thegoodfellas/blogset-br huggingface dataset:
Kaka e Caroline Celico rompem com a Igreja Renascer No momento eu estou bem, nao vou em nenhuma igreja e estou bem, disse Caroline Celico, mulher do jogador Kaka, ao iG Gente. A declaracao foi dada em 25 de novembro, durante um evento de moda em Sao Paulo. Nesse sabado (4), a... Um filme comovente que fala de uma jovem chamada bela, uma garota diferente ou seja estranha que e fechada para as outras pessoas,mas acaba se apaixonando por um jovem chamado edward que na verdade e um vampiro. Um filme que sera gravado no Brasil na linda cidade de Rio de Janeiro,tera um diretor brasileiro.Estara logo logo nos cinemas. "bullyng"Alguns casos de bullying que terminaram em tragedia: Colorado (EUA), 1999 Os estudantes da Columbine High School, Eric Harris, 18 anos, e Dylan Klebold, 17, mataram 12 colegas e um professor e cometeram suicidio em seguida. A historia motivou o documentario Tiros em Columbine, de Michael Moore, que ganhou o Oscar em 2003. Sao Paulo, 2003 Edmar Aparecido Freitas, 18 anos, era motivo de zombaria dos colegas de classe desde os sete anos de idade. Em 2003, ele foi ao colegio em que estudou armado com um revolver, atingiu nove pessoas e depois se matou. Virginia (EUA), 2007 O estudante coreano Cho Seung-hui, 23 anos, invadiu a universidade de Virginia Tech, nos Estados Unidos, matou 30 pessoas e se suicidou. THE FACEBOOOK MANHe'll find a way. Itmay be at work, at the gym, at the cooking course. Youare minding your own business and he comes out of nowhere, only to raffle offyour peace and delete the tranquility of your life. Forgetthe doldrums. He'll get to shake you structures. He'llinsist, poke, tease and set up thenet (on and offline) to catch you, mermaid. Andyou'll think he's all yours, woman! This is how he will make you feel like: a woman. Hewill turn you inside out and leave you glowing, smiling at the world andlaughing at the universe, after all, he is the shit. Yourskin will look good and you will make up for the lost time, as your aunt wouldsay. It works really well if you are in a half assedrelationship, with no prospect of wild nights in unusual places or even thatgood old missionary in the middle of the night. Thisis the right man to spice up your mac and cheese. Thatquick cheating that makes you remember how it is to be desired, worshiped,adored and hail your marriage. You will give your super busy hubby some time off asyou go crazy with the Facebook man. Butif you are free, unencumbered, ready for all and something more, be careful:the thing is addictive and you'll want to check it out all the time. Andthat is only allowed from Monday to Friday during business hours. TheFacebook Man is temporarily unavailable right on weekends.We are facing a man who is pure pleasure. It'slike after like, after like! It's joy, it's Facebook. Youdon't show him much of yourself. Actually, you show almost nothing but your bestparts, which to him are your private parts. After all, that's all
he knowsabout you. Wait for the hottest sexting of your life. "Inbox" messages in the middle of the board meeting that will have youturning blue, dying of heat to the point of having to ask for a glass of icewater and another. But if you get sick, for instance, or need someadvice, run to the 'husband', never to him. Hehates complaints. His business is to listen to whispers and moans. Whining? Onlyin bed, begging for more!He does not want to hear about your interview, yourdog, your boss or your cake. He wants you all, but not whole. Hewants you lying, naked, open legs and closed mouth. Itcould even be considered a twitter man: few characters and no character. Butno, he never lied. It was you that never asked. Youshould have seen it before adding him to your life. Heis the Facebook man: he's supposed to be liked and shared. ----The Glass Slipper Syndrome.Thisis a new thing that has become regular among women in their 30's: abandoningthe prince after the ball. Disappearing, vanishing, scampering away suddenlyafter the big dance. The girl affected by this evil hops into the carriage,turns the runaway mode on and flees the scene. She does not give the prince an opportunityfor a "good night, Cinderella" let alone a "good morning,Princess." Do not be a fool; this is not a fairy tale. Itcould turn out to be one but the poor girl would never know. After all, shesuffers from the Glass Slipper Syndrome. Asfar as I know - not that Im an expert - the disorder resembles a widespreadpanic attack that causes the carrier of the syndrome to flee before going backto be Cinderella and much longer before the prince turns back into a frog.After that, there is no bountiful fairy god-fucking-mother able to break thedisenchantment! The bad girl gets dressed and starts running awaywithout any fear of losing her knickers or a shoe along the way. She does notmind she might be missing a great opportunity to