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questões estrangeiras

  • Súditos do Rei

    Súditos do Rei

    If you'll recall, apparently I have to understand Roberto Carlos to understand Brazil. And to understand Roberto Carlos, of course, I've got to listen to his music. The best of his music, that is. So I went to the fans for help. No more than ten songs, I distinctly remember saying. Okay? But when you get the Carlosians started, there's no stopping them. That's how I ended up with 23 Roberto Carlos songs to listen to. — Leia o post completo.


  • Small talk

    Small talk

    One thing that continues to startle me (and when I say startle, I mean cause me to delicately raise an eyebrow) is the Brazilian ease of conversation. That’s not really the best way of putting it – it’s the Brazilian propensity for small talk, period. In the U.S., interactions with strangers are premeditated and only used sparingly, as necessary. But here, the activation energy for a conversation is vastly lower — Leia o post completo.


  • Quando um microfilme se torna repulsivo

    Quando um microfilme se torna repulsivo

    A week or two ago, I made it back to the Biblioteca Nacional for the first time in over a month. The reason for the delay was the perfect combination of my research lethargy and the fact that the library employees, bless their souls, went on an extraordinarily prolonged strike (which appeared to go unnoticed by nearly everyone except the workers themselves and a handful of very frustrated researchers). Ah, but all good things (excuses for not having made more JP progress) must come to an end, and so did the strike. So one Friday morning I dragged myself onto the Metro, rolled up my sleeves, and started threading in the microfilm. 1928, ready or not, here I come. — Leia o post completo.


  • Happy thanksgiving, tigrinho

    Happy thanksgiving, tigrinho

    “But you’re not going home for Thanksgiving?”

    I shook my head a little confusedly. Thanksgiving is an important family event, sure, but it won’t be the end of the world if I miss out on a stressful turkey-gorging session with my loved ones. (Last year found me hacking through what turned out to be the wrong side of a turkey with a pair of gardening shears in a desperate attempt to butterfly it, so I think I’ll take a pass on repeating that.) Suddenly I was being beheld as though I’d announced my intention to disown my baby sisters. How, my interrogators demanded, was I going to miss the most important American holiday of them all? — Leia o post completo.


  • The true meaning of children’s day

    The true meaning of children’s day

    How does someone who is not, has never been, and will never be a Brazilian child celebrate o Dia das Crianças?

    This was the question as I faced down the prospect of a day without PUC classes, when all the museums and archives where I do research would be closed. I have to admit, I was a little lost. Not to mention the fact that I found the Dia das Crianças a somewhat ridiculous idea – we have Mother’s Day and Father’s Day in the States, but somehow haven’t thought to pass it on to the kids. — Leia o post completo.


  • Passing

    Passing

    I had an interesting conversation with a Brazilian friend yesterday about his experience as an exchange student in Atlanta. He said that since he wasn’t out in the sun so much, he got white enough to pass for “American.” What do you mean? As it turns out, for my friend, passing for “American” is passing for white. I pointed out that whites aren’t the only Americans; plus, there’s a difference between being able to belong to the majority and being able to belong to a nation. — Leia o post completo.


  • Circunda-te de [livros], ama, bebe, e cala. O mais é nada

    Circunda-te de [livros], ama, bebe, e cala. O mais é nada

    The other day I got an email that, to borrow a favorite phrase of Manuel Antônio de Almeida, made me pular de contente. A series of talks on Fernando Pessoa this month in the Real Gabinete Português de Leitura, starting on October 3rd! Who has two thumbs, no class on Mondays, and errands to run in Centro?  This kid. (The one failing of the written word: you can't see when I'm pointing at myself. You'll just have to take my word for it.) This Monday found me practically skipping over to Rua Luis de Camões, only to be comically halted in my tracks by the sight of the vast Uruguaiana book fair. At least 5 blocks of book stands, all piled high with dusty and dirt-cheap books. PROMOÇÃO, screamed the handmade signs, and I came running. — Leia o post completo.


  • Searching for Carmen

    Searching for Carmen

    A concrete building, too small to be a UFO but too big to be a public bathroom, in a dusty, abandoned playground between two highways.

    Unfortunately, I was in the right place. I’d finally found the Carmen Miranda Museum.

    The first time I tried to make it there, in June, a guy tried to mug me. The second time, a few weeks ago, I lost the museum. I don’t know how else to explain it. I saw it on the bus when I was heading up to Centro and plotted out exactly how to get to it by walking down the Aterro do Flamengo. But somehow I arrived at Botafogo without running into it, and by that time I was too sweaty and late for other commitments to try turning around. — Leia o post completo.



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