http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNfuzz_jLGE
Amigos!
Vivi minha vida toda no Brasil. E demorei 24 anos inteiros, 12 dos quais quase que integralmente dedicados a música, para descobrir essa jóia. Essa maravilha que é essa música.
Clube da Esquina II por Milton Nascimento e Lô Borges
Escute-a de olhos fechados e experimente uma jornada através de memórias passadas. Ainda ouso afirmar que essa canção, é a mais bela já composta pela humanidade. A mais sublime, mais serena, mais profunda, mais abismal, mais blissful, mais יפה.
E não foi aqui no Brasil que eu descobri essa música não. Tenho vários amigos que gostam de MPB, muitos dos quais até cheguei a tocar, gente de renome, talentosa e ninguém nunca veio me mostrar esse som. Sabe quem foi o broder que me introduziu, de graça? O SeuTubo!
Piadas a parte, fica a recomendação. Escute essa música e me diga se não é a mais bela do mundo? Escute-a como um alienígena, alguém que não sabe nada sobre a humanidade, alguém que acabou de chegar no planeta e quer conhecer a raça humana, apreciar o que ela tem de melhor a oferecer, Escute essa canção como se fosse uma criança, como se fosse a primeira vez. Escute essa canção livre de preconceitos, livre de prenoções, livre de prejuízos, livre de qualquer rótulo ou gênero que venha a mente.
Escute essa canção, com o apoio Picon3!
Abraços
Monday 30 August 2010
Saturday 28 August 2010
Recomendação Picon3 - Filme Heavy Metal
Po, tou nesse momento ouvindo a trilha sonora do filme Heavy Metal. Agora tá tocando Devo - Working in the Coal Mine. Ainda vai tocar Black Sabbath, Journey, Grand Funk Railroad, Blue Oister Cult, Stevie Nicks, Nazareth, Cheap Trick entre outros.
E engana-se aquele que pensa que esse filme é apenas rock'n'roll. Esse filme é na real uma putz viagem muito louca através de contos distantes, vindos de tempos futuros e sombrios. Um tempo onde a humanidade começou a se expalhar pelo espaço. E dessa imensidão incalculável que é o nosso universo, surge uma criatura misteriosa.
Um filme super bacana e surpreendente. De horror e comédia, nessa ordem. Lindíssimas sequências de animação estilo anos 80. Excelente trilha sonora do mais puro Heavy Metal!
Recomendado para aqueles que gostam de Heavy Metal, Filmes de Animação, Video-Games, Astronomia, Fantasias Adolescentes Masculinas, Lindas Mulheres Nuas, Guerras entre Alienígenas Monstruosos, Viajar pelo espaço numa Corvette 1960, conversível. Tudo na segurança e na qualidade insana dos traços dos talentosos desenhistas da revista Americana Heavy Metal. O Filme na real é Canadense.
A minha parte preferida são os créditos, a música é muito boa do Devo, e dá para ver quem participou de que, de qual dos contos. No total são 9 curtas de animação integrados num só filme. Dá para ver centenas de pessoas envolvidas no processo! Dezenas de animadores, diretores de animação, camerman de animação, desenhistas, e sei lá o que mais. Existe de fato uma indústria de animação nos EUA.
E é disso que a gente precisa. Aqui no Brasil. Putz, esse filme nem fez sucesso, acabou só sendo lançado em vídeo 15 anos depois, mesmo sendo um mega sucesso cult entre jovens cinéfilos do mundo todo. O problema judicial foi relacionado a trilha sonora, que está praticamente inteiramente integrada as sequências de animação e não poderia ser removida.
Hoje em dia, graças a maravilha da Internet, e da liberdade gratuita de distribuição de arte, ciência e literatura, podemos assistir a esse maravilhoso registro de uma geração de rockeiros britanicos, conhecida como a New Wave of British Heavy Metal, ser posto ao seu maior teste ao acompanhar essas espetaculares imagens que vão poluir seu cérebro para sempre. In a good way.
Para assistir esse daí, eu recomendo fortemente o Apoio Picon3!
Aqui vai o link da Wikipedia com todas informações necessárias: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heavy_Metal_%28film%29
Aqui está o link do torrent para os curiosos de espírito: http://thepiratebay.org/torrent/4618710/Movies_-_Animated_Action_Classics_-_Heavy_Metal_%281981%29
E aqui vai o link do torrent da trilha sonora do filme, que ouço agora mesmo:http://thepiratebay.org/torrent/3745399/Heavy_Metal_Original_Soundtrack
Já testei esses links, posso garantir que estão livre de viruses e são seguros e de boa qualidade.
Aproveitem e
Apoio Picon3!
Abraços!
Monday 23 August 2010
Recomendação Picon3 => Badeco - The Damrak Buskers
Olá amigos, venho por meio desta chamar atenção ao mais novo lançamento da música brasileira. Ao primeiro lançamento do selo brasileiro-israelita de música Picon3! Também o primeiro álbum de Badeco, jovem músico de 25 anos de Osasco/SP.
Badeco apresenta "The Damrak Buskers", um relato em forma de canção, da vida de um músico de rua. Dos altos e baixos, do calor e do frio, da dura realidade urbana. Muitas dessas canções que você encontra nesse álbum, foram apresentadas, nesse formato idêntico, nas ruas de Amsterdam, Tel Aviv, Eilat, Osasco e outras cidades desse mundo.
Gravado, editado e documentado pelo próprio Badeco durante partes do mês de Agosto de 2010. E lançado oficialmente pelo selo Picon3 em 20 de Agosto de 2010.
O Álbum contem 17 faixas, quase todas apresentam Badeco com o violão. Há algumas participações especiais e também algumas surpresas e curiosidades que ficarão reservadas ao ouvinte individual. O Álbum serve também como registro de algumas das músicas mais famosas de Badeco, recém chegado de uma turnê mundial.
01 - Barcelona Blues - 7:29 %
02 - Sombra da Maldade - 3:41 %
03 - Pain Lies On The Riverside - 6:18 *
04 - 3 AM - 6:15 *
05 - Got Me Wrong - 4:09 *
06 - Queimando Tudo Com Você - 7:51 *
07 - Molly's Chambers - 1:49 *
08 - Karma Police - 4:09 *
09 - Nutshell - 3:19 *
10 - Para Flávia - 9:13 *
11 - Me Chama - 3:38 *
12 - Seven Caged Tigers - 3:13 *
13 - Mais Um - 3:45 *
14 - Spanish Bombs (part.esp. Gui) - 4:15 @
15 - Saudade (part.esp. Barbie) - 3:19 @
16 - Dancing Queen Blues (part.esp. Barbie) - 4:39 @
17 - Eyes Without A Face (bonus) - 3:50 *
legenda
* - Gravado em Agosto 2010
% - Gravado em Julho 2010
@ - Gravado em Junho 2009
O álbum está disponível gratuitamente no site trama virtual (http://tramavirtual.uol.com.br/artistas/badeco) e no youtube (http://www.youtube.com/my_playlists?p=1F0A08014419EC6B) através do canal www.youtube.com/chadner .
Infomações gerais kbadner@gmail.com
Apoio Picon3
Sunday 15 August 2010
Memorable Teaching Moments #1 – The Ripple Effect
By Teacher Caio
It was my first ever advanced group. It was a Book9 class, Saturday mornings, 2006. Wizard Campesina. It was also my first semester in that school, and the coordinator trusted and believed in me so much that he already trusted me with the hardest and most advanced book he had. Back then Wizard had a Book10, but every teacher that has ever worked at Wizard knows that Book9 is harder. Trickier, let’s say.
And the group was kind of weak too! It was these 5 girls, I think. The first was Crislaine, a tall blonde with not much to say. About anything. She would just sit there pretty much in complete silence, the whole class. She would speak only if spoken to, but only the absolute minimum. Still, she had the most amazing smile, like always kind of embarrassed about everything that we talked about. She was cute.
The most talkative and outgoing one was Fernanda. She was daughter to the teachers. She was a party girl that went to English class on Saturday mornings, at 10 am. I mean, hung-over, head aches, pink eyes and that’s when she came. Which was at the most, half of the classes. She had dark skin, she wore dreadlocks and she had these massive boobs. She had great English too, and she always laughed at my stupid jokes. She was hot.
I can only remember the third one, which was this young blonde chick, very cool attitude and looks. She was a bit older than the other girls but I’m sure she dug my style. I remember that once I saw her across the street, near one of the universities in the area, but I didn’t say hi. When I told her the next Saturday, she was like “Oh, no way! You should have gone like ‘Hey there… (fuck, I can remember her name, sorry)… Anyway, she wanted to have met me outside class, and that’s always a positive thing for a teacher, right? She was cool.
The other two students were too shy and pretty much managed to avoid being stored in my immediate memory. Maybe throughout this story, their names will come back to me somehow. Hey! I remember one of them was like a manager in a leather product store in the Super Shopping Mall in Osasco. I don’t know, I have always liked running into my students (or ex-students) around town. That maybe means that I’m proud to have been their teacher at one point. I’m proud to say that I am a teacher. Like we all should be.
I had already been teaching for 6 months, up to that point in time. This is August 2006, I am 20 years old, a computer science undergrad and a frustrated musician wannabe. The first 6 months were only basic levels, a bunch of teenagers, and a heterogenic and misled staff of teachers. Those were training months for me. Then I moved from Wizard Bela Vista to Campesina, and everything changed. I was actually fired from the first school and hired the same day by the second school.