be happy, at least until thesecond page of this story, but the nut job disappears in the middle of thefirst page. That makes things even harder.Ihave heard of extreme cases in which the girl simply gives up going to the ballbecause of pure lack of interest. Thereis no evil stepmother or jealous sister to hide the invitation. Shewill not go to the ball because she knows the waltz will be too good to be trueand she has already broken many heels while dancing for nothing.Butwhy do such things happen? Asking a few friends and friends of friends, I foundout that in this phase of disenchantment, although no one believes in suchwasted fables, fragments of several of them act on our (oops!) unconscious in away they may trigger the syndrome. They are:1 -Mirror, mirror - the girl does not want to be seen in daylight, with runningmakeup and melted heart;2 -Sleeping beauty-she snores and is ashamed of the embarrassment;3 -Alice's Madness the most frequent reason - sick and tired of trying to play theprincess she has never been but already is, she wonders
what will come afterthat first dance. It is involuntary, she simply imagines that other dances maycome, or not. She may get involved, or not. She may fall in love or not. Andthere may be a huge mismatch and she does not want that ever again in her life. Shedecides to make the story short and after that "quickie", she quicklyflees. Its like she keeps on hearing the White Rabbitsaying: "It's late! It's late! Whateverthe reason, the syndrome is so harsh that, at the slightest sign ofenchantment, the girl embodies Julia Roberts. Im not saying Julia in PrettyWoman but in Runaway Bride, afraid of everything going wrong, or going tooright! Runaway dumb, very dumb, because then she suffersmore, wondering what could have been. Themagic ends and a story that does not begin cannot have a happyending. -----Take up the cudgels for somebody, butdo it in moderation. I confess: I'm addicted to that crap. At first, you feel moregenerous, sociable, safe and all. You take one gulp, stick the chest outand go for it!. You raise your voice and clash with anyone. Youcannot hold back, it is unstoppable! Your blood boils and then yourealize, it's done, already out there. Once again you interfered, meddled,helped someone you supposed needed your help ... and got screwed up again.Have you ever noticed that it happens mostof the times we take the cudgels for somebody? Think of a situation in whichsomeone is being clearly overwhelmed. We go there, wear ourselves out, getstressed out and find ourselves exposed to defend the "poor one". Weget deeply angry at the oppressor, promise to never look at the asshole's faceagain and when you start to calm yourself down, thinking that at least , yourgood deed for the day is done, then you see oppressed and oppressor laughingtogether, happily. What about me? you ask indignantly. You are just theone who went postal for nothing. Err... Does this only happen to me?When you decide to play the defender-of-weak-and-oppressed withoutanyone asking, you may not end up being the hero of the story. Instead, youare just the jerk who is labeled "Joe Bloggs" people who are fullycapable of defending themselves and just don't do it because they do not wantto (or because they have another way of dealing with the situation, or they aresimply waiting for the right moment to pounce).People are not as fragile as they seem to be and when you stand up forsomeone who is not in need, you are judging yourself better, stronger and moreimportant than this person. That means: it is just your ego acting onceagain. This has nothing to do with generosity, we must admit.Besides this whole thing being highly addictive, it is very difficult toperceive. Because no one will dare to warn you, be sure of that. Thisis something you have to figure out and find a way to work on it on yourown. Having identified this flaw (which is not always genetic), the firststep to get out of this situation is to accept the fact that you are powerlesswhen it comes to other peoples issues. There is nothing
you can do tomake the oppressed ones feel better. It is quite on the contraryactually. But what is the next step? How to keep calm in the face oftremendous injustice to someone! We can only join a support group to help ourselves. Asthis group has not yet been established, I only see one solution: get away fromit! Stand down!Okay, you can protect elders, children and pets. But for all ofother situations involving "species at risk", I suggest an exercise in self-control, one dayat a time. Things work out on their own. You do not need to shareyour opinion on everything, make a statement on all matters or interfere withanyone. Whenever somebody does something you do not agree with, leave theroom. Give the oppressed one the opportunity of self-defense and if he orshe does nothing about it, wait until someone else stands up for