myself to continue, and when the words begin to falter and I must be helped up stairways and I can no longer tell a bluebird from a paperclip, I still feel that something in me is going to remember (no matter how far I'm gone) how I've come through the murder and the mess and the moil, to at least a generous way to die.

To not to have entirely wasted one's life seems to be a worthy accomplishment, if only for myself.
yr boy,

Hank
 
Saiu daqui essa verdade incontestável.  

19 de out de 2012

Gee gee gee gee baby baby baby

Depois de ler esse artigo, estou toda gee gee gee.

They smile with their eyes apparently.




18 de out de 2012

Twenty Something Ways to Know You're Twenty Something

Gente, eu sou muito um produto da mídia, amazing..

 
1) There is a nagging suspicion in your brain that there’s something missing. Not missing as in “Shit I lost my cell phone.” But missing as in, you wake up in the morning not really sure of your path in life, if this is really what you want to do, and if this perpetual hangover is really how life is supposed to feel.
 
2) Your finances are constantly subject to new “budgeting” attempts, new excel spreadsheets, new financial plans, and yet never really seem to accumulate as quickly as your friends say theirs do.
3) Your friends’ jobs are all better than yours
 
4) Your friends’ apartments are all better than yours.
 
5) If you’re single you are worried you’ll die alone, if you’re in a relationship you’re constantly worried if “this is the one” and otherwise you’re newly engaged and everyone else is jealous but you’re worried about becoming a divorce statistic. Really though, everyone just lives with each other.
 
6) One night stands seem way less appealing than they did approximately 15 months ago and you’re not sure what changed (except your unexpected new devotion to hygiene).
 
7) Your hangovers last 3 days, but you love dark and dingy bars. They make you feel artistic.
 
8) Your hangovers are no longer just a headache but defined by ‘booze blues’ and ‘shameover’ symptoms (re: what am I doing with my life?!; oh my god why did I drink so much?;) and losing your wallet/phone/coat/pride no longer seems as funny as it did when you were 20. You find yourself staring teary-eyed into the mirror at your smudged eyeliner wondering if this is really what you should be doing with your time. Then you slowly, and quietly whispering, start singing yourself a Celine Dion song.
 
9) Suddenly staying home with a bottle of cheap vino, a blanket, a tear jerker, and your cat seem a substantially better way to spend your Saturday nights then standing in line waiting to spend $100.
 
10) Oh yah, now you stand in line because bouncers don’t find 20-somethings as attractive as just-turned-19’s.
 
11) Your head suddenly feels crammed with numbers:
 
a) Cell phone bills
b) Student debt payments
c) Monthly income
d) Booze costs
e) Coffee costs
f) How many centuries it will take to afford a house
g) Etc.,
 
12) You remember a simpler time. It included such heart-warming and moral shows as Breaker High, Saved by the Bell, Fresh Prince, CITY Guys, Wishbone, Ghost Writer, Captain Planet, and the Smoggies. A major part of you suspects that your morals and values were shaped by the lessons in these cartoons. Another major part of you suspects the lack of morality in youth these days stems from their inability to watch the same programming you did.
 
13) You have thoughts that start with, “Kids these days… When I was a teen… In my day…. When I was younger…” and other such statements you never thought would come out of your mouth.
14) You start parenting your parents.
 
15) You remember a time before the internet. You remember when your family got its first computer. You remember, “Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?,” “Encyclopedia Britannica on CD-ROM,” and the first Apple computer on the block. You also remember the evolution of social media because you were there for it all. BBS – ICQ – MSN - Yahoo Chat – Forums – Chatrooms – Email – Facebook – Perez – Twitter – Blogs - ?
 
16) You find yourself sad sometimes because you actually feel like the Internet’s become a bad place.
 
17) Everything is solved by brunch. 20-somethings love brunch. Post-break-up brunch, post-night-out brunch, before-flea-market brunch, before-shopping brunch, happy brunch, birthday brunch, gossip brunch, ‘wanna go to brunch and catch up’ brunch?
 
18) Time goes by quicker than ever before, for an unknown reason, and the more you try to slow it down the faster it goes.
 
19) Going travelling versus paying off your student loan versus buying property is a serious legitimate conversation in your head. Backpacking is as legitimate a rite of passage as college/university.
 
20) You have a niggling suspicion that someone lied to you and that your twenties are not the huge party previously assumed.
 
21) You are also starting to suspect that the rumours going around about your thirties being the REAL party are just a ruse to get you through your twenties.
 
22) You’re favorite saying is, “What am I going to do with my life?” This is usually followed by self-assuring statements that you’ve done a lot more than most people, you’ve got memories if not experience, and that’s really all that matters in the end because YOU won’t have regrets.
 
