Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Haruki Murakami: On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
"Nah. Just passed her on the street."
She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
How can I approach her? What should I say?
"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
A sad story, don't you think?
Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Zach Braff quotes
SITE
"Don't get me wrong, I love the idea of killing unwanted babies, it's just that the idea of letting women make a decision doesn't sit well with me." - Zach Braff on abortion.
"I mean, they lost both parents. That's just careless." - Zach Braff on orphans
"My tears cure cancer too, it's just that I laugh at cancer patients." - Zach Braff on Chuck Norris
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Rap (entre o anuncio da vodafone o ecran esquerdo)
olele olala
O *** sabe a maracuja
Sabe a maracuja sabe a banana
O *** da para toda a semana
Da p toda a semana da p todo o mes
O *** da p nos os tres
Da p nos os tres da p nos os quatro
O *** ja parece um pato
Ja parece um pato, ja parece um patinho
O *** da para mim sozinho
Da para mim sozinho, da para mim acompanhado
Monday, June 30, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Vamos cantar as Janeiras
Vamos cantar as janeiras
Vamos cantar as janeiras
Por esses quintais adentro vamos
Às raparigas solteiras
Vamos cantar orvalhadas
Vamos cantar orvalhadas
Por esses quintais adentro vamos
Às raparigas casadas
Vira o vento e muda a sorte
Vira o vento e muda a sorte
Por aqueles olivais perdidos
Foi-se embora o vento norte
Muita neve cai na serra
Muita neve cai na serra
Só se lembra dos caminhos velhos
Quem tem saudades da terra
Quem tem a candeia acesa
Quem tem a candeia acesa
Rabanadas pão e vinho novo
Matava a fome à pobreza
Já nos cansa esta lonjura
Já nos cansa esta lonjura
Só se lembra dos caminhos velhos
Quem anda à noite à ventura
Vamos cantar as janeiras
Por esses quintais adentro vamos
Às raparigas solteiras
Vamos cantar orvalhadas
Vamos cantar orvalhadas
Por esses quintais adentro vamos
Às raparigas casadas
Vira o vento e muda a sorte
Vira o vento e muda a sorte
Por aqueles olivais perdidos
Foi-se embora o vento norte
Muita neve cai na serra
Muita neve cai na serra
Só se lembra dos caminhos velhos
Quem tem saudades da terra
Quem tem a candeia acesa
Quem tem a candeia acesa
Rabanadas pão e vinho novo
Matava a fome à pobreza
Já nos cansa esta lonjura
Já nos cansa esta lonjura
Só se lembra dos caminhos velhos
Quem anda à noite à ventura
Monday, June 16, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
My Life List
Play Michael Nyman, Eric Satie, Yann Tiersen masterpieces
Visit the 5 continents
Do part of Jon Krakauer's trip
Do part of Ernesto Guevara's trip
Produce kame-hame energy with both hands
Make saves like Genzo Wakabayashi
Visit the Moon
*Black from UK
*Study Miller's Theorem
See all Woody Allen and Almodovar movies
*See Cafe Müller
Jump off a bridge
Jump off a plane
*Learn Rafting, Canoying, Rowing and Sailing
Learn 5 different languages
Cook 20 different dishes
*Reach the Artic Circle
Meet Carlos Ray and David Prowse
See all Verdi's masterpieces
See The Ride of the Valkyries
Plant a Tree, Have a Son, Write a Book
See a broadway show
Have a Roy Lichtenstein and Kandinsky masterpiece
Write a John Goddard's life list
3+
*See a sunrise over sea
*Win 1st place cup
Create something useful
Travel around the world in less than 365 days
*Dive near a Manta birostris
*Learn to catch and prepare a fish
Go to Iceland
See a hurricane and a volcano
Do skying in 5 different mountains
Live outside for some time
Travel in a submarine
Scuba dive
Travel at lightspeed
See abyssal species
Make a big sailing trip
Sail in the greek and croatian islands
*Make an interrail
Create a flavour
Discover a new metal
Create a colour
Fly in a glider
*Have a cabrio
Make a royal straight flush
*Make an ad
"*" -> Accomplished Items
John Goddard's life list
Visit the 5 continents
Do part of Jon Krakauer's trip
Do part of Ernesto Guevara's trip
Produce kame-hame energy with both hands
Make saves like Genzo Wakabayashi
Visit the Moon
*Black from UK
*Study Miller's Theorem
See all Woody Allen and Almodovar movies
*See Cafe Müller
Jump off a bridge
Jump off a plane
*Learn Rafting, Canoying, Rowing and Sailing
Learn 5 different languages
Cook 20 different dishes
*Reach the Artic Circle
Meet Carlos Ray and David Prowse
See all Verdi's masterpieces
See The Ride of the Valkyries
Plant a Tree, Have a Son, Write a Book
See a broadway show
Have a Roy Lichtenstein and Kandinsky masterpiece
Write a John Goddard's life list
3+
*See a sunrise over sea
*Win 1st place cup
Create something useful
Travel around the world in less than 365 days
*Dive near a Manta birostris
*Learn to catch and prepare a fish
Go to Iceland
See a hurricane and a volcano
Do skying in 5 different mountains
Live outside for some time
Travel in a submarine
Scuba dive
Travel at lightspeed
See abyssal species
Make a big sailing trip
Sail in the greek and croatian islands
*Make an interrail
Create a flavour
Discover a new metal
Create a colour
Fly in a glider
*Have a cabrio
Make a royal straight flush
*Make an ad
"*" -> Accomplished Items
John Goddard's life list
Monday, May 5, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Monday, April 7, 2008
T-Pain and vocoder
Acerca do vocoder, ele é só hardware por isso é capaz deste efeito em tempo real.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Friday, April 4, 2008
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Thursday, March 27, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Eu sei, tu não sabes 2
So my girlfriend messages me on MSN from school, and apparently doesn't get my first greeting message. I always send her 'YOU!' as kinda a nice little greeting. I've always done it.
Well, she says to me that I didn't say 'YOU!' as a greeting. I tell her I did, but she doesn't believe me.
So I take a screenshot of the conversation to prove I did.
Well, she says to me that I didn't say 'YOU!' as a greeting. I tell her I did, but she doesn't believe me.
So I take a screenshot of the conversation to prove I did.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
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