Vergonha Nacional

 Os alunos da minha ex-faculdade são os que mais requerem mudanças na estrutura universitária, como se a má situação da maior universidade da América Latina não fosse, em grande parte, devido ao (mau) comportamento deles.

Explico: envoltos em uma aura de pretensa intelectualidade, liberados de toda e qualquer responsabilidade social, muitas vezes vivendo bastante acomodados (p. ex., sabe aqueles lendários moradores que nunca saem do CRUSP?)  em um parasitismo asqueroso, sugando ora recursos do Estado, ora de familiares, frequentemente de ambos, esses idólatras apaixonados pelo próprio conhecimento ou, citando uma palavra que adoram empregar, pela própria “bagagem”, consideram-se a nata da sociedade brasileira, simples e tão somente pela aprovação por meio de uma das mais baixas notas de corte do vestibular.

Alguns professores, por sua vez,  fazem tudo exceto ministrar as próprias disciplinas, até porque têm agendas comprometidas por participações volungatórias (aparentemente voluntárias, na prática indispensáveis)  em eventos, repassando portanto a responsabilidade de apresentar as aulas para alunos de Pós-Graduação, iniciação científica e… esta é a melhor, portanto guardo para o final, para os próprios matriculados no curso!

Não que eu seja contra autodidatismo e maior participação de alunos no processo de ensino/aprendizagem, sobretudo no âmbito do contexto acadêmico. Contudo, o cenário em si já é propício o bastante para fomentar a veneração masturbatória, com a atual postura dos “educandos”, temos uma situação insustentável. 

Uma última opinião polêmica: a administração da universidade pública, como um todo, segue um modelo muito aquém do funcionalismo público. É devido a esse tipo de postura equivocada que o “funcionário público” está tão desacreditado, e profissionais sérios ecomprometidos com o valor de sua atuação na sociedade têm, injustamente,  a fama de vagabundos!

Me perdoa (sic)

“Me perdoa por eu querer de uma forma tão intensa tocar em você que te maltrato. Minha mão acostumada com um mundo de chatices e coisas feias fica tão gigante quando pode tocar algo lindo e puro como você, que sufoca, esmaga e estraçalha. Me perdoe pela loucura que é algo tão pequeno precisando de amor e ao mesmo tempo algo tão grande que expulsa o amor o tempo todo. Eu sou uma sanfona de esperança. Eu tenho estria na alma.” Tati Bernardi

How Many Loves (Naomi)

How Many Loves (Naomi)

You said this isn’t working, got to move on

You may be right, perfection this is not

But what’s the perfect love like, a flower or a flame?

You got something you want everything and never what you got

Cause how many times how many times how many times

Can you fall in love?

And how many loves how many loves how many loves

Make a life?

 Sweet happiness they say comes in doses

Are they numbered and what’s left of my stock?

Thinking 3 AM thoughts, in the 3 AM dark

Am I listening to my heartbeat or the ticking of the clock?

How many times how many times how many times

Can you fall in love?

And how many loves how many loves how many loves

Make a life?

Tell me how many times how many times how many times

Can you fall in love?

And how many loves how many loves how many loves

Make a life?

The girl behind the counter made his heart throb

 He paid and got his change and turned to go

Thinks, he’ll ask her out tomorrow

But tomorrow she’ll be gone It will take three weeks till he won’t dream about her anymore

Thinking how many times how many times how many times

Can you fall in love?

And how many loves how many loves how many loves

Make a life? How many times how many times how many times

Can you fall in love?

And how many loves how many loves how many loves…

Male, Female and Lisbeth Salander

Have to confess, can’ te get rid of Lisbeth Salander. Her androgyne looks, her sweet velvet voice, her outfits and hairstyle, it stucked me in such a passion the other day I accidentaly saw myself in front of the mirror wearing black leather clothes and intending to buy a harley davidson in the midest of february high brazilian summer.

That is not an aesthethic or even gender issue. Lisbeth Salander is a phoenix, a survivor, a fighter and a winner. Even when she was caught by surprise, she never lost control, for she came over and got benefit from the violence performed upon her.

She is male in strenght, female in enduring pain and she never, never fails. And she never fails, because she actually considers human failure as the only possibility. Because everyone has faliled about her – her parents, her country, even Blomqvist. That is why I thing the only classification that suits her is not male nor female, but mefail.

