Lyrics | Black Box Recorder - Child Psychology lyrics
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
10 years ago...
10 years ago, I was 12 kilos thinner, my hair was lighter, and my head gazillion times emptier.
10 years ago, I was surrounded by many people: acquaintances, co-workers, and so-called friends, had more fun places to go, and fewer responsibilities.
10 years ago, I lived in an apartment. Now, I live in a school and have a pet cat to look after.
10 years ago, I subscribed to Rolling Stone magazine. Now, I subscribe to scientific magazines.
10 years ago, I dreamed of having babies. Now, I'd be happier if I could adopt 2 more cats.
10 years ago, I lived in a false happiness promoted by parties and drunkenness. Now, I live in a false happiness promoted by work load and drunkenness.
10 years ago, my skin was tanner for I lived in Florida by the water. Now, my skin is as pale as corn starch although I do not live too far from the ocean.
10 years ago, I was 100 thousand dollars shorter but I would spend more recklessly.
10 years ago, I knew to speak only English and Portuguese. Now, I barely know English.
10 years ago, I believed that evil figures would only exist in movies. Now, I know that that was a great deviation.
10 years ago, I spoke softer, cried more easily, and was betrayed way too often.
10 years ago, I would have loved to go dancing at crazy raves. I've never been to one, and don't carry a dust of wish to be in one one day.
10 years ago, I'd drive drunk listening to loud music heading to the closest liquor store. Now, my husband does it for me.
10 years ago, I watched TV in the afternoon and worked at night. Now televisions work fine as a mere piece of ornament in the house.
10 years ago, I read books about art. Now, I read books on the art of teaching.
10 years ago, I'd teach English for beer. Now I do it for airline tickets.
10 years ago, I carried phone numbers in an electronic organizer. Now, I only need E-mail addresses.
10 years ago, I'd vent at a bar table speaking ill of my boss. Now, my associates speak ill of me.
10 years ago, I'd suffer from terrible cramps when I was in my periods. Now, I still suffer from the same damn thing.
10 years ago, I had only one pair of All Stars. Now, I own twelve of those.
10 years ago, I would not exchange a night out for movies and sweets at home. I love movies at home with gummy bears and candies.
10 years ago, I drank coffee for the pleasure only. Now, I need coffee to think, stand up, and lift my arms while I write on the blackboard.
10 years ago, I was ten years younger (wow).
10 years ago, I had lived not long enough to understand that sex and love lie in total different realms.
10 years ago, I used to fold clothes but not ironing them. Now, I neither iron nor fold. I pay someone to do these things for me.
10 years ago, I was Milton's oldest daughter or simply Laila. But now, I am that crazy lady from Sao Paulo, the English teacher, Roberto's wife, Tibby's owner, that person who drives a Subaru, or even "puta" as it was graffited on my school wall the other day, or any other label you would like to give me.
10 years ago, I was surrounded by many people: acquaintances, co-workers, and so-called friends, had more fun places to go, and fewer responsibilities.
10 years ago, I lived in an apartment. Now, I live in a school and have a pet cat to look after.
10 years ago, I subscribed to Rolling Stone magazine. Now, I subscribe to scientific magazines.
10 years ago, I dreamed of having babies. Now, I'd be happier if I could adopt 2 more cats.
10 years ago, I lived in a false happiness promoted by parties and drunkenness. Now, I live in a false happiness promoted by work load and drunkenness.
10 years ago, my skin was tanner for I lived in Florida by the water. Now, my skin is as pale as corn starch although I do not live too far from the ocean.
10 years ago, I was 100 thousand dollars shorter but I would spend more recklessly.
10 years ago, I knew to speak only English and Portuguese. Now, I barely know English.
10 years ago, I believed that evil figures would only exist in movies. Now, I know that that was a great deviation.
10 years ago, I spoke softer, cried more easily, and was betrayed way too often.
10 years ago, I would have loved to go dancing at crazy raves. I've never been to one, and don't carry a dust of wish to be in one one day.
10 years ago, I'd drive drunk listening to loud music heading to the closest liquor store. Now, my husband does it for me.
10 years ago, I watched TV in the afternoon and worked at night. Now televisions work fine as a mere piece of ornament in the house.
10 years ago, I read books about art. Now, I read books on the art of teaching.
10 years ago, I'd teach English for beer. Now I do it for airline tickets.
10 years ago, I carried phone numbers in an electronic organizer. Now, I only need E-mail addresses.
10 years ago, I'd vent at a bar table speaking ill of my boss. Now, my associates speak ill of me.
10 years ago, I'd suffer from terrible cramps when I was in my periods. Now, I still suffer from the same damn thing.
10 years ago, I had only one pair of All Stars. Now, I own twelve of those.
10 years ago, I would not exchange a night out for movies and sweets at home. I love movies at home with gummy bears and candies.
10 years ago, I drank coffee for the pleasure only. Now, I need coffee to think, stand up, and lift my arms while I write on the blackboard.
10 years ago, I was ten years younger (wow).
10 years ago, I had lived not long enough to understand that sex and love lie in total different realms.
10 years ago, I used to fold clothes but not ironing them. Now, I neither iron nor fold. I pay someone to do these things for me.
10 years ago, I was Milton's oldest daughter or simply Laila. But now, I am that crazy lady from Sao Paulo, the English teacher, Roberto's wife, Tibby's owner, that person who drives a Subaru, or even "puta" as it was graffited on my school wall the other day, or any other label you would like to give me.
