segunda-feira, 31 de março de 2008
domingo, 23 de março de 2008
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Page 179
(...)
What are you doing here? he wrote with his hands.
I felt suddenly shy. I was not used to shy. I was used to shame.
Shyness is when you turn your head away from something you want.
Shame is when you turn your head from something you do not want.
I know you are leaning, I said.
You have to go home, he wrote.
Ok, I said. I did not want to say what I needed to say.
Let me take you home.
No. I don't want to go home.
He wrote, You're being crazy. You're going to catch a cold.
I already have a cold.
You are going to catch a colder.
I could not believe he was making a joke. And i could not believe I laughed.
(...)
This is probably the best definition for shyness EVER. I have these shyness attacks sometimes and I think nobody notices because I'm usually very talkative, so who'd think that such a motor mouth would have shyness attacks? Well, I do. And I don't like them.
Changing the channel, I highly recommend "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer. Oskar Schell, a nine-year-old boy too much nerd to survive in school lost his father in the September 11th tragedy. One day he finds a key on his father's shelves and starts a quest for finding to whom that key belongs in an attempt to keep the memory of his father and also maybe finding out more things about his own past. All the boy's outsider feelings are there, as well as his struggle in (in? at? to? I'm lost) looking for the owner of the key and survive in a "fatherless" world. Beautiful, beautiful book.
(...)
What are you doing here? he wrote with his hands.
I felt suddenly shy. I was not used to shy. I was used to shame.
Shyness is when you turn your head away from something you want.
Shame is when you turn your head from something you do not want.
I know you are leaning, I said.
You have to go home, he wrote.
Ok, I said. I did not want to say what I needed to say.
Let me take you home.
No. I don't want to go home.
He wrote, You're being crazy. You're going to catch a cold.
I already have a cold.
You are going to catch a colder.
I could not believe he was making a joke. And i could not believe I laughed.
(...)
This is probably the best definition for shyness EVER. I have these shyness attacks sometimes and I think nobody notices because I'm usually very talkative, so who'd think that such a motor mouth would have shyness attacks? Well, I do. And I don't like them.
Changing the channel, I highly recommend "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer. Oskar Schell, a nine-year-old boy too much nerd to survive in school lost his father in the September 11th tragedy. One day he finds a key on his father's shelves and starts a quest for finding to whom that key belongs in an attempt to keep the memory of his father and also maybe finding out more things about his own past. All the boy's outsider feelings are there, as well as his struggle in (in? at? to? I'm lost) looking for the owner of the key and survive in a "fatherless" world. Beautiful, beautiful book.
domingo, 16 de março de 2008
The sex(y) and the zouk
(don't read if you're a radical catholic who thinks sex is a sin. Visit here and have fun.)
I was in my dance class trying not to make a fool of myself daning the zouk. Zouk is a dance that, if you're not dancing, you'd define it as a mix of the old lambada with some sort of courtship dance. If you look closer, I mean, if you really pay attention and have a little bit of a twisted mind you'd say that it's more of a copulation dance than a courtship dance. Although both mean basically the same, let's face it: copulation sounds way dirtier than courtship. Well, I belong, of course, with the second group. So, if I truly think it looks like some kind of pre-copulation ritual and I don't see this as something, let's say, positive, why the hell am I dancing to this rythm? Simple answer: I love dancing. Any kind of dance. If you tell me that I'll have to learn an old african ritual dance, I'll be into it. Besides, zouk looks strange when you're just watching it but it feels awesome when you're dancing it. My only problem with the zouk is that you must dance CLOSE. Like feel-your-dance-partner's-chest-and-thighs close, but that is acceptable. The problem is that some guys dance a feel-your-partner's-liver close, which is a little bit disturbing for me. I really think that when you dance with someone and REALLY connect, it can be a great foreplay - if you let it happen, of course. I'm the kind of girl who likes to choose carefully the guy I want some foreplay with, you know... So when I have to dance zouk and the guy grabs my back and brings me close to his, I don't know, lungs, I feel a little bit awkward - mainly because most guys in my dance classes are, let's say, not very attractive (in MY humble opinion).