23) You find yourself making lists more often because your forget more things: to-do lists are your new bible.
 
24) There’s something about HBO shows, like unreal shows that seem real, and you HAVE to watch them every week. This is especially true if the shows involve vampires, drug dealing moms, drug making teachers, doctors, or police/fire fighters.
 
25) You suddenly understand what people meant by, “Generation Why.”
 

25 de set de 2012

Great teachers are great





Read, read, read. Read everything —trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You’ll absorb it. Then write. If it is good, you’ll find out. If it’s not, throw it out the window.

– William Faulkner, Statement at the University of Mississippi, 1947

HARRY POTTER RULZ, ok?


Continuei lendo outras quotes famosas e descobri essa daqui também:

A dream is not a very safe thing to be near… I know; I had one once. It’s like a loaded pistol with a hair trigger: if it stays alive long enough, somebody is going to be hurt. But if it’s a good dream, it’s worth it.

Ainda não tenho uma opinião formada sobre essa quote, mas achei que devia guardar ela aqui, just in case I start dreaming or something..

Já pensei em adotar um cachimbo também. Veremos.

24 de set de 2012

Newz

Faz tempo que eu sumi, mas às vezes acontece, né?

Certo, vamos às novidades/questões existenciais do dia.

A dona Camila chega na quarta e, bondosa que é, está trazendo o meu kindle na mala - e eu tô piraaaando. Infelizmente, não consegui comprar a capinha linda - design by aline -, pq eles não aceitavam cartão brasileiro. No dia, eu fiquei putinha e reclamei de ser brasileira e nhenhenhé, mas depois, lembrei daquele lance do myus.com. O problema é que ia ficar super caro e, na boa, é só uma capinha e eu tenho certeza de que a minha de 12 dólares vai servir de buenas.

Other matters.. Eu não andei lendo muito, porque, como eu disse, às vezes o tempo vai embora. Estou há umas três semanas sem ler enlouquecidamente, embora eu tenha comprado uns 6 livros e assinado a New Yorker para o Kindle. However, eu estou fazendo o curso de Modern Poetry daquele coursera. Estou gostando bastante, embora eu tenha pouca resistências para coisas concretas/modernas demais. Emily Dickinson, however, já me ganhou. Comprei uns 3 livros dela para o meu kindle, de modo que deve ser uma paixão duradoura, nada do tipo amor de verão.

Eu ando alimentando minha MAJOR CRUSH on Jeffret Eugenides como se não houvesse amanhã e, visto que meu Middlesex está em mãos, devo pirar logo mais, assim que eu terminar de ver minhas aulas de poesia dessa semana.

Vi essa matéria aqui sobre a JKR e o Casual Vacancy, novo livro dela, que está cheio teenagers "with "with an ache in his heart and in his balls" ou  “that miraculously unguarded vagina”, deve ser pretty hot, seguindo a trend de fifty shades of grey maybe. Isso, mais do que qualquer outra coisa, confirma minha tese de que está na hora de escrever mommy porn and become a gazillionaire.

Amei, em particular, essa quote: "you don’t have sex near unicorns. It’s an ironclad rule. It’s tacky".

Além dessas coisas mais banais, tenho tido boas notícias. Luis está com o apartamento quase pronto e emprego garantido (congrats!), Letícia está de volta e já prometeu que vai sair comigo all the time e meu móvel para livros chegou (observe que pessoas e móveis estão na mesma lista com uma certa igualdade de importância que pode ser incômoda para o leitor desavisado). Ele não é suficientemente grande para trazer tudo de sjc, mas, pelo menos, vou poder ter uma parte mais razoável dos meus livros comigo. Continuo na luta para arrumar meu apê, mas até hoje não escolhi a cor das paredes, não comprei as cadeiras da cozinha e estou preocupada em trocar o tecido do sofá por linho, porque o juju gosta de CAVAR sofás, believe it or not.

Além disso, está rolando o eterno "estou, novamente, querendo viajar", mas ainda não escolhi o destino perfeito. Eu fico mudando de ideia o tempo todo, como eu faço com quase tudo. Eu sei que, ano que vem, vou fazer uma viagem grande, mas, antes disso, queria ver alguma coisa legal esse ano. Acho que, por causa dos feriados de novembro, devo ir para Bonito, nada suuuper exótico, mas deve ser legal.

Alguma ideia de lugares baratos pra viajar? Alguém? Não?

A Ju voltou da Colômbia, mas eu não sei se é bem isso que eu estou procurando. Muita gente interativa.

Ai, acho que vou voltar para minha reunião.

Adiós,

A.


WAIT!

