A n a r c h i c _ U n i v e r s e ®

Ipanema, My Home

This is an Ipanema sunset. It's redder than it was when I was growing up. We all know pollution causes spetacular sunsets. In back of the Dois Irmãos (Two Bros.) is the Pedra da Gávea, which was in a book of weirdo theories, "Were the Gods Astronauts?" Pedra da Gávea is about 2,400 feet high. My school friends and I climbed up there five times, between 1975-1981. Even from up there you can hear the city roar; more so today, I believe, as the city has developed beyond Dois Irmãos.

When I was growing up in Rio, Ipanema was a partyhood, especially in the late sixties and early seventies. There were no locks to keep doors shut. I remember reading about Tom Jobim's house, which was always filled with musicians and Vinicius de Moraes, the poet-diplomat, and a young Edu Lobo arriving there, just like that to see what gives. Vinicius asked him for a song for the lyrics of Canto Triste. Click for video with subtitles. Edu said he had one. He didn't, but wrote one in a flash.

Vinicius was uncertain about the song; "It's too sad." In the end it went on to win in festivals. Edu Lobo is a fenomenal artist, and I wouldn't kick him out on a rainy night, either.

After bossa, there were the "hippie" days of Ipanema. Girls stopped shaving armpits. The bikinis were small, some took off their bikini tops. I used to feel very uncomfortable to see hair sprouting out of the bikini bottoms as if a new Amazon forest was growing everywhere I looked. Some Brazilan chicks can be really hairy. Those were the days of what we called "The Pier." That was a segment of the beach where a structure was being built to dump human waste a few miles away from the sand. In other words, we were bathing in a huge Atlantic of cacadoodoo. That was hip, so we did it. At the same time the late sixties and 1970 brought a change in clothing, hippie wannabes, and drugs, they were the option for a youth who were not fighting the military in the jungle.

We were happy Brazil won for the third time and kept the Jules Rimet World Cup. Nobody really knew about the people who disappeared in the wetlands of the Araguaia River. This was known many years later, when we could protest quite moderately. By then, innocence was lost, Ipanema was still fundamental, holding free concerts on the beach, and a new era would begin.

We would walk from Arpoador to Leblon, and back. We were indefatigable.

You may ask if I miss being young like that? No, I don't. I miss walking long distances, but I think I will be able to do it again. If I can walk only a little, I must be content with that. A friend wrote me on Daddy's passing, "We have our memories left." I don't think he was the greatest; I knew he was dying when I left Brazil in 1986, after my summer visit. I miss both my parents, especially hearing their voices. Oh, well, this post is becoming a tear-jerker. Just go here, where things are jollier. You know there are many spices to life. With you, Samba da Benção, click for lyrics in English, by Baden Powell and Vinicius de Moraes. See you in a few!

Saint John's in the Brazilian Northeast

Saint John's festivities used to be a lame combo of corn on the cob, bonfires, hilbilly costumes, not anymore, it seems. In the northeast of Brazil, in the land of Luiz Gonzaga, the revered icon of northeastern music, the real thing, driving the masses to madness is a combo of electronic music and forró plus very sassy lyrics. So I got one of the for you. Its very suggestive name is "Sit (on it) It's  Mint ." Northeasteners do have a way with words.
here is the link to a video. There is an official dance, of sorts, in which girls gyrate and seem to be sitting down and up, dressed in short skirts and bras. Check it out. Click! And join the mad crowd singing, "Senta que é de menta." I must thank a Brazilan blogger, Mr. Manson, for the tip and O Globo for the news and lyrics.

On a kewl-er note, another blog has a great link to a band that reminds me a lot of Os Mutantes. They are from São Paulo and this is their website, where you can download their music or buy the album.
http://www.expressomonofonico.mus.br/ Click and check it out. If I didn't have to listen to Steve (Jobs) I'd be listening to them all day long.

Do you enjoy the photo? Check out Gabizou2009 in my anarchic_universe Flickr group. He is so much better than me!

Why Are Brazilians So Gung-Ho for Obama?

The nefarious influence of the USA media; it's true, it's true! and the prejudice against older women has made Hillary the object of contempt. Brazilians like them young.

And Hillary was never a simpática woman. Who, of older voters, doesn't remember Hillary's comment, "I'm not the type of woman who will stand by her man." or something like that. I like Hillary and lament the bashing of her well-constructed image. I will continue this tomorrow.  Thanks.

Below, my African-American son, with Mommy, 2004.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OASouvpoS9U  Click.