Two sides of the story

…But, this is not “any” story. THIS is MY STORY, damn!
A few months ago, I had a date everyone else thought was perfect: nice, polite, with a good income, apparently in love with me. (note: in Brazilian society, to have a guy is what really put girls on top, not owing a house or having a sucessful and intelectually challenger carrer)
But, just a sec – who better to know if the guy really liked me or not than myself?
I did not like the lack of words, the emotional blackmail he sometimes would make me, his pathological greedy behaviour, and some other things I´d rather not mention, not to protect him, but to avoid self-pity feelings in my wounded heart.
After putting up all I could, and almost losing my job because of his far-from-elegant “love” demonstrations in public, I ‘ve decided ending our relationship. Then I just found out, he never really liked me, also, he had the courage (or cowardness) to say with all letters, he was only physically attracted by me, and thought it was fine to treat me that way, like a piece of meat! Because (his words), “The physical aspect is the most important one”.
But the worst was still to come: all “kind” people who used to say he was a nice guy, stared to look at me reproachfully for ending the relationship, and two of them even invited me for lunch in order to try to convince me he was a golden match and I should stop pushing him away, for he obviously “loved me so much”! Of course, I am the wicked witch, or bitch, of the story!
Above all judgements of know-it-all-people-worried-about-my-wellfare, I´d like to send this John of mine a letter:
“Just because I am a little over weighted, and you were my first serious boyfriend, this not gives you the right to treat me like crap, you selfish bastard!”
Instead, I did send him this letter:
“You must be a real damn awesome man to have the guts to say to a girl like me, intelligent, tender-hearted, master´s degree, that you only want her body – or very stupid, because the way you treated me made your chance to get to your only goal close to ZERO!”

How do I spend holidays

Living in the country of soccer and beautiful (or not as much as we wished…) women, here it is how I´ve spent the 4 1/2 days of the most important holiday of the year… Reading English Classic Novels!!!!

Okay, I’ ve been told that I’ m a kind of excentric person, but this one surprised even myself. Being mastered in Spanish and Portuguese Literature, and having a taste for everything that I wasn’ t supposed to be reading, I’ ve dropped out Cervantes and Góngora and sank myself right into Daniel Defoe and Samuel Richardson!

Moll Flandres is, actually, a great book! Skillful and wisely written by the author who also released Robinson Crusoe, this piece of gold relates the story of a talented woman who was for twelve years a thief, for another twelve a prostitute, married 5 times (she even married, without previously knowing, her own brother), had countless children (that she mostly abandoned, except for the one she constantly praises, and, what a coincidence!, is the only one who supports her by the end of her life,  rescuing her from misery and poverty), was arrested and expelled from England to live in the new lands. Now that I have already read the entire novel, I can venture myself by watching the TV movie with Morgan Freeman and Robin Wright Penn, who I dislike a little due both to having a boyish voice and stealing Madonna´s true love.

Washing off the scorn and dirty episodes of our sympathethic anti-heroin, I started to read Clarissa or the Misfortunes of a Young Lady of Samuel Richardson. Really, really hooked by the passionate romance and tender tears of the protagonist and dazzled by the letters of many, MANY characters, I could not stop till I’ ve finished the 4 volumes of the epistolary novel. Man, that Lovelace, one thing we can actually say about this sexy villain, never gives up (can we say the same of guys we usually know…? I don´t think so!). The scene of the rape, which I have read countless times in order to be sure of what actually happened,  is so decently reported as any description of an under Inquisition book could ever have been made! That Richardson had a craft art for writing, geniously talking.

Of course, once I could not rest untill I finished the longest english novel, the very minute I closed Clarissa I stared searching for Samuel´s most known masterpiece, Pamela. I’ m sorry to say, this novel was not so thrilling. First, because the entire plot is told only through Pamela’ s eyes (I’ d rather say her pen, since it is also another epistolary novel), second, because it defends the simple argument that the heroin only could reach happines (and social status, and comfort life, once she is mere servant) for holding her viginity and demanding marriage from her boss, abductor and seductor…which was not a problem to Clarissa, who was offered marriage countless times from Lovelace and even his best friend (!!!) and, most likely himseld, a libertine, Belford. In Pamela’ s case, the line is very straightly drawn, which makes the plot a little shallow, and much less interesting than Clarissa’ s.  

Anyway, such a great holiday I ‘ ve had – no beer, no samba, no women dancing over high heels with a paint covered naked body, showing all fat tissues and cellulities . God bless the English Literature and the free will of a young lady who can do anything she chooses in a world of countless possibilities!