Funny story. The guy who fired me after six months at Wizard Bela Vista was Cléber, a teacher who was coincidentally hired that same January, went through the training course for beginners with me. We were hired on the same day, and six months later, the guy was firing me. Can you believe that shit? Not necessary to mention that there was a lot of ass kissing involved in his sudden rise to power. But that’s a story for another time.
I wasn’t kissing anybody’s ass around there. So I basically screwed up enough for them to let me go on the Friday before the start of classes. I mean, I stayed around throughout the whole month of July, in hopes of being assigned many groups and assure my income for the next 5 months. But they fucking fired me instead! I would have been totally fucked if it hadn’t been for Rodrigo, the coordinator at Campesina.
I had already worked for him a couple of times before, and despite all my screw-ups, the guy was the first to really see the talent in me and believe in my potential. Especially because he as soon as he found out I had been fired, he called me to offer me a job. And the deal was alright too. But I’ll get back to that in a second. Let me first talk about this analogy I like to think about.
An English school is like a Football team. Not American Football, not Rugby with Knight armors, and not Soccer either. It’s called Football, alright? Just ask the world. Ok, English schools can be compared to Football clubs. I mean, you got your defense, it’s your Secretaries, Receptionists, Cleaning Crew. And you got the offense, it’s the Teachers. Coordinators are the playmakers and the leadership of the team.
Some teachers teach different groups and have a different value to the staff. The same way that different strikers will have a different importance to the team. You have your star teachers, just as much as you have star players. You have difference in pay checks, bonuses, privileges and performance evaluation. You have politics, art and even drama in an English school.
In my case, I got lucky. I was just a young player, starting out my career in professional English teaching. I was a nobody. I had studied for like a year in a neighborhood school in Interlagos, just enough to get a FCE, at the age of 13. And the owner of the school hand picked me to study there because she was my teacher at school and she was sure I could get the Certificate. It would look good for me, my mom and, above all, for her school.
So she convinced us, and that year or so, that I studied there, remains to this day, the only time that I spent money on my English learning. Not to mention the money spent on dictionaries and English literature. I was 14 when I left the school and I started teaching at 20. Another funny story.
From Eighth grade at 14 to undergrad teacher at 20, it’s a long story. I won’t tell it in detail now. Let’s just say that the ratio of contact with computers to contact with humans was kind of unbalanced. Little by little, as I grew older, I started spending more time with people, breaking my outer shell and getting into music. My hair grew, I lost my glasses and my braces. In that 6 year period, I went through my teenage years, kissed my first girl, lost my virginity, played my first gig and drunk every drink known to man.
At 20, bored with computers and dismayed at the music business, I decided to listen to the best advice I heard while performing live. I mean, after the show a Carioca came up to us and said that my English was very good. Not necessarily the type of comment you would expect to hear after rocking out with an electric guitar in a trendy bar in Vila Madalena. Yeah, at 20 I wasn’t blowing anybody’s brains out with my music, but my English was good enough to be worthy of an honest compliment. And that wasn’t just something your throw away like that.
So I decided to go after the English teaching money. I mean, how hard could it be? You had thousands of language schools sprouting all over São Paulo. Brazil was in a process of becoming a lead star in the international scene, you probably had lots of people in need of English teaching. And wasn’t I always pissed at shitty translators and voice actors that always seemed to find work in television, wasn’t my English better than those guys’? Guyssus?
And hey, now that I think of it, as I would later learn while teaching that Book9, English teaching was right up my alley! … Right? Book9 Expressions? “Right up one’s Alley”? Oh whatever hehehe…
So English teacher it was. I first sent some emails with résumés. Then I started paying visit to nearby schools to hand out my résumé in person. Then I realized it wasn’t going to be easy. Nobody was contacting me, nothing was happening. That was when I decided to go with the prank phone call technique. And that was how I got my first job teaching English.
Well, I am a foreigner, I was really born in Israel. But up to that point, my life was comprised of 2 years as a Kibbutznik and 12 years as a Paulistano and 6 years as an Osasquense. I was obviously Brazilian. But when I called Wizard Bela Vista, I started speaking perfect English with an American accent, trying my best to sound cool and chill, the kind of guy you can jam, play video games and even discuss philosophy with. That day, on that call, I was – for the first time – Chadner.
And just try calling any English school in São Paulo, start speaking English and listen to the chaos that will erupt. That day, none the receptionists or secretaries in the afternoon shift spoke any English, the one that answered was like “Oh, I’m sorry, just a second… Ai meu Deus, cadê a Sandra? O Cara tá falando Inglês aqui!!! Num to entendendo nada!!! Just a second please!... Ai chama a Sandra por favor!”
When Sandra, the coordinator, finally answered and we started to exchange words in English, I immediately knew that I was cut out for this business. Her English was terrible! And she was the coordinator! I mean, that thick Brazilian accent was everything I needed to boost up my confidence and impress the hell out of her.
We scheduled an interview for the next day, with the possibility of starting immediately. Clear possibility, judging from the telephone call. Yeah, everything was going my way, except the fact that I wasn’t Kyle from California, I was Caio from Osasco. And, I don’t know about you, but lying to get a job, I understand. Now having to lie, everyday, to keep a job is a different story. And I wasn’t willing to pretend to be the random foreign teacher, which is obviously more valuable than the true local talent, having to lead this secret second life, always watching everything I said, no way. I was going to come clean.
So right off the bat, first thing I say to Sandra, as she greets me in English, was that I was Brazilian. I spoke Portuguese too. And the only reason I lied before was that nobody gave a shit if you walk around saying you can speak English. They have to receive a demonstration of what you can do. That way you can impress them with your talent and earn a position in their staff. Their team, remember?
So like I said, teaching is just like Football, and every school is like a football club, each struggling to survive, competing against other clubs at their specific level. Each school is just as big as they deserve to be, as much as they strive to be. Every club is just as important and victorious as they fight to be. Luck is also a very important factor.
And the students are like the fans. They bring the money to the school. They make everything possible. The students are the reason why teachers get out of bed everyday. And what keeps a student supporting the school? Good teachers! Star teachers! Sure, an effective methodology, maybe some cool books and facilities. But every fan needs a star, every football club needs a star and every star has to start somewhere. And that Saturday morning, I signed my first professional contract as an aspiring young player, I mean, as an English teacher.
Now that I’m writing this, I realize again the importance that recreational drug usage had in my life. Curiously, I had just recently smoked my first joint, some weeks before that – let’s say – unusual prank phone call that earned me a job. And as time would show, these substances would continue to stimulate my brain to put together fruitful and effective ideas such as prank calling your future job. Creativity has always been a characteristic of my personality, and psychoactive drugs have only ever helped in that department. This is the truth, deal with it.
After 6 months of learning, practicing and improving, I was ready for a real challenge. A position in the first team. They didn’t need me in Bela Vista, so they sent me to Campesina, sort of speak. One of their star players had just been signed by a bigger school, Cultura Inglesa, and they urgently needed a new teacher to fill his shoes. They needed somebody to teach pretty much only advanced levels, all different books and materials, they needed a fast learner, responsible, experienced and willing to make little money in exchange of a large work load. Maybe an outside hire would have been a safer bet, but it would probably have been more expensive too.
So they decided to go with me. A 20-year old fuck up with an incredible English and a poor tardiness record. That I proudly keep it to this day, hahaha. I was the young player with the amazing potential and the terrible discipline. And what was the most advanced group I was assign to teach in that first semester of mine? None other that the ever so dreadful Book9.
(I thought I should tell you this, but as I write this, I’m listening to ‘Youth and Young Manhood’ by the Kings of Leon and smoking the Picon3)
Book9 was famous for its weird vocabulary. And I was never a big fan of class preparation, I mean, let’s say that 80% of what goes on in my classrooms in improvisation. 10% is reading from the book and maybe 10% is previously prepared activities. Of course that when I say improvisation, I’m talking about putting structured layouts to practice, without having rehearsed before.
Everyone does it. Improvising. We rarely don’t create something new every day. We just don’t seem to realize that even when you follow something by the letter, it still is some overall pattern that was repeated, the words themselves are always new, even if repeated, for as they are enounced, they are uttered with different tones, shapes and colors. Intonation and everyone’s unique language’s accent at the time will make every new register a real new one. And since we rarely play those god damned CDs, cause most of them suck, then most of the English, or whatever language that is being taught, will be created there, live. That’s all new language being produced. Maybe the teachers will have an accent closer to the native speakers, but that is all. The rest is new English, being invented, being tested, being played, being compared, being repeated, being modified and becoming something of its own. And since it’s brand new, it’s just as if it had been improvised. So the second law says.
And when improvising, I thrive.
And I remember vividly, the day when I was first in contact with something 100% new to me, the teacher, in a classroom. It was in a Book9 text, about the Ripple Effect. About whether or not it really worked. Trying to spread money proportionally to every citizen, by giving money to wealthy and letting them spend the money wherever they want, then those people would spend that money with the lower classes, and down and down, until the wave reached the bottom classes and everybody profited from that move together.
But that Saturday morning, when I started teaching that class, I still didn’t know that. I discovered that as the class went along. I defined that new concept improvising together with the students. We read the text together, for the first time, none of us knew what this expression ‘ripple effect’ meant, nor had any of us ever heard about it before. But after reading it, we together, under my lead, wrote the meaning of this new concept, and we explained each other, with examples and questions until we were satisfied with the amount of time we devoted to that new expression.
And that day I realized that teaching could actually be something fun, you know? Something it’s actually fun to do, I don’t know. Not really what people say of work, usually. Do you know what I’m saying? That day, even though the class hadn’t been that wonderful, rather due to the lack of interest of my students, I was finally happy to have chosen to go down this path, of quitting my shitty intern job, as a computer guy in a perfume distribution company, and starting to teach English, a true 180 in my career.