Don't Blame Your Reduplication on Me

Reduplication is a device found in all languages, seemingly, in which there is a repetition of a syllable. I learned about this with Doug Pulleyblank, my phonology professor at USC in 1986, whose passion for reduplication took him to Africa, so I hear. And there went my friend Uschi, for the same purpose. So, I learned that the future is formed in Tagalog, one of the languages in the Philipines, by repeating the first syllable. Thus, "sulat" means write and susulat means will write.

Brazilians are quite xenophobic. A study somewhere in the links of this blog shows this.; The Native-Brazilians live far and isolated. Brazilians adopt the term bizarre for anything they feel is alien to their culture.

So, the Tagalog example was considered bizarre. A little bit of research showed that it's present in English, as in willy-nilly, flegma-shmegma, hokey-pokey, Freaky Deaky; English must be a civilized language although its spelling is bizarre to me. However, had we changed our spelling, how many works in English would have become out of our reach today?

I found a great video of a Portuguese band playing Noel Rosa's "Gago Apaixonado." Theirs is a great chorinho played wtih Portuguese instruments, sung with a Portuguese from Portugal accent.

A gago  is a stutterer. Get ahold of your favorite Brazilianist and have him/her check out the lyrics for you.

Bye Bye Brasil - A Tribute to Anisio Medeiros

Anisio Medeiros was my professor at Faculdade de Arquitetura e Urbanismo of the Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro, FAU-UFRJ.  He taught at the Escola de Belas Artes, too. A set designer, costume designer, art director and architect from Piauí, a state ridiculed before Acre took its place as motif of scorn, Anisio was a genius ahead of his time. And because I loved all films in which he worked, and heard viva voce his stories on how the set was designed (or improvised) or how the costumes were created from scratch, I dedicate this gathering of souvenirs to him.
Bye Bye Brasil has been released here, with subtitles, not bad of a subtitling job, on DVD. Read the NY Times review by Vincent Canby at a click on Bye Bye Brasil above. The film is by Cacá Diegues, who belonged to Cinema Novo and made a cool transition to a Tropicalist æsthetic code in Bye Bye Brasil. Caravana Rolidei is a poor circus on wheels trio, then a quintet. The Rolidei is a phonetic version of Holiday. They seek towns where TV (Globo) hasn't arrived yet, the hypnotic power of a TV set worshiped up in the main square of little towns.

The æsthetic motif of the costumes is great. A hairdo that twinkles with Xmas lights, the clothes of the poor, of the Native-Brazilians, all of it is political in a subtle way, sending us to the days when the Redeemer(coup d'état 64-85) built pharaonic roads, gold was found in the Amazon, but I am moving to the set design. Oh, well. The choices of places in Brazil is perfect: the riverbank town, the palm trees by the ocean, the burned and had Amazon (in 1980!) and Brasília, the destination of poor migrants straight into favelas.

I don't want to spoil the film for you. All I want you to know is this is genius if you are interested in Brazil or Brasil.  Cacá Diegues bittersweet good-bye to a Brasil that becomes a Brazil and a Caravana Rolidei that becomes a Caravana Rolidey, with a y, letter inexistent in Portuguese, sum up the Tropicalist message: we devour the foreign products but spit out something different, the message of cultural cannibalism that knows no boundaries. Click here for a great article on this film.

None of what you see in this film and in so many other ones would have been possible without Anisio Medeiros. I was a poor draftsperson with a pencil. He made me the model for our B&W classes. Scorning the Oiticica which follows anyone in the Oiticica family, he would announce to all,

"We can't start the class without Tina Harris."

I remembered him due to my cybertroubles with passwords and nicknames. He would tap the floor with one foot, impatiently, while I finally arrived, late as usual, holding a cigarette, ready for my modeling time. The best souvenirs I have of Anisio Medeiros are of his sharing with us how he designed scenes improvising, as in Macunaíma, where foam was modeled to look like meats in a gigantic black bean casserole. Others are catty gossip which dies with him and us, his fave students. Finally, I did learn a lot of tricks in color techniques, from the precise names of colors to how to obtain them. Watercolor is about transparency, pastels are about several layers over each one of them. It is impossible to replicate our color sessions. I cannot fathom students sitting under a freeway in a dangerous area of downtown in order to capture how luminous a poor area can look. Or on the streets of downtown Rio anywhere nowadays.

I take my hat off to Anisio Medeiros, thank my schoolmate who refreshed some memories of him this morning and encourage you to watch this and all other films he participated in. A fine art director, genius in improvising, with peculiarities that make him a star in an era of constellation of architects teaching at FAU-UFRJ, Anisio Medeiros, wherever he is, for my friend remembered him today, too, will be tapping his shoe for a long wait, I hope,
waiting for Tina Harris, some day, some time. Just a taste of Bye Bye Brazil for you.

