The Discovery Company is teaming up with one of the most notorious anti-environmentalists of the day, Sara Palin. Obviously a match made in - well, wherever Republican Senators go after they quit work at 2:00 PM. With the odd pairing there will be some changes implemented to the Discovery Channel regular programs, specifically:
Mythbusters: The myth of global warming, busted!
Deadliest Catch: This week we will follow Japanese whale hunters as they ram Greepeace speed boats and feast on baby whale meat
Shark Week: this week a delicious new shark fin soup recipe
Planet Earth: canceled, we just don't give a shit.
Seriously Discovery, get a clue!!! I recommend you start by analyzing your target audience.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Customer service in Brazilian banks
There really is no customer service to speak of in Brazil. Customers expect to be treated like crap and organizations are more than happy to comply. Case in point:
On a hot summer day my mother and I walk into her bank. She had to pay a few bills. The branch was air-conditioned and it felt good walking in, until we came to the metal detector. Most banks in Brazil have revolving doors with metal detectors granting access to the branch. I'm almost certain these doors weren’t designed to deter robbers; rather they were designed to piss off customers and ruin their days. They are extremely effective!
For example: In this video, after removing everything in her purse this woman (not mom) breaks down and strips in order to get through the metal detector to pay her bills, obviously the door is performing according to design:
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x8mcv0_mulher-teve-de-tirar-a-roupa-para-e_news
in a different clip a woman has to remove every single electronic and metal item out of her back pack before she can enter the bank, mind you, while she is doing this no one can get in or out of the bank, there is only ONE door. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGMkJwgNbqM this is an every day occurrence in Brazilian banks!!!!
We walk up to the teller and mom hands him the stack of bills and her bankcard. The teller swipes the card and enters the stack of bills into the system. Before he concludes the transaction he asks her for a picture ID, which she cannot produce, it’s in her other wallet.
Mom: “sorry, I don’t have my ID”
Teller: “well then I can’t process the transaction”
Mom: “but it’s my account, the bills are in my name and the bankcard is in my name”
Teller “sorry it’s policy”
Mom: “listen, the account is in my name, the bills are all in my name and the bankcard is in my name, a picture ID would also be in MY name”
She produces a SS card equivalent document with her name but alas, without a picture
Teller: “sorry, it’s policy I cant’ process the transaction”
Mom: “why not?”
Teller: “because your card could have been stolen”
Me: “you mean to tell me that a mugger stole her wallet and the unpaid bills, walked into the bank, passed the metal detector stepped into the seniors-only line, and volunteered to pay her bills out of the goodness of her heart? Do you seriously believe that?”
-*And this is where it gets good* –
Teller: “It could happen!”
He refused to process the transaction or check her signature card, it’s policy, you know.
On a hot summer day my mother and I walk into her bank. She had to pay a few bills. The branch was air-conditioned and it felt good walking in, until we came to the metal detector. Most banks in Brazil have revolving doors with metal detectors granting access to the branch. I'm almost certain these doors weren’t designed to deter robbers; rather they were designed to piss off customers and ruin their days. They are extremely effective!
For example: In this video, after removing everything in her purse this woman (not mom) breaks down and strips in order to get through the metal detector to pay her bills, obviously the door is performing according to design:
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x8mcv0_mulher-teve-de-tirar-a-roupa-para-e_news
in a different clip a woman has to remove every single electronic and metal item out of her back pack before she can enter the bank, mind you, while she is doing this no one can get in or out of the bank, there is only ONE door. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGMkJwgNbqM this is an every day occurrence in Brazilian banks!!!!
We walk up to the teller and mom hands him the stack of bills and her bankcard. The teller swipes the card and enters the stack of bills into the system. Before he concludes the transaction he asks her for a picture ID, which she cannot produce, it’s in her other wallet.
Mom: “sorry, I don’t have my ID”
Teller: “well then I can’t process the transaction”
Mom: “but it’s my account, the bills are in my name and the bankcard is in my name”
Teller “sorry it’s policy”
Mom: “listen, the account is in my name, the bills are all in my name and the bankcard is in my name, a picture ID would also be in MY name”
She produces a SS card equivalent document with her name but alas, without a picture
Teller: “sorry, it’s policy I cant’ process the transaction”
Mom: “why not?”