Monday, July 21, 2008
brill
I am one and several selves, all fragmented, fragments of the same mirror, but that speak in different tongues, all invented, all created by the pain inflicted upon me, the pain, the shame, the need to become other, to reinvent all that was real.
As I write my mind swims in ideas, they scream to my ears, they beg to come out. It’s as if I’m keeping the world locked inside me, the real world that at times I pretend not to see. I shut my eyes, my ears and my sensitivity in order to protect myself, I shut everything out, I don’t want to see the reality, the self-absorbed, intangible human beings that live their lives as if it was a soap opera, no brains, no real feelings. Where are the real people? Where are all the bohemians?
Meanwhile, while I seek, while I go out in the world searching, my mind screams, my mind makes me look at the world in several different ways, all the selves, all the multiple personalities that were created to keep me alive speak at once. My hands tremble and my mind spins, there’s this monster that wants to come out, this monster that pushes me forward, the monster of the real me, the real person that has so much to show, so much to communicate, even if to deaf ears, it’s just the need to come out in the light and scream at myself, show that I haven’t been that wrong. It’s the monster of my desire, of my necessities, making everything so visceral, everything so unforgivably necessary.
So I wake up, take my shower, put on my pretty face. It’s always the same face, everyday, the same face for the same office, the same people, the same lunch. The real one is locked in my bedroom, the bedroom that is not mine, since I haven’t found myself a house I could call mine up to now. The real face, the real me, the real clothes, the real tears are all locked in my closet, they are all inside the hat boxes that are piling one on top of the other, almost reaching the ceiling. One day I will have to carve a hole in it, to let the pile grow taller, if not, then I will have to wear the real face in public, show the real emotions, everything that really matter and then the world is going to collapse. Tsunamis and earthquakes, the world is not ready for me just yet.
by Mme. A., posted on August 11th 2004
As I write my mind swims in ideas, they scream to my ears, they beg to come out. It’s as if I’m keeping the world locked inside me, the real world that at times I pretend not to see. I shut my eyes, my ears and my sensitivity in order to protect myself, I shut everything out, I don’t want to see the reality, the self-absorbed, intangible human beings that live their lives as if it was a soap opera, no brains, no real feelings. Where are the real people? Where are all the bohemians?
Meanwhile, while I seek, while I go out in the world searching, my mind screams, my mind makes me look at the world in several different ways, all the selves, all the multiple personalities that were created to keep me alive speak at once. My hands tremble and my mind spins, there’s this monster that wants to come out, this monster that pushes me forward, the monster of the real me, the real person that has so much to show, so much to communicate, even if to deaf ears, it’s just the need to come out in the light and scream at myself, show that I haven’t been that wrong. It’s the monster of my desire, of my necessities, making everything so visceral, everything so unforgivably necessary.
So I wake up, take my shower, put on my pretty face. It’s always the same face, everyday, the same face for the same office, the same people, the same lunch. The real one is locked in my bedroom, the bedroom that is not mine, since I haven’t found myself a house I could call mine up to now. The real face, the real me, the real clothes, the real tears are all locked in my closet, they are all inside the hat boxes that are piling one on top of the other, almost reaching the ceiling. One day I will have to carve a hole in it, to let the pile grow taller, if not, then I will have to wear the real face in public, show the real emotions, everything that really matter and then the world is going to collapse. Tsunamis and earthquakes, the world is not ready for me just yet.
by Mme. A., posted on August 11th 2004
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Someone touched my CHEESE!
I SHALL EXPLAIN THIS POST LATER!
The Shwah Alphabet for English
Did you know that there is another way of writing things in the English language? It's the Shwah alphabet. This alphabet is another way of writing English, an alternative to this Latin alphabet. Why would we want another alphabet, when we already have this one? There are two main reasons:
- because the Shwah alphabet is a better alphabet for English than the Latin alphabet is,
- and because Shwah is a universal alphabet that can be used to write many of the world's languages.
I don't have to explain to you that English spelling is crazy - you learned that in school. You had to learn that why, rye, sigh, buy, tie & hi all rhyme, but that rough, cough, though, through & bough don't. And you probably have a dictionary (with pronunciation guide) or a spell checker nearby.
Having crazy orthography not only makes it harder for us all to learn to read and write while growing up, but it also makes it harder for speakers of foreign languages to learn English and for us to learn their languages. How are we supposed to know that the Champs Elysées is pronounced shawn zayleezay?
But why don't we just fix English spelling, keeping our familiar alphabet? Well, many people have tried to do that, but it turns out that the results aren't as familiar as you'd think. Here are some examples:
Wuns upon a midnít dréry, wíl í ponderd wék and wéry
Over meny a kwaynt and kyuriyhs vahlyum ev forgahtn lor,
W'iyl 'I nadid, nirli na.ping, sa'dnli xer ke'm a' ta.ping
as av sM wN jentlE raping, raping at mI kAmbR dor
"'Tiz sœm vizit'r", ai mœt'rd, "tæping æt mai cémb'r dor - ónlí dhis ænd nœthing mor."
By the time you've learned how to spell and read familiar words all over again, you might as well learn a new alphabet.
The Shwah alphabet isn't the first new alphabet for English, either. One of the best is the Shavian alphabet (named after George Bernard Shaw), which looks like this:
But the Shwah alphabet may be the first universal alphabet, designed to be shared by many languages. It has a total of 50 letters, but each language will only use the ones it needs. Each letter might be pronounced slightly differently for different languages - an English b sounds subtly different from a French b or a Chinese b - but we don't really care.
