The Self Taught Guru

if at yeast

2009-04-12T00:37:00.002-04:00

bad idea, no more.

the bad idea was to declare that I would publish the results of my sourdough starter starting. I didn't work, it's so easy, but I managed to fail.

whatever.

lógico, ou "cada vez pior"

2009-04-09T09:29:00.003-04:00

Eu não fico perto de araras. Mesmo mansa, seria como ficar perto algum equipamento perigoso operando com defeito.

A arara tem um bico muito forte, capaz de arrancar minha orelha ou meu dedo sem esforço. Uma ferramenta. Mas essa ferramenta é acionada por um microcontrolador. In casu, o cérebro do animal. O problema é que há vários pontos na sequência de processos lógicos em que pode haver problemas. Não há uma linha de comando para inserir instruções. Podem existir outros motivos para o imprevisto. e

Nem todo imprevisto é imprevisível

Sourdough journey I

2009-03-27T16:15:00.002-04:00

Today I've decided I'm gonna have my very own sourdough starter. Just bought a package of plain flour. I've bought another one, Iron-enriched, but I'm not gonna use it right now. Better to use only primitive, unprocessed stuff by now.

I'm gonna let about 1L of tap water in a bowl to let it de-chlorine for 24h.

2007-10-10T18:36:00.000-04:00

Some new year eve, I was driving my car with three more people, towards a club. As

Then, I was back to normal

2007-05-19T12:42:00.000-04:00

I was on the line to pay some bills. Just behind me, an old lady arrived with a huge bag. It could hold food for a month, all the volumes of any complete printed encyclopaedia, a whole ham, whatever.
She was there, humble, black as coal, somewhat fat, cheap clothes, serene eyes. I had a zap on my chin that looked more like an ulcer. I thought about how would her life be, how would her house look like, on what she was
carrying in the bag. I was not in the mood to start any conversation, but I would have followed any.
I looked at her, and I think she scaredly looked at me. Silently, my zap spoke for me. Paranoia warned me that she should have considered me a snob. The thought bothered me.
But I must cause such an impression, even when looking reckless. People on the streets have an unbelievable sensibility.
Sometimes, I am on my way and some lousy guy hits me on the arm. Then I think, "what a jerk!". Last year I went after some of those, to know what was up.
(oh, how wonderful it is to be far from some friends who would condenate me! if at least they would walk away... but they prefer to help my oponents instead)
But recently I thought of Newton. Action and reaction. If a body hits my elbow with the chest, the impact was reciprocal and simmetrical, the same newtons were felt from my elbow. Oh, civilization. It spoils the charm of all vulgar emotions. By the way, the only valuable ones.

But the line moved, and I kept still. I had not went out home for two days, so I decided to make the excursion a sublime experience.
I looked at her again, and she stared at me again. I smiled this time. It was not artificial, though. Just a salute between two souls in the same situation.
There, that same line, leveled everybody. She smiled back at me instantly. Her house looked much uglier for me. I wish her all good.

Faster and lower

2006-12-16T08:21:00.000-05:00

I think very intriguing the way people are getting more and more indifferent to issues that affect their lives. Mainly about things that change slowly. But that's nonsense, since nothing change slowly nowadays. If you perceive things changing slowly, i suspect you are not very aware of what's going on. How is it that they say? Some people change stuff, others observe, others use or imitate the changes, and some ask what have changed.
I mean, the times we live in oblige us to work more and more, thus we have less and less time to live. On the other hand, in order to succeed professionally, one has to especialize to the point that is more practical to call a low-skilled worker to change a lamp than to do it yourself. I used to wonder if I wanted to live in a world like this. Well, I may have to live in a world like this, but I certainly do not have to adhere to such a lifestyle. I aim Le savoir vivre

