As if I forgot about this, it came out 3 weeks ago and I’ve only just downloaded it. Shame on me. The Gervais & Co ‘Guide To’ series has been pretty good so far, and this society special is no exception. Listen to the fat demi-French beardo, the lanky speccy one and the manc halfwit with a head like a fucking orange talk about their views on society and the role of authoritive governence in modern society. For me, Karl’s views on Rosa Parks are this episodes highlight.

This video is just a preview, you can get the full hour long version from iTunes.

Ben

فديو, فيديو كليب انا بيه ورومانسى من فلم, فيلم البيه الرومانسىافلام لك تحميل من

شاهد فديو, فيديو كليب انا بيه ورومانسى من فلم, فيلم البيه رومانسى – سعد الصغير 2009
تحمل وتنزيل فديو, فيديو كليب سعد الصغير من فلم, فيلم البيه رومانسى انا بيه ورومانسى

لمشاهدة وتحميل الفديو, فيديو كليب …

شاهد فديو, فيديو كليب اغنية سعد الصغير انا بيه ورومانسى من فلم, فيلم البيه رومانسى
يو, فيديو كليب سعد الصغير من فلم, فيلم البية الرومانسى – انا بيه ورومانسى

اضغط هنا لمشاهدة الكليب

|اغانى|فديو, فيديو كليب|مقطع|هدف|مسلسل|اعلان|فلم, فيلم|برنامج|حلقة|شاهد|مشاهدة|اون لاين|سرعة عالية |بدون
تحميل|اغانى|عربى|اجنبى|MP3, mp3, ام بي ثري|البوم|
2009|سينجل|نغمات|تنزيل|نزل|شعبي|راب|حمل|موسيقى|MP3, mp3, ام بي ثري

|افراح|فديو, فيديو كليب|راديو||اون لاين|بدون تحميل|مجانا|بدون اشتراك|2010

فديو, فيديو كليب انا بيه ورومانسى من فلم, فيلم البيه الرومانسىافلام لك تحميل من

شاهد فديو, فيديو كليب انا بيه ورومانسى من فلم, فيلم البيه رومانسى – سعد الصغير 2009
تحمل وتنزيل فديو, فيديو كليب سعد الصغير من فلم, فيلم البيه رومانسى انا بيه ورومانسى

لمشاهدة وتحميل الفديو, فيديو كليب …

شاهد فديو, فيديو كليب اغنية سعد الصغير انا بيه ورومانسى من فلم, فيلم البيه رومانسى
يو, فيديو كليب سعد الصغير من فلم, فيلم البية الرومانسى – انا بيه ورومانسى

اضغط هنا لمشاهدة الكليب

|اغانى|فديو, فيديو كليب|مقطع|هدف|مسلسل|اعلان|فلم, فيلم|برنامج|حلقة|شاهد|مشاهدة|اون لاين|سرعة عالية |بدون
تحميل|اغانى|عربى|اجنبى|MP3, mp3, ام بي ثري|البوم|
2009|سينجل|نغمات|تنزيل|نزل|شعبي|راب|حمل|موسيقى|MP3, mp3, ام بي ثري

|افراح|فديو, فيديو كليب|راديو||اون لاين|بدون تحميل|مجانا|بدون اشتراك|2010

No….it’s fine.  You keep the seat.  I was about to leave anyway.  No, I insist…

Family First senator Steve Fielding has used the negotiations over an Emissions Trading System to reveal that he was once touched on the bottom by climate change as a small boy, which is why he chose to ignore it.
The admission was made quietly but within earshot of a number of cameras who had been tipped off by the senator that he was about to ‘steal someone else’s thunder’.
“I wouldn’t like to upstage the huge job we have ahead of us here to kill off any hopes of curbing the effects of climate change,” he said, “but I remember it breaking into my bedroom via a sudden gust of heat and touching my bum… at that point I swore never to give it the satisfaction of knowing that I knew it existed, like any other paedophile.”
Fielding, who once dressed as a freckled white settler with a pitchfork ahead of the apology to the Stolen Generation, is known for performing cheap stunts to satisfy the two per cent of red necks who handed him a senate seat.
James Melville, from the Centre for Marginal Studies, said: “Poor Stephen, I don’t think he even knows what’s coming out of his mouth some days… Those are the kinds of nutjobs that can use The Bible to jusify having sex with pigs.
“I very much doubt he even knows how to spell ETS, let alone make a judgement call on it.”