The Shwah alphabet is also featural: letters share features with their sounds. For example, rounded vowels are round, and closed vowels are closed. Sounds made in the front of the mouth point towards the front (left), and sharp sounds are sharp letters. As a result of this metonymy, letters that sound alike look alike.
Take a look at it now, and we'll discuss it more afterwards.
As you can see, the Shwah letters don't correspond exactly to English letters, but they correspond to the English sounds.
Here's a box showing the English consonants, along with examples of their use:
The last three consonants are called semivowels, because they're actually vowels acting as consonants.
You may never have realized it, but we English speakers pronounce l very differently at the end of words or syllables, as in the difference between oily and oil. In Shwah, we use a different letter for this "dark" final l. This letter is actually a ligature, a combination of two letters, as you'll learn later.
Here are the English short vowels:
The otter vowel doesn't occur in American English. Where Brits use it in words like cot, Americans use the almond vowel, and where Brits use it in words like caught, Americans use the awful vowel.
In English, the rhythm of a word - which syllables are stressed and which aren't - is very important. In Shwah, stressed vowels are written high - in the top half of the line - and unstressed vowels are normally written low - in the bottom half of the line.
Here are the English long vowels:
As you can see, the long vowels are written with two short vowels, just as in the Latin alphabet. The second vowel is always one of the three glides itchy, cookie or early, written low. In the vowels eagle and oozy, the second vowel is the same as the first, so it's replaced with the Long sign, a horizontal line.
Now look at the following three words:
Note that the Long sign is usually written underneath a high vowel.
The vowel in fuel is the same as the vowel in fool, except there's a y in front of it. The same vowel occurs in unit, beauty, pure and many other English words, but we don't need another letter for it: it's just written yoo.
Now that you've learned the letters, why don't you try reading some sentences?
- because the Shwah alphabet is a better alphabet for English than the Latin alphabet is,
- and because Shwah is a universal alphabet that can be used to write many of the world's languages.
I don't have to explain to you that English spelling is crazy - you learned that in school. You had to learn that why, rye, sigh, buy, tie & hi all rhyme, but that rough, cough, though, through & bough don't. And you probably have a dictionary (with pronunciation guide) or a spell checker nearby.
Having crazy orthography not only makes it harder for us all to learn to read and write while growing up, but it also makes it harder for speakers of foreign languages to learn English and for us to learn their languages. How are we supposed to know that the Champs Elysées is pronounced shawn zayleezay?
But why don't we just fix English spelling, keeping our familiar alphabet? Well, many people have tried to do that, but it turns out that the results aren't as familiar as you'd think. Here are some examples:
Wuns upon a midnít dréry, wíl í ponderd wék and wéry
Over meny a kwaynt and kyuriyhs vahlyum ev forgahtn lor,
W'iyl 'I nadid, nirli na.ping, sa'dnli xer ke'm a' ta.ping
as av sM wN jentlE raping, raping at mI kAmbR dor
"'Tiz sœm vizit'r", ai mœt'rd, "tæping æt mai cémb'r dor - ónlí dhis ænd nœthing mor."
By the time you've learned how to spell and read familiar words all over again, you might as well learn a new alphabet.
The Shwah alphabet isn't the first new alphabet for English, either. One of the best is the Shavian alphabet (named after George Bernard Shaw), which looks like this:
But the Shwah alphabet may be the first universal alphabet, designed to be shared by many languages. It has a total of 50 letters, but each language will only use the ones it needs. Each letter might be pronounced slightly differently for different languages - an English b sounds subtly different from a French b or a Chinese b - but we don't really care.
The Shwah alphabet is also featural: letters share features with their sounds. For example, rounded vowels are round, and closed vowels are closed. Sounds made in the front of the mouth point towards the front (left), and sharp sounds are sharp letters. As a result of this metonymy, letters that sound alike look alike.
Take a look at it now, and we'll discuss it more afterwards.
As you can see, the Shwah letters don't correspond exactly to English letters, but they correspond to the English sounds.
Here's a box showing the English consonants, along with examples of their use:
The last three consonants are called semivowels, because they're actually vowels acting as consonants.
You may never have realized it, but we English speakers pronounce l very differently at the end of words or syllables, as in the difference between oily and oil. In Shwah, we use a different letter for this "dark" final l. This letter is actually a ligature, a combination of two letters, as you'll learn later.
Here are the English short vowels:
The otter vowel doesn't occur in American English. Where Brits use it in words like cot, Americans use the almond vowel, and where Brits use it in words like caught, Americans use the awful vowel.
In English, the rhythm of a word - which syllables are stressed and which aren't - is very important. In Shwah, stressed vowels are written high - in the top half of the line - and unstressed vowels are normally written low - in the bottom half of the line.
Here are the English long vowels:
As you can see, the long vowels are written with two short vowels, just as in the Latin alphabet. The second vowel is always one of the three glides itchy, cookie or early, written low. In the vowels eagle and oozy, the second vowel is the same as the first, so it's replaced with the Long sign, a horizontal line.
Now look at the following three words:
Note that the Long sign is usually written underneath a high vowel.
The vowel in fuel is the same as the vowel in fool, except there's a y in front of it. The same vowel occurs in unit, beauty, pure and many other English words, but we don't need another letter for it: it's just written yoo.
Now that you've learned the letters, why don't you try reading some sentences?