So, back to the beginning after this long prologue: I was trying not make a fool of myself dancing the zouk during my class. I was dancing with a guy who's there to support the teachers. He's a GREAT dancer, a great teacher, the one responsible for me not giving up on this crazy and DIFFICULT dance. He taught me the correct way to spin and if you learn that, you're able to learn any step. The point is that, as I've mentioned before, zouk is sexy. That's why it seems more like a copulation dance. The couple must interact in a way that looks like a body seduction game - which means that BOTH move their hips side-to-side-non-stop-oh-yeah and look to each other and, well, seduce each other. Lots of cambrès, lots of hair thrown up and down, side to side, in the end your hair is so messy that not even a fork can tidy it up.
Usually I don't do any of these sexy interaction things. I move my hips (I'm brazilian, I'm supposed to know how to move my hips, right? It's genetic), I throw my hair all around (that part is NICE) and I can try all the cambrès. But don't ask me to be sexy or to act sexy or to make a sexy look. I'm unable to do that if I'm not dancing with a guy who I want to... well... dance a mix of "Sexyback" and "Summer Love" (1:53 to 1:56, wow) with in bed. Ha. Then I was dancing yesterday with this very good and sweet and not attractive dance partner (I feel horrible for saying that, but truth always hurt) and everything was going perfectly. I was feeling like the zouk queen, although I guess this is a title that doesn't exist. I was the dancing queen, young (YES) and sweet (irony), only twenty nine when my dance partner, who had taught me lots of new steps in yesterday's class, tells me:
He: Perfect, Camila, really nice! Now you have to work on your sexy skills. Let's try, you have to move your hips side to side, only that, and follow me looking at me, chasing me.
Me: *BURST INTO LAUGHS* Me? NOW? Sexy? No way! *burst into laughs, again*
I know, shame on me. What am I, twelve? What kind of dance learner am I? I'll tell you: a lame one. LAME. So I moved my hips and followed him around and looked at him, but I wasn't sexy at all. At a certain point I had to go around him then put one my hands on his head and slide it 'til his neck. HOT. Hot? Not really, I felt clumsy.
:-(
That's where "My way" begins. Because in my imaginary world, it would've happened like this:
My dance partner would be someone like Justin Timberlake. Because he's so damn sexy. Like, really, really, really sexy³. Guess I was clear enough about his sexyness. So, I'd be dancing with Justin, the Zouk God. And he would NEVER had to TELL me to be sexy, because, in fact, I'd be a natural. It'd be a piece of cake. I'd be some sort of Sexy Zouk Goddess, that would perfectly match with Justin, the Zouk God. He'd be my soul zouk mate. He'd be my Patrick Shwayze in "Dirty Dancing" - ohhh I've had the time of life, no I've never felt this way before. And we'd dance perfectly seductive and sexy, with all the hip moves and sexy looks and hair all around and hands sliding around his neck. We would redefine what is CLOSE and what is dancing CLOSE. People would envy us because never in zouk history a couple had danced so perfect together *sighs*. I wouldn't dance with anyone else and all dance classes would end up in... Well. Would end up incredibly well.
That's it.
My way is naughty, I know. But still: is so much better than my real life.
