Liberal, Libertário, Libertino

A coisa está muito competitiva no Blog Apocalíptico. Já são 6 autores (quer se juntar ao time?), todos disputando pra encontrar o apocalipse mais apocalíptico. Já rolou o fim da história, da raça humana, do planeta, até mesmo o fim da morte.

Mas, hoje, devo confessar, a Camila encontrou o fim mais apocalíptico de todos. Praticamente o manifesto do Blog Apocalíptico. Imperdível. Quero ver alguém superar. Aqui.

Eu teria muito a dizer sobre os comentários ridículos anti-Olimpíadas-no-Rio-e-anti-Lula que tenho ouvido, mas tem um novo blog na praça roubando os meus posts bem debaixo do meu teclado. A gente se esfalfa de trabalhar, dá tudo em imposto pra esse governo corrupto e populista, e ainda somos roubados assim na cara dura e ninguém faz nada! Não sei onde esse país vai parar, viu?

De qualquer modo, o post é esse aqui, falou tudo o que eu iria falar, e melhor:

Classe Média Way of Life: Colocar a Culpa no Lula

Recomendo enfaticamente que passeiem pelo resto do blog.

O The Onion hoje fez piada com um cenário inimaginável pra um americano, e me deu vontade de falar: ih, Collor já fez isso faz tempo. Pra gente aqui não tem nem graça...

Da TV Pirata:

"In a campaign gaffe that could potentially jeopardize Sen. Barack Obama's White House bid, the Democratic presidential nominee told nearly 8,000 supporters Tuesday that, if elected, he would be a terrible president. ...

"My youth and inexperience would definitely make me an awful president," said Obama, whose seven-minute misstep was further exacerbated when he called himself "no expert" on the economy. "To be perfectly honest, I'd be worried about putting me in charge of the most powerful military in the world because I'm not any good when it comes to making important decisions. Also, I'm not sure how much I care about keeping this great nation of ours safe.

"I'm an elitist, I hate Israel, and I want to lose the war in Iraq," Obama concluded, and then, seemingly unaware of the magnitude of his blunder, smiled, gave a thumbs-up to the stunned crowd, and urged his supporters to get out and vote on Nov. 4. ...

"Saying that you would make a bad president, especially when your entire campaign has been built around the idea that you would make a good president, doesn't play well with independent and undecided voters. Also, swing states like Ohio and Florida have historically leaned toward the nominee who thinks he'd be a good president, rather than the nominee who thinks he'd 'probably just screw everything up worse,'" Stephanopoulos added. ...

"I think Sen. Obama may have opened up a slight window for John McCain here. ... If the McCain camp can find some way to exploit this miscue, it could have the potential to be a real game-changer." ...

Forty-two percent of citizens polled said that, at this point, a "just plain bad" president would also be good enough.

"I am more certain than ever that I will vote for Obama," Windham, NH resident James Kilner said. "This is the first time I have really connected with a candidate, mainly because I think I would make a pretty bad president, too."

Leia a matéria completa: 'I Would Make A Bad President,' Obama Says In Huge Campaign Blunder

O Washington Post fez um concurso para descobrir as metáforas mais "dolorosamente ruins". Abaixo, algumas das finalistas. O pior é que eu achei quase todas muito, muito boas.

Ou seja, fudeu.

Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master. -- Sue Lin Chong, Washington

His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free. -- Chuck Smith, Woodbridge

He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it. -- Joseph Romm, Washington

She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again. -- Rich Murphy, Fairfax Station

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't. -- Russell Beland, Springfield

McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup. -- Paul Sabourin, Silver Spring

From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30. -- Roy Ashley, Washington

Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze. -- Chuck Smith, Woodbridge

Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center. -- Russell Beland, Springfield

Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T:flw.quid55328.com\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\flw.quidaaakk/ch@ung by mistake. -- Ken Krattenmaker, Landover Hills

Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever. -- Unknown

He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree. -- Jack Bross, Chevy Chase

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease. -- Gary F. Hevel, Silver Spring

Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph. -- Jennifer Hart, Arlington

The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can. --Wayne Goode, Madison, AL

They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth. -- Paul Kocak, Syracuse NY

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met. -- Russell Beland, Springfield

The thunder was ominous sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play. -- Barbara Fetherolf, Alexandria

The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon. -- Unknown

He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River. -- Brian Broadus, Charlottesville

Even in his last years, Grandpappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut. -- Sandra Hull, Arlington

The door had been forced, as forced as the dialogue during the interview portion of Jeopardy. -- Jean Sorensen, Herndon

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do. -- Jerry Pannullo, Kensington

The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work. -- Malcolm Fleschner, Arlington

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while. -- Malcolm Fleschner, Arlington

"Oh, Jason, take me!" she panted, her breasts heaving like a college freshman on $1-a-beer night. -- Bonnie Speary Devore, Gaithersburg

He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something. -- John Kammer, Herndon

Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from I Can't Believe It's Not Butter. -- Barbara Collier, Garrett Park

She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up. --Susan Reese, Arlington