Saturday, July 12, 2008
A sunny winter Sunday
While people enjoy summer time in the northern hemisphere, down here hubby and I go for a drive to have lunch somewhere away from town on a cool Sunday afternoon:
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Finally something for you to read...
It's Sunday and it is past noon. It is actually almost one o'clock now. Roberto is getting ready to hit the shower. And finally I got to meet some time to type a couple of words here. Depression is hidden somewhere. My fingers don't seem to find the right keys out of this keyboard which would sum up words about this topic: depression. I don't want to pretend everything is fine because I'd be obviously lying to myself. I want to write here what I see happening to me. I totally spazzed out, fell down a stair, and started frantically crying at church a couple of weeks ago. What was I doing at church? There is this nice restaurant right next to it. There, I had litters of red homemade wine. After my fine lunch and gallons of wine, we decided to take a walk around the church yard. I stopped walking right at the edge of some stairs and noticed doves flying over tall trees. Is there anything worse than the sound of frantic wings flapping in our ears?! I got dizzy and lost balance. My right foot landed on the floor in wrong position. As a result, I sprained my ankle and ended up having partial tearing of ligaments. My orthopedist said that I had second degree ankle sprain which consistes in moderate tearing of the ligament fibres, some instability of the joint, moderate pain, some difficulty walking, besides swelling and stiffness in the right ankle joint. I actually started writing this post three weeks ago, so my ankle does look better now but it is far from what it was before. The swelling is not noticeable and the bruises are fading. Many things got across after this incident: that I am getting old, that I've been drinking more than any normal person would do, and that this sedentary life is not gonna make me last too long. Funny I should type these things because right now, on a Sunday evening, I am lying in bed, having some local black stout, and figuring out what I should have for dinner (actually, where I should call for food delivery.) I'd been under accute stress in the beginning of this year until I finally calmed down. Yeah, my sprained ankle came to me in a good moment. I've got new staff working with me and this new vibe going on here is helping me get healed up. Even my Valentine's night was nice and nothing went wrong. Brazilians celebrate Valentine's on June 12th. I know this is quite weird, anyway, I'm glad I get to receive Valentine's present twice a year just because of that. I am not the type who would complain...
This year, I got as a Brazilian Valentine's day gift this way good Dutch perfume (I didn't know they could do better perfumes than the French). I also got a set of body moisturizers and wonderful dinner at this extremely expensive and awfully good Italian place we have here in our local area. While waiting for a table, we got to fill our champagne flutes four times straight. I came to be headed to our table already high but not too much drunk. We had an OKAY dinner with lotsa joy. Another brilliant thing we have done is setting our new video room. Finally we have a room with a cute yellow rug and lotsa of CUSHIONS and puffs, besides a wonderful video projector so that we can get to watch movies and stuff being projected against a plain white wall and having the sound amplified by home-theater devices such as speaker boxes as great as the ones in real movie theaters. I've been having a blast with this new room. I hate and love my lifestyle. I've gotta do what I've gotta do and cannot complain about it. I, now, even have health insurance which has covered doctor's visits, X-rays, and physiotherapist sessions. I do not have to be worried about anything right now. Last Thursday, I applied for my new passport, the new blue version and next week I'm paying entirely for my trip to Europe. This is going to be a vivid dream coming true. Altough I came down with a strong cold yesterday, even though my right ankle has still scared me, apart from all this mess I can say that I have not been that bad. Life hasn't been much of a hassle these days. Yeah, depression is really well hidden at some mysterious place.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Laughter has got to make me move on...
Top Ten Signs that You're a Christian
10 - You vigorously deny the existence of thousands of gods claimed by other religions, but feel outraged when someone denies the existence of your god.
9 - You feel insulted and "dehumanized" when scientists say that people evolved from lesser life forms, but you have no problem with the Biblical claim that we were created from dirt.
8 - You laugh at polytheists, but you have no problem believing in a Trinity god.
7 - Your face turns purple when you hear of the "atrocities" attributed to Allah, but you don't even flinch when hearing about how God/Jehovah slaughtered all the babies of Egypt in "Exodus" and ordered the elimination of entire ethnic groups in "Joshua" -- including women, children, and trees!
6 - You laugh at Hindu beliefs that deify humans, and Greek claims about gods sleeping with women, but you have no problem believing that the Holy Spirit impregnated Mary, who then gave birth to a man-god who got killed, came back to life and then ascended into the sky.
5 - You are willing to spend your life looking for little loop-holes in the scientifically established age of the Earth (4.55 billion years), but you find nothing wrong with believing dates recorded by pre-historic tribesmen sitting in their tents and guessing that the Earth is a couple of generations old.
4 - You believe that the entire population of this planet with the exception of those who share your beliefs -- though excluding those in all rival sects -- will spend Eternity in an infinite Hell of Suffering. And yet you consider your religion the most "tolerant" and "loving".
3 - While modern science, history, geology, biology, and physics have failed to convince you otherwise, some idiot rolling around on the floor speaking in "tongues" may be all the evidence you need to prove Christianity.
2 - You define 0.01% as a "high success rate" when it comes to answered prayers. You consider that to be evidence that prayer works. And you think that the remaining 99.99% FAILURE was simply the will of God.
1 - You actually know a lot less than many Atheists and Agnostics do about the Bible, Christianity, and church history -- but still call yourself a Christian.
10 - You vigorously deny the existence of thousands of gods claimed by other religions, but feel outraged when someone denies the existence of your god.
9 - You feel insulted and "dehumanized" when scientists say that people evolved from lesser life forms, but you have no problem with the Biblical claim that we were created from dirt.