That August started out as an entirely different life for me. I was now a member of the first team, in a medium level school in Osasco. But that club wasn’t happy simply being average, no way, they were in the middle of moving to a new building, in the same neighborhood but with an amazing visibility, they wanted to be worthy of a promotion to a higher division.
And in that campaign, I played first team in the side that ended up winning the championship. I was one of the best players of the tournament. Let’s say they played me in the midfield, maybe left defensive midfielder, or winger. And I was like that player that has a high work rate, is always willing to give all he can, always in a good mood. And consistent too, always delivering his top game. Even in important matches!
Like the parents meeting night, that was like the final between the South American champions and the European champions, when it used to be just one game at the end of the year, in Japan. It’s like you play the whole season against the same type of people, same games, then it’s one match against completely different players, you have to really watch out not to fuck up. A fuck-up in an important game such as a Parents Teachers Meeting, could mean your ass.
But I never choked or underperformed under pressure, not while teaching at Wizard. Not that I can remember anyway. What I did was end up being one of the best players of the season. Surely to the regret of my previous coaches. Maybe not that much, who cares? But I definitely became a better, more confident teacher. And where did this change in attitude came from?
Again, just before August classes begun, I had a preparation ritual set up for me by my girlfriend at the time, Luciana. She was the one to roll my first joint, in a motel room in Santos, sometime around January 2006. She lived in São Vicente at the time and so we were in a long-distance relationship. We had met in Orkut, can you believe that?!
But it was cool, she used to come often and stay with me. We would go out a lot, have great sex and she was the one who introduced me to recreational drug usage as a means of sparkling creativity, widening your senses and, again, having great sex. She was wonderful.
Sometime around June she moved to São Paulo. She was starting her post graduation course in Biology, and she wanted to do it at USP. So she moved to this old apartment in Sumaré, and these 3 old college friends of hers moved in with her. They started this thing we call a ‘República’ in Brazil. It’s when college students live together and share expenses. And since everyone in Brazil pretty much goes to Universities in their cities or states, there’s very little student immigrants spread around the country, most college kids still live with their parents. I’m 24 today, I have already started and quit 2 different colleges and yes, I still live with my mom.
So, going a little bit back in time, all throughout that July 2006, I had very little work to do, I was - let’s say - in-between-jobs and so, I had a lot of free time in my hands. The world cup was over, it had been very disappointing for me. The Libertadores was going to be an ever greater tragedy in my life. So the ground was set for me to embark on this drug induced mind trip. A true journey inside my head that only cost some grams of weed, some of hash, uma bala e um doce. All these drugs together, all culminating in one mind blowing acid trip right before classes started, got my head ready to play in the big leagues.
That August 15th, as Rogério Ceni was fumbling that lousy cross I was turning 21 and learning, the hardest way, that I had to beware of the fact that I was also going to learn how to lose occasionally, but it was alright, for in the greater spectrum of things, I was doing very well. Just like Rogério Ceni, I knew I was going to have to learn how to experience defeat and get something positive out of it. And it was ok, it is ok. It's a part of being in a team, it's a part of teaching English, it's a part of life. Hey, at least we made it to the final, many times, right bitches?
As that Semester went along, the amazing events that followed, the wonderful people that I would work with just assured me that this new path I had chosen to go down, would turn out to be unbelievably adventurous, revealing, emotional and above all, meaningful. Truly memorable moments. Everything has seemed to go my way since then, and most of what I truly accomplished was without much effort or preparation. Just following my gut, my sense of judgment, my voice, my soul, my reason, whatever you call it.
I decided to follow my inner light and I started to make it in this world.
Tell me if that’s not just scientifically proven divine intervention, right there?
...These were some memorable teaching moments
By Teacher Caio
Apoio Picon3
...
Appendix: Society at Work
And yes, I do believe that the ripple effect works. Of course that its inside politics, favouritism and personal choices will influence the way that the money will spread around society. But there is no society, no meritocracy that works without an inner system of politics. And as anything involving merit and recognition, biased this system shall always be. However far it looks, any system that compares value is always a biased system, for any accurate determination of value requires a pattern, a scale, a way to measure the value. And determining such tool is the moment where personal preference enters the formula.
How do you choose what’s best? What’s right or wrong? We follow our instincts, that’s how. Animals we truly are. And from the earliest assumptions, most primitive labeling of good and bad, hot and cold, bright and dark, happy and sad, attractive and scary, interesting and boring, depressing and transcendental. We impose our own biased filters to catalogue all that into our words, our thoughts.
Then we seem to never be able to change that. However hard we try, some of those initial labels won’t ever leave us. Even if we update the feeling, they will forever be written in our history, as evidence.
So giving money to the wealthy is a valid technique, why not? Sure it seems unfair, because they already have all the money and so they are the ones who need it the least, so why should they have even more money? Well, I do see it as an interesting technique.
It’s actually very conservative, if you think about it. I doesn’t change the status-quo. Because if the rich get richer, then society remains unchanged. Nobody knows just how rich the rich are, anyway. We know that they don’t have the same worries as we do, and we dream of getting there one day. But we don’t have money, we just have enough to survive and keep struggling every month, hoping we don’t get fired, or killed, or very sick, or even worse, pregnant. But that’s another story I’ll tell you later.
But the rich don’t have these worries. They have different worries, I’ll give them that. But not those I just listed. And so giving more money to the rich has what effect? You make money seem unimportant to them. You encourage them to spend it. Spend it with other people, poorer people. People like you and me, who need money very much indeed.
And everybody who deserves it, who convinces the top classes to share some of their money with them, will live in better conditions. So, from the top to the bottom, you establish the politics and the economy based around services provided by citizens to other citizens paid with money. Regardless of how or why certain citizens came upon different amounts of wealth. It is a perfectly biased working meritocratical system, like many societies around Earth.
If you give money to the poor people, only, then you immediately break the balance of society. You encourage people to save money to provide for their striving and starving families. Making the whole population more balanced. It’s well intentioned at heart, but not necessarily revolutionary. It will hardly be enough to generate a leveled up society, with no poor or rich distinction. It’s just an attempt at finding middle ground between Totally Biased Meritocracies and Plain Old Communist regimes. And yes it is liberal.
So, in conclusion, I do think that the Ripple Effect works. If you don’t want to see a communist revolution, then let the government give your money to the rich, for they shall give it back to you, eventually. And as the status quo remains unchanged, you will have an equal opportunity to prove yourself valuable and earn that money fair and square, and, one day, who knows, join them in the top. If you ever want to be in there, I mean.
…
Well, that was a rather long text. Even for my standards.
This will hopefully be the first installment in a series of texts about my teaching experiences and the thoughts that arise from revisiting the past, hopefully you’ll like it.
Cheers!
Apoio Picon3
It was my first ever advanced group. It was a Book9 class, Saturday mornings, 2006. Wizard Campesina. It was also my first semester in that school, and the coordinator trusted and believed in me so much that he already trusted me with the hardest and most advanced book he had. Back then Wizard had a Book10, but every teacher that has ever worked at Wizard knows that Book9 is harder. Trickier, let’s say.
And the group was kind of weak too! It was these 5 girls, I think. The first was Crislaine, a tall blonde with not much to say. About anything. She would just sit there pretty much in complete silence, the whole class. She would speak only if spoken to, but only the absolute minimum. Still, she had the most amazing smile, like always kind of embarrassed about everything that we talked about. She was cute.
The most talkative and outgoing one was Fernanda. She was daughter to the teachers. She was a party girl that went to English class on Saturday mornings, at 10 am. I mean, hung-over, head aches, pink eyes and that’s when she came. Which was at the most, half of the classes. She had dark skin, she wore dreadlocks and she had these massive boobs. She had great English too, and she always laughed at my stupid jokes. She was hot.
I can only remember the third one, which was this young blonde chick, very cool attitude and looks. She was a bit older than the other girls but I’m sure she dug my style. I remember that once I saw her across the street, near one of the universities in the area, but I didn’t say hi. When I told her the next Saturday, she was like “Oh, no way! You should have gone like ‘Hey there… (fuck, I can remember her name, sorry)… Anyway, she wanted to have met me outside class, and that’s always a positive thing for a teacher, right? She was cool.
The other two students were too shy and pretty much managed to avoid being stored in my immediate memory. Maybe throughout this story, their names will come back to me somehow. Hey! I remember one of them was like a manager in a leather product store in the Super Shopping Mall in Osasco. I don’t know, I have always liked running into my students (or ex-students) around town. That maybe means that I’m proud to have been their teacher at one point. I’m proud to say that I am a teacher. Like we all should be.
I had already been teaching for 6 months, up to that point in time. This is August 2006, I am 20 years old, a computer science undergrad and a frustrated musician wannabe. The first 6 months were only basic levels, a bunch of teenagers, and a heterogenic and misled staff of teachers. Those were training months for me. Then I moved from Wizard Bela Vista to Campesina, and everything changed. I was actually fired from the first school and hired the same day by the second school.
Funny story. The guy who fired me after six months at Wizard Bela Vista was Cléber, a teacher who was coincidentally hired that same January, went through the training course for beginners with me. We were hired on the same day, and six months later, the guy was firing me. Can you believe that shit? Not necessary to mention that there was a lot of ass kissing involved in his sudden rise to power. But that’s a story for another time.