Tirei essa foto linda do don't touch my moleskine, onde a mina fala de onde vem a foto:







Read more http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2012/10/01/121001fa_fact_parker#ixzz27PaSL5Tb

Read more http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2012/10/01/121001fa_fact_parker#ixzz27PaFKGmn

4 de set de 2012

http://gleuch.com/projects

O cara que faz tudo isso é, além de genial, super gatinho <3 p="p">
 

3 de set de 2012

Segunda-feira

Certo, news.

Preciso comentar uma coisa "séria antes de qualquer coisa":
http://noticias.uol.com.br/ultimas-noticias/reuters/2012/09/03/exercito-da-siria-destroi-casas-em-punicao-coletiva.htm

Da série "coisas mais idiotas que eu já vi nos últimos tempos".

Ninguém ganha nada com isso. A violência de gênero é ok para o maluco que curte. Roubar coisas, torturar suspeitos, tudo barbárie, mas com uma lógica própria de gente bruta. Agora, destruir casas de seus compatriotas? Really? Meu, cê já é pobre, se liga...

Agora, de volta para as news.

Rolou Atibaia con Andrezito ( e pequena parada da Ju) de quinta à sábado, home office +  juju pirando na grama + comidinhas gostosas + lareira

Infelizmente, home office significa, pelo menos um pouco, office, de modo que eu não pude ficar lendo romances e curtindo ser feliz, mas podia ser pior, néam?

Other than that, estou aqui pensando em outras coisas pra fazer, mas sem grandes resultados, graças à minha fatura do cartão de crédito desse mês.. (adultinha, I knooow)

A outra GRANDE notícia da minha vida é que eu comprei um kindle!!!

Ok, eu sei que eu amo livros e que eu sempre fui completamente contra pessoas que dizem "ai, mas você pode carregar 3000 livros com você!!!", sendo que, em geral, essas pessoas não lêem nem horóscopo. Acontece que eu cansei de ter que esperar 6 semanas para receber aqueles livros que todo mundo está lendo nos blogs e revistas sobre literatura, porque a Cultura já não é a mesma. Cansei de olhar meu email, esperando aquele "aviso de chegada" e cansei de ficar caçando coisas impossíveis de achar aqui no Brasil, de modo que comprei o kindle e estou pirando com isso. Ele é lindo e eu queria a capinha perfeita pra ele.

Aí, começou A Crise. Foi assim: eu entrei na amazon e ia pegar uma capinha vinho bonitinha que tinha lá e pronto´Daí, o André me perguntou se ela vinha com luz.. Não vinha. Aí recomecei minha busca e descobri umas capas da Kate Spade suuuuper fowfas, assim mesmo, com w. Aí pirei, lógico. O problema é que, embora sejam lindas, essas capinhas:

a) estão esgotadas
b) são para outros modelos de kindle
c) fodem a bateria do seu kindle

De modo que eu entrei em crise, porque as outras capinhas são genéricas. Porque eu sou muito ocupada, fiquei louca na internet, gastando meu tempo livre nessa busca pela capinha perfeita, até que encontrei esse site que faz capinhas customizadas

Aí, com todas as possibilidades do mundo pela frente, entre em crise de novo.

É fácil escolher uma capinha entre 6, entre 20... Mas como escolher a melhor capinha do mundo? Profundo, né? Foi o que eu pensei.

Comecei a pirar e acho que, depois de várias horas desperdiçadas em frente ao computador, buscando fotos lindas e reinterpretações de capas de clássicos da literatura, pensei que eu poderia colocar um poema da Dorothy Parker, só porque eu adoro.

“There's little in taking or giving
There's little in water or wine
This living, this living , this living
was never a project of mine.
Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is
the gain of the one at the top
for art is a form of catharsis
and love is a permanent flop
and work is the province of cattle
and rest's for a clam in a shell
so I'm thinking of throwing the battle
would you kindly direct me to hell?”

Acho que vai ficar lindo e fiquei com vontade, mas ainda não escolhi fonte, nem cor, nem fundo nem nada...

Aceito sugestões.

Xoxo

EDIT

Tops da minha playlist dos últimos dias:

1. Ui (culpa do Leo)




2. I know, eu sei que já passou e sei que eles fizeram a trilha sonora dos vampirinhos... Mas... Eu estou revivendo esse momento e quero compreensão, ok?






29 de ago de 2012

Da série: 'Como eu gasto o meu tempo no trabalho'

Se algum dia o André perceber como eu sou tolinha e me jogar no mercado, já sei o que fazer:



Daqui ó.

28 de ago de 2012

Crazy cat lady

Estou meio sem paciência pra escrever esses dias, por isso vou ser breve.

Achei que todos os problemas da minha vida seriam resolvidos quando eu encomendei o How Should a Person Be?

Um livro com esse título deveria oferecer, pelo menos, alguns caminhos, ainda que não desse respostas completas. Na pior das hipóteses, poderia, pelo menos, ser lindo e/ou engraçado.