For a Brazilian to Blog in English - What gives?

There is a growing number of bloggers in Brazil who wish to blog in English.  I was born in NYC. When I was five we moved to Rio de Janeiro.  I remember the ice skates I never got, the lard used in Brazilian cooking, and the scabs  I had from food allergies.
I remember refusing to speak English till the Beatles came along. "There's no comparison to George Harrison."Kiss Your Favorite Beatle."  A rock celeb declared on VH1 Classics we Beatlemaniacs smelled of pee. I guess some of us come full circle.

In 1957 Rio de Janeiro was capital of the country.  I was a loner then, I am a loner now.
It's a good idea to have a blog in English as it was a great idea to blog in Portuguese, my tongue from 1957 to 1985, after getting updates on new words and ways of saying things the 2005 way.

My great grand uncle, José Oiticica, was an anarchist, and a grammarian.  The names of blogs Anarchic_Universe and Universo Anárquico are a tribute to his genius.
I would like to think we embrace all creeds without slaughter.  Soon robotic missions will venture further.I'd like to see that.
"'Something,' the best song by Lennon and Macca."-- Sinatra

Os Mutantes - Geriatric Rock ? That's Me!

I'm 55.  Rita Lee will be 60 on December 31.  Arnaldo Baptista turned 59 in July.  Sérgio is 55. We are part of what Rita herself called geriatric rock. Os Mutantes, the rock bridge along history.
A friend who belongs to the Dylan generation boasted she took care of her body. True. and? uhn-hun? So?

Mine is the contrary of an herbalife© infomercial.  I was so  cutie pie thin.  I'd like to believe I'm still a cutie pie.  A big round oatmeal smart cookie.

We have had our contretemps. Arnaldo Baptista's presence on stage is no short than a miracle. Rita Lee herself talks about her inner demons.  I flipped and got committed to an asylum. No lobotomy; just electric shock treatment. Seven treatments and woke up. Sid Barret wasn't  so lucky.

We are scarred but saved by the music we dig and make. Loki.  Rock exorcises us. (I'm gonna run and TM this before the evangelicals co-opt it.)

What about our siblings and family? 

What's Los Angeles Like? It's Like São Paulo

Pensaba que era linda pero se ve muy fea.
(Unknown)
It's that Narcissus finds ugly what isn't his reflection
(Caetano Veloso - Sampa)

On Friday evening there was a storm with lightening and heavy rain.  I couldn't care less; it was similar to a Rio de Janeiro storm.  For a native Los Angelino it's scary, especially after having spent the summer in dry southwestern France, in the countryside.  When there is a storm everybody unplugs there. Lightening can get in and damage a TV set, for example; or the phone.
Los Angeles gathers 164 languages, zillions of cars, infinite solitude, many little communities, from the fancy-schmancy Bel-Air to the very poor ones in central Los Angeles. There, hot-pillows motels reign for a fast shot or smoke or whatever; little churchfronts promising salvation suck more suckers; pawn shops take goods no questions asked.  Lots of basura on the sidewalks, human lives trashed or litter.  Skid Row at night looks like a sea of cardboard papers sprawled on the sidewalks with toes pointing at rats while the cardboard heaves and inhales and exhales.  This is my city, too.
To think white flight screwed the neighborhood where U.S.C. is located.  White flight in the Bronx moved us to Rio de Janeiro.
Back here at USC, in the Oingo Boingo, Tom Petty, Depeche Mode era, I find out I am not white enough or have the education to teach.  After my master's in linguistics at 'SC, listening to the darn marching band my son loves so much, there I go for a graduate course in education, plus emphasis on bilingual Spanish credential.
In Brazil we say Argentinians smile when there is lightening. They are "known" as being conceited, what do I know? Brazilians feel funny being the only Portuguese speakers in South America.  Argentinians smile because they think God is taking their photos when there is lightning.  They ask for the mapa mundi of Buenos Aires in a bookstore.  Maradona scored a goal with the hand (of God.)
In Los Angeles we can't afford to despise the Argentinos. Or Spanish, a reality prevalent in our county.  Or Jewish holidays, or Lotus Day, bla-bla-bla-bla.

While cruising my former 'hood, near 'SC, the thoughts of Rodney King came haunt me. The discomfort of  street vendors  and  poverty, the buzz on Jena 6, was our city at risk of a riot again?

Yom Kippur dinner at a nice restaurant.  The bourgeois dad saying he expects people he invites to be there. He nearly drools arrogance onto his beard. I am in bermudas, as usual, in my Adidas; we got cash for a bite.  The waiter is from Sandinista country, a mestizo. He can converse small talk in twenty languages, maybe.  We sit in the back facing ANA-MIA Asian chicks.  If they are sideways they fit in a vynil LP jacket.