I wasn’t kissing anybody’s ass around there. So I basically screwed up enough for them to let me go on the Friday before the start of classes. I mean, I stayed around throughout the whole month of July, in hopes of being assigned many groups and assure my income for the next 5 months. But they fucking fired me instead! I would have been totally fucked if it hadn’t been for Rodrigo, the coordinator at Campesina.
I had already worked for him a couple of times before, and despite all my screw-ups, the guy was the first to really see the talent in me and believe in my potential. Especially because he as soon as he found out I had been fired, he called me to offer me a job. And the deal was alright too. But I’ll get back to that in a second. Let me first talk about this analogy I like to think about.
An English school is like a Football team. Not American Football, not Rugby with Knight armors, and not Soccer either. It’s called Football, alright? Just ask the world. Ok, English schools can be compared to Football clubs. I mean, you got your defense, it’s your Secretaries, Receptionists, Cleaning Crew. And you got the offense, it’s the Teachers. Coordinators are the playmakers and the leadership of the team.
Some teachers teach different groups and have a different value to the staff. The same way that different strikers will have a different importance to the team. You have your star teachers, just as much as you have star players. You have difference in pay checks, bonuses, privileges and performance evaluation. You have politics, art and even drama in an English school.
In my case, I got lucky. I was just a young player, starting out my career in professional English teaching. I was a nobody. I had studied for like a year in a neighborhood school in Interlagos, just enough to get a FCE, at the age of 13. And the owner of the school hand picked me to study there because she was my teacher at school and she was sure I could get the Certificate. It would look good for me, my mom and, above all, for her school.
So she convinced us, and that year or so, that I studied there, remains to this day, the only time that I spent money on my English learning. Not to mention the money spent on dictionaries and English literature. I was 14 when I left the school and I started teaching at 20. Another funny story.
From Eighth grade at 14 to undergrad teacher at 20, it’s a long story. I won’t tell it in detail now. Let’s just say that the ratio of contact with computers to contact with humans was kind of unbalanced. Little by little, as I grew older, I started spending more time with people, breaking my outer shell and getting into music. My hair grew, I lost my glasses and my braces. In that 6 year period, I went through my teenage years, kissed my first girl, lost my virginity, played my first gig and drunk every drink known to man.
At 20, bored with computers and dismayed at the music business, I decided to listen to the best advice I heard while performing live. I mean, after the show a Carioca came up to us and said that my English was very good. Not necessarily the type of comment you would expect to hear after rocking out with an electric guitar in a trendy bar in Vila Madalena. Yeah, at 20 I wasn’t blowing anybody’s brains out with my music, but my English was good enough to be worthy of an honest compliment. And that wasn’t just something your throw away like that.
So I decided to go after the English teaching money. I mean, how hard could it be? You had thousands of language schools sprouting all over São Paulo. Brazil was in a process of becoming a lead star in the international scene, you probably had lots of people in need of English teaching. And wasn’t I always pissed at shitty translators and voice actors that always seemed to find work in television, wasn’t my English better than those guys’? Guyssus?
And hey, now that I think of it, as I would later learn while teaching that Book9, English teaching was right up my alley! … Right? Book9 Expressions? “Right up one’s Alley”? Oh whatever hehehe…
So English teacher it was. I first sent some emails with résumés. Then I started paying visit to nearby schools to hand out my résumé in person. Then I realized it wasn’t going to be easy. Nobody was contacting me, nothing was happening. That was when I decided to go with the prank phone call technique. And that was how I got my first job teaching English.
Well, I am a foreigner, I was really born in Israel. But up to that point, my life was comprised of 2 years as a Kibbutznik and 12 years as a Paulistano and 6 years as an Osasquense. I was obviously Brazilian. But when I called Wizard Bela Vista, I started speaking perfect English with an American accent, trying my best to sound cool and chill, the kind of guy you can jam, play video games and even discuss philosophy with. That day, on that call, I was – for the first time – Chadner.
And just try calling any English school in São Paulo, start speaking English and listen to the chaos that will erupt. That day, none the receptionists or secretaries in the afternoon shift spoke any English, the one that answered was like “Oh, I’m sorry, just a second… Ai meu Deus, cadê a Sandra? O Cara tá falando Inglês aqui!!! Num to entendendo nada!!! Just a second please!... Ai chama a Sandra por favor!”
When Sandra, the coordinator, finally answered and we started to exchange words in English, I immediately knew that I was cut out for this business. Her English was terrible! And she was the coordinator! I mean, that thick Brazilian accent was everything I needed to boost up my confidence and impress the hell out of her.
We scheduled an interview for the next day, with the possibility of starting immediately. Clear possibility, judging from the telephone call. Yeah, everything was going my way, except the fact that I wasn’t Kyle from California, I was Caio from Osasco. And, I don’t know about you, but lying to get a job, I understand. Now having to lie, everyday, to keep a job is a different story. And I wasn’t willing to pretend to be the random foreign teacher, which is obviously more valuable than the true local talent, having to lead this secret second life, always watching everything I said, no way. I was going to come clean.
So right off the bat, first thing I say to Sandra, as she greets me in English, was that I was Brazilian. I spoke Portuguese too. And the only reason I lied before was that nobody gave a shit if you walk around saying you can speak English. They have to receive a demonstration of what you can do. That way you can impress them with your talent and earn a position in their staff. Their team, remember?
So like I said, teaching is just like Football, and every school is like a football club, each struggling to survive, competing against other clubs at their specific level. Each school is just as big as they deserve to be, as much as they strive to be. Every club is just as important and victorious as they fight to be. Luck is also a very important factor.
And the students are like the fans. They bring the money to the school. They make everything possible. The students are the reason why teachers get out of bed everyday. And what keeps a student supporting the school? Good teachers! Star teachers! Sure, an effective methodology, maybe some cool books and facilities. But every fan needs a star, every football club needs a star and every star has to start somewhere. And that Saturday morning, I signed my first professional contract as an aspiring young player, I mean, as an English teacher.
Now that I’m writing this, I realize again the importance that recreational drug usage had in my life. Curiously, I had just recently smoked my first joint, some weeks before that – let’s say – unusual prank phone call that earned me a job. And as time would show, these substances would continue to stimulate my brain to put together fruitful and effective ideas such as prank calling your future job. Creativity has always been a characteristic of my personality, and psychoactive drugs have only ever helped in that department. This is the truth, deal with it.
After 6 months of learning, practicing and improving, I was ready for a real challenge. A position in the first team. They didn’t need me in Bela Vista, so they sent me to Campesina, sort of speak. One of their star players had just been signed by a bigger school, Cultura Inglesa, and they urgently needed a new teacher to fill his shoes. They needed somebody to teach pretty much only advanced levels, all different books and materials, they needed a fast learner, responsible, experienced and willing to make little money in exchange of a large work load. Maybe an outside hire would have been a safer bet, but it would probably have been more expensive too.
So they decided to go with me. A 20-year old fuck up with an incredible English and a poor tardiness record. That I proudly keep it to this day, hahaha. I was the young player with the amazing potential and the terrible discipline. And what was the most advanced group I was assign to teach in that first semester of mine? None other that the ever so dreadful Book9.
(I thought I should tell you this, but as I write this, I’m listening to ‘Youth and Young Manhood’ by the Kings of Leon and smoking the Picon3)
Book9 was famous for its weird vocabulary. And I was never a big fan of class preparation, I mean, let’s say that 80% of what goes on in my classrooms in improvisation. 10% is reading from the book and maybe 10% is previously prepared activities. Of course that when I say improvisation, I’m talking about putting structured layouts to practice, without having rehearsed before.
Everyone does it. Improvising. We rarely don’t create something new every day. We just don’t seem to realize that even when you follow something by the letter, it still is some overall pattern that was repeated, the words themselves are always new, even if repeated, for as they are enounced, they are uttered with different tones, shapes and colors. Intonation and everyone’s unique language’s accent at the time will make every new register a real new one. And since we rarely play those god damned CDs, cause most of them suck, then most of the English, or whatever language that is being taught, will be created there, live. That’s all new language being produced. Maybe the teachers will have an accent closer to the native speakers, but that is all. The rest is new English, being invented, being tested, being played, being compared, being repeated, being modified and becoming something of its own. And since it’s brand new, it’s just as if it had been improvised. So the second law says.
And when improvising, I thrive.
And I remember vividly, the day when I was first in contact with something 100% new to me, the teacher, in a classroom. It was in a Book9 text, about the Ripple Effect. About whether or not it really worked. Trying to spread money proportionally to every citizen, by giving money to wealthy and letting them spend the money wherever they want, then those people would spend that money with the lower classes, and down and down, until the wave reached the bottom classes and everybody profited from that move together.
But that Saturday morning, when I started teaching that class, I still didn’t know that. I discovered that as the class went along. I defined that new concept improvising together with the students. We read the text together, for the first time, none of us knew what this expression ‘ripple effect’ meant, nor had any of us ever heard about it before. But after reading it, we together, under my lead, wrote the meaning of this new concept, and we explained each other, with examples and questions until we were satisfied with the amount of time we devoted to that new expression.
And that day I realized that teaching could actually be something fun, you know? Something it’s actually fun to do, I don’t know. Not really what people say of work, usually. Do you know what I’m saying? That day, even though the class hadn’t been that wonderful, rather due to the lack of interest of my students, I was finally happy to have chosen to go down this path, of quitting my shitty intern job, as a computer guy in a perfume distribution company, and starting to teach English, a true 180 in my career.
That August started out as an entirely different life for me. I was now a member of the first team, in a medium level school in Osasco. But that club wasn’t happy simply being average, no way, they were in the middle of moving to a new building, in the same neighborhood but with an amazing visibility, they wanted to be worthy of a promotion to a higher division.