A porcaria do livro, que foi lido em menos de 48h, não correspondeu às minhas expectativas. O final foi tipo "ha, se fudeu (sic), otária"

Kill me, please.

Other than that, tenho planos felizes para o fim dessa semana - Atibaia -, outros livros pra ler - hopefully better than the last one -, fui à uma pool party, descobri que eu pareço ser uma crazy cat lady, almocei com o Luis, continuo perdida, mas agora tenho companhia - descobri várias pessoas perdidas esses dias.

Truly yours,

A.

23 de ago de 2012

Da série: "Sim, eu sou a pessoa que vai tirar uma arma da parte de trás da calça e pirar num cinema usando uma máscara de batman"



Tá, vocês já me conhecem o suficiente pra saber que eu sou bem l0ka, então eu não vou nem gastar meu tempo explicando. Só queria dizer que eu tenho algumas obsessões, como GG e que, de tempos em tempos, eu curto revisitar minhas obsessões.

Essa, abaixo, é a lista de livros citados em Gilmore Girls. Assim, alguns são livros que viraram filmes e, ademais, alguns foram citados só ironicamente, mas, ainda assim, this is THE list. Assim, na minha lista original, tenho só 182 livros, de modo que pode haver algum tipo de erro de contagem aí, porque achei essa daí em outro lugar e tem mais de 200. Eu vou checar a lista e atualizo assim que eu tiver paciência (ou seja, nunca). Tá vendo como eu sou a louca que vai se vestir de mulher-gato or something?

Anyways... Eu checo essa lista de tempos em tempos, pra saber qual é o meu progresso, ainda que eu leia várias coisas que não estão na lista, algumas envolvendo sexo na troposfera, mas eu divago..

Olhando essa lista e, levando em considerando eventos recentes, devo dizer que o próximo clássico a ser lido é o Fountainhead. Por que? Porque ele está me perseguindo. Eu já sabia que ele estava na lista da Rory, mas, nas últimas duas semanas, ele começou a aparecer EVERYWHERE. Em todos os blogs, revistas, livraria Cultura e em todos os artigos da terra. Por essa razão, vou aceitar os sinais do universo e me render a esse livro.

Considerando que Rory me guiou intelectualmente por muitos anos, não posso deixar de achar que essa é uma boa referência. Eu, às vezes, preciso de um livro novo, um autor novo, e estou sem inspiração. A resposta está aí.


Um dia eu ainda termino essa lista.

 

