Como economistas definem as sugestões para resolver a crise ...

‘Tis the Season – or, why Hugo Chavez, my dad and I might hit it off on Christmas Eve.

Brazilian newspaper “Folha de São Paulo” recently published a story on their website (which can be viewed here) saying Mr. Hugo Chavez (president of Venezuela with a “unique” style – Google the man up if you think I’m kidding) recently forbade traditional Christmas imagery in all government bureaus. According to him, those traditions originate in the US, and Christmas in Venezuela should be, ehm, Venezuelan, with no influence from the imperialist devil. Still according to him, while nativity scenes and decorations with the local plant “Flor do Natal” (or Christmas Flower) are a yes-yes, Santa Claus, the Christmas tree itself, or hanging stockings are a no-no.

That’s Mr. Hugo Chavez. Now Dad holds more of a direct approach. Like telling his seven-year old son that Santa is but a figment of our imagination, probably fostered by evil toy stores. And that Christmas, in itself, is just a way to assure year-end fights with close and distant relatives you spend the year trying to get away from. That’s a man whose sense of communion is somewhat lacking – he can’t even be considered a true Christian, but does so little affection for our Savior’s birthday come from a sheer lack of religious values? I don’t really think so. I firmly believe that in his case he played the hand he was dealt.

I take a middle-ground approach. Provided the prying relatives are not there, and I’m surrounded by people I like, I sometimes force myself to attend such parties. After all, there is sense in celebrating one who sacrificed for the greater good, and if you’re not into that, there’s free food and snacks, so don’t spoil the party for everyone else and try to be a good sport. However, I am sure that if I had kids, we would cook a nice Christmas dinner, exchange gifts, and look and sound surprised at the nice presents Santa left them. I just don’t see the point of doing it as an adult. That bubble was burst a long time ago.

Earlier this year I had decided to have my father and sisters over. I would cook the traditional dishes, sit back, and revel in my sisters’ happiness at us all being together. My father doesn’t live in town, and he comes maybe once or twice a year, and that’s it. My plan was thwarted, however, by my sisters’ mother, who decided the girls should spend Christmas Eve with her relatives. Poor kids. Count me out, though.

So, it’s just me and dad. My wife is spending the night with her family. To spice things up a little I decided to have Hugo over. You know, the guy that, just like us, isn’t too keen on the current Christmas imagery.

“Buenas noches Hombre” Says Hugo, coming in the door in an olive green combat attire.
“Ehm, Hugo, this is a blog post. Everyone speaks English. What’s with the fatigues?”
“Mierda. That’s all right. Don’t tell George W., but I’ve been taking some classes at Berlitz. This?” he asked, looking at his uniform, “I thought I’d dress informally”.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I turn to Dad and say: “Dad, pour the man a drink, will you?”
“Are you a Communist?” asks Dad.
“Si, I mean, no. I am just a humble politician trying to achieve the greater good by spending a great deal of taxpayer money.”
Dad frowns and whispers to me “He’s either a Communist or a Liberal Democrat.”

After pouring drinks, we try to make small talk with Hugo. Which proves impossible, because he always makes a point of talking about Simon Bolivar and the great South American experience (of which Dad and I know, and care, nothing about). To make things worse, he’s a spitter.

It’s been less than two hours and Dad and Hugo have already taken opposite sides to every topic that comes up. It’s starting to sound like Christmas with the family already. In desperation, I leave my own house under the excuse of buying another 12-pack.

I return to find Dad standing in the hallway with a big smile on his face. “Where’s Hugo?” I ask.

“Fidel called,” he laughed, “inviting him over to Christmas dinner and promising that Santa had left him a lovely present. I didn’t get it all, but it appears Hugo was pouting at not having been invited to the annual ‘Xmas on the Island’ party. To his delight, Fidel will be playing Santa this year after all. Oh, and he just lifted the ban on Christmas trees and the like back home. Talk about a one-man show if there ever was one.”

“I have to blog this,” I mutter, reaching for my laptop. “Dad, check on the girls, will you?”

So much for Christmas with Hugo. In the end, we didn’t hit it off. But one thing is certain: we never dislike Christmas for rational reasons, even though we pretend to – It’s always because Christmas has traumatized us in ways so silly and absurd that we, as rational beings, are loth to speak out loud, lest we make absolute fools of ourselves. And that’s ok by me. A simple rule of thumb is: surround yourself with people you love, show them how much you love them – if for any reason, just for the sake of paying it forward – believe me, sometimes life changes and even these apparently small things can be taken away from you.

This year, I’m doing just that. It's me and Dad.

Of friendships and other mind-numbing drugs.

How does one measure a friendship? Is that possible? Is that even desirable? I have recently been forced to deal with the issue and only one thing is certain: I failed.

Some may say that true friends are the ones who are always there for you. Going out of their ways to either help you with a problem or otherwise just please you, they’re the ones who not only care, but seem to care. At a first glance, those friends would score high marks … but are they doing that because of you? Or are they doing so because it is in their persona’s make up? Does finding out matter?

Others find the best friends to be the ones nearest to us intellectually or emotionally. They’re the ones you never need to explain anything in detail to – they simply get it. Better than a shrink (friendship is usually free of financial charges), these friends give you the comfort of belonging – as if you’re not the ONLY freak out there. And if you’re a person who really loves silence, these friends are fantastic – because you don’t need to talk (or be talked to) when they’re around.