And in that campaign, I played first team in the side that ended up winning the championship. I was one of the best players of the tournament. Let’s say they played me in the midfield, maybe left defensive midfielder, or winger. And I was like that player that has a high work rate, is always willing to give all he can, always in a good mood. And consistent too, always delivering his top game. Even in important matches!
Like the parents meeting night, that was like the final between the South American champions and the European champions, when it used to be just one game at the end of the year, in Japan. It’s like you play the whole season against the same type of people, same games, then it’s one match against completely different players, you have to really watch out not to fuck up. A fuck-up in an important game such as a Parents Teachers Meeting, could mean your ass.
But I never choked or underperformed under pressure, not while teaching at Wizard. Not that I can remember anyway. What I did was end up being one of the best players of the season. Surely to the regret of my previous coaches. Maybe not that much, who cares? But I definitely became a better, more confident teacher. And where did this change in attitude came from?
Again, just before August classes begun, I had a preparation ritual set up for me by my girlfriend at the time, Luciana. She was the one to roll my first joint, in a motel room in Santos, sometime around January 2006. She lived in São Vicente at the time and so we were in a long-distance relationship. We had met in Orkut, can you believe that?!
But it was cool, she used to come often and stay with me. We would go out a lot, have great sex and she was the one who introduced me to recreational drug usage as a means of sparkling creativity, widening your senses and, again, having great sex. She was wonderful.
Sometime around June she moved to São Paulo. She was starting her post graduation course in Biology, and she wanted to do it at USP. So she moved to this old apartment in Sumaré, and these 3 old college friends of hers moved in with her. They started this thing we call a ‘República’ in Brazil. It’s when college students live together and share expenses. And since everyone in Brazil pretty much goes to Universities in their cities or states, there’s very little student immigrants spread around the country, most college kids still live with their parents. I’m 24 today, I have already started and quit 2 different colleges and yes, I still live with my mom.
So, going a little bit back in time, all throughout that July 2006, I had very little work to do, I was - let’s say - in-between-jobs and so, I had a lot of free time in my hands. The world cup was over, it had been very disappointing for me. The Libertadores was going to be an ever greater tragedy in my life. So the ground was set for me to embark on this drug induced mind trip. A true journey inside my head that only cost some grams of weed, some of hash, uma bala e um doce. All these drugs together, all culminating in one mind blowing acid trip right before classes started, got my head ready to play in the big leagues.
That August 15th, as Rogério Ceni was fumbling that lousy cross I was turning 21 and learning, the hardest way, that I had to beware of the fact that I was also going to learn how to lose occasionally, but it was alright, for in the greater spectrum of things, I was doing very well. Just like Rogério Ceni, I knew I was going to have to learn how to experience defeat and get something positive out of it. And it was ok, it is ok. It's a part of being in a team, it's a part of teaching English, it's a part of life. Hey, at least we made it to the final, many times, right bitches?
As that Semester went along, the amazing events that followed, the wonderful people that I would work with just assured me that this new path I had chosen to go down, would turn out to be unbelievably adventurous, revealing, emotional and above all, meaningful. Truly memorable moments. Everything has seemed to go my way since then, and most of what I truly accomplished was without much effort or preparation. Just following my gut, my sense of judgment, my voice, my soul, my reason, whatever you call it.
I decided to follow my inner light and I started to make it in this world.
Tell me if that’s not just scientifically proven divine intervention, right there?
...These were some memorable teaching moments
By Teacher Caio
Apoio Picon3
...
Appendix: Society at Work
And yes, I do believe that the ripple effect works. Of course that its inside politics, favouritism and personal choices will influence the way that the money will spread around society. But there is no society, no meritocracy that works without an inner system of politics. And as anything involving merit and recognition, biased this system shall always be. However far it looks, any system that compares value is always a biased system, for any accurate determination of value requires a pattern, a scale, a way to measure the value. And determining such tool is the moment where personal preference enters the formula.
How do you choose what’s best? What’s right or wrong? We follow our instincts, that’s how. Animals we truly are. And from the earliest assumptions, most primitive labeling of good and bad, hot and cold, bright and dark, happy and sad, attractive and scary, interesting and boring, depressing and transcendental. We impose our own biased filters to catalogue all that into our words, our thoughts.
Then we seem to never be able to change that. However hard we try, some of those initial labels won’t ever leave us. Even if we update the feeling, they will forever be written in our history, as evidence.
So giving money to the wealthy is a valid technique, why not? Sure it seems unfair, because they already have all the money and so they are the ones who need it the least, so why should they have even more money? Well, I do see it as an interesting technique.
It’s actually very conservative, if you think about it. I doesn’t change the status-quo. Because if the rich get richer, then society remains unchanged. Nobody knows just how rich the rich are, anyway. We know that they don’t have the same worries as we do, and we dream of getting there one day. But we don’t have money, we just have enough to survive and keep struggling every month, hoping we don’t get fired, or killed, or very sick, or even worse, pregnant. But that’s another story I’ll tell you later.
But the rich don’t have these worries. They have different worries, I’ll give them that. But not those I just listed. And so giving more money to the rich has what effect? You make money seem unimportant to them. You encourage them to spend it. Spend it with other people, poorer people. People like you and me, who need money very much indeed.
And everybody who deserves it, who convinces the top classes to share some of their money with them, will live in better conditions. So, from the top to the bottom, you establish the politics and the economy based around services provided by citizens to other citizens paid with money. Regardless of how or why certain citizens came upon different amounts of wealth. It is a perfectly biased working meritocratical system, like many societies around Earth.
If you give money to the poor people, only, then you immediately break the balance of society. You encourage people to save money to provide for their striving and starving families. Making the whole population more balanced. It’s well intentioned at heart, but not necessarily revolutionary. It will hardly be enough to generate a leveled up society, with no poor or rich distinction. It’s just an attempt at finding middle ground between Totally Biased Meritocracies and Plain Old Communist regimes. And yes it is liberal.
So, in conclusion, I do think that the Ripple Effect works. If you don’t want to see a communist revolution, then let the government give your money to the rich, for they shall give it back to you, eventually. And as the status quo remains unchanged, you will have an equal opportunity to prove yourself valuable and earn that money fair and square, and, one day, who knows, join them in the top. If you ever want to be in there, I mean.
…
Well, that was a rather long text. Even for my standards.
This will hopefully be the first installment in a series of texts about my teaching experiences and the thoughts that arise from revisiting the past, hopefully you’ll like it.
Cheers!
Apoio Picon3
Monday 9 August 2010
Cadê as liberdades individuais?
Eu não voto nem nunca votei... Só no Emídio em Osasco, Mas aí estamos falando de um fora de série.
Acompanho essas eleições bem de longe, mais por falta de interesse e descrença nesse sistema democrático mesmo. Nem sei o que achar desses candidatos que nos são apresentados. Me parece algo semelhante ao que ocorreu na seleção brasileira de 2006 a 2010, de repente não temos mais quase nenhum nome de pedigree e a coisa toda me parece menos pomposa. Nem sei se isso é bom ou ruim.
Não vi o debate (po, jogo mais importante do ano tava rolando), não acompanho muito de perto as plataformas de nenhum dos candidatos, nem parei para ler nenhum dos manifestos no site do TSE, mas novamente o assunto das liberdades individuais não passa nem de longe pelas pautas de nenhum dos partidos. Nem na imprensa, nem nas rodinhas de bebedouro. Parece ser um problema ao qual só uma minoria se importa, só uma minoria se mobiliza, só uma minoria dá a mínima.
Exemplo claro disso foi "O Povo quer Saber com José Serra" do CQC...
Primeira pergunta - "O que você pensa sobre o Aborto?"
Serra - "Eu acho uma coisa lamentável... Uma coisa muito triste..."
Segunda pergunta - "Você pensa em discriminalizar o uso das drogas?"
Serra - "Não penso não... Eu acho que é uma estratégia que acabaria não dando certo."
Daí em diante as perguntas foram mais ao encontro do discurso já pronto dele e a coisa segue sem novidades (confira na íntegra aqui http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9f6ADRjSFA)
Mas porra Serra, tu não era Ministro da Saúde??? Não tinha uma respostinha melhor do que essa não?
O que me entristece, é ver que em pleno século XXI os tópicos que envolvem liberdades individuais ainda são tabus em nossa sociedade. Não na prática, não no Brasil que faz 1 milhão de abortos por ano,(e perde cerca de 1 mulher por dia), não no Brasil que tem 3 milhões de usuários de maconha, e ainda perde tempo e dinheiro do contribuinte em atos como esse http://blog.marchadamaconha.org/musico-preso-por-plantar-maconha-teme-que-caso-se-repita_2004 . Esses dados e números são puxados do Google, a realidade deve ser muito maior.
Percebe-se facilmente então que hoje, rotular algo de ilegal não significa que esse algo não existe ou não vai acontecer. Simplesmente significa que é algo cuja sociedade decidiu fazer vista grossa e que o mercado negro - pagando os devidos impostos para a polícia (propina) - detém o monopólio absoluto.
Vai continuar a haver uma procura intensa por abortos no Brasil, sejam eles legais ou não. Tristes ou alegres. Vão continuar a existir milhões de usuários de drogas por toda parte, sejam eles Billy Joe Armstrong ou Cheech & Chong. Otto ou Caetano Veloso. Freud ou Bob Marley.
O que me entristece mesmo, muito mais do que o Aborto, é ver essa multidão silenciosa que vê no status quo uma realidade aceitável. Que sabe que o jogo político não é para eles, nem nunca será. É ver um mundo de gente que aceita viver as escondidas. Gente que faz aquilo que quer, ou precisa, sem poder contar com o apoio do governo nem de ninguém.