Something’s wrong with this society.

Why do we have to be dynamic, flawless, aiming highest, accepting challenges, winning all the time, polite, politically correct, with opinion on every single thing, socially apt, beautiful, skinny, in liquid leggings, aaahing over Carrie Bradshaw, loving Balmain, thinking that Angelina Jolie is gorgeous, wearing high heels, curling eyelashes, wearing bras, wearing push up bras with gel fillers, wearing spandex undies that make us skinnier, loving Helvetica, wearing ugly geeky Rayban glasses, writing daily crap into the super overpriced stylish Moleskine…;blahblahblah????

Srsly, WHO THE FUCK CARES?!

That is my question to the world. [People, you almost 400 readers everyday you HAVE TO comment here & answer me because I don't know why I don't get any comments but it's irritating me (and as if I wasn't irritated enough already). And I need answers. OK, Back to the topic nao.]

So…WHY? Who the fuck cares?

If we do all this for ourselves, that’s nice. If we do it because the society makes us feel like it’s appropriate to be doing it & that we are being so cool by doing the said thing, then WE R DOIN IT RONG.

This is going to be a bimbotic example, but….
I have boobs size 36A (UK sizing). Which means they are barely visible…and basically invisible when I am wearing more than 3 layers of clothing. And yet…I don’t own any of the gel filled monstrosities that make your boobs 2 sizes bigger…hell, I don’t even own any true push-up bra, because few weeks ago I’ve thrown away my last one from H&M after being bothered with its itching on my back.

My bras are wired but that’s about it. No push-up effects, no gel fillers, no squeezing & tucking of my poor miniboobs. It wouldn’t help anyway with any illusion of a cleavage so I might as well stop trying.

Shazam bra by Agent Provocateur *click*

My boyfriend loves my body the way it is and thanks to him I’ve learnt to love it as well (although I admit I am not 100% content – I would be, if I had a body like J. Lo…eh).

If I pretend to be 36C, he will know I am A. I will know it. The rest of the universe won’t know, but the rest of the universe doesn’t matter, so it’s a waste of time to try to answer to their society-induced ideas on “feminine beauty” that include huge boobs/long blonde hair/long legs/etc.

I love wearing unwired bras; transparent bras; silky bras; lacy bras; bralettes…it’s comfy and it makes me feel ME.

I’m doing it for myself and I don’t CARE what everyone else is thinking.

My point is – WHY DO WE ALL TRY TO MUCH? WHY DO WE WANT TO BE STYLISH, DYNAMIC, COOL, TRENDY, “SO KILLING IT”, HIP, THE TOP, THE BEST, THE STAR, THE WHATEVER….if our inner us is just so tired of all this trying that is against our true goals and visualisations of a fulfilling life?

Me for example…I don’t want to have millions. I don’t need to have a villa in Carribean. I don’t need Versace gowns and freaking socks by Hugo Boss.
I want to be a Biologist and a freelance Graphic Designer. Or maybe a doctor? I think I’d be a good doctor…
I will happily live here in the tiny Bratislava in my own small apartment…hopefully with a dog/cat/both and my man.
I don’t need to be THE BEST. I want to be above average but most importantly I want to *feel* above average…about myself, my accomplishments and my life. Being the best is stressful and bound to end sooner or later…I don’t need such stress in my life. I need balance, comfort, home and love. So cheesy, but true.

I think we should all ask ourselves two questions:

1. Who am I and what am I doing?

2. Am I really who I *am* and am I doing what I WANT to be doing or am I just pushing myself somewhere I don’t want to be just because it makes me appear (!) so awesome?

Write your answers down.

Sleep on it.

Re-read your answers again.

And hopefully you’ll see that lots of things you’re doing are unnecessary crap that you actually don’t want to be doing but the pressure of the success-driven society makes you feel it’s appropriate to be doing it. -.- I hope that sentence made sense!

And now I am off to undress from my lacy, non-padded bra and pack for Prague again. Good night!