the cause.Experience, for once, the sweet taste of not being involved inconfusion. You will see that everything will fall into the right place andyou will not need to clash with anyone. It is ridiculously liberating. Youshould give it a try.Sexism is the New RacismHe was a friend of a friend. Wehad met at a few parties and when it came to myattention, we were up all night caught in pleasant chatting featuring virtualtoasts with real beer! Lots of pub philosophy in bed (each in their own) andlaughter. Soon, we were texting, then it evolved to phonecalls (wow!) and then to accepting a dinner invitation which wasjust a matter of time.You know that person who is full of experience? Somany trips, experiences and interesting stories to tell, I never imagined thathe would snatch defeat in the jaws of victory with such a raw comment. Forceof habit? Traces of a fundamentally sexist creation? Justan innocent slip, just kidding? I don't know. AllI know is that when I heard him saying "Don't you tell me you wash, ironand you are good at cooking. You will be the perfect woman. ThenI'll marry you! " It was like there was this "BUZZZZ!"ringing inside of me, talent show style. "WRONGANSWER". There was no way'. Althoughthe remark came with the best of intentions, it was an instantaneous turn offfor me. Hearing something like that from an intelligent,thoughtful and handsome grown man was a total disappointment. Hemeant that I was "marriage material", considering that this was asuper compliment, but that commonplace comment made me lose my interest.I cannot say for sure what discouraged me themost: if it was the "then I'll marry you" or if it was the thing ofwanting a perfect housewife to call his own. I'mnot against marriage, but "Free the bride!" by Simone de Beauvoir -echoed in my mind at that moment. Without swallowing my pride but as gently aspossible, I tried to explain to him how much that comment had let me down andgave him my reasons. My overreaction may have come from a sum of severalfactors: a small trauma from an 'almost-marriage', influence of my pastreadings of Regina Navarro, a good deal of intolerance or all of that mixedtogether. The thing is,
from that moment on, the conversation- which had been fantastic for a few weeks - turned into endless sexistdiscussions sexist (he insisted on justifying himself saying that "manthis", "woman that") exterminating any resemblance of horniness (mutually, I guess). Welet it go. Not the chat but the thrill. Iwish we had used our time to talk about sex, or even to do it without majorphilosophical clashes.I remembered this story because I read thatfor the first time in Brazil, someone had been granted with the right ofpaternity leave of 6 months. Unfortunately, it was an isolated case and it wasonly possible because the child's mother had died. Still,I was very happy with the news. I think that the future win of that right is thebeginning of a true revolution in the quest for equal rights for men and womenin Brazil.We still confuse the maternal instinct withan obligation to care for the offspring on our own. Ithink this "skill" that women have with kids comes from purenecessity. Who said we are more acquainted with poo? Thisis something learned with time as well as wielding a drill and making a hole inthe wall is also a matter of practice. I imagine an alternate leave (the first 3 monthsfor the mother, the other 3 to the father) would grant more contact betweenfather and son and, in addition, it wouldfinally put women and men on an equal footing, both in the work market, and inthe division of household chores. This already happens in a similar way in someEuropean countries, such as Sweden and Germany. Takea look at it. It would be the rise of a new generation of morepresent parents and therefore, more participant husbands. Onlyon these terms would I consider the term "marriage material" as acompliment What do you think about this? Dont abuse the snooze Have you ever wondered why you extend sleep and postpone life ininfinite loops?It's midnight and she is wearing the sameclothes she had on in the morning. Lying by her side, her faithful companion, thealways on and available laptop computer. Shethinks about work, talks to someone on Facebook chat, thousands of otherwindows open at the same time. The door, closed. Aftergoing up and down the timeline frantically, she realizes that she is reviewingposts continuously and gives up. She hits the shower.She'll only have a few hours of dreamlesssleep, 7 or 8 snoozes on a cell phone that tries in vain to wake her up and abig fat 'no' echoing in her mind, until an "okay, then" pushes herslowly out of bed and drags her to the next shower. After that the choice ofclothing, coffee, some vitamin pills, makeup in the car, trying to change theway every day to have the feeling that she is doing something different. Samesongs trying to bring some excitement and nothing new on the way to post onInstagram and make life seem more interesting.Good morning to the valet. Goodmorning to the receptionist. Good afternoon to the boss, because even thoughit's still morning, according to the manual of good corporate etiquette that'swhat you say when you arrive after the