Teller: “because your card could have been stolen”
Me: “you mean to tell me that a mugger stole her wallet and the unpaid bills, walked into the bank, passed the metal detector stepped into the seniors-only line, and volunteered to pay her bills out of the goodness of her heart? Do you seriously believe that?”
-*And this is where it gets good* –
Teller: “It could happen!”
He refused to process the transaction or check her signature card, it’s policy, you know.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Traffic in Sao Paulo, just one more reason to hate SP
Traffic in São Paulo is not bad, it would have to improve by a factor of 1000 in order to be classified simply as bad. There are two major thoroughfares in the city, the Pinheiros and the Tiete. In the US these would be called freeways since their speed limit is about 55 and they have no traffic lights. Whenever I see one of the few speed limit signs I always think that 55 is the goal not the limit. You never shift higher than second, ever, at any time of the day. You don't believe me? You think I exaggerate...
Every day, all day traffic is so slow that a unique industry has developed on the side of these roads. People selling refreshments, snacks, phone chargers, mosquito rackets etc. This is what these people do for a living, it's a job they have created for themselves in an industry invented out of necessity.
Some have grabbed prime real estate positions in turnouts and they set up little tents by the road every day. I'm sure these territories are contested and defended by none too peaceful means.
Outside the 'freeways' there are also jugglers, trained dogs and magicians who perform for cars stopped at traffic lights in exchange for a few coins.
I wish I had a picture of a roasted peanut salesman, they carry around a large paint can hanging from three strings tied into a handle, the can has hot coals on the bottom and the peanuts, wrapped in paper cones, are stacked on top. They are served hot and are delicious, if you are brave enough to eat something purchased on the side of the road.
A while back my brother bought some peanuts while stuck in traffic. As the young boy who was selling them approached the window, traffic started to move and to cut the transaction short my brother grabbed a handful of change from the ashtray and handed it to the boy knowing full well that the amount he grabbed exceeded the R$ 2.00 price of the peanuts, and drove off. 'Drove off' is a figure of speech, in Sao Paulo you don't get very far by driving off. We must have moved 15 yards and stopped again. A few seconds later the boy ran up to the driver's window and said "Mr. You gave me too much money, here's your change". It broke my heart. In a country where petty theft, robberies and break-ins are so common they hardly make good stories to tell friends over a beer, this young boy, who probably lives in squalor, chased a car to give someone change. That never happens in Brazil where honesty is just not something people can afford. Wouldn't it be great to have the money to give him a job or pay for his education? It's just such a shame.
Every day, all day traffic is so slow that a unique industry has developed on the side of these roads. People selling refreshments, snacks, phone chargers, mosquito rackets etc. This is what these people do for a living, it's a job they have created for themselves in an industry invented out of necessity.
Some have grabbed prime real estate positions in turnouts and they set up little tents by the road every day. I'm sure these territories are contested and defended by none too peaceful means.
Outside the 'freeways' there are also jugglers, trained dogs and magicians who perform for cars stopped at traffic lights in exchange for a few coins.
I wish I had a picture of a roasted peanut salesman, they carry around a large paint can hanging from three strings tied into a handle, the can has hot coals on the bottom and the peanuts, wrapped in paper cones, are stacked on top. They are served hot and are delicious, if you are brave enough to eat something purchased on the side of the road.
A while back my brother bought some peanuts while stuck in traffic. As the young boy who was selling them approached the window, traffic started to move and to cut the transaction short my brother grabbed a handful of change from the ashtray and handed it to the boy knowing full well that the amount he grabbed exceeded the R$ 2.00 price of the peanuts, and drove off. 'Drove off' is a figure of speech, in Sao Paulo you don't get very far by driving off. We must have moved 15 yards and stopped again. A few seconds later the boy ran up to the driver's window and said "Mr. You gave me too much money, here's your change". It broke my heart. In a country where petty theft, robberies and break-ins are so common they hardly make good stories to tell friends over a beer, this young boy, who probably lives in squalor, chased a car to give someone change. That never happens in Brazil where honesty is just not something people can afford. Wouldn't it be great to have the money to give him a job or pay for his education? It's just such a shame.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Your idyllic beach shopping vacation
Are you disappointed that your idyllic beach vacation might cut into your shopping time? I have the perfect solution for your woes: Florianopoils.