Quem apoiar numa hora dessas, então?
Eu apoio Picon3
Acompanho essas eleições bem de longe, mais por falta de interesse e descrença nesse sistema democrático mesmo. Nem sei o que achar desses candidatos que nos são apresentados. Me parece algo semelhante ao que ocorreu na seleção brasileira de 2006 a 2010, de repente não temos mais quase nenhum nome de pedigree e a coisa toda me parece menos pomposa. Nem sei se isso é bom ou ruim.
Não vi o debate (po, jogo mais importante do ano tava rolando), não acompanho muito de perto as plataformas de nenhum dos candidatos, nem parei para ler nenhum dos manifestos no site do TSE, mas novamente o assunto das liberdades individuais não passa nem de longe pelas pautas de nenhum dos partidos. Nem na imprensa, nem nas rodinhas de bebedouro. Parece ser um problema ao qual só uma minoria se importa, só uma minoria se mobiliza, só uma minoria dá a mínima.
Exemplo claro disso foi "O Povo quer Saber com José Serra" do CQC...
Primeira pergunta - "O que você pensa sobre o Aborto?"
Serra - "Eu acho uma coisa lamentável... Uma coisa muito triste..."
Segunda pergunta - "Você pensa em discriminalizar o uso das drogas?"
Serra - "Não penso não... Eu acho que é uma estratégia que acabaria não dando certo."
Daí em diante as perguntas foram mais ao encontro do discurso já pronto dele e a coisa segue sem novidades (confira na íntegra aqui http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9f6ADRjSFA)
Mas porra Serra, tu não era Ministro da Saúde??? Não tinha uma respostinha melhor do que essa não?
O que me entristece, é ver que em pleno século XXI os tópicos que envolvem liberdades individuais ainda são tabus em nossa sociedade. Não na prática, não no Brasil que faz 1 milhão de abortos por ano,(e perde cerca de 1 mulher por dia), não no Brasil que tem 3 milhões de usuários de maconha, e ainda perde tempo e dinheiro do contribuinte em atos como esse http://blog.marchadamaconha.org/musico-preso-por-plantar-maconha-teme-que-caso-se-repita_2004 . Esses dados e números são puxados do Google, a realidade deve ser muito maior.
Percebe-se facilmente então que hoje, rotular algo de ilegal não significa que esse algo não existe ou não vai acontecer. Simplesmente significa que é algo cuja sociedade decidiu fazer vista grossa e que o mercado negro - pagando os devidos impostos para a polícia (propina) - detém o monopólio absoluto.
Vai continuar a haver uma procura intensa por abortos no Brasil, sejam eles legais ou não. Tristes ou alegres. Vão continuar a existir milhões de usuários de drogas por toda parte, sejam eles Billy Joe Armstrong ou Cheech & Chong. Otto ou Caetano Veloso. Freud ou Bob Marley.
O que me entristece mesmo, muito mais do que o Aborto, é ver essa multidão silenciosa que vê no status quo uma realidade aceitável. Que sabe que o jogo político não é para eles, nem nunca será. É ver um mundo de gente que aceita viver as escondidas. Gente que faz aquilo que quer, ou precisa, sem poder contar com o apoio do governo nem de ninguém.
Quem apoiar numa hora dessas, então?
Eu apoio Picon3
Monday 2 August 2010
Taylor's Third Class (part2)
So then we started talking about helping people, about giving without expecting something in return. How that would make a better world. And as the evening progressed, we ended up witnessing the very translation of our ideas into reality before our eyes.
In one unforgettable night in Tel Aviv.
When we arrived in Tel Aviv Central train station, the one next to the תחנה מרכזית, I received a call from Menachem. He and Taylor had been to the library the day before, and they were talking about this book about the Warsaw guetto fighters, or something like that. And he was telling me that he had just bought the book for Taylor, as a gift. But he didn’t want me to tell him. He wanted it to be a surprise. And so, right there, the first kindness act that would set the wheels in motion.
I didn’t tell Taylor about the book, at first I said that it was Tyler on the phone, saying that he was in Tel Aviv and wanted to meet up with us later that night. He believed me and then I just totally forgot about it. Completely. That’s the best way to keep a secret, just forget about it. Put it out of your mind totally. Because you won’t forget it for good, whenever the subject is mentioned, surely the memory of the secret will return to you instantly. That’s what the brain is for, right? But the more you think about a secret, the more likely you are to send it, maybe even unwillingly, and reveal it to the outside world. In that moment, I truly put the secret away in a hidden shelf. It would only return to my memory some hours later, in the train station, coming back home.
We then proceeded the long walk to שדרות רוטשילד, where I was used to performing live. My act was simple, effective and, most of all, pleasurable to the audience and to the entertainer. I would simply sit on one of the benches, jam with my guitar, and ask some pedestrians if they wanted to listen to a song. If they wanted to take a 3 minute break in their days and listen to a live performance by a traveling South American musician.
The ones that said no; well, what can I say? You probably had better things to do with your time and chose not to listen to me. That’s ok, that’s your choice, I guess. I understand you, for I have done it many times as well.
The ones who said yes; all I can say is thank you. For you have brought more joy and hope to my heart than I could ever imagine achieving from music. You really ignited a star inside of me. The things I heard from you guys, the people from Tel Aviv, Amsterdam and Eilat, are among some of the best compliments I have ever received in my whole life here in Brazil. It was actually a bit scary, listening to so many people telling you just how talented and amazing your performance is. I wasn’t used to that, you know? But again, thanks to all of you! You ain’t seen the last of me!
So we settled in a random bench, next to a random tree, in front of a random coffee shop, right in the middle of Tel Aviv. After some minutes of slow business, Taylor realized that having a narguila there would really be cool. I mean, we could smoke some, it was kind of chilly out so that would be cool too. And besides, we could offer it to people and make our bench jam session sound a little bit more interesting to the wandering Israeli street-dweller.
I totally dug that idea instantly. But the problem was, we had just got there, we would have to go somewhere and buy one, I was actually thinking about buying a small one for myself, but then walk all the way back. I didn’t know, you know? But he said that he could go, no problem. I could stay there, maybe make some money. And after all, the night was young, having a narguila in hand ended up being a great idea, hehehe.
While he was gone, I suddenly started having amazing luck as a street-performer. Some guy went jogging by, but then he stopped and came back to sing a little with me. He asked me to play some Beatles. I sang ‘Help’, in my traditional rocker overdriven voice. He sang along and some pedestrians turned into by-standers to watch us perform.
Among the audience there were these two girls. One of them was astonishingly beautiful, with black straight hair, and rosy cheeks. As I was singing ‘Help’, she reached into her pocket and poured 30 silver, gold and bronze coins.
Around 50 שח, some US$ 15 at the time. A lot of money to give a street performer for half a song.
I stopped playing immediately as I realized they were leaving. I was like, “Hi, I’m sorry, I can’t just let you walk away like that, what’s your name?”, “(Russian Name).”, “Where are you from?”, “Russia.”
* WAYNE’S WORLD MODE ON*
SHWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!!!
* WAYNE’S WORLD MODE OFF*
Oh too bad that girl had to go away. They were apparently on their last night in Tel Aviv, they were going to a party and they were already late. But it’s alright, she wins the prize of most beautiful and mysterious pedestrian I have ever encountered. And one of the most generous tippers as well.
So the night was going well, I was already at 70 shekels when Taylor came back with the narguila. We lit it up and then the mood settled a bit. It was good, you know. Taylor and I needed a rest before the ultimate test that was to come later that night.
That was when we received the visit from a ghost from the past.
To be continued…
In one unforgettable night in Tel Aviv.
When we arrived in Tel Aviv Central train station, the one next to the תחנה מרכזית, I received a call from Menachem. He and Taylor had been to the library the day before, and they were talking about this book about the Warsaw guetto fighters, or something like that. And he was telling me that he had just bought the book for Taylor, as a gift. But he didn’t want me to tell him. He wanted it to be a surprise. And so, right there, the first kindness act that would set the wheels in motion.
I didn’t tell Taylor about the book, at first I said that it was Tyler on the phone, saying that he was in Tel Aviv and wanted to meet up with us later that night. He believed me and then I just totally forgot about it. Completely. That’s the best way to keep a secret, just forget about it. Put it out of your mind totally. Because you won’t forget it for good, whenever the subject is mentioned, surely the memory of the secret will return to you instantly. That’s what the brain is for, right? But the more you think about a secret, the more likely you are to send it, maybe even unwillingly, and reveal it to the outside world. In that moment, I truly put the secret away in a hidden shelf. It would only return to my memory some hours later, in the train station, coming back home.
We then proceeded the long walk to שדרות רוטשילד, where I was used to performing live. My act was simple, effective and, most of all, pleasurable to the audience and to the entertainer. I would simply sit on one of the benches, jam with my guitar, and ask some pedestrians if they wanted to listen to a song. If they wanted to take a 3 minute break in their days and listen to a live performance by a traveling South American musician.
The ones that said no; well, what can I say? You probably had better things to do with your time and chose not to listen to me. That’s ok, that’s your choice, I guess. I understand you, for I have done it many times as well.
The ones who said yes; all I can say is thank you. For you have brought more joy and hope to my heart than I could ever imagine achieving from music. You really ignited a star inside of me. The things I heard from you guys, the people from Tel Aviv, Amsterdam and Eilat, are among some of the best compliments I have ever received in my whole life here in Brazil. It was actually a bit scary, listening to so many people telling you just how talented and amazing your performance is. I wasn’t used to that, you know? But again, thanks to all of you! You ain’t seen the last of me!