8 - You laugh at polytheists, but you have no problem believing in a Trinity god.
7 - Your face turns purple when you hear of the "atrocities" attributed to Allah, but you don't even flinch when hearing about how God/Jehovah slaughtered all the babies of Egypt in "Exodus" and ordered the elimination of entire ethnic groups in "Joshua" -- including women, children, and trees!
6 - You laugh at Hindu beliefs that deify humans, and Greek claims about gods sleeping with women, but you have no problem believing that the Holy Spirit impregnated Mary, who then gave birth to a man-god who got killed, came back to life and then ascended into the sky.
5 - You are willing to spend your life looking for little loop-holes in the scientifically established age of the Earth (4.55 billion years), but you find nothing wrong with believing dates recorded by pre-historic tribesmen sitting in their tents and guessing that the Earth is a couple of generations old.
4 - You believe that the entire population of this planet with the exception of those who share your beliefs -- though excluding those in all rival sects -- will spend Eternity in an infinite Hell of Suffering. And yet you consider your religion the most "tolerant" and "loving".
3 - While modern science, history, geology, biology, and physics have failed to convince you otherwise, some idiot rolling around on the floor speaking in "tongues" may be all the evidence you need to prove Christianity.
2 - You define 0.01% as a "high success rate" when it comes to answered prayers. You consider that to be evidence that prayer works. And you think that the remaining 99.99% FAILURE was simply the will of God.
1 - You actually know a lot less than many Atheists and Agnostics do about the Bible, Christianity, and church history -- but still call yourself a Christian.
Friday, May 23, 2008
That's how depression started.
Well, it all started on January 29th, 1976. It was on a Thursday. I decided to leave my mother's womb at 10:30 in the morning. January is the hottest month of year in Brazil and that may explain why I loathe summer time. I lived in my hometown (a tiny little town in Sao Paulo State) until I became 16. On my 17th birthday, I had my own apartment in Sao Paulo City (rented, of course), no telephone, no microwave, a roommate to share the expenses, and more serious business to do: get prepared to pass VESTIBULAR -- a selective test to get to enroll in Brazilian colleges. I lived in Liberdade and studied at Etapa. Although I was living in Sao Paulo, I did not want to take colleges there. My ultimate dream school was UFPR - Universidade Federal do Parana. I tried Vestibular there twice. I failed there twice.
Mom found out about UEL - State University of Londrina. It's a pretty nice school in Parana State, and tuition free. All public colleges and universities in Brazil are free to attend. The only massive problem about them is that it gets way difficult to pass their selective tests because everyone wants to enroll in those kind of schools. I never wanted to study there though. I had never heard of Londrina. I knew it was far from my family's town but that was that. Roberto, my husband now and my boyfriend at that time (1993), decided to sign up for UEL and try out its vestibular. I said "Fine. Let's give it a shot!" We both passed vestibular there in 3rd place ranking in our careers. We were both 18 years of age, living far from our parents, attending a free college which meant no need to study and work at the same time coz our parents were able to afford housing and books. We lived in Londrina from 1994 to 1997, when we both graduated with wonderful GPAs. I still can't believe I did not get pregnant during that time. LOL
Four years passed by utterly fast. This is Brazil: people with no degrees have quite hard time to get jobs and people with degrees have hard time to find descent paying work which should make up for the investiment you have with college strives. Even with free colleges there are bills to pay. Roberto and I were not very lucky with our job huntings. Plus, I was so damn sure about my newest career: UNDECLARED. I majored in journalism at UEL. I have always loved writing and all. It's no wonder I have written in blogs for so long. However, being a journalist is much more than just write. Journalism deals with tragedies mostly. I know there is the entertainment, sports, or tourism focused journalism that I could have given them a try... but... I simply couldn't and still can't imagine myself spending every day writing what I am told to. Somehow, I just didn't think I was the type.
Moving out of the country seemed the best solution for my issues. There, I could go after another college degree and maybe finally get a well paying job. As my parents are both ESL teachers and they were kind enough to sponsor an entire year of abroad studies for me, they themselves suggested me The Sunshine State - Florida - in the USA. They had already taken an ESL program at Eckerd College in Saint Petersburg, FL, and they both had fallen in love with this place. Mom and dad were certain that I would get to love it too. And they were right. Parents know best. Roberto and I spent 5 years in Pinellas County (1998 - 2002). He studied Business Administration at Florida Metropolitan University. I studied at Saint Petersburg College, majoring in Creative Writing. There, I worked as babysitter, bus girl, restaurant hostess, restaurant cashier, and marketing associate in a big corporate business. As you can see, I have never worked as a journalist.
I graduated in July 2002. Three months later, we were back in Brazil. In here, we had to start our lives over.
My parents played their important role here one more time: giving out the right advice. They suggested us setting up a kind of business they've been pretty familiar with - a language school. In this country there are tons of franchising language schools to choose from. We ventured a nationally known school which would not cost that much to get started. Those kinds of business are usually more successful when they are opened far from big cities or metropolitan centers. That is when Rio Grande do Sul state came up to us. It is the southernmost state in Brazil. It is cold, charming, near two other countries: Uruguay and Argentina. Here, people love barbecue, fondue, chocolate, and let's not forget the WINE. The best Brazilian wines are made here, exactly where we've decided to settle down. What could I ever ask for more?