Little by little we loosen up. We down the excellent Los Angeles tap water. Gabriel is with the marching band, back in Santiemonica.

Los Angeles is tough ugly shine-you-crazy-diamond land, somewhat like São Paulo city, the Paulicéia Desvairada, recklessly hallucinated São Paulo immortalized in the collection of Mário de Andrade's 1922 modern poems. São Paulo is the first or second urban sprawl in the Americas, depending on the source. How about our Nuestra Señora Reina de Los Angeles de Porciúncula, the capital of "Blade Runner's" dystopia?  Some left it, I love it.  Enjoy yet another new très kewl opening sequence to  the  film, based on a Phillip K. Dick paranoid fantasy. Another.

o céu n'água

o céu n'água
Originally uploaded by anarchic_universe

The Botanical Garden of Rio de Janeiro is the potty of the world. It rains all the time there.
The Portuguese improved life in the colony after they fled Napoleon Bonaparte in 1808.
• They opened the ports of Brazil to friendly nations.
• They founded the first colleges in Brazil.
• The printing press was allowed.

Now ask yourself why iliteracy is almost atavic in Brazil?

After the Storm, Samba and Futebol

It's a productive Monday so far. Cleaning cupboards, reorganizing staples, chatting my heart away with Jeannie, time flies by. On the other end of my life, Brazil, utter silence.

On the weekend, the ending of the National Futebol Championship gives some Brazilians a reason to celebrate and others a reason to be grouchier than before. At the beginning of this grueling championship, many fans act
blasé; a so-what 'tude prevails especially among the US-coopted teens. But now all colors are out. I know Botafogo is fine but don't follow results.

In the briefly republic of Rio Grande do Sul, our southernmost state, there are two big teams: Grêmio and Internacional. Grêmio won yesterday, with its colors, light blue , white and black stripes, flying to the sorrow of Internacional fans, the Colorado, red shirt with white details.

I love blue. I do feel sorry for the man in the street, the poor Brazilian whose soccer team is a weekend boss, mistress and spouse. Rio Grande do Sul has a vast number of inhabitants on the Q-T today.

It's as if Brazil got spent from mixed emotions of shame for an allegedly corrupt speaker for the Senate, drowned its shame in happiness, beer and sorrow in futebol weekend, some doing the samba; others kicking the proverbial dog. Today is quiet, of an oppresive solitude here in my Brazil.

Quel horreur! An Inocent Politician

In the Land of "I think-isms" --Brazil, people have been upset the leader of Senate, Renán Calheiros was found not guilty by a jury of his peers in Senate. Hah!

They think they got problemas..

I gotta go. A member of the family passed away and things are chaotic. Never kill your mom as an excuse twice. Go visit my blogroll. They'll love it.

Tomorrow, I'll be taking questions later off and on.

Why don't you say a prayer for our brethen? Universo Anárquico.

You American? Come Teach My School

I've known quite a few Americans who fell in love with Brazil, wanted to stay, but didn't have the $$$.

Most Brazilians believe native speakers of a language know about the language.  Their language, they speak it instictively. Students of English as a foreign language, EFL, ask questions we native speakers never thought of, let alone offer explanations for.  The solution is to keep a poker face and improvise, the Brazilian verb of choice.

Actually, our French cousins have an expression for improvised solutions.  They are the système Deh.  The Brazilian système D is the
[zhay - TCHEE-nyow]

Brazilians will ask the Greengo, "Why do you say 'Let's go, shall we?'"

Greengo thinks, an unnatural action for him/her."Uh, um. This used to be an order given  by kings or queens.  They refer to themselves as  'we'."

The Brasileiro looks pensive, unconvinced.  Maybe he should ask THE PREZ.
And that is how we lost credibility in Latin America. ©Anarchic_Universe, 2007

You'd Like Some Bread? Have Some Eggs!

I received the news this afternoon, in an e-mail sent by a fellow blogger, Alvarenga.  It was hard to believe my eyes.  Two videos showed upper class youth throwing eggs down onto cars passing on Vieira Souto Avenue, the thoroughfare by Ipanema beach.

One kid is a member of the Globo Network dinasty, "Boninho". Boni was a terror top exec in the 70s ad 80s.  Then there is a grandson of socialist Leonel Brizola, recently deceased.  I guess the eggs are socialistic, spread equally on all.  Finally, there are some socialite vamps teaching recipes of egg throwing, snot throwing, etc.

Amusing.  Who is pulling down the videos from YouTube?  The kids' community on  Orkut, an older MySpace also owned by  Google, was pulled down as well.