So we settled in a random bench, next to a random tree, in front of a random coffee shop, right in the middle of Tel Aviv. After some minutes of slow business, Taylor realized that having a narguila there would really be cool. I mean, we could smoke some, it was kind of chilly out so that would be cool too. And besides, we could offer it to people and make our bench jam session sound a little bit more interesting to the wandering Israeli street-dweller.
I totally dug that idea instantly. But the problem was, we had just got there, we would have to go somewhere and buy one, I was actually thinking about buying a small one for myself, but then walk all the way back. I didn’t know, you know? But he said that he could go, no problem. I could stay there, maybe make some money. And after all, the night was young, having a narguila in hand ended up being a great idea, hehehe.
While he was gone, I suddenly started having amazing luck as a street-performer. Some guy went jogging by, but then he stopped and came back to sing a little with me. He asked me to play some Beatles. I sang ‘Help’, in my traditional rocker overdriven voice. He sang along and some pedestrians turned into by-standers to watch us perform.
Among the audience there were these two girls. One of them was astonishingly beautiful, with black straight hair, and rosy cheeks. As I was singing ‘Help’, she reached into her pocket and poured 30 silver, gold and bronze coins.
Around 50 שח, some US$ 15 at the time. A lot of money to give a street performer for half a song.
I stopped playing immediately as I realized they were leaving. I was like, “Hi, I’m sorry, I can’t just let you walk away like that, what’s your name?”, “(Russian Name).”, “Where are you from?”, “Russia.”
* WAYNE’S WORLD MODE ON*
SHWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!!!
* WAYNE’S WORLD MODE OFF*
Oh too bad that girl had to go away. They were apparently on their last night in Tel Aviv, they were going to a party and they were already late. But it’s alright, she wins the prize of most beautiful and mysterious pedestrian I have ever encountered. And one of the most generous tippers as well.
So the night was going well, I was already at 70 shekels when Taylor came back with the narguila. We lit it up and then the mood settled a bit. It was good, you know. Taylor and I needed a rest before the ultimate test that was to come later that night.
That was when we received the visit from a ghost from the past.
To be continued…
Sunday 1 August 2010
Dica Picon3: Como secar as Mãos
Eu tenho uma birra com máquinas e utensílios de banheiros de shopping, verdadeiras engenhocas para controlar a distribuição de papel higiênico.
Não da privada, lá é a vontade. Lá você pode abrir o bandejão e jogar o rolo inteirinho dentro da privada. Eles não tão nem aí. Mas quando você termina seus assuntos particulares e vai lavar a mão, aí sim. É lá que vai parar toda a tecnologia higienética do século XXI.
Tem aquele com sensor de mão, só dá papel para mãos. Mãos humanas, se você passar qualquer outra mão aqui eu não vou dar nada. Se bem que você, que não tiver uma mão, pode simplesmente pedir para qualquer outra pessoa lá presente que pegue para você. É, a máquina não distingue se você já pegou ou não. Ela simplesmente segura o papel até que alguém vá pedir. Aí ela só dá um! Só um! Se quiser mais é só pedir mais. Mas é um por vez!
Porra, aí não era melhor pegar o quanto a máquina consome em eletricidade e pagar para um desses pobres coitados tomar conta do papel no banheiro? Pelo menos ele não vai liberar nada quando alguém vier pedir mais que duas folhas! Ai que desaforo!
Isso quando não é um secador! Lembra dos apagões? Dos blecautes? De quando todo mundo de repente teve de se preocupar com eletricidade? Aquele grande golpe orquestrado pela OSRAM e todas outras empresas produtoras de luzes frias? E o que mais torrava eletricidade naquela época? Os chuveiros, torneiras elétricas e... Secadores de cabelo!!! E não é um pouco estranho que alguns anos mais tarde, começaram a pipocar secadores de mãos em todos shoppings da cidade? Do país!
Gente, como que secar uma mão com ar quente é melhor para o meio ambiente do que secar numa folha de papel fudido? Aquele papel pode ser reciclado do reciclado, pode ser jornal cagado e lavado, pode ser qualquer cor ou textura, aquilo vai prejudicar menos o meio ambiente do que um secador!!! Que nem seca porra nenhuma!
Num sei como até hoje tem gente que ainda perde um minuto inteiro queimando os pelinhos da mão. Porra, que bando de gente anormal! Quer um ato a favor do meio ambiente? Que não danifica nem prejudica em absolutamente nada o meio ambiente, e ainda é super eficaz contra mãos molhadas? A calça! Faça como eu e milhares de brasileiros, seque suas mãos na sua própria bunda e tenha um mundo melhor!
Dica Picon3 Um
Não da privada, lá é a vontade. Lá você pode abrir o bandejão e jogar o rolo inteirinho dentro da privada. Eles não tão nem aí. Mas quando você termina seus assuntos particulares e vai lavar a mão, aí sim. É lá que vai parar toda a tecnologia higienética do século XXI.
Tem aquele com sensor de mão, só dá papel para mãos. Mãos humanas, se você passar qualquer outra mão aqui eu não vou dar nada. Se bem que você, que não tiver uma mão, pode simplesmente pedir para qualquer outra pessoa lá presente que pegue para você. É, a máquina não distingue se você já pegou ou não. Ela simplesmente segura o papel até que alguém vá pedir. Aí ela só dá um! Só um! Se quiser mais é só pedir mais. Mas é um por vez!
Porra, aí não era melhor pegar o quanto a máquina consome em eletricidade e pagar para um desses pobres coitados tomar conta do papel no banheiro? Pelo menos ele não vai liberar nada quando alguém vier pedir mais que duas folhas! Ai que desaforo!
Isso quando não é um secador! Lembra dos apagões? Dos blecautes? De quando todo mundo de repente teve de se preocupar com eletricidade? Aquele grande golpe orquestrado pela OSRAM e todas outras empresas produtoras de luzes frias? E o que mais torrava eletricidade naquela época? Os chuveiros, torneiras elétricas e... Secadores de cabelo!!! E não é um pouco estranho que alguns anos mais tarde, começaram a pipocar secadores de mãos em todos shoppings da cidade? Do país!
Gente, como que secar uma mão com ar quente é melhor para o meio ambiente do que secar numa folha de papel fudido? Aquele papel pode ser reciclado do reciclado, pode ser jornal cagado e lavado, pode ser qualquer cor ou textura, aquilo vai prejudicar menos o meio ambiente do que um secador!!! Que nem seca porra nenhuma!
Num sei como até hoje tem gente que ainda perde um minuto inteiro queimando os pelinhos da mão. Porra, que bando de gente anormal! Quer um ato a favor do meio ambiente? Que não danifica nem prejudica em absolutamente nada o meio ambiente, e ainda é super eficaz contra mãos molhadas? A calça! Faça como eu e milhares de brasileiros, seque suas mãos na sua própria bunda e tenha um mundo melhor!
Dica Picon3 Um
Taylor's Third Class
It was supposed to have been the third music class.
It ended up being a night to remember.
I knew Taylor from the Ulpan. He was one of the American kids. I was never real friends with any of those kids until pretty much after the Ulpan ended. Maybe some jams with BJ, maybe some nights out smoking with Josh, but certainly not much with Taylor. But after that night, it all changed.
Wow, it sounds pretty gay so far. Let me just clear out that I’m Caio. One of the Brazilian kids. Maybe that old Brazilian dude with the long hair and the guitar. The one who spoke English so well, that his pickup line was that he was from Baltimore. The salty Balties. Hey, that’s a great name for a band!
And my relationship with Taylor was only that of two friends, school-mates sort of speak. Two guys studying and living in Israel in a six-month Jewish program. And we both, since the beginning, established ourselves within a certain stereotype, we willingly embodied an archetype. I was the guitar dude, with the long hair. He was the raver, with the cool gloves. Some people thought they were lame, I always thought they were kind of cool.
The first time that me and Taylor connected, musically, was one night on the beach. Hannah and Maya wanted to go explore the cool crisp eastern Mediterranean beach vibe, and so some guys decided to come with. And among them, there was me with the guitar, and Taylor with the gloves.
The night was fun. We crashed a 70s style tent party, filled with 30 year olds. Danced a little and then moved to a quieter side of the beach. We then jammed a little with the guitar. I led, as usual, but Taylor, surprisingly was one of the most enthusiastic about it. He actually joined me for pretty much the entire session. We actually liked the same style of guitar rock and so we sang many songs together.
Despite the fact that first jam was a success, the history of the Ulpan would show, if ever re-written, that me and Taylor naturally started moving apart, pledging allegiance to certain groups, naturally sprung around that unforgettable Ulpan.
And the weeks turned into months, Taylor gradually stopped playing with his gloves in public anymore. Or at least that was what seamed from my perspective. So when they put together the talent show, around October, I was the one who really gave incentive to Taylor’s glove act. And even though he was reluctant at first, he eventually sign up in the talent show.
And he did very well. I didn’t do as well as him, when I performed solo. Sure, my duo performances with Jimmy and Etai were pretty good. But when I was alone up there, playing for the first time in my life with the strap on, I wasn’t very good. Shit, I sucked! But Taylor didn’t, he really delivered. And I think that episode had something to do with his participating way more actively towards the end of the Ulpan, especially the barbecue that he and Menachem organized for New Year’s Eve. That was a night to remember!
Well, after the Ulpan, there were only twenty some people left. And that was when those that stayed a little bit longer had their best times there. I’m sure that was my case! And that was when our friendship started to grow stronger.