Florianopolis is an island in the southern Brazilian sate of Santa Catarina, it is populated with pleasant people and boasts some of the most beautiful, pristine beaches in the world. Last weekend I attended a wedding there and discovered that you can purchase ANYTHING while laying on the sand. Seriously! I don't do well on the sun so my time on the beach was restricted to perhaps 40 minutes, and in that time this is a sample of what walked past me.
sandals anyone?
cool shades...
hats and bags...
this guy was selling fruit salad
high fashion... or better yet, high fashion and shades
Hats
Iced coconut ... and finally
the ultimate alcoholic fruit drink, made with fresh fruit on a cart at the beach and served on a hollowed out pineapple.
Florianopolis is an island in the southern Brazilian sate of Santa Catarina, it is populated with pleasant people and boasts some of the most beautiful, pristine beaches in the world. Last weekend I attended a wedding there and discovered that you can purchase ANYTHING while laying on the sand. Seriously! I don't do well on the sun so my time on the beach was restricted to perhaps 40 minutes, and in that time this is a sample of what walked past me.
sandals anyone?
cool shades...
hats and bags...
this guy was selling fruit salad
high fashion... or better yet, high fashion and shades
Hats
Iced coconut ... and finally
the ultimate alcoholic fruit drink, made with fresh fruit on a cart at the beach and served on a hollowed out pineapple.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
The chocolate fruit - cocoa
The cacao tree likes to grow in extremely humid, hot and shady conditions. The farmers plant banana trees, which are fast growing, to provide shade for the young plants. A tree reaches full production maturity in just 5 years and can be harvested twice a year.
Twenty years ago Ilheus in the north of Brazil was among the top producers of cocoa in the world until a fungus decimated the entire production. The fungus is called Vassoura de Bruxa (witch's broom) and has no known cure, the cocoa producers have had to learn to live with this plague. Once it hit the region's production was reduced to a fraction of what it had been, and now twenty years later it is no longer a profitable industry and the city of Ilheus has fallen on hard times.
Tourism is picking up in Ilheus since cruise ships started docking there. There are 2 or 3 cruise ships each week and a small tourism industry is contributing to the local economy, some of the more savvy cocoa framers who are still around cater to the passing tourists. The cocoa farmer's hospitality was impeccable and his wife made us some cocoa fruit juice and showed us her house. She has a flair for decorating and the wooden sink outside the bathrooms was a site to see. The bottom was lined with river stones and sprinkled with jasmine flowers which released their aroma as the water poured over them.
It seems to me that a threat to the world's chocolate production is a rather serious thing. If this spreads to other cocoa producers the results would be catastrophic (at least to me…) In twenty years the only solution found was a hybrid plant that has stronger resistance to the fungus. Chocolate may soon become a luxury item for the very few.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Saudade
There are things about Portuguese that bother me. First, it's chauvinistic, if you have a group of 10 thousand women and one man, the group is referred to in the masculine 'eles' rather than the feminine 'elas'. Second, it has a formality that is disguised as respect but is designed to increase the divide between the social classes. And it all pisses me off a little bit.
However, there is one word in Portuguese that has no English equivalent. - There are several really, and vice-versa, but let’s pretend there is only this one. - The word is SAUDADE. It expresses an emotion. The emotion itself is felt by all people regardless of the language they speak, but for some reason the Portuguese decided to give it a name while the English decided that it was better not to discuss one’s emotions. In English you would say that you miss someone or something, that you are homesick for a place or that you long to return somewhere. You might even say that you miss someone so much that it hurts. But then you also miss ice-cream when you are on a diet, and the bus when you’re late. Saudade is more than that. It's the empty feeling inside, the gaping hole in your soul caused by the absence of the object of love, it's the physical pain that makes you sob with grief in the absence of someone you love. It's what comes over you when you watch a plane take off, carrying someone you love away from you, or carrying you away from a place you never want to leave. It's so powerful that when you make plans to see the object of affection for which you feel saudade you don't say you are going to get over, or get rid of your saudade. You say that you are going to “kill” it; because the power it has over you almost gives it life. Needless to say, it is a word often used in poetry and lyrics. According to some songs, if you don't kill saudade, saudade will eventually kill you. My favorite lyricist described saudade as tidying the room of a son who has died. It's a very powerful word and emotion.