Without glasses
to correct my vision
there is a halo
around my lights.

Without drugs
to correct my chemistry
there is a fire
inside my mind.

Without society
to correct my beliefs
there is uncertainty
throughout my soul.

Without correction
life is pure.

The only chaos
is control.

Women: Know Your Limits! Harry Enfield – BBC comedy [via Pepe]

An important public service announcement brought to you by the comedy legend Harry Enfield and his Chums. From BBC. Watch more Harry Enfield clips with BBC Worldwide here:

“Nurture vs. Nature. Does it really matter anymore?”

‘What’s a femme?’

It seems this is a question I get asked far too much when trying to describe myself to people. You see, my description goes along the lines of: ‘Hi, I’m a kinky genderqueer femme dyke and feminist who sometimes doubts herself and who, majority of the time, is invisible. How are you?’

As soon as I hit the word “genderqueer” I see heads turn, but they never ask what that word means, instead it’s always: ‘What’s a femme?’

The irony is that they’re a femme, a straight femme of course, but still a femme. Then when I do explain what it is I’m met with a pause and then the famous…

‘But you’re gay.’

CUT!

That’s a wrap.

I can’t take anymore.

Being a femme in a small homophobic community where the closest LGBT association I have is a two-hour drive away is something that requires a lot of talking. I’m almost at the stage where I’m going to write a report on it and hand it around the next time someone asks me, ‘What does _____ mean?’

But aside from my hometown I’ve found that in the LGBT community that I have been apart of, there is really no such thing as butch or femme here. This might be because majority of them are still finding their gender or are still trying to work out if they really are gay, but even then, in a community that I’ve chosen, I feel out of step.

My invisibility comes not from not being seen as “gay” or a “dyke” but because this community I associate with is young andfrom the fact that there is no real gender classification here. A lot of them have no idea what it means if I were to throw out the word “cisgender” and even the word “genderqueer” creates many raised eyebrows.

So I can’t adequately write about femme invisibility from the point of view as “femme” being particularly or not particularly acknowledged as a gender choice (for me, anyway). But I can say how a lack of knowledge can perhaps make you feel even more invisible. One day, maybe when those tomboys find their inner butch or when those sullen looking androgynous girls fit their feet back into those heels that I can just see are sitting in their closest; maybe then I can complain about my invisibility, but not now.

So, a little ragged and a little off-topic, but I think it has some zazz to it.

- Cal.

P.S. Don’t ask me what “zazz” means because I sure as hell don’t know.

P.P.S. This is my warped reply to the following posts:

http://alphafemme.net/2009/11/17/femme-invisibility/

http://www.sugarbutch.net/2009/11/on-femme-invisibility/

http://www.canihelpyousir.com/?p=605

Standing tall;

Stalked.

Did you hear that?

The deaf call…

Blinded.

I saw an interesting BBC documentary about Gypsies in Europe. Since Romania became a member of EU, their large Gypsy minority can move freely between the different countries. As a consequence they show up in large numbers in metropolitan areas to steal and beg.

The way they do it is by training their children to steal for them. That way no one has to go to jail. When the children are caught they are sent to social services that release them after a few hours. The children typically hang around ATMs or follow people with backpacks or shopping bags. They can get pretty aggressive at times, probably because they never get punished.

A well meaning liberal might argue that they do this because of poverty, and that other groups in a similar social situation act just the same. But this argument doesn’t hold up. According to the police a full third of all juvenile delinquents in Madrid are Gypsies while, according to Wikipedia, Gypsies are only 1.6 percent of the population. (It’s also a big problem in Italy where they constitute 0.2 percent of the population.) So if there really are other minorities coaching their children this way they must be completely outcompeted by the Gypsies. And, as the film clearly shows, they are kind of sloppy and get caught all the time.

The film also shows how stealing is integrated in their way of life as well as other unpleasant aspects of their culture. At a marriage one man comments that the bride, aged 13, cost 7000 euro because she is such a good thief as well as being a virgin. The next day the marriage is consummated.

Not all Gypsies are like in the film of course. But the statistics don’t lie; there is something rotten in their culture. The authorities, politicians and public figures of the liberal persuasion are also responsible for this situation. By constantly calling anyone who states the obvious a racist, they enable Gypsies to continue to make their living as thieves. And thus they fuel the conflict between Gypsies and the rest of the community.

