spam/hippies/lenini/racism

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I looked through the comments on this excuse for a blog, and noticed that spammers have taken to auto-spamming blog entries. For the example on mine, see the entry I want to axé you a question. I guess Radiohead inspires penis growth advertisements. I would delete them, but it is awfully amusing that there are two comments made in December on a post from June. Who is going to read that far back? Me, I guess.

Yesterday afternoon I went to the hippy-feira, a sort of artisan street fair that happens every Sunday in Ipanema. Apparently it used to be real hippies, but now it’s hippies with cellphones and distribution systems. Ram’s sister Lakshmi helped me negotiate some good deals, since the rule there is to haggle, and as I noted before, I should have learned more Portuguese.

Later we went to a free concert on the Copacabana beach — the first act was Maria Rita, and she was three shades of enh. The second act was Lenini, which makes one thing of some sort of opera guy, but in fact was more rockin’ out. Hard to place him in terms of American music, but he veered near Blues Traveler, Spacehog, and RHCP at times. Not too close, but in a nebulous middle ground between the three. The metropolitan bus systems in Brazil are cooler than the US. There’s a second guy who sits in the bus and gives change (within reason), so the driver doesn’t have to be responsible for fare collection as well. Much smarter than in Boston, where they used to get pissed off at you for not having exact change all the time.

So my inability to detect racism in Brazil was explained by Ram, who said that discrimination here is based on economic grounds, and less on skin color. But there is a correlation between the two. Some of the complexities of 19th century race are exemplified by the author Machado de Assis. Thanks to Dan Good for introducing me to him. The hosting site of that previous link is pretty cool in its own right. The Library of Latin America series has a wide range of information about 19th century Brazil, from history to literature to essays and commentary. All of Machado de Assis’s novels have a very informative essay at the front to put the novel in context. Well worth reading!

sun, sea, but no air

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Yes, I have arrived in Rio! When I return, there will be pictures. I have even tanned a bit. Actually, people here assume I speak Portuguese, and I have managed to gain a rudimentary grasp of 3-4 phrases, including “I don’t speak Portuguese” (não falo portugues) and “one caipirinha please” (uma caipirinha, por favor). I think it’s that people here are all different colors, and the society seems much more homogenized than in the US. This is just my naïve interpretation though — perhaps racial divisions are still strong here, but it just doesn’t seem possible, given the physical appearance of the population.

I am here with my friend Ram (warning: in Portuguese), and staying with his family. It’s been a blast so far, and there’s still a whole week left. I’ve discovered a new kind of music that I like, called forró, but I can’t dance to it. Maybe I will take some classes while I’m here, or learn how to samba or something. I’m too much of a chicken when it comes to dancing.

On a side note, green coral is pretty awesome looking. And the ocean is really salty, a fact that I had somehow forgotten in the many years that have passed since I last went for a dip.

I am chickening out on the “hang gliding tour of Rio,” because (a) it’s kind of pricey, (b) I’m not sure I could handle it, and (c) my parents would probably freak out. I already run enough of a risk walking around Rio, given the insanity of the drivers here. And here I don’t have as many friends to take care of me. Or land on top of me. But no more morbid thoughts, I’m off to enjoy the sun.

questioning the rules

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Suppose one finishes a first stab at some MATLAB code around 1 AM and decides to celebrate by having some sake and reading a little. One might then read a very anti-labor short story by Heinlein (“The Roads Must Roll”) and get a little irritated, and then decide to play some solitaire. And one’s solitaire game may end up with all cards face up except for three in the hand — the 4, 5, and 6 of diamonds, only in the wrong order. This might just tempt one to break the rules, just this once, to make oneself feel better. But then one would have cheated, and one couldn’t have that. Thus one is relegated to the legions of those who didn’t quite made it. Luckily, however, success at solitaire is not a universal measure of success, so one can sleep with full assurance that a lack of success at solitaire means very little in the grand scheme of things.

citrus maxima

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I had a Pummelo today, and it was pretty tasty. Sweeter than a grapefruit, but with those huge cells of pulp that grapefruit has. It occurs to me that I don’t know what the cells in citrus fruits are called other than “pulp,” but pulp to me connotes the squished up cells. But the Latin name for the Pummelo is Citrus Maxima, which is just awesome. Apparently it’s a precursor to the grapefruit.

Why is it that when I want to sneeze, looking at a bright light will induce the sneeze? I was told once that it was a male thing only, but that has since been refuted.

I met a freshman who doesn’t know who Aerosmith is. I think talking to undergrads is bad for my sanity.

the web : misleading you 24/7

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It was pointed out to me by the illustrious Rikin Vasani that google now ranks this site as the #1 hit for “ergodicity.” This alone should speak volumes about the efficiency of google as a research tool.