Twain
Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon
An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser
Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank
Archidamian War by Donald Kagan
The Art of Fiction by Henry James
The Art of War by Sun Tzu
As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
Atonement by Ian McEwan
Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy
The Awakening by Kate Chopin
Babe by Dick King-Smith
Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women by Susan Faludi
Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress by Dai Sijie
Bel Canto by Ann Patchett
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
Beloved by Toni Morrison
Beowulf: A New Verse Translation by Seamus Heaney
The Bhagava Gita
The Bielski Brothers: The True Story of Three Men Who Defied the Nazis, Built a Village in the Forest, and Saved 1,200 Jews by Peter Duffy
Bitch in Praise of Difficult Women by Elizabeth Wurtzel
A Bolt from the Blue and Other Essays by Mary McCarthy
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Brick Lane by Monica Ali
Bridgadoon by Alan Jay Lerner
Candide by Voltaire
The Canterbury Tales by Chaucer
Carrie by Stephen King
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White
The Children’s Hour by Lillian Hellman
Christine by Stephen King
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
The Code of the Woosters by P.G. Wodehouse
The Collected Short Stories by Eudora Welty
The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty by Eudora Welty
A Comedy of Errors by William Shakespeare
Complete Novels by Dawn Powell
The Complete Poems by Anne Sexton
Complete Stories by Dorothy Parker
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas père
Cousin Bette by Honor’e de Balzac
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
The Crimson Petal and the White by Michel Faber
The Crucible by Arthur Miller
Cujo by Stephen King
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon
Daisy Miller by Henry James
Daughter of Fortune by Isabel Allende
David and Lisa by Dr Theodore Issac Rubin M.D
David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
The Da Vinci -Code by Dan Brown
Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol
Demons by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
Deenie by Judy Blume
The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America by Erik Larson
The Dirt: Confessions of the World’s Most Notorious Rock Band by Tommy Lee, Vince Neil, Mick Mars and Nikki Sixx
The Divine Comedy by Dante
The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells
Don Quijote by Cervantes
Driving Miss Daisy by Alfred Uhrv
Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson
Edgar Allan Poe: Complete Tales & Poems by Edgar Allan Poe
Eleanor Roosevelt by Blanche Wiesen Cook
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe
Ella Minnow Pea: A Novel in Letters by Mark Dunn
Eloise by Kay Thompson
Emily the Strange by Roger Reger
Emma by Jane Austen
Empire Falls by Richard Russo
Encyclopedia Brown: Boy Detective by Donald J. Sobol
Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton
Ethics by Spinoza
Europe through the Back Door, 2003 by Rick Steves
Eva Luna by Isabel Allende
Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
Extravagance by Gary Krist
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
Fahrenheit 9/11 by Michael Moore
The Fall of the Athenian Empire by Donald Kagan
Fat Land: How Americans Became the Fattest People in the World by Greg Critser
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson
The Fellowship of the Ring: Book 1 of The Lord of the Ring by J. R. R. Tolkien (TBR)
Fiddler on the Roof by Joseph Stein
The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom
Finnegan’s Wake by James Joyce
Fletch by Gregory McDonald
Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
The Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem
The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Franny and Zooey by J. D. Salinger
Freaky Friday by Mary Rodgers
Galapagos by Kurt Vonnegut
Gender Trouble by Judith Butler
George W. Bushism: The Slate Book of the Accidental Wit and Wisdom of our 43rd President by Jacob Weisberg
Gidget by Fredrick Kohner
Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen
The Gnostic Gospels by Elaine Pagels
The Godfather: Book 1 by Mario Puzo
The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy
Goldilocks and the Three Bears by Alvin Granowsky
Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
The Good Soldier by Ford Maddox Ford
The Gospel According to Judy Bloom
The Graduate by Charles Webb
The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
The Group by Mary McCarthy
Hamlet by William Shakespeare
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J. K. Rowling –
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J. K. Rowling
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad (TBR)
Helter Skelter: The True Story of the Manson Murders by Vincent Bugliosi and Curt Gentry (TBR)
Henry IV, part I by William Shakespeare
Henry IV, part II by William Shakespeare
Henry V by William Shakespeare
High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon
Holidays on Ice: Stories by David Sedaris
The Holy Barbarians by Lawrence Lipton
House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus III (Lpr)
The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende
How to Breathe Underwater by Julie Orringer
How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss
How the Light Gets in by M. J. Hyland
Howl by Allen Gingsburg
The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo
The Iliad by Homer
I’m with the Band by Pamela des Barres
In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
Inherit the Wind by Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee
Iron Weed by William J. Kennedy
It Takes a Village by Hillary Clinton
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan
Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare
The Jumping Frog by Mark Twain
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair
Just a Couple of Days by Tony Vigorito
The Kitchen Boy: A Novel of the Last Tsar by Robert Alexander
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
Lady Chatterleys’ Lover by D. H. Lawrence
The Last Empire: Essays 1992-2000 by Gore Vidal
Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
The Legend of Bagger Vance by Steven Pressfield
Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis
Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke
Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them by Al Franken
Life of Pi by Yann Martel
The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens
The Little Locksmith by Katharine Butler Hathaway
The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
Living History by Hillary Rodham Clinton
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
The Lottery: And Other Stories by Shirley Jackson
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
The Love Story by Erich Segal
Macbeth by William Shakespeare
Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
The Manticore by Robertson Davies
Marathon Man by William Goldman
The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter by Simone de Beauvoir
Memoirs of General W. T. Sherman by William Tecumseh Sherman
Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
The Meaning of Consuelo by Judith Ortiz Cofer
Mencken’s Chrestomathy by H. R. Mencken