As far as I can see there is only one solution to this problem. The law needs to make the parents responsible for what their children do. If a crime doesn’t come with a penalty they will keep doing this indefinitely. If, on the other hand, they are made to pay for their actions, then maybe they’ll realize that their way of living doesn’t work anymore give it up.

ما الذي تصنعه هذه السيدة؟

انها الة قديمة اخترعها السومريون القداما من اجل صنع خبزهم ،عادت الان تلك الالة الطينية التي تعد بديلا لطاقة الوقود التي يفتقر اليها العراق البلد النفطي !!!

The major failure of air-traffic control yesterday (Thursday November 19th) was yet another sign that our outdated radar-based system needs to be replaced with a sleek new satellite-based one, right? That’s the logical progression of much of the coverage out there.

The reality is that, yes, the system needs to be replaced. But yesterday’s failure was a high-tech one that could afflict a system based on satellites, too.

The problem wasn’t directly related to radar, but with the National Airspace Data Interchange Network, a system for processing flight plans and information for all flights in the country. It failed in both of its locations: Salt Lake City and Atlanta. This meant that automated regional FAA systems couldn’t process flight information. As a result, controllers had to enter information manually. This caused delays that rippled across the country. “A satellite-based system would have had the same problem,” R. John Hansman, an MIT aerospace and air traffic control expert, wrote to me this afternoon.

The Federal Aviation Administration hopes to roll out a Global Positioning System-based control system, called Next Generation or NextGen, in stages. By 2020 most planes will carry a cockpit gadget that continuously broadcasts the planes’ GPS-derived location, altitude, and speed to ground controllers. In later years, the system will extend so that this information is picked up by other planes, too, so that pilots can gain more control over their routing and spacing. As they beam their position information to one another they’ll be able, to some extent, to self-navigate. However, there will always be an FAA air-traffic system keeping track. It’s unlikely that pilots will ever be permitted to make all takeoff, routing, and landing decisions entirely by themselves in the event of failures of national air-traffic computers, as happened yesterday.

http://www.technologyreview.com/blog/editors/24444/?a=f

Photo: Joe Pugliese

By Evan Ratliff

Officially it will be another 24 hours before the manhunt begins. That’s when Wired’s announcement of my disappearance will be posted online. It coincides with the arrival on newsstands of the September issue of the magazine, which contains a page of mugshot-like photos of me, eyes slightly vacant. The premise is simple: I will try to vanish for a month and start over under a new identity. Wired readers, or whoever else happens upon the chase, will try to find me.

1  – August 13, 6:40 PM: I’m driving East out of San Francisco on I-80, fleeing my life under the cover of dusk. Having come to the interstate by a circuitous route, full of quick turns and double backs, I’m reasonably sure that no one is following me. I keep checking the rearview mirror anyway. From this point on, there’s no such thing as sure. Being too sure will get me caught.

I had intended to flee in broad daylight, but when you are going on the lam, there are a surprising number of last-minute errands to run. This morning, I picked up a set of professionally designed business cards for my fake company under my fake name, James Donald Gatz. I drove to a Best Buy, where I bought two prepaid cell phones with cash and then put a USB cord on my credit card — an arbitrary dollar amount I hoped would confuse investigators, who would scan my bill and wonder what gadgetry I had purchased. An oil change for my car was another head fake. Who would think that a guy about to sell his car would spend $60 at Oil Can Henry’s?

I already owned a couple of prepaid phones; I left one of the new ones with my girlfriend and mailed the other to my parents — giving them an untraceable way to contact me in emergencies. I bought some Just for Men beard-and-mustache dye at a drugstore. My final stop was the bank, to draw a $477 cashier’s check. It’s payment for rent on an anonymous office in Las Vegas, which is where I need to deliver the check by midday tomorrow.

Crossing the Bay Bridge, I glance back for a last nostalgic glimpse of the skyline. Then I reach over, slide the back cover off my cell phone, and pop out the battery. A cell phone with a battery inside is a cell phone that’s trackable.