Here are the links, one from "Folha de São Paulo" -- a serious newspaper.

http://www1.folha.uol.com.br/folha/ilustrada/ult90u317494.shtml

And the other is from a humor blog, which has the videos downloaded so he will have them.  I hope they are still there.

This is a shame, especially when one thinks most of Brazil is poor.  Sometimes I have no pity or sorrow for the existence of the guillotine.

http://www.kibeloco.com.br/

The news is dated August 3, there are three parts of the "ovo" incident, marked aqui and aqui.  Thank you Tabet from Kibeloco.©Anarchic_Universe, 2007

A Mean Politician R.I.P. Viva a Língua!

A mean old-timer in the political arena, an urban and rural boss from Bahia, his homestate, to Brasília passed away today. He, of the name that shan't be mentioned, was nicknamed Li'l Tony, the Mean One. Resquiem In Pace.

The country survives despite him and so many problemas Brazil faces. It's too big, it's rich but not enough to distribute its wealth, there is no birth control in place, no education for millions who barely sign their name so they can vote.
I look forward to better days for Brazil and its people.

To honor the country I grew up in, whose language fascinates me, Língua Caetano Veloso, lyrics reproduced for educational purpose only.

Língua
Caetano Veloso

Gosta de sentir a minha língua roçar a língua de Luís de Camões
Gosto de ser e de estar
E quero me dedicar a criar confusões de prosódia
E uma profusão de paródias
Que encurtem dores
E furtem cores como camaleões
Gosto do Pessoa na pessoa
Da rosa no Rosa
E sei que a poesia está para a prosa
Assim como o amor está para a amizade
E quem há de negar que esta lhe é superior?
E deixe os Portugais morrerem à míngua
"Minha pátria é minha língua"
Fala Mangueira! Fala!

Flor do Lácio Sambódromo Lusamérica latim em pó
O que quer
O que pode esta língua?

Vamos atentar para a sintaxe dos paulistas
E o falso inglês relax dos surfistas
Sejamos imperialistas! Cadê? Sejamos imperialistas!
Vamos na velô da dicção choo-choo de Carmem Miranda
E que o Chico Buarque de Holanda nos resgate
E – xeque-mate – explique-nos Luanda
Ouçamos com atenção os deles e os delas da TV Globo
Sejamos o lobo do lobo do homem
Lobo do lobo do lobo do homem
Adoro nomes
Nomes em ã
De coisas como rã e ímã
Ímã ímã ímã ímã ímã ímã ímã ímã
Nomes de nomes
Como Scarlet Moon de Chevalier, Glauco Mattoso e Arrigo Barnabé
e Maria da Fé

Flor do Lácio Sambódromo Lusamérica latim em pó
O que quer
O que pode esta língua?

Se você tem uma idéia incrível é melhor fazer uma canção
Está provado que só é possível filosofar em alemão
Blitz quer dizer corisco
Hollywood quer dizer Azevedo
E o Recôncavo, e o Recôncavo, e o Recôncavo meu medo
A língua é minha pátria
E eu não tenho pátria, tenho mátria
E quero frátria
Poesia concreta, prosa caótica
Ótica futura
Samba-rap, chic-left com banana
(– Será que ele está no Pão de Açúcar?
– Tá craude brô
– Você e tu
– Lhe amo
– Qué queu te faço, nego?
– Bote ligeiro!
– Ma’de brinquinho, Ricardo!? Teu tio vai ficar desesperado!
– Ó Tavinho, põe camisola pra dentro, assim mais pareces um espantalho!
– I like to spend some time in Mozambique
– Arigatô, arigatô!)
Nós canto-falamos como quem inveja negros
Que sofrem horrores no Gueto do Harlem
Livros, discos, vídeos à mancheia
E deixa que digam, que pensem, que falem