I was in my dance class trying not to make a fool of myself daning the zouk. Zouk is a dance that, if you're not dancing, you'd define it as a mix of the old lambada with some sort of courtship dance. If you look closer, I mean, if you really pay attention and have a little bit of a twisted mind you'd say that it's more of a copulation dance than a courtship dance. Although both mean basically the same, let's face it: copulation sounds way dirtier than courtship. Well, I belong, of course, with the second group. So, if I truly think it looks like some kind of pre-copulation ritual and I don't see this as something, let's say, positive, why the hell am I dancing to this rythm? Simple answer: I love dancing. Any kind of dance. If you tell me that I'll have to learn an old african ritual dance, I'll be into it. Besides, zouk looks strange when you're just watching it but it feels awesome when you're dancing it. My only problem with the zouk is that you must dance CLOSE. Like feel-your-dance-partner's-chest-and-thighs close, but that is acceptable. The problem is that some guys dance a feel-your-partner's-liver close, which is a little bit disturbing for me. I really think that when you dance with someone and REALLY connect, it can be a great foreplay - if you let it happen, of course. I'm the kind of girl who likes to choose carefully the guy I want some foreplay with, you know... So when I have to dance zouk and the guy grabs my back and brings me close to his, I don't know, lungs, I feel a little bit awkward - mainly because most guys in my dance classes are, let's say, not very attractive (in MY humble opinion).
So, back to the beginning after this long prologue: I was trying not make a fool of myself dancing the zouk during my class. I was dancing with a guy who's there to support the teachers. He's a GREAT dancer, a great teacher, the one responsible for me not giving up on this crazy and DIFFICULT dance. He taught me the correct way to spin and if you learn that, you're able to learn any step. The point is that, as I've mentioned before, zouk is sexy. That's why it seems more like a copulation dance. The couple must interact in a way that looks like a body seduction game - which means that BOTH move their hips side-to-side-non-stop-oh-yeah and look to each other and, well, seduce each other. Lots of cambrès, lots of hair thrown up and down, side to side, in the end your hair is so messy that not even a fork can tidy it up.
Usually I don't do any of these sexy interaction things. I move my hips (I'm brazilian, I'm supposed to know how to move my hips, right? It's genetic), I throw my hair all around (that part is NICE) and I can try all the cambrès. But don't ask me to be sexy or to act sexy or to make a sexy look. I'm unable to do that if I'm not dancing with a guy who I want to... well... dance a mix of "Sexyback" and "Summer Love" (1:53 to 1:56, wow) with in bed. Ha. Then I was dancing yesterday with this very good and sweet and not attractive dance partner (I feel horrible for saying that, but truth always hurt) and everything was going perfectly. I was feeling like the zouk queen, although I guess this is a title that doesn't exist. I was the dancing queen, young (YES) and sweet (irony), only twenty nine when my dance partner, who had taught me lots of new steps in yesterday's class, tells me:
He: Perfect, Camila, really nice! Now you have to work on your sexy skills. Let's try, you have to move your hips side to side, only that, and follow me looking at me, chasing me.
Me: *BURST INTO LAUGHS* Me? NOW? Sexy? No way! *burst into laughs, again*
I know, shame on me. What am I, twelve? What kind of dance learner am I? I'll tell you: a lame one. LAME. So I moved my hips and followed him around and looked at him, but I wasn't sexy at all. At a certain point I had to go around him then put one my hands on his head and slide it 'til his neck. HOT. Hot? Not really, I felt clumsy.
:-(
That's where "My way" begins. Because in my imaginary world, it would've happened like this:
My dance partner would be someone like Justin Timberlake. Because he's so damn sexy. Like, really, really, really sexy³. Guess I was clear enough about his sexyness. So, I'd be dancing with Justin, the Zouk God. And he would NEVER had to TELL me to be sexy, because, in fact, I'd be a natural. It'd be a piece of cake. I'd be some sort of Sexy Zouk Goddess, that would perfectly match with Justin, the Zouk God. He'd be my soul zouk mate. He'd be my Patrick Shwayze in "Dirty Dancing" - ohhh I've had the time of life, no I've never felt this way before. And we'd dance perfectly seductive and sexy, with all the hip moves and sexy looks and hair all around and hands sliding around his neck. We would redefine what is CLOSE and what is dancing CLOSE. People would envy us because never in zouk history a couple had danced so perfect together *sighs*. I wouldn't dance with anyone else and all dance classes would end up in... Well. Would end up incredibly well.