About 25 minutes later, as the California Department of Transportation database will record, my green 1999 Honda Civic, California plates 4MUN509, passes through the tollbooth on the far side of the Carquinez Bridge, setting off the FasTrak toll device, and continues east toward Lake Tahoe.

What the digital trail will not reflect is that a few miles past the bridge I pull off the road, detach the FasTrak, and stuff it into the duffle bag in my trunk, where its signal can’t be detected. Nor will it note that I then double back on rural roads to I-5 and drive south through the night, cutting east at Bakersfield. There will be no digital record that at 4 am I hit Primm, Nevada, a sad little gambling town about 40 minutes from Vegas, where $15 cash gets me a room with a view of a gravel pile.

The Adventure continues, continue reading - http://www.wired.com/vanish/2009/11/ff_vanish2/

I was recently invited to a family get-together, the first barbecue of the summer for me. I had to take a dessert, but was running short of time, since I only found out the day before and was out that evening and then working the next day.

I really love dessert. I’m such a sweet tooth, and while I admit that I don’t often make a huge amount of effort with my savoury cooking, I do love to try different desserts and spend a lot of time and effort on them.

Probably my all-time favourite desserts are tiramisu and baked cheesecake, but they are also the ones I tend to find most disappointing, as I have such high expectations when I have them when I go out for dinner. When travelling through Italy with a friend for a week, I constantly ordered tiramisu for dessert, but I would always end up dissatisfied. Maybe it was that I was going to the wrong places, but they all just lacked something for me.

Anyway, for this barbecue I knew I wouldn’t have the time to whip up something that was in any way time consuming, so after some wonderful suggestions on the Vogue forum, I decided to just do a Kiwi classic, pavlova.

I found a fabulous recipe from Gourmet magazine. Unfortunately I didn’t have the time to make the pav from scratch, so I had to settle for a bought one. But I think it was the best pavlova I’ve ever had! Although maybe it’s just because I haven’t had one since last Christmas.

It felt fitting to use a recipe from Gourmet, after just listening to an interview with the editor, Ruth Reichl, former food critic for The New York Times, discussing what she planned to do with her life after she had received the news Gourmet was to stop publication in November.

It’s not a magazine that I ever bought, but I still feel a sadness at its passing, not just because it’s a magazine of great history, but also because its closing is a sign of the times for magazine publishing. Incredibly, the circulation for Gourmet was actually at its highest levels when it was shut down, but it was the lack of advertising that killed it. It’s a luxury magazine, and the luxury advertisers like Porsche and Rolex have pulled back their advertising considerably since the recession.

Reichl lamented the fact that American food writing is now being dominated by the likes of Rachel Ray – what Reichl calls ‘stupid food’. While this is no doubt an elitist view, it does point to a wider problem, I think, of how we’re constantly being told we don’t have time to cook. We’re saturated with quick and easy options, but yet there seems to be more cooking on television than ever before. It appears that we’re spending our time watching cooking on television rather than spending time actually cooking.

Obviously there is a need for quick options – I wanted one myself for the barbecue. I may not have the abundance of time or the money needed to completely live the Gourmet lifestyle, but like with the pavlova, I can take some inspiration from it and focus on the joy that creating something delicious, decadent and beautiful for yourself and others can bring.

My Gourmet-inspired pavlova:

pavlova (either made from scratch or bought)

pouring cream, whipped with a little icing sugar added

Wild Appetite Tipsy Lemon Curd (this is lemon curd with the dutch liquor advocaat added to it)

macerated berries (I used strawberries) – cut hulled strawberries in half and soak in the juice of one or two lemons or limes and 2 tbsps of caster sugar. You can also add a liquor such as limoncello if desired.

Combine the whipped cream and lemon curd, arrange strawberries on top and serve pavlova with extra strawberries. Yum!

“It’s not about the faces on the stage, but the One who’s truly famous.”

So says the opening promo line on the Passion 2010 website highlighting the speakers for this years conference.  The leaders of the Passion conference say, convincingly I might add, that their aim is to, “see a generation stake their lives on what matters most.”  Praise God for such a vision!  And praise God for the organizers of this event.  Praise God for the godly men (and couple of women) who are listed as “leaders” for the event.  Now, can we just be a little bit more honest about “the generation” and about those “faces on the stage?”