There are pros and cons about being far from everyone we know and everything which once were ours. The good thing is that I discover new stuff about my inner self every day. The worst is that that sort of discovery gets me too involved and tortured in my existing reality which I actually build in the back of my mind. It's not much different from losing the track of things. My life is being a parallel of working too hard while waiting for the beer to cool down or giving the best of myself in classrooms while getting the worst parents' comments... or the parallel of not knowing what I'm doing while being the best professional I could ever be.
That's how it all started.
Mom found out about UEL - State University of Londrina. It's a pretty nice school in Parana State, and tuition free. All public colleges and universities in Brazil are free to attend. The only massive problem about them is that it gets way difficult to pass their selective tests because everyone wants to enroll in those kind of schools. I never wanted to study there though. I had never heard of Londrina. I knew it was far from my family's town but that was that. Roberto, my husband now and my boyfriend at that time (1993), decided to sign up for UEL and try out its vestibular. I said "Fine. Let's give it a shot!" We both passed vestibular there in 3rd place ranking in our careers. We were both 18 years of age, living far from our parents, attending a free college which meant no need to study and work at the same time coz our parents were able to afford housing and books. We lived in Londrina from 1994 to 1997, when we both graduated with wonderful GPAs. I still can't believe I did not get pregnant during that time. LOL
Four years passed by utterly fast. This is Brazil: people with no degrees have quite hard time to get jobs and people with degrees have hard time to find descent paying work which should make up for the investiment you have with college strives. Even with free colleges there are bills to pay. Roberto and I were not very lucky with our job huntings. Plus, I was so damn sure about my newest career: UNDECLARED. I majored in journalism at UEL. I have always loved writing and all. It's no wonder I have written in blogs for so long. However, being a journalist is much more than just write. Journalism deals with tragedies mostly. I know there is the entertainment, sports, or tourism focused journalism that I could have given them a try... but... I simply couldn't and still can't imagine myself spending every day writing what I am told to. Somehow, I just didn't think I was the type.
Moving out of the country seemed the best solution for my issues. There, I could go after another college degree and maybe finally get a well paying job. As my parents are both ESL teachers and they were kind enough to sponsor an entire year of abroad studies for me, they themselves suggested me The Sunshine State - Florida - in the USA. They had already taken an ESL program at Eckerd College in Saint Petersburg, FL, and they both had fallen in love with this place. Mom and dad were certain that I would get to love it too. And they were right. Parents know best. Roberto and I spent 5 years in Pinellas County (1998 - 2002). He studied Business Administration at Florida Metropolitan University. I studied at Saint Petersburg College, majoring in Creative Writing. There, I worked as babysitter, bus girl, restaurant hostess, restaurant cashier, and marketing associate in a big corporate business. As you can see, I have never worked as a journalist.
I graduated in July 2002. Three months later, we were back in Brazil. In here, we had to start our lives over.
My parents played their important role here one more time: giving out the right advice. They suggested us setting up a kind of business they've been pretty familiar with - a language school. In this country there are tons of franchising language schools to choose from. We ventured a nationally known school which would not cost that much to get started. Those kinds of business are usually more successful when they are opened far from big cities or metropolitan centers. That is when Rio Grande do Sul state came up to us. It is the southernmost state in Brazil. It is cold, charming, near two other countries: Uruguay and Argentina. Here, people love barbecue, fondue, chocolate, and let's not forget the WINE. The best Brazilian wines are made here, exactly where we've decided to settle down. What could I ever ask for more?
There are pros and cons about being far from everyone we know and everything which once were ours. The good thing is that I discover new stuff about my inner self every day. The worst is that that sort of discovery gets me too involved and tortured in my existing reality which I actually build in the back of my mind. It's not much different from losing the track of things. My life is being a parallel of working too hard while waiting for the beer to cool down or giving the best of myself in classrooms while getting the worst parents' comments... or the parallel of not knowing what I'm doing while being the best professional I could ever be.
That's how it all started.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Old post being reposted...
I normally have time to write new posts here only when there is holiday. Next Thursday,it will be an example. We are celebrating Corpus Christi. Nobody works or goes to school because of it. The funny thing to me about this holiday is that I may be Christian, but I am not really catholic, so why should I have to celebrate it? I say again: "I may be Christian" but I don't see why I (me, Laila) have got to celebrate it. I was taught Christianism principles at school and home, and, I live in a catholic country - at least that is what encyclopedias say about Brazil. I personally think that most people down here have protestant beliefs rather than catholic, anyway. Fewer and fewer Brazilian families attend masses and to make it worse, I developed a public survey myself last week regarding Corpus Christi day and nobody knew how to answer a tiny little query. The question was very simple: "What do we celebrate on Corpus Christi?". Most answered: "I don't know!" or "We celebrate the "body of Christ". What? What's that? Whose body? Just kidding.
Since not many could explain to me what the holiday is about, I had to research on it myself. And here it is what I've found: Corpus Christi is the celebration of the Holy Sacrament or Eucharist. "Most Christians classify the Eucharist as a sacrament. Some Protestants view it as an ordinance in which the ceremony is seen not as a specific channel of divine grace but as an expression of faith and of obedience to Christ."*** From the earliest times, the followers of Jesus had a sense of His continuing presence with them as they gave thanks, broke bread, and shared it, together with a cup of wine - the Sacrament.
Besides that, Corpus Christi is a celebration of theology; how Catholics understand what Christians believe. The Feast of Corpus Christi began in the late Middle Ages not only as a service of special recognition and thanks for the gift of Jesus's Presence with humanity in the "Sacrament of the Altar", but as a service which emphasized a particular way of understanding the nature of that Presence, an understanding then later called "trans-substantiation."