Then come the “common interest” friends – your bandmates, to a certain extent, some people you work with, or those who share something of a practical nature with you. While they seem to be friends (and they certainly interact with you as A and B above) they’re more like partners – because if the interest is gone, neither of you find any solid reason to keep the relationship going.

I could probably rationalize more and come up with several other “categories” – after all, my initial purpose was to find some metric that could be applied to friendships. Does that serve any good? Probably not.

My diatribe might stem from the fact that to some extent I have always considered myself to be in the first group and only to have made significant friendships with those in the second. Sometimes it’s just frustrating that the friends I particularly like are usually not there when I really need them. Or even worse, if they are, they don’t seem particularly attentive or responsive to my concerns, particularly when I voice them. It’s one of those times when you seriously consider knocking their teeth in.

I don’t know. I do know, however, that this extremely irritating low point is balanced by a plethora of memorable incidents, not to mention the countless hours of laughing at funny and funnily grotesque things.

Maybe I’m refusing to come to terms with the fact that friends, as all human beings, have deficiencies. Which we can learn to live with, or not – that’s our call. Most of times (and the time I’ve been writing this down doesn’t count), I’m glad I do.

First Post

Well, hello everyone (and I may just be talking back to the voices in my head).

This is my first attempt at blogging - and wondering if anyone will ever read my posts, let alone like them.

This is a place where I intend to stop every now and then to lean back and reflect on life - to write up things I find interesting, or maybe just to vent - so feel free to comment, vent back, or, if all else fails, to dillydally (or shilly-shally) because not all of us get a corner office with a window - but a 17-inch flatscreen sometimes works just as fine.

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip - The Option Period (Episode Review)

I have been a Sorkin fan since the West Wing - from my little corner of the world we never got to see Sports Night.

Having lost my appetite somewhat for WW after the Sorkin years (and my DVD collection is there to prove it), I was definitely looking forward to his new effort, Studio 60.

While several other blogs have delved into previous episodes, I would like to start the "reviews" section with this week's, "The Option Period" (air date: 11/20).

The episode kicks off with Simon Stiles (D.L Hughley) and Tom Jeter (Nathan Corrdry) trying to talk Harriet Hayes (Sarah Paulson) out of making a lingerie photo-shoot - according to Ms. Hayes, she lost a part to Debra Messing because she was perceived as 'not sexy' and this shoot was just the occasion to prove them otherwise. Meanwhile, executive producer Danny Tripp (Bradley Whitford) faces Jordan McDeere as she requests budget cuts (which would entail layoffs, taking on merchandising - sin of sins - or both) and returns a helping hand by telling her the network's heads’ message of "cut the bad press or else..." . To add insult to injury, it would seem that some, or most of the writers, are planning to defect, to start a new show on Fox. I'd get it if they were talking about HBO, but they would certainly pass on a show called "Peripheral Vision Man".

Ironies aside, my view is that the episode centers on loyalty. Simon and Tom are loyal to Harriet - they've just come back from almost landing in jail; Harriet is loyal to her Christian groups - who in turn weren't loyal to her. This opens an opportunity for digression on one’s real motivations. While posing in a sexy shoot doesn’t seem to fit Harriet’s persona, trying to change the way people see her just for the sake of landing a part fits even less, and it takes someone who knows her inside out – Matt Albie – to figure her true reasons. This entailed a sweet moment in the episode, as Matt, who is often spiteful to others for sound or insane reasons, was the one to tell her not to be vengeful. Not because he was particularly fond of Christian groups, but because he was fond of her. And the Harriet he loves is anything but vengeful.

Strong characters tend to be good at giving advice, but terrible at following it. In a well-crafted exception, Matt has just deduced the true reason as to why Ricky and Ron (Evan Handler and Carlos Jacott) botched up the script formats (the result of which was the show ending 37 seconds earlier, and of Jessica Simpson committing hilarious faux pas): they are about to quit (taking along most of the writing staff) to start a new show on Fox called “Peripheral Vision Man”, and the incorrect format used on that episode’s script is actually used for writing pilots. While NBS has the opportunity to secure the rights, thus foiling Ricky and Ron’s plans, and Matt considers the possibility of doing so, maybe as a tribute to Harriet (one she may never know about), maybe because he actually forgave Ricky and Ron’s (mostly Ricky’s) disloyalties in the past, he decides to try and convince them to stay, and, in the face of Ricky’s contempt and anger, he not only lets them go, but also passes some valuable suggestions to Ron – after all, they’re all writers, and sprit de corps has to mean something.

Can the show, however, continue loyal to its nature and take on product placement? Danny refuses to lay people off, and detests the notion of “this sketch brought to you by …” having anything to do with Studio 60. The answer is supplied by seasoned director Cal Shanley (Timothy Busfield) – a complete revamp of the set, turning it into a mock-up of Sunset Strip itself, with its many, many billboards.

Sometimes, to maintain our loyalties (to ourselves and to others) we have to change. And, it is still possible to change without “jumping the shark” – Sorkin has, and so have many of his characters. The question is, can we?