The generation the leaders of Passion are aiming to see stake their lives are suburban, upper middle class, overwhelmingly White evangelical kids.  Everything about the conference and the conference website is geared towards that demographic and though they may tout international credentials, this is far from an international conference.  These same kids will worship in much they same style they would at a secular rock concert though to Christian music.  They will surge and sing.  They will cry and commit.  And they will hear from speakers who look and sound just like them (with the noted exception of Francis Chan — and the word is still out on whether he’s a sellout or not).

The faces on the stage matter.  If they didn’t matter the organizers of Passion would not have rounded up the likes of John Piper, Louis Giglio, or the David Crowder band.  These folks are some of the superstars of the evangelical church world, and if we could be honest, they are the reason why many of the folks signing up for Passion are signing up.

They matter for the same reason the Deadly Viper’s controversy was indeed a real controversy.  It is not without significance that Deadly Vipers was initially introduced during a Catalyst conference (at least I think it was).  The stunning ignorance (and quite ready repentance) of the authors of Deadly Vipers and of Zondervan is not theirs alone.  The evangelical community within the United States over and again continues to demonstrate a tone deaf ignorance bordering on stubborn hard heartedness when it comes to issues of race and ethnicity.

Why is Passion able to say without apparent irony that the faces on the stage don’t matter in a world where the fabric of evangelicalism even within the United States is incredibly diverse?  Why did Zondervan stick their foot in the crap pile again after only a few years ago Lifeway was smacked down for producing other racial insensitive material?  Why is any of this news to the large number of White evangelicals who honestly and with sincerity desire to work to proclaim the gospel effectively to all people?

Because White evangelicals live socially, economically, and indeed theologically in a world untouched by other perspectives and increasingly are seeking to isolate themselves further by developing specialized ministries that cater only to themselves.  Call it FUBU for White people.

The truth is, the faces do matter.  And my White evangelical brothers under the skin had better be aware that it matters more than they think.  Every ethnic minority living under a dominant culture knows that it matters.  Think I’m wrong?  Spend any length of time in a foreign country and you’ll discover quickly just how welcome an American accent can be, or better yet join a church of a very different ethnicity than your own and immerse yourself.  You’ll quickly discover that it matters a lot more than you think to have someone who looks like you, who can at some level identify with your experience, and who can articulate in a culturally relevant way those things that matter most, is very important.  Call it the incarnation experience.  You see, none of us have a high priest who cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities.  That is to see, Jesus knows well what it is to enter fully into the human experience and thus sympathizes with us in our own.

It is time for mistakes such as those embodied in Deadly Vipers and Rickshaw Rally to come to an end, and the Christian community ought to be the leaders in this effort.

Se eu fosse virtual

Flávio Nickel

Imagem copiada de http://smeira.blog.terra.com.br/

“Chegou o tempo em que ou você é alguém@onde.oque ou você não é ninguém”

Se pudesse ser uma coisa, uma outra coisa, eu queria ser um software, digital, virtual. Não seria muito exigente. Bastava ser virtual. Se eu assim fosse, eu dominaria as dimensões do tempo e do espaço e viajaria pelo planeta digital e me deliciaria congestionando o tráfego na Trafalgar Square. Literalmente passearia pelos sites literários e num dia de sol enviaria um e-mail a Castro Alves e num navio negreiro, navegaríamos por mares nunca dantes navegados em companhia de Camões e Robinson Crusoe. Também por e-mail, convidaria Helena e Capitu para ir à Espanha assistir a uma tourada e mais tarde, em casa de Almodóvar, descansaríamos numa cama para três. Nas terras da Rainha, pesquisaria na Enciclopédia e com pontualidade Britânica iria ao chá das cinco com Shakespeare e Sherlock. Convidaria Rimbaud para um bate papo na Gallerie La Fayette e numa sexta à tarde me conectaria com Belo Horizonte, aonde iria ao clube da esquina, tomar um café com bytes em companhia de Milton e Lô Borges.