© Editora Gapa

H.O. ? With you, Hélio Oiticica

•The twelve regular readers of this blog know already Anarchic_Universe is a tribute to my grandfather's anarchist-linguist brother, José Oiticica. I am far from being an anarchist, maybe an iconoclast.  I am your  blogger.  My responsibility is with the truth, my family, home and my blogging: sharing knowledge with you, as The Thinking Blog likes to proclaim.
•My grandfather was a federal prosecutor of a high court in the days of caudillo Getulio Vargas, 1930-45.  The people liked Getulio so much he was elected in the 50s and led to suicide by persistent accusations in the press, not without leaving a letter to the people whose last sentence is well-known, "I leave life to enter history."
•While Uncle Cajuza, the anarchist professor, was being arrested and  released, he and Auntie Sinhazinha had six children: José Filho, an entomologist and draftsman, Selma, Vanda, Sônia, Dulce,Vera. José Filho had  three boys: Hélio, César and  Cláudio.  It is a huge mistake to think anarchists or free thinkers lack discipline. José Filho refused to let his sons enlist in the Armed Forces. His example and his father's were enough to transmit the idea of discipline and hard work along with independent thinking.
• Hélio Oiticica, pronounced EH-lyoo oy-tchee-CEE-cah,  was a disciplined artist whose  first steps  were studied  geometric  forms.  In the  60s  he  let himself loose .  In his words,  "Art had to  get off the walls."  He was ahead of his time.  He created the parangolés, pronounce pah- ttan - goh -LEHz, which were masks of diverse meanings, made of cloth, which created life only when people wore  them. Then there were the bólides, BOH-lee-daze, colorful figments of his and the people's imagination, click here to see a few bólides and Hélio Oiticica.
• I saw my cousin twice.  Once with a group of film makers, the Underground/Marginal  they called themselves, they went against the once revolutionary and then Sacred Cow Cinema Novo.  I was eighteen and feared approaching him. 
•The second time was in 1979 when Caetano Veloso and Raimundo Fagner played a fundraiser for amnesty: ample, general and unrestricted. Whichever amnesty campaign was a brave one in 1979.  The Redeemer, 1964-85, was still in full force.  I went backstage and introduced myself to Caetano Veloso with the lamest line. "Hélio Oiticica is my cousin." Hélio happened to be there and we chatted for a while.  He knew who my mother was, his blonde aunt , told me about his passion for Mangueira, the samba association in pink and green. He claimed we were Ladinos(new Christians), according to an older cousin in Alagoas, where our family comes from.  He considered himself of color. HIs friends were in the favela. 
• As Hélio's art became more outrageous to the eyes of the dictatorship, his family convinced him to leave.  The military had already instituted strong laws to choke the artists and the people.  They got really pissed at a poster of an outlaw shot with a subtitle: "be at the margin be a hero." Hélio had to go. Now, in 1979, he was back.
• I got his address, promised to visit.  In a few months Hélio had a stroke and died after a four-day horrible agony, hearing the phone, seeing notes of friends slipped under the door.  The family opposed a surgery before making him stronger.  He died at 43.  When I met him he'd come back from the Bronx,from his forced exile, and told me about how the borough was being burned.
• In May of 1968, the avant-guard Tropicália movement took as its name a "penetrável" now known as installation Hélio Oiticica displayed in São Paulo.  It showed palm trees and birds, all kinds of symbols for people to roam in and out .  It was the art he desired, off the walls, at last.
•It is an uncomfortable feeling I have he is so popular and studied in Ph.D. dissertations all over the place now. When Hélio died in 1980, he was a great conceptual artist living a frugal life. Oh, well, since anthropophagy (cultural) was part of the tenets of the Tropicália movement,  I guess  this is all right.  I believe he is somewhere laughing all this off, rolling a joint with  the "marginal " he befriended, wrapped in a  parangolé, dancing  to a samba of Mangueira.
•Here I have a collection of videos of Hélio Oiticica's work, presently in display at the Tate Gallery, London, until September 23.

This is a tribute to Hélio Oiticica, who preferred the favela to the condos. An artist who could foresee many trends in art and left us too soon.  Thanks for traveling with me on this journey.  See you Friday?

© Anarchic_Universe, 2007

Yuna Gets a Tag

The life of an EFL teacher wasn't easy, even with hand-picked students.  Yuna sighed at the thought of one student.  He was a bright and successful shrink, strictly Freudian, he said.  No medications were needed to heal a patient.  Talk therapy was enough.  Yuna knew better than to put her two cents in a conversation about the guy's own field of expertise.

However, he was more stubborn than a mule. Or "têtu comme une vache normande."

Yuna thinks of next step.

" In addition, he couldn't hear phonetic differences or try them.  Maybe that was a professional deformity.  Shrinks have to listen to all this crapola from disgruntled patients; they don't listen to details.  They get the gist of it.

So, Dr. Bearden couldn't pronounce or replicate the different minimal pairs, such as sheet and sh*t, or feet and fit.  It was pointless to go over exercises.  It was exasperating to explain how the long [ee] is tense and the other is relaxed, like surferspeak.  He would agree, praise her, and cap it with, "I have no problem understanding English from the UK; it's Americans who pronounce everything garbled up.

Yuna would blush in anger; most Brazilians used this excuse --Americans mispronounce their own language.  Gee_wheez_Louise.  That was the toughest class in the week.  A powerful man can be dangerous, especially when he is intelligent and is failing.  She didn't think he wanted to learn English. He didn't like it.  Emotional factors play a strong role in language acquisition.  She smiled at her high level theoretical thinking.

