Life is a Baccarat

Yes folks, life is not a Cabaret anymore. It is not comedy, not dance, not entertainment, not theater. Well, perhaps it is drama. No. I am certain it is drama.

I believe life is a game. A game of luck? You might have a nice hand. You might have cards worth face value, figure cards or flashy aces one-point-worthy. And you might even play them accordingly.

Sometimes you will win, sometimes you will loose. Does it sound like a nice winning tactics to you? It's not. Luck strikes end and gambling never meant guarantees. It's all about the possibility. Yes. This daredevil lurks around each corner of every table, teasing all players and none. Every card. Every hand. The possibility of a different card, of a better end. Of a winning hand. That will, ultimately, change a man's luck. In the end, it is a game about luck.

Life is a Baccarat, old chum. Just not how you might have pictured it to be.

Footnote: when your luck strike ends, life has a way of coming up behind you and hitting you hard with a baccarat pallet. Alas, another similarity.

Casino Royale is too much ... for one James Bond

At first, I couldn't believe this was actually the cover of anything, let alone the first edition of James Bond's novel. But as it tuns out, it's Ian Fleming's cover of Casino Royale's firsty. However, after watching Casino Royale with Sellers and Niven, I might reconsider this first thoughtless statement: it does capture the movie's spirit. Perfectly.

It could actually have been the cover of this excellent 1967 spoof. It baffled me from beginning to end. I must first say that a stammering and retired James was brilliant. So they sent a Scotch, an American, a French and a Russian to persuade him out of retirement to save the world once again (from whom, I ask, if anyone who could possibly threaten the world's safety was there. Italians? Brazilians?). And why is the French guy always so, hum, delightful in English movies?

Anyway, all is fairly manageable until we go to the McTarry Castle and The Piper announces that things will be very much insane from now on. All jokes are on the Scots. Or are they? The movie's true colors are revealed and you know then - much earlier if you didn't miss the lions strolling by - you are in for a psychedelic affair. The plot thickens when James is promoted head of the MI6 and decides all spies will be named James Bond. What is more: he sends the Baccarat expert after Le Chiffre. Yes, many sub-plots. And Woody Allen thrown in for good measure.

Not the best movie ever but great laughs throughout the whole experience. I especially enjoyed the auction scene when all great nations bid on blackmail material using their own money and soon, goods from their countries ("a truck full of vodka!"). You may even spot Kubrick's collaboration in some scenes. You'll know it when you see it. I recommend this for anyone over Neanderthal's neromindedness (after all, 5 directors, people!) with the minimum of 60's popculture knowledge. Have fun!

Footnote: What I'd like to omit here but I feel compelled to write: I actually though that retired-James was Sellers. I only figures it was Niven during the credits. I should be feeling a lot worst. But my friend, the connoisseur, thought Sellers was Bond too. Aren't we pathetic?

Duck Tale, a romantic comedy

Have you seen a really good romantic comedy lately? The answer to this question is probably a 'no'. President Lula will develop a 10th finger before I see a good romantic comedy plot.

Let me rephrase that: I have to admit that I like the genre (People's evidence #1 that Laura is indeed a girl), although I haven't seen a good romantic comedy in such a long time that I loose my faith in Hollywood - only to have it restored by Sandra or Meg or whomever. Perhaps the bad reputation this kind of movies have are well deserved: for one good movie out there there are at least 10 bordering mediocre and 20 downright stupid.

There are two categories of chick flicks: the teen-romantic-comedy and the rest. The first group has the biggest score of dumb movies ever shot with the same plot. Really, the plot is unchangeable. It goes like this: boy meets girl. Boy gets stupid and does stupid things to get the wrong girl. We ALL know she is the wrong girl for him. After awhile, he falls in love with the right girl, who was there all along. The end. The main character might be the girl. (I might be oversimplifying, but who cares). For more on Hollywood stereotypes, check this out.

On with our post.

On my High School days, I might have used this same plot on my first movie ever. Yes, rather commercial of me and on an Indie movie no less, but we had one afternoon to do it and at the time, I was rather pleased with the result. I wrote, directed and edited it. I remember that I even thought about continuity mistakes but after the first takes, I was happy if the camera was steady enough. Yes, low budget and all. My actor are excellent though, as you can check out for yourselves after the credits, on the making of. We had so much fun. I think we got an A in English.

Seriously, if this short movie was shown on the telly nowadays, we would debunk a lot of crappy movies out there. At least ours has spirit.

Any of us have a career on the entertainment business or we better stick to our day jobs?

My favorite things

Because I am in a frisky mood...

Sweat drops on my ice tea glass and wifi hotspots

Tea with scones and playing all sort of sports

Dusty old books tied up with strings

These are a few of my favorite things

Wooden chess boards and British name-calling (twit-and a-half!)

Sailors and pipes and Klingon-Yoda-talking

Watching old movies and the memories they bring

These are a few of my favorite things

Outings with Shakespeare and hikes with me dad

Internet connections that are reliable and fast

Cool ocean breeze and porches with swings

These are a few of my favorite things

When the dog bites (he would never!)