It's not a depressing word. You only get to feel saudade if you have loved in the same measure. It may be the price we all pay for giving our hearts and isn't it always better to have loved and lost…
However, there is one word in Portuguese that has no English equivalent. - There are several really, and vice-versa, but let’s pretend there is only this one. - The word is SAUDADE. It expresses an emotion. The emotion itself is felt by all people regardless of the language they speak, but for some reason the Portuguese decided to give it a name while the English decided that it was better not to discuss one’s emotions. In English you would say that you miss someone or something, that you are homesick for a place or that you long to return somewhere. You might even say that you miss someone so much that it hurts. But then you also miss ice-cream when you are on a diet, and the bus when you’re late. Saudade is more than that. It's the empty feeling inside, the gaping hole in your soul caused by the absence of the object of love, it's the physical pain that makes you sob with grief in the absence of someone you love. It's what comes over you when you watch a plane take off, carrying someone you love away from you, or carrying you away from a place you never want to leave. It's so powerful that when you make plans to see the object of affection for which you feel saudade you don't say you are going to get over, or get rid of your saudade. You say that you are going to “kill” it; because the power it has over you almost gives it life. Needless to say, it is a word often used in poetry and lyrics. According to some songs, if you don't kill saudade, saudade will eventually kill you. My favorite lyricist described saudade as tidying the room of a son who has died. It's a very powerful word and emotion.
It's not a depressing word. You only get to feel saudade if you have loved in the same measure. It may be the price we all pay for giving our hearts and isn't it always better to have loved and lost…
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Killer Bonner
Part of this is a true story, I'll tell you which part at the end.
Mr. Keller is a successful television executive who is proud of his Scottish heritage and his family name. He is offered a position at the main TV station in Brazil, Globo TV. At first he hesitated, but he was assured that everyone at Globo spoke some English and move entailed a promotion and a significant raise so Mr. Keller relented. At the Antonio Carlos Jobim airport he was greeted by a driver who took him to his hotel. The same driver greeted him at the lobby the next morning and drove him to the TV station. There he smiled at the receptionist and introduced himself. She smiled back and told him in passable English that she would announce him. She picked up the phone, dialed and said "Mr. Bonner, Mr. Killer is here to see you."
She told him to go right in, he smiled at the mistake in pronunciation and whispered.
"By the way, it's 'Keller', and who am I meeting?"
"You will be meeting with Mr. Willian Bonner, he's the evening news anchorman."
"Bonner? William Bonner. Right..."
This time she corrected him ,"It's Willian, it ends with an n."
Keller enters the office at the end of the hall. There he is greeted by a handsome man who extends a hand and says in a strong Brazilian accent.
"Mr. Killer, hi, I'm glad to meet you, I'm Bonner."
Mr. Keller is now slightly put off at the mispronunciation of his name and asks.
"Bonner is it? Do I have it right? It's William Bonner?"
"Almost right, but I'm used to being called William by the English, it's Willian."
A correction was definitely in order here. Being called Killer is one thing but being called English would not do.
"I'm Scottish"
"Ah, yes, but it's all the same thing isn't it?"
Now, holding back his annoyance, Mr. Keller retorts.
"And my name is Keller, not killer."
"Isn't that what I said?" Bonner asks.
"You said killer, a killer is a murderer, my name is Keller"
"Killer not Killer. Ok I got it now."
Keller continued, "I'm sorry Mr. Bonner, they are spelled differently, one with an e the other with an i." And a little embarrassed about asking for the clarification again he adjoined "it is Bonner? isn't it?"
"Yes it is, that's right. Please sit down Killer"
"Maybe we could use our first names" said Mr. Keller, desperately looking for a solution to this absurd situation. "I'm Richard, Richard Keller"
"Well everyone calls me Bonner, but I'll call you Dick" said Bonner smiling. Bonner looked at Mr. Keller inquisitively and carefully pronounced the name
"Dick Killer...?"