One day, after switching back and forth from English book to drills of minimal pairs, to small talk, Dr. Bearden blurts out,

"Your problem is you are a phallic woman."  He had a Cheshire cat grin on his face.

"I beg your pardon, Charles?" Yuna was crimson red now.

"You eez a phalic woman."  And he lit his pipe, satisfied at himself.

"Could you explain what that is, Charles?" If only she carried a purse instead of a backpack.

"The counterpart of a phallic woman is the castrated man.  Freud explains it. Should we go back to the book now?"

They went back to the book. One of her favorite plays of all times.

"Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" by Edward Albee. [ALL-bee] Martha is the phallic woman; George is the castrated man.

Now she understood a number of things. A phallic woman. Maybe that was more worthy teaching than minimal pairs could be.  Time would tell.

One in a series of Yuna stories. Comments and trackback closed. E-mail welcome. Include your URL for publication, please.

I Was About to Plug a New Book on Os Mutantes When...

The link for Os Mutantes book, in Portuguese, is in my Universo Anárquico. Ever since Alexandre Inagaki, the excellence in blogger writing, wrote about Ilker Yoldas a few days ago, I wanted to find out if it was a he or a she.  The name is Turkish. Ilker is a blogging phenomenum.  In a few months, with a very well-designed blog, little give away toys for bloggers, Ilker became a top ranking blogger.  The doubt till yesterday, when  I searched Google for Ilker first name gender Turkish, and found out it was a male name.

In LogMyBLog, where bloggers add blogs galore to their "community," I found Ilker.  Both The Thinking Blogger award created in February and LogMyBlog are based on memes, somewhat.  After the Thinking Blogger Award has gone around the world, something else will come up.

I posted my findings on Ilker's blog yesterday.  When  I went back to check it out there was a maybe yes, maybe not answer from Ilker.  After a cordial mail exchange with a polished person, fluent in Portuguese, English, and who knows how many laguages, Ilker Yoldas send me a link about the not-so-secret revelation.  The Thinking Blog, authored by Ilker, is visually appealing, posts daily, and gives away small token gifts or bigger ones.  The blog is a phenomenum in its exponencial growth. Havinf traveled all over the world, Ilker has master the necessary diplomatic skills and languages to survive and rule in the blogosphere.

While writing about Os Mutantes, Paulo Henriques Britto's work translated into English, the Lost Angeles Times, I got mail from Ilker. and a comment, which was nice. If only more people would say, "Good job, biatch," I would feel happier about this blog.

I'm not crazy about aggressive/insensitive humor. However, the suspension of two DJs for laughing at a joke on sex acts among public figures is quite unsusual.  Today I saw a mother crying over a Spangled Banner draped coffin. Big color photo on the upper cover of the LosT Angles Times. Wolfowitch received severance pay and resigned.  Median home price in L.A. county?
540 K.  Food and gas went up.

Amazon.com wants to pop its cherry in the MP3 business.  Apple is da bomb. Fuggeddaboutit.

Amazon says she will let it up to user on copying music. Umm, in these 1984ish days, I am not so sure.

Finally, the immigration bill passed Senate.  It is quite selective, akin to Sarko-facho.  Mexico prudently pull back on the infamous war on drugs. They fear, and very rightly so, the soldiers would soon be corrupted by the druglords.

France Gets Dupped; Just Another Day

Bush changed history by rigging two elections. One in FLA and one in O-HIO. Brazilian millionaire Collor de Melo had his election rigged by Globo Network. Sarkozy had the media's support to the point his victorious photo, with his left palm open next to his head, vanished!

The bubbly champagne Veuve Clicquot is being served at the White House; rumor has it our Leader has fallen off the wagon. Some day this week I read about it.America Blog.  Now there is his Miny-Me, le Petit-Moi en France  Heads or tails? Airheads and up-your-tails, my French friends  Sarkozy, who has already changed history when his first photo was changed has only begun his show. L'Imbecile is proud of his Petit-Moi.  Poison and perfume come in small containers. So they say. Sarkozy is no perfume.

I remember a docu by BBC about the second most powerful TV network in the world, Globo, in Brazil. It shows the manipulation of its vast audience in the last days of the Collor, "you can call me a thief,and a coke toter," and Lula. Ségolène Royal had to debate the centrist candidate in the first round outside France.  These last days before the election it was said Mme. Royal would incite the people of color in case she lost to Mini-Moi. Check this docu out, little by little.  It tell the recent history of Brazil and the history of Globo.
It's hosted @ Google Video  It begins in the late fifties and ends with the edited debate between charming Collor and angry commie-dumb Lula, in 1989.

