unicidades

Sad.

*2005 - *2011 By looking at her in this picture, I realize how sick she was in the past year. Maybe being in Florida wasn't such a good thing for her. She was so loving and I miss her so much already.

I kind of don't know exactly what I want to do. I watched an Ozu movie over the weekend. It was really weird. I am sort of disappointed. I liked the photography, but the story and most of the characters were just plain weird. I have this very interesting white and red dress that I want to wear for a special modeling occasion. It needs to be adjusted. I am running out of closet space. That's a very bad sign. I went to a very nice milonga on Saturday. The dancing was again very nice. I never realized how much I had missed it. Or maybe I did, but I had to be oblivious to that. The exterminator came this morning, but he didn't do what I needed him to do. So I had to go to Home Depot and find another product. I am tired and overwhelmed to be making all these decisions. I respect pet owners much more these days.

Last night, I made some Indian inspired rice, a small salad with only four ingredients, and grilled some beef inspired by the memory of a dish I love: Tiger Tear Salad. Somehow, in my head I could mix a few ingredients without looking at a recipe and add some lemon to the greens and have something similar to that salad. I was wrong. I will need much more than that to capture those flavors. A couple of weeks ago, I got some unpleasant news from the doctor and she told me to reduce the salt  to  2g per day (my daily sodium intake should be that or lower). That made me think about my not so responsible diet and the things I like to cook. Not that I eat junk food, but I haven't been cooking for myself the way I should. I guess being single plays a role in that. I love salt. In Brazil, our main seasoning happens to be salt. When the doctor gave me the news, I was thinking how can I stop eating cheese? How can I reduce eating something that makes me usually eat at all? I have this weird

I am reading An Anthropologist On Mars by Oliver Sacks. He happens to be one of my favorite British/American authors.

I guess I am learning the hard way that preserving a great sense of loyalty and yet being nice to people is a very hard task. Option A: you are only nice to the people you really like, Option B: You like everybody and therefore you are nice to all of them, Option C: you dislike people and are cold and distant, Option D: You are picky and have to choose when and whom you are going to be nice to. My point is: in some occasions you will have to wear a hat you don't necessarily like if there are things you want to achieve or if you want to come across as a nice person. I work with someone who is nice to most people. She never  has anything bad to say about anything or anyone. I wish I could be like that. Hmmm. Yes, maybe. I don't think that being blunt (like I am sometimes) is necessarily a good thing. Maybe I am giving that trait too much credit for things that didn't go so well in my life. I think that being politically correct is a trait of many Americans, while Brazilians c

I took Edwin, O Gato to the vet. The vet said he's not 1 year-old yet, he's doing good and that I have to clean my place very well everyday now until the day the exterminator comes by. Sigh. I had forgotten how rescuing a pet can be costly and troublesome.

Since last night I had to cook something for dinner and lunch today and I had some leftover chicken, I decided to make a Pad Thai yet again. I had all the ingredients, plus I didn't feel like eating rice or pasta. Noodles were the perfect alternative for an evening in which I had gotten home late, was exhausted and still had to do laundry, cook and clean. I've read many recipes and they are all different. For example, in one website I saw that the authentic Pad Thai doesn't have that pinkish coloring to it. It's just plain in color. This time around I marinated the chicken in soy sauce, fish sauce and spices. A little of each. Then, I soaked the noodles in hot water for about 20 minutes always checking its consistency. I used some olive oil and mustard seeds to stir-fry the chicken and then I added 2-3 tablespoons of red onion and some white pepper and chilly flakes (just enough to make it a little spicy). Then I added 3-4 tablespoons of crushed tomatoes and 3 tablespoo

I want to be music.

I am eager to start a new life season.

Even though it wasn't bad, it could be much better. Not as easy as the red curry and I feel like I will need several experiments to make it work. The taste wasn't bad, but the texture was because I overcooked the rice noodles. Also, I will skip the tofu next time. I thought it was going to be too spicy because I accidentally added like 3 tablespoons of crushed red pepper flakes and that was way too much. The thing is as I was multitasking and adding spices to the chicken, I opened the pepper container and didn't see it was completely open and that I had poured almost one quarter of the seasoning into the chicken. I can only say the chicken looked red. Very red. I removed some of it, but it made the dish very spicy. The cashew nuts added some plain flavor to it, but overall it wasn't good. 