The Merry Wives of Windsro by William Shakespeare
The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
The Miracle Worker by William Gibson
Moby Dick by Herman Melville
The Mojo Collection: The Ultimate Music Companion by Jim Irvin
Moliere: A Biography by Hobart Chatfield Taylor
A Monetary History of the United States by Milton Friedman
Monsieur Proust by Celeste Albaret
A Month Of Sundays: Searching For The Spirit And My Sister by Julie Mars
A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway
Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
Mutiny on the Bounty by Charles Nordhoff and James Norman Hall
My Lai 4: A Report on the Massacre and It’s Aftermath by Seymour M. Hersh
My Life as Author and Editor by H. R. Mencken
My Life in Orange: Growing Up with the Guru by Tim Guest
My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult
The Naked and the Dead by Norman Mailer
The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
The Nanny Diaries by Emma McLaughlin
Nervous System: Or, Losing My Mind in Literature by Jan Lars Jensen
New Poems of Emily Dickinson by Emily Dickinson
The New Way Things Work by David Macaulay
Nickel and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenreich
Night by Elie Wiesel
Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen
The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism by William E. Cain, Laurie A. Finke, Barbara E. Johnson, John P. McGowan
Novels 1930-1942: Dance Night/Come Back to Sorrento, Turn, Magic Wheel/Angels on Toast/A Time to be Born by Dawn Powell
Notes of a Dirty Old Man by Charles Bukowski
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Old School by Tobias Wolff
Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
On the Road by Jack Kerouac
One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch by Alexander Solzhenitsyn
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Opposite of Fate: Memories of a Writing Life by Amy Tan
Oracle Night by Paul Auster
Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood
Othello by Shakespeare
Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens
The Outbreak of the Peloponnesian War by Donald Kagan
Out of Africa by Isac Dineson
The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton
A Passage to India by E.M. Forster
The Peace of Nicias and the Sicilian Expedition by Donald Kagan
The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
Peyton Place by Grace Metalious
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
Pigs at the Trough by Arianna Huffington
Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi
Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain
The Polysyllabic Spree by Nick Hornby
The Portable Dorothy Parker by Dorothy Parker
The Portable Nietzche by Fredrich Nietzche
The Price of Loyalty: George W. Bush, the White House, and the Education of Paul O’Neill by Ron Suskind
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Property by Valerie Martin
Pushkin: A Biography by T. J. Binyon
Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw
Quattrocento by James Mckean
A Quiet Storm by Rachel Howzell Hall
Rapunzel by Grimm Brothers
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
The Razor’s Edge by W. Somerset Maugham
Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books by Azar Nafisi
Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier
Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm by Kate Douglas Wiggin
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
Rescuing Patty Hearst: Memories From a Decade Gone Mad by Virginia Holman
The Return of the King: The Lord of the Rings Book 3 by J. R. R. Tolkien (TBR)
R Is for Ricochet by Sue Grafton
Rita Hayworth by Stephen King
Robert’s Rules of Order by Henry Robert
Roman Fever by Edith Wharton
Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare
A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf
A Room with a View by E. M. Forster
Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin
Sacred Time by Ursula Hegi
Sanctuary by William Faulkner
Savage Beauty: The Life of Edna St. Vincent Millay by Nancy Milford
The Scarecrow of Oz by Frank L. Baum
The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne–
Seabiscuit: An American Legend by Laura Hillenbrand
The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
Secrets of the Flesh: A Life of Colette by Judith Thurman
Selected Letters of Dawn Powell: 1913-1965 by Dawn Powell
Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
A Separate Peace by John Knowles
Several Biographies of Winston Churchill
Sexus by Henry Miller
The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
Shane by Jack Shaefer
The Shining by Stephen King
Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse
S Is for Silence by Sue Grafton
Slaughter-house Five by Kurt Vonnegut
Small Island by Andrea Levy
Snows of Kilimanjaro by Ernest Hemingway
Snow White and Rose Red by Grimm Brothers
Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World by Barrington Moore
The Song of Names by Norman Lebrecht
Song of the Simple Truth: The Complete Poems of Julia de Burgos by Julia de Burgos
The Song Reader by Lisa Tucker
Songbook by Nick Hornby
The Sonnets by William Shakespeare
Sonnets from the Portuegese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sophie’s Choice by William Styron
The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
Speak, Memory by Vladimir Nabokov
Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach
The Story of My Life by Helen Keller
A Streetcar Named Desiree by Tennessee Williams
Stuart Little by E. B. White
Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust
Swimming with Giants: My Encounters with Whales, Dolphins and Seals by Anne Collett
Sybil by Flora Rheta Schreiber
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
Tender Is The Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Term of Endearment by Larry McMurtry
Time and Again by Jack Finney
The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger – read
To Have and Have Not by Ernest Hemingway
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
The Tragedy of Richard III by William Shakespeare
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
The Trial by Franz Kafka
The True and Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters by Elisabeth Robinson
Truth & Beauty: A Friendship by Ann Patchett
Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom
Ulysses by James Joyce
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath 1950-1962 by Sylvia Plath
Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe
Unless by Carol Shields
Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann
The Vanishing Newspaper by Philip Meyers
Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray
Velvet Underground’s The Velvet Underground and Nico (Thirty Three and a Third series) by Joe Harvard
The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides
Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett
Walden by Henry David Thoreau
Walt Disney’s Bambi by Felix Salten
War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
We Owe You Nothing – Punk Planet: The Collected Interviews edited by Daniel Sinker
What Colour is Your Parachute? 2005 by Richard Nelson Bolles
What Happened to Baby Jane by Henry Farrell
When the Emperor Was Divine by Julie Otsuka
Who Moved My Cheese? Spencer Johnson - IRÔNICO
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf by Edward Albee
Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire

The Wizard of Oz by Frank L. Baum
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole

20 de ago de 2012

Quando as suas referências de moda e de relacionamento te levam a lugares inesperados

Like, totally.

Eu estava por aí no facebook, quando dei de cara com uma referência a esse post aqui. Aí comecei a pensar que:

a) Eu já vi esse filme inúmeras vezes;
b) Eu comecei a ver esse filme way to soon.. Lembro de citar "O que você na escola hoje? Ah, quebrei o salto do meu sapato (versão dublada, sorry guys);
c) Eu tenho a edição luxo do filme - com vários comentários sobre como "I am Audi" e "Whatever" vieram, na verdade, do filme, ou seja, o filme é brilliant;
d) Provavelmente, várias das minhas noções de moda e de relacionamentos - friends and boys magia -, vêm de Clueless;
e) Like, OMG;
f) Eu acho que entendo se vários de vocês que estão lendo esse post pararem de falar comigo.


OBS: Meu dia tá tenso, foi o melhor que eu consegui fazer hoje - para aqueles que ainda se importam..


EINTKILF

Everything I Need to Know, I Learned From ‘Clueless’

Besides DJ Tanner, when I was a child, the prettiest woman in the world to me was Alicia Silverstone. Not only did I love Clueless, but I loved Aerosmith, and she was in, like, ALL of their videos. (Puh-lease don’t fact check me, because she quite possibly could have only been in one video.) Clueless is most def one of those movies that is way funnier when you get older, but you know what, I was an incredibly mature kid who just thought Dionne was really pretty, so I still enjoyed watching it. Without further ado:
EINTKILF Clueless
1. “You divorce wives, not children.”I must admit, and it is a total ’90s movie thing (which is my whole world, basically), that I love Cher’s dad because he is a total grumpy old man who has a heart of something more expensive than gold. He tells Cher, after defending why Josh still comes to the house, that children are way more important than wives, more or less. I have to say, I totally agree, because, you know…bros before yadda yadda yadda. It is like that stupid saying, but way more impactful.
2. How to form friendships.Cher and Dionne are the best of friends, but when I was younger, I did not realize they were only 15 and/or 16 years old. I mean, let’s be real – everyone is best friends when they are that young. I had, like, five best friends, and I only still talk to two of them. However, Cher says something that always stuck with me: “She’s my friend because we both know what it’s like to have people be jealous of us.” I never made a friend like that, and at now 25 years old, maybe I should.
3. High school boys are like dogs.Cher doesn’t date boys in high school, which she claims is a choice everybody has to make. She thinks high school boys are not worth her time, and funny thing–she is so right. Though I was in love with one boy throughout high school, he was not in high school, so I always empathize with Cher on this subject. However, I have done a ripe job of wasting my time with boys that act like they are still in high school since I’ve been in my 20s. BLAH BLAH BLAH I feel like all of my “boys will be boys” jokes are getting old, but I can’t help it! I spit the truth!
4. Kenny G is uncool…not.I side with Josh on this: whatever! Kenny G is so cool. What the hell is Christmas without him? Story: Kenny G and I are both from Seattle and we are both Starbucks shareholders (am I allowed to tell you that?) and I also work for Starbucks, so I usually attend the annual shareholder event. This past year, I saw him there and he actually smiled at me. I had to refrain myself from A) hugging him or B) scrunching his beautiful curls and asking him what product he uses. We have so much in common; I just think we could be great friends.
Everything I Need to Know, I Learned From Clueless
5. Two permits do not equal a license.Cher and Dionne are the worst drivers ever. Who is actually that bad, licensed driver or not? To be fair, I pulled a Dionne the first time I drove on the freeway in class. (Except for the making out with the passenger part.) Holy moly, how scary!
6. “Always leave him wanting more.”Cher coaches Tai on how to get Elton to like her (great names – I would totally go for a guy named Elton, even if he was a jerk. Probably especially if he was a jerk.) The most vital thing she tells her is to “always leave him wanting more.” You know what? As much as I hate dating formulas because I am bad at them because I am bad at anything remotely mathematical, I think they really work. Which is probably why I am single, because I so do not ever play hard-to-get. I also do not play damsel-in-distress well, as Cher notices that Tai does. Whatever – I don’t really want to date a guy who likes me when I’m not around, or who needs to save me, though I would appreciate being saved from falling over a railing at the mall. What a lame way to die.
Speaking of “save me,” did you guys hear that One Direction covered “Wonderwall“? That saved me.
Do you guys still like me after all that?
7. Being a virgin is never a bad thing.To be honest, I was a virgin all throughout high school and college and I was absolutely never ashamed of it. When Tai finds out that Cher is a virgin (and Di, at the time), she is surprised. I am with Cher, though. If you feel like giving your virginity up when you are 45 years old, more power to you. There is no shame in taking your time, not to mention, sex really does complicate everything, so there should really be no rush. Cher says it best: “You see how picky I am about my shoes and they only go on my feet.”
8. You have to exercise every day, not just sporadically.When I was taking notes while watching Clueless with my roommates earlier in the week, this lesson didn’t even make my list. However, five days later, I can’t stop thinking about it. Cher and Tai are doing Buns of Steel (which I may try to track down a copy of), and Tai comments that she doesn’t feel a difference. Cher explains that you cannot exercise whenever you want and expect results, you have to do it everyday. My roommate and I were like, well damn. So now we’re going to work out five days a week instead of pretty much never. Thanks, Clueless.
9. Be sure to offer something to your relationship.I have a thing that I have realized about relationships: you both have to contribute something beneficial to the other person. This may seem obvious, but it wasn’t until my tumultous kind-of-two-and-a-half-year-long relationship with my ex-boyfriend that I realized you have to be aware of what you can offer to your mate. (That’s not to say XBF and I had nothing to offer each other–he is a bomb cook, and I am really good at drinking wine, among plenty of other things like mutual adoration.) When Cher realizes that Christian is most likely gay, she states, “He does dress better than I do; what would I bring to the relationship?” Now I’m going to say that Cher has more to offer than her composure, but at least she is aware of what she is best at.
Next boy I like, I will let him know that I pretty much get everyone’s jokes. That’s what I have to offer.
10. Other things:All of your friends are good in their own way, legs crossed toward each other is a sexual invitation, Billie Holiday is a woman, never shave your head without your girlfriend’s permission, drawing attention to your mouth is a good thing (questionable) and Paul Rudd is, and always has been, the most adorable creature on the planet.
Everything I Need to Know, I Learned From Clueless