When the bee stings

When I'm feeling sad

I simply remember my favorite things

And then I go there and do them. DUH!

And so this is Christmas... already?

Christmas arrives on different dates for different people, really. My American friends and family, for instance, say they can only really think about Christmas after Thanksgiving. I was having a nice cultural conversation with an Irish friend on typical Christmas dishes not long after Halloween (no one besides Brazilians know what a Chester is and what they are missing - besides cancer). A dear friend confessed on the same occasion she couldn't wait for Halloween to go by so she could carol without sounding too much of a freak. My mom sets the Christmas tree up on early November. She figures that why go through all the trouble of having the tree and not enjoying it for a few months - let me tell you all that the tree stays on the middle of my living room until late March. It might as well be a permanent tree. I tell her time and time again a permanent mistletoe might be a tad more useful.

How is Christmas for me? I am not a religious person. I am a very hypocritical atheist actually. I enjoy the food and the wine and I like carols. I like the holiday. I like the idea of a white Christmas - although a white Christmas in Brasil would be the announcement of the Apocalypse with Santa leading the knights in his sleight. Yes, I am a bit of a romantic.

So I'm usually graced with a nice dinner at my aunt's on a very warm December night (it's always extra hot on Christmas eve, and nobody can look good for long on a 110F weather besides the turkey - and not long before turning into charcoal). My little cousins and godchildren (notice the inconsistency?) open their many presents and the adults have a secret Santa. I'm on the later group for some years now and I can tell you I had so much more fun on the kids table all those years and I didn't know it. We stuff ourselves and get things we probably will exchange in a later date in stores packed with people who got things they don't need from the chubby fellow. Yes, he needs to get his mail sorted. So this year I decided to make his life easier for him. It was a genius idea by my youngest and savyest goddaughter. And like all genius ideas, it was conceived in the tranquility of chaos.

We were writing letters to Santa. I had a dog in my lap. Many crayons in my hand. Julia, 3 year-old, was dictating a letter worthy of the March-Hare. I was loving it. I was having such a jolly time that when it came to a conclusion and she sweetly told me it was my turn to write my heart's desire to ol' Santa, I was rather perplexed: I had no idea what to write. Then I sympathized with my poor Secret Santa - he must feel very outta sorts when shopping for me. And then I sympathized with everyone in my family really, for my birthday is a fortnight after Christmas and I must be a dread to shop to. So I'm using this post to put everyone out of theit miseries: let's help my beloved family out - especially now that they can't give me clothes. And let me remind everyone that I'll be going to Asia in January, on the 4th. So my birthday celebration will be postponed to February. By my mom's Christmas tree.

On with my very uninteresting list:
1) História da Guerra do Peloponeso - Tucídides
2) Histórias - Heródoto
3) Euclides - Elementos
4) Plutarco - Vidas Paralelas
5) Motion of the Heart and Blood - William Harvey (em inglês)
6) Sobre a natureza das coisas - Lucrécio
7) Ilíada - Homero (tradução do Carlos Alberto Nunes)
8) Epicteto - Discursos e Manual
9) Aristófanes - pássaros
10) Modernidades Tucidideanas 
11) Iphone 3GS 32Gb preto (yeah, I like that's gonna happen. Not even if I had donated half my liver)
Estou atrás de alguém que comente Aristóteles/Platão. Alguma indicação?

I wanted to finalize this post with an expert of my goddaughter's letter to Santa. She is on the right path, this one: she already knows who TH White is - kinda, she knows Sword in the Stone and knows I have an unhealthy obsession with Merlin (and likes the beard). She dictated to me, after picking the red crayon (very Tarantino of her):

Dear Mr Santa Klaus.

I love you. My house is full of Christmas stuff. The candles are red. I like when you visit me. Kisses on your beard. Julia.

What about you, have you written your letter to Santa yet? What's more, have you been a good person this year? No? Have you given up on Santa then? I wasn't in the Christmas spirit at all. But nothing like a 3-year-old to brighten up your day. Especially if it's not yours.

Alas, I can't believe it's Christmas already.

2001: An Acid Trip

I have a "bestest" of mates like every other person. And like every other person, we watch movies together from time to time - as often as I can persuade him really. We are undergoing a Kubrick phase right now. I blame him, solely. We usually take detours (aka we get carried away in some mindless discussion Woody-esquire or my quick fingers can't resist some catchy title on my Blockbucteronline list, you get the picture). Anyway, we did Strangelove and the works. Time for Space Odyssey. I'm so much more excited than he is as he has seen this particular movie before. Did I mention he is a connoisseur? I haven't watched a blasted minute yet and am getting a cult vibration. The screen goes black. The music is great. And the movie begins.

Yes. There are lower-mammals on the screen. Apes? And none as cute as Helena Bonham Carter. At first I couldn't believe they were people in costumes. Scary.