Mr. Keller stood up, thanked Bonner for his time and left for the airport without stopping at the hotel to pick up his suitcase. Being called an English Dick Killer by a guy named Bonner was not worth the promotion or any amount of money.
The story is made up, but the anchorman for the national evening news in Brazil is in fact named Willian Bonner. I kid you not!
Mr. Keller is a successful television executive who is proud of his Scottish heritage and his family name. He is offered a position at the main TV station in Brazil, Globo TV. At first he hesitated, but he was assured that everyone at Globo spoke some English and move entailed a promotion and a significant raise so Mr. Keller relented. At the Antonio Carlos Jobim airport he was greeted by a driver who took him to his hotel. The same driver greeted him at the lobby the next morning and drove him to the TV station. There he smiled at the receptionist and introduced himself. She smiled back and told him in passable English that she would announce him. She picked up the phone, dialed and said "Mr. Bonner, Mr. Killer is here to see you."
She told him to go right in, he smiled at the mistake in pronunciation and whispered.
"By the way, it's 'Keller', and who am I meeting?"
"You will be meeting with Mr. Willian Bonner, he's the evening news anchorman."
"Bonner? William Bonner. Right..."
This time she corrected him ,"It's Willian, it ends with an n."
Keller enters the office at the end of the hall. There he is greeted by a handsome man who extends a hand and says in a strong Brazilian accent.
"Mr. Killer, hi, I'm glad to meet you, I'm Bonner."
Mr. Keller is now slightly put off at the mispronunciation of his name and asks.
"Bonner is it? Do I have it right? It's William Bonner?"
"Almost right, but I'm used to being called William by the English, it's Willian."
A correction was definitely in order here. Being called Killer is one thing but being called English would not do.
"I'm Scottish"
"Ah, yes, but it's all the same thing isn't it?"
Now, holding back his annoyance, Mr. Keller retorts.
"And my name is Keller, not killer."
"Isn't that what I said?" Bonner asks.
"You said killer, a killer is a murderer, my name is Keller"
"Killer not Killer. Ok I got it now."
Keller continued, "I'm sorry Mr. Bonner, they are spelled differently, one with an e the other with an i." And a little embarrassed about asking for the clarification again he adjoined "it is Bonner? isn't it?"
"Yes it is, that's right. Please sit down Killer"
"Maybe we could use our first names" said Mr. Keller, desperately looking for a solution to this absurd situation. "I'm Richard, Richard Keller"
"Well everyone calls me Bonner, but I'll call you Dick" said Bonner smiling. Bonner looked at Mr. Keller inquisitively and carefully pronounced the name
"Dick Killer...?"
Mr. Keller stood up, thanked Bonner for his time and left for the airport without stopping at the hotel to pick up his suitcase. Being called an English Dick Killer by a guy named Bonner was not worth the promotion or any amount of money.
The story is made up, but the anchorman for the national evening news in Brazil is in fact named Willian Bonner. I kid you not!
doilies from hell
Every year she shows her appreciation with a gift, last year she gave me dish towels, which were very much useful and used, this year she gave me doilies form hell. Or maybe they are just hell-adjacent, since she is a very pious person and probably doesn't shop in hell. They are a sort of glaring florescent white that would have made Rembrandt envious. I smiled and thanked her and put them away in a drawer. Yesterday she cleaned my house and when I came home the doilies had been pulled out of the drawer and introduced into the décor.
My house isn't "decorated" in the strictest sense of the word, it simply has things in it that appeal to me, and my taste runs towards antique-wood-impressionism-traditional. So now I have Gustave Caillebotte on the wall, a majolica centerpiece and the doily from hell on my dining room table.
The writing desk apparently would have been jealous if it too didn't get a little something.
I don't want to offend her, but seriously, isn't it a little cruel and unusual to expect someone to live with florescent doilies? What the hell-adjacent should I do?
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Leaf guy, ze da folha
Porto Alegre is a city of a million and a half inhabitants that has managed to keep all the charms and customs of a small town. Every weekend a side street of the main park in the city is closed and a huge outdoor fair is set up. On Saturdays it's reserved to organic foods and on Sundays it's an arts-craft-antique-crap-food-performance-fair. It's called the Brique and some characters show up almost every weekend, my favorite is Ze da Folha.
