Deus, enquanto ser independente da existência humana, pode existir ou não. E caso ele exista, ele pode ser dotado de uma consciência ou não. Caso ele seja consciente, ele já deve ter se perguntado quem ele é, de onde ele veio, para onde ele vai. E quem o fez. Quem o criou. Quem o desenhou.
Ou então Deus passa por um momento de rebeldia, no alto de sua puberdade intelectual, e diz que ele não foi criado por ninguém. Ele é o fim da escala. Não há nada além dele. Nada pode jamais ser maior do que ele. Esse é um grito de rebeldia, um grito de independência. Que não necessariamente sabemos se é verdadeiro. Há opiniões controversas. Eu não vejo o fim da escala, nem em cima nem embaixo. Nem faço idéia de onde eu me posiciono nela. Esse talvez seja o eterno maior mistério de nossa existência. Jamais poder sequer experimentar viajar pelos degraus dessa escada. Infinita Escala.
Infinitamente contida nessas palavras que escrevo aqui. Recentemente, ao tomar banho, me deparei com um fato. Há uma voz dentro de nossas cabeças. Que fala. Essa voz serve como canal único de comunicação da consciência com o cérebro. Nossa consciência pode ser então definida como nossas palavras, enunciadas em voz alta, dentro de nossas cabeças. As vezes nós podemos controlar exatamente o que sai nesse canal, o que toca nessa rádio neural, digamos assim. Podemos dizer qualquer coisa, a qualquer momento. Esses são considerados os nossos pensamentos conscientes, voluntariamente compostos por nosso motor verbal interno. E isso é transcrito em palavras. Digitalizado em 26 caracteres na nossa caixa de texto mental. "Nossa, olha a calça dessa garçonete, que rabo!".
As vezes, não temos nada a acrescentar ao nosso log de pensamentos e deixamos o microfone em aberto. Nessas horas, podem rolar alguns anúncios e informações importantes. São geralmente dados coletados por nosso Departamento de Compromissos e Horário. Eles tem um escritório chique na zona sul, longe da poluição das neuroelétricas e a menos de 15 minutos do Hipotálamo. Esses caras trabalham dentro do teu cérebro, são células nervosas e tabelas de excel que geram esse serviço pra você. Eles tem um calendário com todas suas tarefas, todas suas preocupações, que você mesmo decidiu acrescentar a sua vida. Por exemplo, surgiu uma festa que você queria ir, mas você precisava do carro do seu broder. Só que na hora que você estava 'falando' sobre isso dentro da tua cabeça, não dava pra ligar pro cara. Qual foi então o pensamento final, dessa auto-conversa cerebral? "Bom, quando eu chegar no trampo eu ligo pro Alemão, então."
Nesse momento a turma do DCH recebeu uma mensagem instantânea. 'QUANDO - EM TRABALHO -> LIGAR - ALEMÃO (CARRO, FESTA, SEXO) [prioridade - baixa]'. Aí já era, tá na responsa dos caras. Sua vida social depende deles. Por que sua consciência não quer nem saber mais. 3,24 segundos depois do último pensamento, os olhos coletaram uma informação completamente diferente do corriqueiro, dentro da cabeça soou, "Caralho, q'quiêsse tiozão quer fazer, mano!?". Daí pra frente os pensamentos se alternaram entre a briga recente com a namorada, os 1.230,00 negativos no cheque especial, o novo gerente no restaurante que é um cuzão, e quando fomos ver o corpo já estava colocando o uniforme de trabalho.
Aí você trabalhou por mais de duas horas sem nem pegar no celular. De repente, num momento quando você não estava pensando em nada, na sua cabeça, a sua voz disse essas palavras, "Putz, eu tinha que ligar pro Alemão! Pra pedir o carro emprestado pra festa!". A Consciência escuta isso e fica louca. Aí ela começa a falar sem parar, "Caralho, q'quieu faço? Dá pra ligar pro cara ainda? Eu to ligado que ele falou que queria ir, mas se já foi fudeu, não vou fazer o cara voltar só pra me pegar, e putz, nem fudendo que eu vou de busão. Ah, vai se fuder, hoje que eu ia comer a Ju? Merda, bosta, saco... (...) Ah, vou ligar pro cara vai."
Percebe o quanto de pensamento aquelas duas sentenças iniciais geraram? E não foi o consciente você quem disse aquilo. Não, o consciente vocÊ estava manjando o rabo da garçonete nova. Que fica gostosinha de calça apertadinha. Eita, tá vendo? Olha a distração aqui de novo. Quem conseguiu enviar aquele aviso foi o DCH. Foi uma nota mental, gerada e processada pelo DCH baseada na sua reação e nos seus pensamentos anteriores. A prioridade era baixa, até porque sua vida está conturbada. Ah, quanta coisa pra pensar. Essa da festa ia ser legal, mas se não rolar também já era. Deixa pra próxima. Logo, eles fizeram o registro, mas nos ciclos memoriais sobre carregados, o anúncio acabou saindo com duas horas de atraso.
Acontece. Experimenta estar naquele dia sussa, sem nada de novo pra pensar, e cadastra alguma notificação semelhante no DCH. 'QUANDO - EM TRABALHO -> COLOCAR UM BANZA - BOCA DO TUBARÃO DE PLÁSTICO.' Qual o motivo? Só para ver se você lembra. E melhor ainda, quanto tempo demora para lembrar. Duas horas vai ver é pouco! Tem gente que vai fazer o registro antes de sair de casa, e o anúncio só sai quando ele tá deitado na cama, pronto pra dormir. "Putz, esqueci total da parada do tubarão!", aí o consciente responde, "po, vou tentar lembrar amanhã.". Quinze minutos depois o inconsciente entra pra trabalhar. Ele assiste a um resumo do dia, material de arquivo e prepara um filme. Um longa com roteiros geralmente esquisitos. Mas com produção e atuações impecáveis. Porra, pensa bem, quando foi a última vez que você viu um microfone entrar em cena, ou um dos figurantes começar a rir em algum de seus sonhos recentes? Os meus são sempre produções de qualidade. Só os roteiros que são meio cansativos, ah o que eu não daria para poder sentar naquela sala de escritores, dos roteiristas dos meus sonhos. Acho que eles iam me expulsar logo na primeira reuniãio. Putaria demais.
(...)
Sunday 13 February 2011
Friday 10 September 2010
Monday 30 August 2010
Recomendação Picon3 - Clube Da Esquina II
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
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
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
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