This theory provides one particular explanation of how Jesus is present in the sacrament -- the being or "substance" of the physical bread and wine is actually changed, overtaken by the spiritual presence, so that what looks to us like bread -- the same as before the prayer of consecration -- is now in actuality the flesh of Jesus. It appears to us as bread, but that's an illusion -- what seems to us as bread is Really flesh. Of course, according to this theological theory.
Understanding or not this religious holiday is a matter of choice. What I will never understand is why people who aren't catholic, like me, have to celebrate something that we barely understand what it is. And the worst, why don't catholics in this country understand it either? And one more thought: Brazilian culture covers more religions, then why don't we celebrate Native or African-Brazilian beliefs as well? How come we don't?
***Wikipedia
Saturday, May 10, 2008
An essay on the 80's
Homenaje a los ochenta
Corrían los chupitos como balas del infierno garganta abajo quemando
nuestros esófagos con su endiablado destilado de agave, cuando sonaba, en el
momento álgido de la noche, la canción que todos coreábamos: "El limite" del
grupo de rock La Frontera.
Nos identificábamos con aquellas letras por creernos, a esas horas, en las
que los efectos del tequila nos habían transportado al limite del bien y del
mal, al menos de lo que entendíamos como tal, cercanos a ese mundo que rompe
las fronteras de lo cotidiano, por cotidiano mil veces más absurdo; el
limite, como estar al filo de la navaja o caminar descalzo sobre brasas de
carbón era lo que creíamos entender pensando de una manera libertaria,
desalojados de ataduras y de imposiciones sociales.
Más bien era un lugar imaginario en donde nos hubiera gustado estar en algún
momento de nuestras vidas, dándonos la oportunidad de poder cambiar el mundo
que nos rodeaba haciendo realidad ideas y sueños; entonces el ritmo de la
música y el estribillo de la canción nos otorgaban unos segundos de gloria,
la que en nuestros corazones anhelábamos en los labios ardientes de alguna
hermosa mujer de prietas carnes lanzándonos a la lujuria más descabellada y
atroz por bella e irreal, por estar más cerca del mal que del bien
propiamente dichos como nos lo habían hecho creer nuestros educadores no
laicos dotados de una fe y un doctrina colmada de misterios.
Nosotros éramos hijos de la frustración y el desengaño, adolescentes que
despertábamos en una transición y jóvenes que nacíamos en una democracia que
se acababa de estrenar en un país que salía de un duro trance dictatorial.
Y aquellas canciones de los ochenta con su movida madrileña, como siempre ha
sido, centralizaba un movimiento que hacía despertar a toda la nación en su
capital, quedando el resto del territorio huérfano de cultura y sumido por
muchos años más en la más profunda y negra de las Españas, que todavía, en
algunos pueblos, por desgracia, sigue viva.
Nos llegaba la movida ochentera tarde, casi en los noventa, al menos en
aquélla ciudad que bien comparó un gran amigo mío como la Cuba sin Fidel,
una isla rodeada de montañas, lejana al mundo exterior y cercana al pasado.
Canciones como "El limite" y tantas otras: Lobo hombre en París, Jardín
Botánico, Cadillac solitario, Perlas ensangrentadas, La chica de ayer,
Déjame, Enfermera de noche, Bote de colón, Bailaré sobre tu tumba, Galicia
caníbal, Camino Soria, Juan Antonio Cortes, Groelandia, Yo tenía un novio
que tocaba en un conjunto, Ataque preventivo, El pistolero, Metadona,
Escuela de calor, Huesos...
Y muchas otras sin dejar en el tintero a las que nos obsequiaron sus
majestades satánicas los Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Tina
Turner, Bob Marley, Nina Simone, Eurithmics, Status Quo, Roxy Music, David
Bowie, Talking Heads, Chris Rea, Leonard Cohen, Pretenders, Dire Straits,
Pink Floyd, Police, U2, Scorpions, Kis, The Chlass, The Ramones...
Todos estos y muchos otros grupos que escuché en aquella isla fueron, al
menos para mí, la salvación, gracias a ellos crecí como persona y aprendí
cosas maravillosas; descubrí de la vida lo dulce y lo amargo y me tambaleé
al limite de aquello que entendía como bien y me acercaba al mal; bailé al
ritmo de las guitarras de la Frontera cuando oía aquel "El limite" dejando
que mi imaginación volase hasta llegar a lugares soñados caminando por ese
fina y frágil línea que separa el mal del bien y viceversa.
by Salvador Moreno Valencia
salvador moreno valencia
www.alvaeno.com
La web de Arte y Literatura
http://letras.alvaeno.com
El blog de Literatura, Arte y Música, Opinión...
Corrían los chupitos como balas del infierno garganta abajo quemando
nuestros esófagos con su endiablado destilado de agave, cuando sonaba, en el
momento álgido de la noche, la canción que todos coreábamos: "El limite" del
grupo de rock La Frontera.
Nos identificábamos con aquellas letras por creernos, a esas horas, en las
que los efectos del tequila nos habían transportado al limite del bien y del
mal, al menos de lo que entendíamos como tal, cercanos a ese mundo que rompe
las fronteras de lo cotidiano, por cotidiano mil veces más absurdo; el
limite, como estar al filo de la navaja o caminar descalzo sobre brasas de
carbón era lo que creíamos entender pensando de una manera libertaria,
desalojados de ataduras y de imposiciones sociales.