I was cast in Marat/Sade as one of the four singers. It is going to be awesome. And by awesome, I mean totally sweet. This play is one of those ones that you read and it changes your life. Or at least your outlook on life. Or at least your outlook on how dramatic art can function.

A well known result in the literature states that “all the world’s a stage” [2]. Thus it suffices to consider only those outlooks on theater in order to prove theorems for outlooks on the world. This technique was first used by Artin [1]
to prove some simple results on dilations. It is clear that we have the following lemma:

Corollary: Marat/Sade is an awesome play that will change your life.

[1] E. Artin. “Algèbre géométrique.” 1962.
[2] W. Shakespeare. As You Like It. Act II. Scene 7.

long day’s journey into…

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Auditioned for marat/sade, will find out about casting soon. It all reminds me of how long it’s been since I’ve done a production, and gets me thinking about whether I’ll ever do “real” acting again. I miss it terribly.

But on a brighter note, in less than one week I’m going to Rio. Time to do some hardcore Portuguese learning. Tudo bem? Tudo bom!

Sodini’s Green Valley Restaurant

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A pretty decent Italian place in North Beach — standard fare and south Italian, but flavorful and filling. I wouldn’t call it authentic Italian, but it’s a good Italian-American restaurant, for what it’s worth. Many many tables for two, so I suppose that it’s a popular romantic spot. But no dessert!

I had the ravioli with the house red sauce — they were smaller ravioli, not the huge pillows you sometimes get, and the sauce was a bit thickly spread. But they were nicely al dente, which is better than many places I’ve been in North Beach. Ann had the gnocchi with pesto, which I found to be too creamy. All in all, a good hearty dinner, the best I’ve had in North Beach, and pretty inexpensive for a meal there as well.

Movies, movies, more movies

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Witch Hunter Robin — terrible anime series. It’s like My So Called Witch Hunting Life. One of the character’s special power must be “acts like an asshole, but everyone wants to be liked by him anyway.” Of course, that makes it more like reality, right? Ugh. The first scene of the first episode is pretty good though.

The Skin of Our Teeth — With Rue McClanahan, from Golden Girls. This was pretty good, actually. A filmed stage performance, a la Great Performances. Quite entertaining, and I got a lot more out of the play this time versus the time I saw it when I was 10.

A Streetcar Named Desire — STELLA! Ok, I had to get that out of my system. No, wait… STELLA! Ahh, there we go. That hit the spot. Marlon Brando is amazing.

Tokyo Story — a film by Yasujiro Ozu about elderly parents visiting their grown-up children in the big city. Depressing, slow, and very good. Although it makes you wonder why people have children when they are all going to turn into self-centered neglectful jerks.

The Station Agent — one of the most entertaining films I’ve seen lately. It restored my faith in humanity, made me think that many people are fundamentally decent, even though they are assholes some of the time.

… and finally, if you have any bad liquor leftover from a party, liquor that you wouldn’t normally drink or have no idea how to use, PubDrinks or My Bar has the answer. At least you can educate yourself.

shallow thoughts, arr matey

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Gilbert and Sullivan is like brain-candy to me, although watching my friend Davie’s production of Pirates down at Stanford gave me a few new ideas on how to do a more modern staging, a sort of play-within-a-play idea. It would require quite a bit of acting, and might end up sort of Brechtian, with placards and scene announcements and everything, but it could be a really interesting way to look at said brain candy.

And now on to:

SANGRIA:

2 gallons Zinfandel
1 cup brandy
1/2 cup Cointreau
2 quarts orange juice
2 cups lemon juice
1 cup superfine sugar
12 to 16 ice cubes
2 quarts chilled club soda
3 oranges, thinly sliced
3 lemons, thinly sliced

Thoroughly chill all ingredients. Pour the wine, brandy and Cointreau into a large punch bowl. Stir orange and lemon juice with the sugar until sugar has dissolved. Then add to bowl and stir to blend. Add ice cubes and soda and garnish with fruit slices. Serve in 4-ounce punch glasses or wineglasses. Makes 100 servings.

I’m not making 100 servings. Where are you supposed to mix all this stuff anyway? Who has a punch bowl that large? I’d need a garbage can.

text

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I live, surrounded by text. When I’m not reading a book, I’m reading a paper. When I’m not reading a paper, I’m reading the web. I swim, nay drown, in a sea of text, with little hope of respite or solace of shore. My existence is circumscribed by glyphs, punctuated by symbols, and death I think is no parenthesis. And what do I have to show for it? Deteriorating eyesight, collapsing memory, and back problems from hauling the text around. I wonder what it is to exist in a world devoid of these strange markings, obscure and oft inscrutable.

“The white of the paper is an artifice that’s replaced the translucency of parchment and the ochre surface of clay tablets; both the ochre and the translucency and the whiteness may posess more reality than the signs that mar them.” – Jean Genet

Deep thoughts for a not-deep evening.