"big boss". Thenmany work hours will go on until she sees herself again with the same outfitshe had on in the morning, in bed, next to the laptop to piss someone off. Itsjust a matter of hours until shes hitting the snooze button again.If you relate to the sad routine of the napgirl or have ever gone through a similar phase, you know what it is like. Sometimesit seems that we press the snooze button in life. Leavingthis state requires a deep willingness to say "okay, then", even if you are grumpy and crawltoward the light to come back to loving it. So, I created the Snooze Index ofLove to Life. If you are putting off waking up a lot, somethingneeds to be done: taking up a sport, dancing, meditating, traveling, a new job,a new love, anything that gives you joy. Thatlittle nap to keep on dreaming a good dream once in a while, besides beingwelcome, is extremely important, but we cannot leave life for later. Timeis short. Wake up. Just live.
Someday hell come along The man I love And hell be big and strong The man I love And when he comes my way Ill do my best to make him stay Hell look at me and smile Ill understand And in a little while Hell take my hand And though it seems absurd I know we both wont say a word Maybe I shall meet him Sunday Maybe Monday, maybe not Still Im sure to meet him one day Maybe Tuesday will be my good news day Hell build a little home Just meant for two From which Ill never roam Who would, would you? And so, all else above, Im waiting for the man I loveHindi Zahra, again. Ja fazia tempo que eu nao me aguentava. Nao suportava o cheiro de cigarro. Nao aguentava a "baixastralizacao" que o cigarro me causava. Era instantaneo: fumar e me sentir mal, sem vontade, sem energia, sem pique pra qualquer coisa. Rolava uma sensacao interna desagradavel, quase uma dor. Fora isso, tinha um certo nojinho de mim: a minha mao, a minha roupa, o meu cabelo, tudo cheirava a fumaca. E isso porque eu ja estava numa fase de fumar um ou dois cigarrinhos no fim do dia, apenas, gracas a Lei Antifumo. Ai, rolou, paralelamente, um baita medo. O meu tio estava com cancer, sofrendo ha anos e eu comecei a ficar com um cagaco absurdo. Talvez por isso o meu cabelo tenha comecado a cair: pela paura de achar que eu tambem poderia estar muito, muito doente.Ate que um dia eu fui ali fora fumar um cigarrinho e alguem me perguntou "voce vai fumar?" e eu disse "vou" e a pessoa disse "pra que?" e eu pensei, "ai, que saco, me deixa fumar em paz e cuida da sua propria vida", mas nao respondi nada, apenas acendi um cigarro, dei o primeiro trago, senti aquela tonturinha ja habitual e me perguntei: "pra que!?". Entao apaguei. Nao voltei a fumar. Pela lei, pelo desespero, por nojo, por vergonha, por achar que o outro nao era obrigado a feder, engolir a minha fumaca e ter um cancer por minha causa, mas principalmente, por essa perguntinha irritante que nao consegui responder. Nao tinha motivo algum pra eu fumar. Nao tem motivo algum pra voce fumar. Comecei a ter dos fumantes (e de mim) uma impressao de inseguranca, de fraqueza. Eu nao sou fraca, nem insegura, por que raios me apoiava naquele bastonete nicotizado cancerigeno?Os nascidos nas decadas de 70 e 80 ainda tem a desculpa de terem sido impactados por campanhas publicitarias muito agressivas: estava na tv, no outdoor, na revista, no radio, na padaria, nos shows. Era lindo fumar! Se tracassemos o perfil de um fumante segundo as propagandas da epoca, teriamos alguem parecido com um artista plastico extremamente livre e desapegado, porem apaixonado, que ganhava a vida jogando tintas coloridas em paineis gigantes enquanto se balancava de ponta-cabeca num trapezio instalado em seu loft em New York ao som do melhor do jazz, mas que nas horas vagas era um sucesso saltando de
asa delta, ouvindo rock, tendo ainda uma pegada rustica e o costume de nos convidar para ir cavalgar cavalos selvagens num mundo muito distante, onde estava o sabor. Era muito interessante ser fumante e, mais ainda, namorar um fumante. Mas os novinhos nao tem essa desculpa e ando vendo muito pirralho se achando com cigarrinho na mao. So burrice explica e sei que voces sao minigenios e que suas maes acham que voces foram criancas indigo ou cristal, sei la. Enfim, apenas parem, que ces tao ridiculos. Todo o meu amor aos amigos oldschool que permanecem fumantes. Respeito, entendo o vicio, mas parem, que ces tambem tao ridiculos. Faz um ano e meio que parei de fumar e queria muito dar um abraco no ser humano que me perguntou "pra que?". Se estiver por ai, por favor, de sinal de fumac... ops, de vida. E muito obrigada!