Check it outGlobo and Brazilian history.

The photo was replaced:"Regarde ces deux liens où Sarkozy fait le même type de salutation qu'en fît Hitler. -- Nicolas. In French:

WTF! Sarkozy's Hitler-like photo was changed!

In French:

http://tempsreel.nouvelobs.com/speciales/elysee_2007/20070506.OBS5826/
nicolas_sarkozy_est_elu_presidentde_la_republique_avec_.html"

In English
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/
la-fg-sarkozy5may05,0,3117423.story?coll=la-home-headlines

You wouldn't believe it! Sarkozy's picture right after knowing he had won was changed. It's gone! I looked for it everywhere. He had his left palm high, open, next to his head, just like... Hitler. The photo is gone. I checked everywhere in Google News and in Google.fr. Certainly, history can be changed.

The French have given us a beautiful anthem. Small consolation.Let's practice Marseillaise.  What's the weather like here today? Another sunny day in Southern California. You can learn the Marsellaise in tons of languages. Très kewl.

What's Paris Hilton up to? I would say she is down not up. Ah, she is practicing eating cold chicken. And fried chicken. Nah! The biatch is trying on clothes! Hello, you'll get an orange uniform. Say goodbye to pink, babe. You know, jail is like school. Chicken , chicken , chiken. They fill inmates and kids with calories so they are calm. I didn't know about that when I was teaching. And I gained quite a few pounds. :P))

Total bummer. Sarkozy won, my futebol team lost, Botafogo, the Glorious of the Lone Star. I am really down. Time for "School" with Nirvana.

Photo cortesy Clive Williams,of MediaPie, Inc. e-mail:cwilliams@mediapieinc.com 

Was Thaaaat My Daughter?

It was by sheer coincidence that one of the bloggers linked to this blog was writing about a topic that drove me nuts in Rio: the slutification of teen girls. The blog was Freakytopia, right there on the left. I was stunned someone agreed with me.

In Rio, actually in Brazil, young teens are being left on their own more and more to make their choices. They go in groups to resort towns over the weekend, with no adult supervision. I am talking about girls as young as thirteen mixed with boys as old as seventeen.

His example of how far things have gone was the video Lil Mama Lip Gloss. Click, please.

Here in greater Los Angeles I know the pros are pissed of with the young girls, who do it and more for free. Both groups wear high heels in case there are problems, big bags, ditto, clothes that can be mistaken for lingerie, heavy make-up. The skirts are akin to pussy-lampshades; the pants are taco-pussy style.

I'm not saying Cory Kennedy's mother knew everything he daughter was up to. She knew some of it. However, the number of parents who know nothing until a disaster comes along is staggering. Dylan Klebold's parents never figured it out. Cho's knew something was wrong but never sought help.

So many people feel better not taking the kid to seek professional help. What are other people going to say?

Screw what other people are going to say. They won't pay your bills.

Others find solace in thinking this generation is all like that, ADHD and computers. I got news for you. I don't care what all the other kids do. My kid must use all the IQ points he's got effectively. I'd hate to see him working across the street, "Would you like fries with that?" "¿Quiere una coca con hielo o sin hielo?"

I don't know about other parents. I know Mark Twain said, "keep your eggs in one basket, and watch the $#@^% basket." And he was a genius.

Botafogo, Champion Since 1910...

(Photos courtesy Clive Williams, Magic Pie Inc. Contact blogger for more info.)

Botafogo, the very glorious club, which was the backspine of Brazil's winning teams in 1958, 1962, 1970, a club filled with legend and superstition, played Vasco yesterday at the Maracanã, here in Rio de Janeiro. This is an old rivalry in this city's futebol. Flamengo, waiting in the aisles for the team to compete with in the final game, was kindly rooting for Botafogo, so afraid they are of Vasco, whose fan base is rough and huge.

So the Flamenguistas cheered Botafogo, in what we call here "to come with someone else's dick." What fools. In futebol there is no logic, there are no predictions. There are the 90 minutes, and maybe overtime, and penalty kicks if push comes to shove. Those kicks are so important the owner of the team should kick them, they say.

In the very bitter end, Vasco missed two penalty kicks, Botafogo won, 5 x 3. Clive Williams allowed the use of these awesome photos taken inside the Maracanã. Botafogo is black and white stripes with the lone star and Vasco has a Maltese cross, the symbol of the Portuguese caravelas. Well, they swam and navigated to die at the shore, poor guys. As for Botafogo, time will tell how formidable they will be ( or not ) against Flamengo. Enjoy the show.