He is a one-man-band, he plays a guitar and a tambourine with his foot But his main talent is a leaf that he holds between his lips to whistle out tunes. He is very good and has a repertoire ranging from Bossa Nova to Tangos. Here he is in a YouTube video. (Love that song btw it's called `Trem das onze`, is it pathetic that I know all the words?)
(the video is not mine it's from this link at google videos: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-6803741597798243907&hl=en#)
He is a one-man-band, he plays a guitar and a tambourine with his foot But his main talent is a leaf that he holds between his lips to whistle out tunes. He is very good and has a repertoire ranging from Bossa Nova to Tangos. Here he is in a YouTube video. (Love that song btw it's called `Trem das onze`, is it pathetic that I know all the words?)
(the video is not mine it's from this link at google videos: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-6803741597798243907&hl=en#)
Cashews
When you buy a jar of cashews do you know what you are buying? Is it a nut? Ever wonder where cashews come from? From the cashew fruit.
The cashew nut is the stem of the cashew fruit. Each nut corresponds to one fruit, it has to be picked, shelled and roasted. The fruit is then processed into pulp, juices and other foods. The fruit hangs from the tree from the opposite side of the nut. It is fleshy, extremely juicy and on the bitter side, unsweetened cashew juice is an acquired taste.
The cashew nut is the stem of the cashew fruit. Each nut corresponds to one fruit, it has to be picked, shelled and roasted. The fruit is then processed into pulp, juices and other foods. The fruit hangs from the tree from the opposite side of the nut. It is fleshy, extremely juicy and on the bitter side, unsweetened cashew juice is an acquired taste.
Game: how many OSHA violations can you find?
Game: how many OSHA violations can you find?
I looked out of the window of my mother's apartment and saw two men in the process of painting a nearby building. I had to bring out the camera, because no one would believe me if I simply told them what I had witnessed.
The orange apparatus is a compressor, they first washed the walls with a pressure hose. At lunch time, they crawled into one of the apartments OVER the safety bars installed on the windows.
A couple weeks later another nearby building got a coat of paint, this time using a standing scaffolding. The parking lot used for the installation is uphill so that they had to stabilize and level the scaffolding, with required two tire rims, a few bricks and a couple of boards. looks nice and safe!
All of this took place downtown Porto Alegre Brazil.
Friday, January 22, 2010
New canning process
Brazilians patented a new method of canning food products that does not require a can opener. The can has a removable lid, which is held in place by the vacuum in the can. The lid has a silicone-like dot seal on top, which covers a little hole.
Once you remove the dot seal the vacuum is broken and the lid slips right off. The dot seal is easily removed, with a little persistence you can remove it with your finger nail. It's a very clever system. (pics from my phone, sorry about the quality)
Once you remove the dot seal the vacuum is broken and the lid slips right off. The dot seal is easily removed, with a little persistence you can remove it with your finger nail. It's a very clever system. (pics from my phone, sorry about the quality)
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Why were there no theaters in Egypt of the Pharaohs
Why were there no theaters in Egypt of the Pharaohs?
My previous post started with the statement that the stage has been part of human civilizations since the dawn of times, with one exception. Since no one reads this, no one asked, and since it was a long drawn out post I didn't want to go into it. The ancient Egyptians had no theaters. It is interesting that all we know about the ancient Egyptians is based on their art on tombs and temples, while at the same time art was never part of the Egyptian culture. The Egyptians never developed the concept of art for art's sake. You might look at something like this and wonder how is this not art?
It's not. It's an image of the ram headed god Khnum taking the king by the hand and imparting some life affirming aspect of existence upon him (1. you can tell by the ank between them and 2 I don't really know the specific meaning of the scene), it served a practical and functional purpose which was not artistic. The Egyptians never built a theater, all of their shows and enactments took place at the temple courtyards. There were several ceremonies during the year, at different temples, that would have rivaled any Broadway musical extravaganza, and people attended en masse. But these were not shows and they were not art, they served a function. They would have been as artistic to the population as a catholic mass is to catholics. Egyptians worshiped, told stories and tall tales, documented events and asked for divine intervention on their walls. Here is a war scene on a wall of the Ramesseum depicting the chaos of war; chaos is rare on Egyptian walls. 