It came down the stairs looking very much like something no one had ever seen before. -- Marian Carlsson, Lexington

The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee (D-TX) in her first several points of parliamentary procedure made to Rep. Henry Hyde (R-Ill.) in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on the impeachment of President William Jefferson Clinton. -- J.F. Knowles, Springfield

The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant. -- Jennifer Hart, Arlington

The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM. -- Paul J. Kocak, Syracuse

The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium. -- Unknown

It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools. --Brian Broadus, Charlottesville

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up. -- Susan Reese, Arlington

She was as easy as the TV Guide crossword. -- Tom Witte, Gaithersburg

Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any pH cleanser. -- Chuck Smith, Woodbridge

She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef. -- Brian Broadus, Charlottesville

She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs. -- Jonathan Paul, Garrett Park

Her voice had that tense, grating quality, like a first-generation thermal paper fax machine that needed a band tightened. -- Sue Lin Chong, Washington

It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall. -- Brian Broadus, Charlottesville

Ah,but wait there's more...

Even in his last years, Grandpappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut. -- Sandra Hull, Arlington

The door had been forced, as forced as the dialogue during the interview portion of Jeopardy. -- Jean Sorensen, Herndon

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do. -- Jerry Pannullo, Kensington

The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work. -- Malcolm Fleschner, Arlington

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while. -- Malcolm Fleschner, Arlington

"Oh, Jason, take me!" she panted, her breasts heaving like a college freshman on $1-a-beer night. -- Bonnie Speary Devore, Gaithersburg

He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something. -- John Kammer, Herndon

Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from I Can't Believe It's Not Butter. -- Barbara Collier, Garrett Park

She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up. --Susan Reese, Arlington

It came down the stairs looking very much like something no one had ever seen before. -- Marian Carlsson, Lexington

The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee (D-TX) in her first several points of parliamentary procedure made to Rep. Henry Hyde (R-Ill.) in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on the impeachment of President William Jefferson Clinton. -- J.F. Knowles, Springfield

The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant. -- Jennifer Hart, Arlington

The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM. -- Paul J. Kocak, Syracuse

The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium. -- Unknown

It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools. --Brian Broadus, Charlottesville

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up. -- Susan Reese, Arlington

She was as easy as the TV Guide crossword. -- Tom Witte, Gaithersburg

Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any pH cleanser. -- Chuck Smith, Woodbridge

She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef. -- Brian Broadus, Charlottesville

She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs. -- Jonathan Paul, Garrett Park

Her voice had that tense, grating quality, like a first-generation thermal paper fax machine that needed a band tightened. -- Sue Lin Chong, Washington

It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall. -- Brian Broadus, Charlottesville

(Tirei daqui.)

Andando com o Oliver pela Oscar Freire, a mais chique rua de São Paulo, duas adolescentes (teens?) vêm falar com ele:

"Oi, pet!"

Eu, ao telefone, tentando passar uma senha pra uma amiga cujo nome, assim como Voldemort, não será mencionado:

"Casa barco nariz zebra..."

"Péra, Alex, tem certeza que é tudo isso mesmo?"

"Como assim?"

"Que senha longa! Casabarconarizzebra!"

Eu começo a rir:

"Não, tolinha. Olha só, quando eu digo uma palavra você só anota a primeira letra. Então, se é N, eu digo nariz, se é Z, eu digo zebra, etc. Pra não gerar mal-entendidos"

"Ai, meu deus, desculpa, que boba..."

"Nada, deixa pra lá. Não preocupe sua cabecinha linda com essas coisas. Então, anota aí: casa barco nariz zebra mesa dois."

Ela desliga e vai pro computador testar a senha. Daqui a pouco, liga de novo, desesperada:

"Aleeeeex! A senha não tá funcionando!"

"Não pode ser. A senha é essa. Me confirma tudo."

"Cê-bê-ene-zê-eme-dê."

E aí, quem quase morre engasgado de tanto rir sou eu:

"Mas Aleeeex, você não falou que era sempre a primeira letra?!"

My colleague would open one of Derrida's works to a random page, pick a random sentence, write it down, and then (above or below it) write a variant in which positive and negative were interchanged, or a word or phrase was replaced with one of opposite meaning. He would then challenge the assembled Derrida partisans to guess which was the original and which was the variant. The point was that Derrida's admirers are generally unable to distinguish his pronouncements from their opposites at better than chance level, suggesting that the content is a sophisticated form of white noise. On this view, as Wolfgang Pauli once said of someone else, Derrida is "not even wrong.".

In general, this is an easier form of verbal amusement than anything much above the level of a knock-knock joke. Consider the following random phrase from Of Grammatology, Chapter 2: "difference is never in itself a sensible plenitude".

My colleague's technique produces variants like "difference is always in itself a sensible plenitude," "difference is never a sensible plenitude in relation to other things," "similarity is never in itself a sensible plenitude," "difference is never in itself a sensible emptiness," and "difference is never in itself an imperceptible plenitude."

Or my personal favorite variant, "similarity is always in itself an imperceptible emptiness," which I feel is a great improvement over the original.

Leia o post original completo.