Gente, podem CAÇOAR, mas eu tirei daqui ó.

17 de ago de 2012

26 Poems by Emily Dickinson

translated by Paul Legault

Emily_dickinson_reader_lores

700. My favorite way to interact with people is to read letters from them, completely alone, in a locked room.


Tá vendo?!?!?!?!?!?


701. Children are better than real people.
702. I wouldn’t be so sad if I weren’t Emily Dickinson.
703. The sun came up this morning, and I saw it.
704. Today sucks balls.
705. Although it’s kind of embarrassing to be an old maid, I’m glad I never got married to a human.
706. I cannot be with you because you would make me happy, and that’s not my style.
707. Obese people hate small things.
708. I’m obsessed with your face. I want my face to be welded to your face forever.
709. I have suicidal tendencies.
710. Humans can’t survive inside of the sun because it is in a constant state of combustion, which keeps it at a temperature of approximately five million degrees Celsius.
711. God tried to kill me.
712. I asked this guy to marry me, and it scared him off.
713. Thanks so much for the endless amount of pain you gave me. Really. I’m not being sarcastic. Thanks.
714. Angels are plotting to destroy you.
715. Dying is really trippy.
716. Just when you need it the least, you find a pearl. I told you to get away from me, pearl. Shoo.
717. The stars promised me they would last forever, but they lied. All stars will inevitably die as their potential energy is limited by their finite mass. I’m going to sue them.
718. I have a vestigial third ear that I keep hidden because it’s kind of embarrassing.
719. Because you died, I have turned into a long, narrow excavation in the ground, the earth from which is thrown up in front to serve as a shelter from enemy fire or attack.
720. What if there were a sea inside of the sea that was inside of the sea that was inside of the sea that was inside of the sea…that was inside of the sea?
721. We cannot create a philosophy of abstract thought unless it is born out of the materiality of the concrete world.
722. Pallbearers are always the coolest people at a funeral.
723. Does anyone else have seasonal depression? If so, please raise your hand.
724. Everyone wants something even if they don’t want anything.
725. I don’t know.
Daqui ó.

Pra quem quiser me dar o livro, tem umas indicações aqui, tá?

EDIT

Só porque eu coloquei uns termos ligeiramente eróticos no meu post sobre o negócio do Medicare, tive cinco acessos vindos de um site porn (Ou de Luxemburgo ou da Rússia, not sure yet). A internet pode ser bem scary às vezes.

14 de ago de 2012

Scary Republicans

Certo, eu não curto muito postar sobre coisas sérias, por isso achei esse artigo aí uma boa pedida. Atualmente, várias polêmicas de bra burners estão bombando nos States por causa da proposta ridícula de cortar planejamento familiar (mas manter a porcaria do viagra no medicare, because BONERS before HOES, né?).

Eu nem estou aqui para apresentar minhas opiniões sobre o tema, eu só queria colocar uma POLÊMICA, especialmente para o Lapa, que saiu do armário e agora é declaradamente um ANARCOCAPITALISTA.

Enfim, eu peço aos leitores que conhecem o Sr. Anarcocapitalista que mandem alguns desses dados em conversas aleatórias, só pra que ele fique constrangido.

Obrigada.