Art in Egypt always served a purpose and it never had any value or meaning outside of that purpose. For that reason they never developed theater or painting or even sculpture as art forms. Hieroglyphs may be artistic to us, but to the Egyptians they were no more artistic than this text. Well, perhaps a bit more artistic than this text since only 5 or 6 percent of the population were literate and to them the written text would have been stylistic rather than communicative.
And, on an unrelated topic, these were the very last hieroglyphs written. They are in Elephantine Island which was the last hold of Egyptian culture before Constantine had every living thing on the island killed and the language of the hieroglyphs was forgotten.
My previous post started with the statement that the stage has been part of human civilizations since the dawn of times, with one exception. Since no one reads this, no one asked, and since it was a long drawn out post I didn't want to go into it. The ancient Egyptians had no theaters. It is interesting that all we know about the ancient Egyptians is based on their art on tombs and temples, while at the same time art was never part of the Egyptian culture. The Egyptians never developed the concept of art for art's sake. You might look at something like this and wonder how is this not art?
It's not. It's an image of the ram headed god Khnum taking the king by the hand and imparting some life affirming aspect of existence upon him (1. you can tell by the ank between them and 2 I don't really know the specific meaning of the scene), it served a practical and functional purpose which was not artistic. The Egyptians never built a theater, all of their shows and enactments took place at the temple courtyards. There were several ceremonies during the year, at different temples, that would have rivaled any Broadway musical extravaganza, and people attended en masse. But these were not shows and they were not art, they served a function. They would have been as artistic to the population as a catholic mass is to catholics. Egyptians worshiped, told stories and tall tales, documented events and asked for divine intervention on their walls. Here is a war scene on a wall of the Ramesseum depicting the chaos of war; chaos is rare on Egyptian walls. 
Art in Egypt always served a purpose and it never had any value or meaning outside of that purpose. For that reason they never developed theater or painting or even sculpture as art forms. Hieroglyphs may be artistic to us, but to the Egyptians they were no more artistic than this text. Well, perhaps a bit more artistic than this text since only 5 or 6 percent of the population were literate and to them the written text would have been stylistic rather than communicative.
And, on an unrelated topic, these were the very last hieroglyphs written. They are in Elephantine Island which was the last hold of Egyptian culture before Constantine had every living thing on the island killed and the language of the hieroglyphs was forgotten.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Is twitter a stage
With one major exception, the stage has always been part of human civilizations. We have always had a need to tell stories. Imagine a caveman painting a hunting scene on a wall, this was not the action of a lonely artists sitting in a cave by himself, it was a social occasion. We can just see the largest and bravest caveman being taunted by his fellow hunters with innuendos about size of his spear. Rules of theater etiquette started being developed in those gatherings.
The ancient Romans had a strict social hierarchy in their theater seating arrangements, at first only the elite got to sit, later everyone sat but the elite sat in the first few rows. The rules of etiquette in a Roman theater audience were few, when blood sports are on the stage few restrictions are placed on the behavior of the audience. In the Globe the elite would actually sit on the stage. From those cave days to today we have developed a complex set of rules for behavior on and around a stage.
A few rules of etiquette are common sense and widely understood, you should arrive on time. Recently a veteran Brazilian actress managed to pass a law preventing people who arrive late from entering the theater during the performance. You should refrain from talking, especially to the actors on stage, and on your cell phone. But there is a lesser-known theater rule of etiquette that was never posted in the lobby: don't pinch the butt of the main actor. Once in an off-Broadway theater I was on an isle seat of a Frank Langella play in which the sword fight could not be contained to the stage and in a lunge motion Mr. Langella's butt was inches from my shoulder. My mother, who has always been a bad influence, whispered to me "pinch it". Even though the no-butt-pinching rule is not explicit, if I had pinched the butt of the most gorgeous man to walk the earth, I would have been kicked out of the theater and probably banned from Broadway. Heckling is a few notches below butt pinching, but still unacceptable. Throwing things on stage, unwrapping noisy candy, kicking the chair in front of you, wearing tall hats, etc. are all against etiquette.