Más bien era un lugar imaginario en donde nos hubiera gustado estar en algún
momento de nuestras vidas, dándonos la oportunidad de poder cambiar el mundo
que nos rodeaba haciendo realidad ideas y sueños; entonces el ritmo de la
música y el estribillo de la canción nos otorgaban unos segundos de gloria,
la que en nuestros corazones anhelábamos en los labios ardientes de alguna
hermosa mujer de prietas carnes lanzándonos a la lujuria más descabellada y
atroz por bella e irreal, por estar más cerca del mal que del bien
propiamente dichos como nos lo habían hecho creer nuestros educadores no
laicos dotados de una fe y un doctrina colmada de misterios.
Nosotros éramos hijos de la frustración y el desengaño, adolescentes que
despertábamos en una transición y jóvenes que nacíamos en una democracia que
se acababa de estrenar en un país que salía de un duro trance dictatorial.
Y aquellas canciones de los ochenta con su movida madrileña, como siempre ha
sido, centralizaba un movimiento que hacía despertar a toda la nación en su
capital, quedando el resto del territorio huérfano de cultura y sumido por
muchos años más en la más profunda y negra de las Españas, que todavía, en
algunos pueblos, por desgracia, sigue viva.
Nos llegaba la movida ochentera tarde, casi en los noventa, al menos en
aquélla ciudad que bien comparó un gran amigo mío como la Cuba sin Fidel,
una isla rodeada de montañas, lejana al mundo exterior y cercana al pasado.
Canciones como "El limite" y tantas otras: Lobo hombre en París, Jardín
Botánico, Cadillac solitario, Perlas ensangrentadas, La chica de ayer,
Déjame, Enfermera de noche, Bote de colón, Bailaré sobre tu tumba, Galicia
caníbal, Camino Soria, Juan Antonio Cortes, Groelandia, Yo tenía un novio
que tocaba en un conjunto, Ataque preventivo, El pistolero, Metadona,
Escuela de calor, Huesos...
Y muchas otras sin dejar en el tintero a las que nos obsequiaron sus
majestades satánicas los Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Tina
Turner, Bob Marley, Nina Simone, Eurithmics, Status Quo, Roxy Music, David
Bowie, Talking Heads, Chris Rea, Leonard Cohen, Pretenders, Dire Straits,
Pink Floyd, Police, U2, Scorpions, Kis, The Chlass, The Ramones...
Todos estos y muchos otros grupos que escuché en aquella isla fueron, al
menos para mí, la salvación, gracias a ellos crecí como persona y aprendí
cosas maravillosas; descubrí de la vida lo dulce y lo amargo y me tambaleé
al limite de aquello que entendía como bien y me acercaba al mal; bailé al
ritmo de las guitarras de la Frontera cuando oía aquel "El limite" dejando
que mi imaginación volase hasta llegar a lugares soñados caminando por ese
fina y frágil línea que separa el mal del bien y viceversa.
by Salvador Moreno Valencia
salvador moreno valencia
www.alvaeno.com
La web de Arte y Literatura
http://letras.alvaeno.com
El blog de Literatura, Arte y Música, Opinión...
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Ha! When in Doubt, Fuck !!! Woo-ha!*
What Al Pacino Character Are You????????
You're Michael Corleone From The Godfather (1972), The Godfather: Part II, (1974), The Godfather: Part III, (1990). You're A Sharp Business Woman Who Keeps Gaining More And More Power. Family Is Important To You And You Care For Them And Want To Protect Them No Matter What. You're Not Afraid To 'Dispose' Of Somebody, But You Also Have At The Back Of Your Mind A Conscience If Waiting To Surface. You're A Kind Person Really - But work occasionally comes before family.
Take this quiz!
*by Al Pacino in "Scent of a Woman." I thought I was "Colonel Slade"... but oh well...
Friday, May 2, 2008
˙ʇɹnɥ sǝop ʇı ʇnq ʇɹnɥ ʇ,uplnoɥs ʇı
I am a hardworking and lazy teacher, writer, and people's watcher. So I love the fact that the Internet has opened free spaces for people to expose their lives, their talents, and their weaknesses.
Love and hate being alive. Hate coz I must get by without begging. And love coz that turns possible having a face, voice, a 'human' format to be heard or scratched out.
If you are reading this blogger blog right now, it is probable that you are looking up to me. There is a concrete chance that you'd have loved being me or, at least, you'd have cherished having my company. And this is because you obviously are looking for a voice you think you don't have, or your own face, or your very own 'human' format.
I do the same. I also search for videos, blogs, personal Internet pages radomly in order to locate something I can relate to. But lemme tell you this: no one is fully happy, in love, and/or surrounded by true friends. I would have been just as this miserable if I had been you or if I'd been with you.
We all are a bunch of the same material: Human Flesh.
Love and hate being alive. Hate coz I must get by without begging. And love coz that turns possible having a face, voice, a 'human' format to be heard or scratched out.
If you are reading this blogger blog right now, it is probable that you are looking up to me. There is a concrete chance that you'd have loved being me or, at least, you'd have cherished having my company. And this is because you obviously are looking for a voice you think you don't have, or your own face, or your very own 'human' format.
I do the same. I also search for videos, blogs, personal Internet pages radomly in order to locate something I can relate to. But lemme tell you this: no one is fully happy, in love, and/or surrounded by true friends. I would have been just as this miserable if I had been you or if I'd been with you.
We all are a bunch of the same material: Human Flesh.
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