I feel sometimes like I am watching a movie when I am actually not watching one. I went to see my (I hadn't seen her in months) friend Y. yesterday. Her little dog C. was so happy to see me. I was then talking to Y. as we were catching up on our lives and I was observing her, the way she talks, cooks, takes care of her child and I really felt like I was watching a movie. It was weird to be part of that family oriented scene and yet don't feel anything. She was telling me about the hard work moms endure. I asked her if it was harder than what she has imagined and she replied with a very humble and sincere yes. According to her, motherhood is harder than what she had imagined it would be. Then, I have these moments of pure insight. I am either walking on the street, cooking, or just staying at home with Edwin and I have these pure insights that come out of nowhere. Last night, I went to Las Olas Blvd. with one of my friends and as we walked, I was feeling some kind of death insi

I made "ceviche mixto" last night. Ceviche is a traditional dish in Peru and Ecuador and I am not very experienced with those cuisines. Today, I was thinking about what my next adventure in the kitchen is going to be. I have decided to learn how to cook Thai curries, pseudo-Japanese rolls, and perhaps some Ethiopian dishes.

The book discussion was nice, but I didn't feel their enthusiasm. Maybe I am just a delusional soul who sees things that other people don't see. Maybe I am a hedgehog myself.

Q: Can I ask what brought you to Japan? Both your main characters love Japan — is this something that you share in common with them? What aspects of Japanese culture interest you? A: Yes, of course, the interest Renée and Paloma have for Japan is mine, and my husband’s, who actually introduced me to Japan. “Interest” is far too weak a word: we have long been lovers of Japanese culture and since we moved to Kyoto, a town that we are head over heels in love with, our feelings for this country have been confirmed. Our fascination began mostly as an aesthetic one, and has remained so: we are fascinated by the ability to create pure beauty, at the same time refined and pure; the kind of thing you see in the slow, sweet sumptuousness of Ozu’s films, in the splendor of the Japanese gardens, in the discreet sophistication of ikebana … It has had us under its spell for over ten years. And we are still at the dawn of our discoveries … But what we also love about Japan, without neg

The Truth of Beauty.

I know a cat shouldn't be named Hummingbird As a person shouldn't be named a bird Isn't that the same thing How should we then name things If I never knew what to name what I felt for you How am I suppose to know what name to give to this now It can't be a bird, or a cat named after a bird It can't be a cat it doesn't even have a name yet - does it move, but isn't this old some things can only be called in silence when they are indeed destitute of any absurd idea of calling a cat a bird

Tentando definir amor e ter te amado.

I don't know what an orange feels like, but I look like one. I feel heavy and incapable of moving on my own. Just like an orange. Not any orange, but a navel orange. Big, extremely round and heavy.

I left the clinic yesterday and drove for more that one hour. Then I stopped at my hairdresser (at the spur of the moment) to get my hair color changed. My previous hair color was fine, but I guess I wanted a change yet again. It's the first time I have a complete hair color change at a salon. This lady is very nice and I do appreciate the fact that she does exactly (most of the time) what her client has asked. It turns out that the color I requested doesn't really go with my skin color. When I got into the elevator, I was heading to the third floor, I saw myself in the mirror and screamed. I guess what I am trying to say is that I made a mistake. Actually, I made an expensive mistake. I am considering dying it another color, but if worse comes to worse I will have to get a very short haircut. I mean, VERY short. Anyway, it is indeed a nice color, but it doesn't work for me. I think I should stick to my natural dark honey brunette color once and for all.

While the French have Muriel Barbery, the United States has Elizabeth Gilbert. It's pitiful.

I think I have just read the book of my life.

I can understand all that you are I can even take all that your not I can simpathize with all you want to be But dont fuck me in front of me I can even scores with the best of them I can leave my innocence at bay You can turn your back on my sincerety But don't fuck me in front of me How could they, they wait I saw the look you gave her Breathe in again May god the world do say you hurt I could say I blame you for everything Instead I think I'll recognize my part Needing doesn't hide who I want to be But dont fuck me in front of me Yeah Don't fuck me in front of me

Como seria possivel estar assim? Entregue as maos do acaso por tanto tempo. Entregue ao dissabor de ser?! Faziam-lhe falta as maos da mae, as maos que nao foram, mas que cumpriam o destino de existir. Agora, faltam. Faltam. Faltam. E chove, chuva grossa e pesada no asfalto vizinho. E noite, o lago esta agitado. O gato nao sabe o que fazer. Ela dirige e sente o corpo ir-se. Estamos nos movendo contra. Seu corpo era fragil palha recolhida por maos grosseiras num lugar distante onde certa vez uma filha de imigrantes, sob o sol escaldante, sentiu a dor de ser. Doia ser bonita. Nasceria-lhe entao um filho (renegado) da beleza. E desde entao ela conheceu dores e inquietou-se pela maldade humana tao cortante, tao amarga.