Ah, se eu fosse virtual! Se eu fosse virtual, teria memória sem limites e poderia guardar tudo do passado e do presente. Então, me presentearia com um álbum dos Mutantes. Seria amigo de Vinícius, de Chico e de Janis Joplin. Com Lennon e McCartney, Pena Branca e Xavantinho, formaria uma banda larga inusitada e tocaríamos juntos em MP3.. Seria virtual, mas com sentimentos e, com Noel e Adoniram, choraria melosas canções de amor numa rádio digital. Mesclaria Pixinguinha e Marisa Monte em uníssono, cantando Rosa, em poesia não em prosa, para fazer alguém feliz. Se eu fosse virtual, Bach me ensinaria que na música, a nota codifica o som, e eu o explicaria que na informática, o bit codifica a ação. Se eu fosse virtual e cometesse crimes, Dostoievski seria meu advogado e meus castigos minimizados. Poderia até ser processado, mas por processadores, que me mandariam pra Alcatraz. Lá eu escreveria minhas memórias do cárcere e um postal eletrônico para Marco Polo. Planejaria uma fuga lá para o reino de Khan, a quem eu contaria de minhas andanças pelas terras do sem fim. Depois, criaria um portal de games para jogar Dama com as Camélias e enviaria flores virtuais para Madame Bovary. Digitalizaria o amor, para que minha musa não guardasse de mim apenas impressões digitais e fundaria com Gullar a Academia Brasileira de Bytes. Não seria um Highlander, mas seria imortal. Se eu fosse virtual, simularia o meu Taj Mahal, onde leria As mil e uma noites em uma só, deitado confortavelmente em minha rede. Iria ao Louvre e admiraria cada píxel da Mona Lisa. Materializaria-me junto ao túmulo de Salvador e o tiraria dali para meu alívio e para a persistência de sua memória. Gravaria em placas homenagens a Sebastião Salgado, Picasso e Caetano constatando que a Guernica é aqui. Aprenderia com Freud sobre Édipo e o Ego num site de psicologia e entenderia que quando os sonhos assumem forma concreta, surge a beleza. Seria menino e correria Brasil afora em busca de pica-paus amarelos ou de uirapurus cantantes. Pularia carniça nas pinceladas de Portinari em companhia de Bardi e me deixaria deslizar nas curvas generosas de Niemeyer. Imprimiria elogios de louvor á brasilidade de Macunaíma e Mário de Andrade me convidaria para um banquete antropofágico em casa de Tarsila, numa mensagem com a Muiraquitã em anexo.

Se eu fosse virtual, conversaria com Da Vinci em código e compilaria com Einstein o quântico dos contos . Instalaria-me com Clarice em uma rede e a ouviria explicar sobre como (d)escrever o amor. Entenderia grego, português, inglês e outras línguas porque armazenaria todas as línguas na memória. Entraria nos arquivos do FBI, do DOPS, do SNI e da CIA, de onde hackearia informações sigilosas e as compartilharia com Henfil e Betinho. Criaria uma comunidade alternativa no Orkut e Raul Seixas seria o síndico. Em uma página de poesia, jogaria conversa fora com Drummond, depois andaríamos por uma rua qualquer de Itabira, e no meio do caminho, nos assentaríamos em um banco de dados também qualquer para escrever às crianças. Se eu fosse virtual, programaria com Júlio Verne, dez voltas ao redor da Terra, à velocidade de um download, num Led Zeppelin amarelo. Buscaria no Google, um trabalho para Marx e trocaríamos informações sobre workgroups. Após o almoço, Newton me ofereceria uma maçã e eu o convidaria a ensinar física aos engenheiros da Apple por videoconferência. Se eu fosse virtual, ao envelhecer, não me preocuparia com a forma física e nem sofreria cirurgias plásticas ou lipoaspiração. No máximo, Ivo Pitangui me atenderia em uma clínica de upgrades e eu sendo velho, não morreria. Bastaria um update, um download, e eu me renovaria como a Fênix.Tudo isso seria possível se Deus, o criador, fosse programador e, se no ato de me criar, tivesse feito um software, não um escritor. Ah, se eu fosse virtual.

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• I’ve long been aware of premenstrual syndrome or PMS – the idea of a woman snapping at her husband, craving chocolate and shopping uncontrollably once a month has become a tired comedy cliché – but what I didn’t know is that almost all women experience it to some degree in the two weeks before their period.

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