So is Twitter a stage? Do the rules of etiquette apply to Twitter interactions? When I follow Brent Spiner on Twitter is he on a stage and am I in the audience? Is Twitter just another technological advancement of the stage, like trap doors and pulley systems or better lighting, or is it a brave new world? Am I heckling an actor on a stage if I post 140 characters that irk him, am I disrupting the audience if I post a butt pinching story in his audience's timeline?
Brent Spiner takes questions from his audience, gives them grief and questions their intelligence, so it's not a stage it's a conversation. He tells stories to delight his audience, so it is a stage. But there is no actual stage, so it can't be a stage… so what is it? Twitter is a conversation, a stage, a seat in a lecture auditorium, crowd of strangers, a bunch of friends over for a barbecue, a news channel, graffiti on a wall, a short story, a poem, a hug and a slap on the face all at the same time and in the same place. Suddenly the rules we spent millions of years perfecting don't apply. It's a brave new world and we are starting from scratch. But I have a plan. Before the new rules are firmly established, I'm going to work on a way to pinch Brent Spiner's butt over a wireless connection, while unwrapping candy over my ringing mobile phone. muwahaha But first, I'll be late for every single tweet.
The ancient Romans had a strict social hierarchy in their theater seating arrangements, at first only the elite got to sit, later everyone sat but the elite sat in the first few rows. The rules of etiquette in a Roman theater audience were few, when blood sports are on the stage few restrictions are placed on the behavior of the audience. In the Globe the elite would actually sit on the stage. From those cave days to today we have developed a complex set of rules for behavior on and around a stage.
A few rules of etiquette are common sense and widely understood, you should arrive on time. Recently a veteran Brazilian actress managed to pass a law preventing people who arrive late from entering the theater during the performance. You should refrain from talking, especially to the actors on stage, and on your cell phone. But there is a lesser-known theater rule of etiquette that was never posted in the lobby: don't pinch the butt of the main actor. Once in an off-Broadway theater I was on an isle seat of a Frank Langella play in which the sword fight could not be contained to the stage and in a lunge motion Mr. Langella's butt was inches from my shoulder. My mother, who has always been a bad influence, whispered to me "pinch it". Even though the no-butt-pinching rule is not explicit, if I had pinched the butt of the most gorgeous man to walk the earth, I would have been kicked out of the theater and probably banned from Broadway. Heckling is a few notches below butt pinching, but still unacceptable. Throwing things on stage, unwrapping noisy candy, kicking the chair in front of you, wearing tall hats, etc. are all against etiquette.
So is Twitter a stage? Do the rules of etiquette apply to Twitter interactions? When I follow Brent Spiner on Twitter is he on a stage and am I in the audience? Is Twitter just another technological advancement of the stage, like trap doors and pulley systems or better lighting, or is it a brave new world? Am I heckling an actor on a stage if I post 140 characters that irk him, am I disrupting the audience if I post a butt pinching story in his audience's timeline?
Brent Spiner takes questions from his audience, gives them grief and questions their intelligence, so it's not a stage it's a conversation. He tells stories to delight his audience, so it is a stage. But there is no actual stage, so it can't be a stage… so what is it? Twitter is a conversation, a stage, a seat in a lecture auditorium, crowd of strangers, a bunch of friends over for a barbecue, a news channel, graffiti on a wall, a short story, a poem, a hug and a slap on the face all at the same time and in the same place. Suddenly the rules we spent millions of years perfecting don't apply. It's a brave new world and we are starting from scratch. But I have a plan. Before the new rules are firmly established, I'm going to work on a way to pinch Brent Spiner's butt over a wireless connection, while unwrapping candy over my ringing mobile phone. muwahaha But first, I'll be late for every single tweet.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Decadence
Here's something you don't see every day. It's a chocolate strawberry pizza topped with a scoop of ice cream. It looked like the crust was cooked, and while hot the chocolate and strawberries were added, the ice-cream is scooped on right before the pizza is served. This decadent thing is served at a restaurant called Alpha Point in Alphaville Sao Paulo, Brazil.
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