Chapter one is a very odd chapter. If my intellectual self-esteem was any lower, I'd feel very left out of Kubrick's little zoo party. But our movie-time is usually filled with good conversation - and 2001 is an excellent movie for that as it is a silent one with classical music playing on the background. And I laugh myself silly with my friend orchestrating an invisible orchestra. I am reminded of myself on the opening credits of Star Wars. I love silly people. If you can get through Dawn of Men, you are in for a treat. I think it's exactly this: you are rewarded with the rest of the movie if you stick to your seat (for half an hour of a two hour and 20 min movie). Nice psychology foreplay Mr K!

Chapter two and three go together and actually tell a story. Wow, I'm impressed. In so many levels. He defined the genre "machine-goes-crazy-and-kills-the-crew". There must be at least 40+ movies with this plot line. The art/picture of some scenes, it's just perfect. Now I can say Spielberg is a copycat and ruined AI (or I can just parrot my friend, the connoisseur). And did you know that that entire IBM-HAL thing is crap? Although my conspiracy-theory-Mulderesque brain loved that. You know that HAL is actually a big Ipod with Saruman eye, right? The Ipod name and design came to Steve Jobs when he was watching 2001. Honestly. I-pod = eye-pod (Saruman's eye). Jobs is a big Kubrick's fan. So he was watching 2001 on his big screen (smaller than Gates') and eureka. Is the guy a genius or what? If you don't believe me, see for yourselves, a picture is worth a thousand words:

Intermission is over. Back to the movie.

Chapter 4 is truly Beyond the Infinite. Some images reminded me of fertilization in vitro, but then I am a horny med student, what would you expect me to see in abstract art? Then my friend who is in law school agreed with me. I was very pleased with myself when I read about the Star-Child thing. I know I couldn't scratch the surface of the philosophical debate on the fourth chappie. Is there one? Do I really want to know why there is a room in Louis XVI-style decor and the dude keeps getting older and older? Is the monolith going to kill Dave? Save Dave? Is the monolith really there? Is the Earth really there? Was there some acid and is Dave having a very Alice-like trip? (we settled for this one).

I had this professor once, literature professor. I came to him, desolated. I might have been crying. I was reading Shakespeare and I told him I was a big fat cheater because I would only buy annotated versions (like Folgers’s) and I couldn’t “grasp” Shakespeare from reading it, I had to read someone writing about reading it. He smiled kindly at me and told me very nicely that was a very smart young lady with intellectual humility and no one should pick up every single nuance in one read. One should always research. Alas, I took that to heart. And to-day my inquisitive mind beseeched me. I did some googling around, some wikipediaing. Oh well, if you truly read this far, you deserve this link. This is the short-and-explained-version-of-space-odyssey. It has some details that made me smile and I won’t spoil it for you. Very worth of your time. Nice, uh?

http://www.kubrick2001.com/index.html

What can I tell you about Space Odyssey? You gotta watch it at least once in your lifetime. It is not a waste of your time - although you might be tempted into forwarding some scenes - and I wouldn't have regretted seeing this one on the theater. It is full of brilliance and great music. Sit back and enjoy an acid trip without the possibility of unpleasant aftereffects. Practice safe acid trips. Do Kubrick.

If

There are a lot of motivational crap online these days. Offline too - and those are entitled self-help books. But there is a particular poem that I thought I should share with you today. It is not a motivational poem. And it is most certainly not a crappy poem. It might be one of my favorite piece of poetry ever written. Every time I read these verses I realize what low and terrible excuse of a human begin I actually am. I think the world would be a better place if we all could thrive to be a little more like Kippling thought we could. If only we tried. If.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

You may wonder, why am I sharing this fantastic albeit completely out of context (is there a context to this blog?) piece of literature with you? I just watched a very good movie today - Gosford Park - not for the first time, mind you. But today I was very interested in the servants (usually I'm just interested in Maggie Smith). In particularly, in being really good in something. Excelling in something.

Ironically, the character I'm speaking of, Mrs Wilson, was a very, very, good servant. She said: "What gift do you think a good servant has that separates them from the others? It's the gift of anticipation. And I'm a good servant. I'm better than good. I'm the best. I'm the perfect servant. I know when they'll be hungry and the food is ready. I know when they'll be tired and the bed is turned down. I know it before they know it themselves."

Another guy I like said we could be so much better if we didn't want to be so great. What is to excel? Is thriving to excel making us so mediocre? Then how come some people overcome the mediocre barrier? How can some people reach greatness? How do they do that? What have they got? Is it inspiration or is it transpiration? How high should the standards be? Alas, too many uanswered questions for today. Maybe another day, maybe from another perspective.

Footnote: The movie is full of excellent actors. And then Helen Mirren is on. And my grandmother: "Helen Mirren!" Yes, folks, the bloody Hollywoodian machine in a half-Alzheimer's brain - it can only remember rather recent Oscars. Too acid?