Eat where I eat

2006-02-10T21:34:00.000-05:00

Cheap dinner places can hide unsuspected habits. There is such a place in downtown, behind the church, in front of the city court. I sit at the extreme of the balcony, wich goes on to the toilet doors. Jambalaya, of course.
Behind me, a bum asks for the keys of the toilet. I get satisfied as the clerk handles it making no questions, what an open minded place. I get curious as the key had a piece of timber attached, the size of an arm.
My meal comes, and I ask for condiments. The bum finishes his work and goes away, leaving the keys on the balcony, just beside me. The onions are perfect, I like them very soft. I have no idea of why, but the clerk suspects something sinister and goes to the toilet. I admire the colors of my dish, blending together calmly. As the clerk opens the door, he smells, sees or steps something and rushes to the street. The pepper sauce is rosy, but strong. A scream comes from the street: “Do you do that on your mother´s house, you piece of shit? This is a place for people, you abnormal! Don’t ever come back, or I’ll rip you off!”. As I sip the stock, a very sour taste of tomatoes bites my papils. I think the bum threw shit on the ceiling, the place is not pretty. My spoon has strange marks. Now I understand why that wood was linked to the keys. It not only serves for the keys not to get lost, it is a club also. The meats seem to dance on my plate.
I ate my whole meal, of course. I never saw that bum again, and will never know what he did. I do enjoy jambalaya, of course.

Shine, sir?

2006-01-31T15:21:00.000-05:00

We were drinking draft beer at an old bar downtown. That part of town was called Crackland, due to the main business that used to proliferate around that corner. We were standing on the sidewalk, as prescribed by the local tradition.
By those times, the beer still matched the reputation of the place,
despite other particularly interesting stimuli.
From across the street came the aroma of grilled meat from a shack.
Dust on the ground, bits of dirt the size of a tv set.
Loud to the limit, a pirate CD seller was diputing the soundscape with another professional (one of those services by wich someone pays for a love declaration expressed by means of a huge soundbox placed over a vehicle,
all decorated with lips and hearts).
Not far, an in loco burnt beetle was rusting silently in front of a police station.
Fingerless pigeons were beaking smashed fries powdered with black.

My shoe called the attention of a shoe-shiner, who grasped my elbow.
I turned, and saw no one. After a while I realize he is about 3 ft tall.
I declined the offer,
even being aware that maybe a little shine would be becoming indeed.
He insisted, I refused again. When I looked the other way,
he stepped on my shoe and scrubbed it.

This would never take place at a mall. That’s why I do not habitually go to such places.I mean, malls.

Barbecue Suede Shoes

2006-01-29T22:57:00.000-05:00

Up to then, the barbecue evening was quite ordinary. A small crowd was having an argument so fiercely that I judged necessary to distract my mind from such a situation. Looking at random, I saw someone washing something at the sink beside the pit. At a glance, it looked like a piece of beef.
I felt sorry, for that would probably spoil any meat.

With closer attention, I observed that the performer was not wearing one of his shoes, and the piece of meat was his boot. Then, he would tremble the boot over the cutting table, that supported some sausages. Filthy baptism.

At that point, I stop eating any meat that comes to the table. Directly protest to the the creature is my first will, but it is untimely. The guy is taller and stronger than me, and now he holds a knife. Outraged, but not for solidarity, I share my exclusive information. Among the people around me, none mind at all.
Some try, more than honestly, to convince me that it would be some sort of exotic condiment. The others relate any condemnation to the nature of the dirt that was to be removed. Isolated on my viewpoint, I kept indifferent to the fact that he would had stepped on either truffles with caviar, or shit with cockroaches.

Not much later, he was going away. A purest repulse allies to a purest curiosity, and while shaking his hand I asked. I know myself, silencing under so favourable circumstances would have mared me for times to come. I managed to make myself slightly loud so the others who had not believed me could be witnesses.

This is how he exposed his reasons. As he was manipulating the food over the grill (with some food he had previously moisted with a little spit while blowing the fire), a drop of grease fell over his suede boots. Shoe-concious cook, explained me that only a prompt washing would keep the leather unspotted.
On the rush of emergency, the sink appeared with no concorrence.

There was no sign of embarassment on neither the question, nor on the answer. The act in itself jeopardised the guts of innocent people, but the motive seemed perfectly silly and stupid, to a point that it justified the whole thing.
On the dried boot, remained no stigma.