Vale a pena conferir esta graphic novel espetacular, de Ryan Andrews. Online, na integra: http://www.ryan-a.com/comics/sarahandtheseed01.htm Saudade de quando o principal problema do meu cabelo eram as pontas duplas, o drama do estomago era so uma aziazinha depois de um pate de alho, a colica era so na TPM e a TPM era so na TPM.....Hoje sonhei com voce, mas nao acordei feliz.Nem no sonho voce me quis. Ele nao sabia nada de nada da vida, mas acreditava que, como 'consultor', entendia de tudo, muito. Pra tentar me impressionar, resolveu achar que era mestre em testes vocacionais e jurou, de pes juntos, que eu tinha tudo pra ser musica. Com toda a certeza desse mundo, voce toca algum instrumento' sugeriu, profeticamente.Do alto da minha pedreirice offline, respondi:- Toco sim. Toco coracoes. Here comes the timeFor my heart to heal the pastFrom now and thenThere will be the good and the bestOh when your eyes and mineCan see the sameOur love could lastShould I follow you?Yes I remember flowers Sent in blue skiesAnd you with your sweet smileWith your sweet smileHolding me tightYou told me give your self awayAnd i would buy yourselfKnowing that your touch could heal my heartI should dieI should die in your arms right nowAnd give it allGive it all to youYou're my precious memory I'm getting down on my kneesAll that i've got is love for youI should dieI should die in your armsOh, love is so beautiful and cruel at the same timeAt the same time, at the same timeOh your love is beautiful and cruel at the same time good at the same time Praca da Se, hoje, 9h da manha. Jamais cogitaria esse caminho. Estava ok.Ele me leva a lugares em que nunca sonhei estar (nao a essa hora damanha). Quando estou em duvida, aponta uma direcao e, cada vez que discordamos,ele me abre um novo leque de caminhos a seguir. Ele respeita o tempo alheio eessa e uma das minhas principais exigencias em qualquer tipo de relacionamento. A cada dia, uma surpresa. Waze e um fanfarrao que ate me faz dar umas voltinhas a toa de vez em quando, so pra me fazer rir (talvez de odio, mas na paixao tudo vale). Acho graca quando ele chama os viadutos de 'viadutos'. Sotaquezinho gringo, sabe? Fofo. Ele e atencioso, parece ler minha mente. Mal entro no carro e ele japergunta: Vai ao trabalho? Tudo pronto? Vamos!. Ele me domina. Faco quase tudo o que ele pede com aquele jeitinho e sabe por que? Porque ele sempre, sempre, sempre me faz chegar la. Se voce ainda nao tem o Waze no seu smartphone, nao perca tempo. O aplicativo e indispensavel para quem vive em Sao Paulo e faz longos percursos.Existe, sim, amor em SP, Criolo.Eu <3 Waze. Nao mexe comigoque eu nao ando soeu nao ando soque eu nao ando soEu tenho zumbi, besouro, chefe dos tupis. Sou tupinamba. Tenho os eres, caboclo boiadeiro, maos de cura, morubixabas, cocares, arco-iris, zarabatanas, curare, flechas e altares. A velocidade da luz no escuro da mata escura, o breu, silencio,