It all started one night, in Taylor’s room. He, BJ, Josh, Michael and I were smoking, drinking and talking about the Ulpan, the people, Mike, the next move and all those things that we wanted to have done with the people that had already left. Phew.
One of those things was mine and Taylor’s music classes. Once I think he asked me if I would teach him something. Maybe we had a moment or two in the piano together. Maybe he saw me teach something to somebody, I don’t know. But that night me and him decided to have the first music class.
I got so excited that I put a class plan together in a second. A jiffy if you would. The concept was simple. Improvisation, jamming and music theory. Music philosophy, if you would.
The first was class was very theoretical and philosophical. Most of the parenthesis that I opened during my monologue, are still waiting to be closed to this day. I went on and on about what was sound, music, art, language, science and the humanization of nature. The mathematical transcription that we apply to nature. Digitalization, bro.
That somehow led us to western music, its musical notations and symbols. And we almost jammed a little in the end. It were good two hours spent together. I’m sure he didn’t regret sitting in that cold piano room, with a dude six years older than him, listening to that Brazilian guy babble on and on about all that shit that’s way more interesting when you’re high. And that has to be said, in that class, the teacher was high on Picon3. The student too, sure, but in another way. If you know what I’m saying, of course.
The second class was more of the same. He showed me some stuff he had done by himself. His homework, his ideas and his doubts. We jammed some more, maybe played a song of two, and I saw promise in that kid. He was only 18, an electronic music fan. A raver, for crying out loud. And he was my first true music student.
Time then got away from us. We could never find time to have that third class. The one to end things in a high note. When we realized it, January was over and we would have to leave the kibbutz. Oh those were amazing times. The Ulpan at Ma’agan Michael. Highly recommended. Vai com fé. Just beware of Mike.
Then the last day came. Me, him and Menachem were the last ulpanists left. And that last afternoon, I was heading to Tel Aviv, to meet up Avi, Patrick and Natasha. Oh yeah, I was also going to the city to busk and try to make some money in the streets. I was already used to doing that by myself, had made actually a good amount in my busking attempts in Tel Aviv, Eilat and Amsterdam.
That was when we realized. Why didn’t he just came with me, tagged along with a real life musician for a night out in the streets? It was a perfect unplanned ending. The musician wannabe watching the working musician. As any true class should end. With the student actually witnessing the importance of what’s being taught. If the techniques aren’t used precisely in that manner I was taught, then why did I learn it? So that’s why teachers should follow in my footsteps and always try their best to make it clear to every student, the importance of what’s being taught.
I took him with me to Tel Aviv to show him what living from music really meant. At least to me, at that point. I was trying to live from music, make money from it. And he would like, one day, why not? Sounds pretty good. It’s everybody’s dream, isn’t it? Living off of music? I would love to. But it’s hard.
On the way there, we, for some reason, started talking about giving and paying it forward. Helping people without looking for some in return. Oh yeah, I remembered why. It was because we hitchhiked from the kibbutz to the train station and we got a bad lift. I mean, the lady was nice enough to drive us all the way to Binyamina, but dropped us 10 blocks from the train station. I mean, sure, she lived right there, she was home. So she had helped us a lot already. But come on, just take a 3 minute detour in your day and give a 30 minute gift card to a couple of striving musicians!
So that’s how we started talking about being kind and giving gifts to people. Helping people and telling them to pay it forward. Hell, that’s the beginning of all the ramifications that led me to write the Brazilian-Hungarian manifest, in my last night in Budapest, some weeks after that.
But this is already getting too big. I’ll continue it later.
Picon3
It ended up being a night to remember.
I knew Taylor from the Ulpan. He was one of the American kids. I was never real friends with any of those kids until pretty much after the Ulpan ended. Maybe some jams with BJ, maybe some nights out smoking with Josh, but certainly not much with Taylor. But after that night, it all changed.
Wow, it sounds pretty gay so far. Let me just clear out that I’m Caio. One of the Brazilian kids. Maybe that old Brazilian dude with the long hair and the guitar. The one who spoke English so well, that his pickup line was that he was from Baltimore. The salty Balties. Hey, that’s a great name for a band!
And my relationship with Taylor was only that of two friends, school-mates sort of speak. Two guys studying and living in Israel in a six-month Jewish program. And we both, since the beginning, established ourselves within a certain stereotype, we willingly embodied an archetype. I was the guitar dude, with the long hair. He was the raver, with the cool gloves. Some people thought they were lame, I always thought they were kind of cool.
The first time that me and Taylor connected, musically, was one night on the beach. Hannah and Maya wanted to go explore the cool crisp eastern Mediterranean beach vibe, and so some guys decided to come with. And among them, there was me with the guitar, and Taylor with the gloves.
The night was fun. We crashed a 70s style tent party, filled with 30 year olds. Danced a little and then moved to a quieter side of the beach. We then jammed a little with the guitar. I led, as usual, but Taylor, surprisingly was one of the most enthusiastic about it. He actually joined me for pretty much the entire session. We actually liked the same style of guitar rock and so we sang many songs together.
Despite the fact that first jam was a success, the history of the Ulpan would show, if ever re-written, that me and Taylor naturally started moving apart, pledging allegiance to certain groups, naturally sprung around that unforgettable Ulpan.
And the weeks turned into months, Taylor gradually stopped playing with his gloves in public anymore. Or at least that was what seamed from my perspective. So when they put together the talent show, around October, I was the one who really gave incentive to Taylor’s glove act. And even though he was reluctant at first, he eventually sign up in the talent show.
And he did very well. I didn’t do as well as him, when I performed solo. Sure, my duo performances with Jimmy and Etai were pretty good. But when I was alone up there, playing for the first time in my life with the strap on, I wasn’t very good. Shit, I sucked! But Taylor didn’t, he really delivered. And I think that episode had something to do with his participating way more actively towards the end of the Ulpan, especially the barbecue that he and Menachem organized for New Year’s Eve. That was a night to remember!
Well, after the Ulpan, there were only twenty some people left. And that was when those that stayed a little bit longer had their best times there. I’m sure that was my case! And that was when our friendship started to grow stronger.
It all started one night, in Taylor’s room. He, BJ, Josh, Michael and I were smoking, drinking and talking about the Ulpan, the people, Mike, the next move and all those things that we wanted to have done with the people that had already left. Phew.
One of those things was mine and Taylor’s music classes. Once I think he asked me if I would teach him something. Maybe we had a moment or two in the piano together. Maybe he saw me teach something to somebody, I don’t know. But that night me and him decided to have the first music class.
I got so excited that I put a class plan together in a second. A jiffy if you would. The concept was simple. Improvisation, jamming and music theory. Music philosophy, if you would.
The first was class was very theoretical and philosophical. Most of the parenthesis that I opened during my monologue, are still waiting to be closed to this day. I went on and on about what was sound, music, art, language, science and the humanization of nature. The mathematical transcription that we apply to nature. Digitalization, bro.
That somehow led us to western music, its musical notations and symbols. And we almost jammed a little in the end. It were good two hours spent together. I’m sure he didn’t regret sitting in that cold piano room, with a dude six years older than him, listening to that Brazilian guy babble on and on about all that shit that’s way more interesting when you’re high. And that has to be said, in that class, the teacher was high on Picon3. The student too, sure, but in another way. If you know what I’m saying, of course.
The second class was more of the same. He showed me some stuff he had done by himself. His homework, his ideas and his doubts. We jammed some more, maybe played a song of two, and I saw promise in that kid. He was only 18, an electronic music fan. A raver, for crying out loud. And he was my first true music student.
Time then got away from us. We could never find time to have that third class. The one to end things in a high note. When we realized it, January was over and we would have to leave the kibbutz. Oh those were amazing times. The Ulpan at Ma’agan Michael. Highly recommended. Vai com fé. Just beware of Mike.
Then the last day came. Me, him and Menachem were the last ulpanists left. And that last afternoon, I was heading to Tel Aviv, to meet up Avi, Patrick and Natasha. Oh yeah, I was also going to the city to busk and try to make some money in the streets. I was already used to doing that by myself, had made actually a good amount in my busking attempts in Tel Aviv, Eilat and Amsterdam.
That was when we realized. Why didn’t he just came with me, tagged along with a real life musician for a night out in the streets? It was a perfect unplanned ending. The musician wannabe watching the working musician. As any true class should end. With the student actually witnessing the importance of what’s being taught. If the techniques aren’t used precisely in that manner I was taught, then why did I learn it? So that’s why teachers should follow in my footsteps and always try their best to make it clear to every student, the importance of what’s being taught.
I took him with me to Tel Aviv to show him what living from music really meant. At least to me, at that point. I was trying to live from music, make money from it. And he would like, one day, why not? Sounds pretty good. It’s everybody’s dream, isn’t it? Living off of music? I would love to. But it’s hard.
On the way there, we, for some reason, started talking about giving and paying it forward. Helping people without looking for some in return. Oh yeah, I remembered why. It was because we hitchhiked from the kibbutz to the train station and we got a bad lift. I mean, the lady was nice enough to drive us all the way to Binyamina, but dropped us 10 blocks from the train station. I mean, sure, she lived right there, she was home. So she had helped us a lot already. But come on, just take a 3 minute detour in your day and give a 30 minute gift card to a couple of striving musicians!
So that’s how we started talking about being kind and giving gifts to people. Helping people and telling them to pay it forward. Hell, that’s the beginning of all the ramifications that led me to write the Brazilian-Hungarian manifest, in my last night in Budapest, some weeks after that.
But this is already getting too big. I’ll continue it later.
Picon3
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