That's it.
My way is naughty, I know. But still: is so much better than my real life.
quarta-feira, 12 de março de 2008
Why my way?
That's simple: because my way is soooo much better. At least better for me, and that's what all the world is about, isn't it? Me. No? Ok, at least I've tried. But you must agree with me in one point: my world is important to me as your world is important to you and so on. I mean, we're not just anthopocentric: we are ourselves-centric. Camilacentric (that's me). Felipecentric (my dear friend who's been following the great creation of this blog). Youcentric. We all do things our own ways - no matter how demanding your boss is or how much you wimp out and don't do what you want to do: we choose what is best to us, not to our neighbors, co-workers, bus drivers or human kind in general. The biggest problem of it is that the screenwriters of our lives - which you can call God or Bhudda or Master Yoda - usually DON'T choose the ending we want to most of the shitu... situations we go through. 'Cause that's how it works: we choose what we want to do, we take the necessary action and TA DA! Nothing goes the way it was planned in your head. Yeah, I know, that's unfair. But that what's life's supposed to be: unfair.
That's why I've decided to start up this blog. Not only to practise my English and have my foreign friends reading it, but also because here I am the boss. I choose the endings I want to the stories that happen with me. Here you'll find everything that should've been. That would've been if life was less of a bitch and more of a grandma with a plate of warm home-made cookies and a cozy smile. Or less of a bitch and more of Matt Damon or Gael García Bernál naked holding a bottle of whipped cream. And a cozy smile. Life would be better these ways, right? Well, from now on, my life, at least on my mind and here, will be much better too. And I'll do all the endings my way.
That's why I've decided to start up this blog. Not only to practise my English and have my foreign friends reading it, but also because here I am the boss. I choose the endings I want to the stories that happen with me. Here you'll find everything that should've been. That would've been if life was less of a bitch and more of a grandma with a plate of warm home-made cookies and a cozy smile. Or less of a bitch and more of Matt Damon or Gael García Bernál naked holding a bottle of whipped cream. And a cozy smile. Life would be better these ways, right? Well, from now on, my life, at least on my mind and here, will be much better too. And I'll do all the endings my way.
But more, much more than this... I did it my way!
Here I am, with my perhaps... fifth blog. Or sixth. First one in English, though. I'm an English teacher here in Brasil and I started to feel the need of practising my writing, since during the classes I just correct compositions, never write them. That's funny, because sometimes I have to bribe or threaten my students so they write at least one single paragraph. Before you start thinking that I'm a horrible teacher, let me introduce you to my friend, Mr. Sarcasm. Say hello to him. Now that I made my point and you know that I don't offer money, chocolate nor my precious body in exchange of a simple composition, I can continue. So, that's funny that my students, who are all adults and supposedly responsible, almost cry their eyes out (is there this expression? If there isn't, I've just made it up) when it comes to doing written exercises. And here I am, voluntarily writing and studying - am I not busy at all? Should I find myself a boyfriend instead of spending my time watching the days go by and writing texts? Don't think so. This is part of my nerdy spirit and the nerdy spirit will never die. And to tell you the truth, usually the guys I go out with are usually a bit nerd - so if I find myself a boyfriend, he'd probably, I don't know, read everything and meddle in my texts or change this (lame) nice layout. I wish my students were BLESSED (capital letters to emphasize my irony) with an itty bitty bit of my nerdyness.
Anyway, here I am, already writing too much. Welcome whoever reads this, feel free to comment and give your opinions. Take your shoes off, grab a beer, make yourself at home. Just please, don't get naked because this is a very respectful and serious blog. Thanks.
Anyway, here I am, already writing too much. Welcome whoever reads this, feel free to comment and give your opinions. Take your shoes off, grab a beer, make yourself at home. Just please, don't get naked because this is a very respectful and serious blog. Thanks.
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