* * *

Já que estamos falando nisso, aproveito pra recomendar um artigo sensacional. Não gosto muito de textos escritos em academês, mas esse aqui, se você fizer um esforço pra superar o vocabulário pós-estruturalista, tem umas idéias que valem muito a pena. Depois, me contem.

* * *

Um estudo introdutório para quem ainda está tentando entender Derrida (boa sorte!):

Mulheres bonitas e bem vestidas andando de lá pra cá, pedindo pãezinhos na padaria chinela da esquina, fazendo exercício com roupas de designers no Campo Grande, desviando do lixo das calçadas. Elas seriam pagas para isso, para saírem de casa. Estou certa de que estão em algum lugar com cortinas grossas e filme nas janelas. É dever do Estado colocá-las em circulação.

Proponho que pessoas bonitas sejam pagas para andar na rua. A pé, preferencialmente. O tempo todo, obrigatoriamente. Nos cartões de visita, “Bonito Profissional”. É sabido que eles sempre tiveram privilégios sociais absolutamente merecidos, mas temos usado mal o serviço. Eles precisam circular na rua! Já, agora. O papel higiênico terminou, se eu tivesse alguma segurança de que ao descer até o mercadinho encontraria um Bonito, certamente desceria. Do contrário, ficamos todos em casa evitando os líquidos. Bonitos já, pela prevenção das pedras nos rins.

Post completo aqui.

* * *

Leia também: Elogio à Beleza e Um Desejo

O futuro do pretérito a Deus pertenceria.

Diz o ditado machista:

"Em Roma, como as romanas."

Passando os últimos dois meses em São Paulo, estou tendo que me acostumar a diversos costumes locais sinistros:

Levar criança pra brincar na livraria.
Cumprimentar com um beijo só.
Não usar chinelo de dedo no shopping (ou arriscar não ser atendido).
Nunca deixar o carro estacionado solto ou mesmo encostar nos outros carros.
Soletrar doze sem "u", dez sem "i" e festa sem "x".
Ausência brutal de mulheres seminuas desfilando pelas calçadas.
etc.

Entre tantos choques culturais, o mais sinistro mesmo foi o tabu da pizza no almoço.

Aparentemente, para o paulistano médio, é mais sinistro comer uma pizza no almoço do que colocar a filhinha de dez anos em cima da mesa e currá-la ali mesmo.

Mais ainda, o tabu é tão auto-evidente que dispensa explicações: não se come pizza no almoço

"porque não"
"porque não combina"
"porque não é certo"
etc

E, quando eu digo que nunca ouvi falar disso antes, ainda me descartam como sendo só um carioca:

"óbvio que um povo capaz de colocar mostarda na pizza também seria capaz de comer pizza no almoço. Pior, pegando sol, ao ar-livre, em frente à praia! Pra você, isso deve ser normal! Ouvi até dizer que vocês usam sangue de criancinhas ao invés de molho de tomate!"

Grande parte da força de um tabu é sua pretensa universalidade. Para o nativo, aquilo é tão impensável que ele nem mesmo considera que, talvez, em outras partes do mundo, o seu tabu não seja tabu.

Todos os paulistanos com quem falei também consideraram auto-evidente que, claro!, ninguém come pizza no almoço em lugar nenhum do mundo. Óbvio!

"Por que comeriam? Por que qualquer um comeria pizza no almoço?! Não faria sentido! Coisa de bárbaros!"

Mas, aparentemente, o tabu da pizza no almoço não existe em nenhum outro lugar, nem em cidades de imigração italiana forte, como Nova Iorque, nem mesmo na própria Itália. Busquei no Google por "pizza for lunch" e por "pizza pranzo". Nenhuma menção ao tabu. Perguntei para amigos ítalo-americanos ou italianos. Todos disseram nunca ter ouvido falar nisso. Minha roommate em Nova Orleans, italiana da região do Alto Adige, perto da Áustria, nem entendeu minha pergunta e retrucou surpresa:

"Por que catzo eu não comeria pizza no almoço?!"

Ou seja, o tabu não é nem mesmo italiano, é 100% paulistano.

Naturalmente, não há problema algum nisso. Não estou nem mesmo defendendo o hábito de comer pizza no almoço. Eu, como aparentemente todo mundo com quem falei que não é de São Paulo, nunca tinha parado pra pensar no assunto. Para todos nós, os não-paulistanos, pizza é uma comida como qualquer outra que pode ser servida a qualquer hora. O tabu nos soa tão bizarro quanto dizer que não se pode beber coca-cola de manhã, comer bolo de côco à tarde ou tomar sorvete à noite.

Também não estou reclamando. Cada cultura tem suas peculiaridades. Tudo é lindo. Se no Rio eu também não ______ (complete com algo que seria impensável fazer no Rio), por que ferir as suscetibilidades locais comendo pizza no almoço em São Paulo?

* * *

Tem alguma coisa que fazem na sua terra que você depois descobriu que não fazem em nenhum outro lugar? Ou, pior, algo impensável pra você e que, para o seu horror, é a coisa mais normal em outra cidade?