The Colbert Report


Life has changed. So much so, even I don’t believe it sometimes. My days start at 6:30am now. By 7:30am, I’m in front of the Hilton Hotel, getting in the New York Sports Club. No. I don’t work at the NYSC. I’m going to gym.

[People who know me will be sure, by now, that I’ve completely flipped out.]

It’s not that I started believing in some kind of “healthy way of life”. It’s just that, if I continue to live the way that I do, I won’t make it to my 30s. And I intend to live a little bit past that. The Red Bull ad I live in is not helping, so NYSC it is.

Then, why the hell go to gym in the morning, right?

Well, I certainly won’t do it when I’m wide-awake. So, I do it in the mornings, when I’m on automatic pilot. Plus, there is the television schedule and I can find another million reasons not to go to gym after 12pm.

Of course, there are those days when I pass by the newsstand, look through a New York Magazine with God (a.k.a. Stephen Colbert) on the cover and decide to buy it, sit on the bench at the Hilton’s sidewalk and read it.

I must tell you, it feels a lot better than to exercise. I buy my Red Bull, lit up a cigarrete and read to Mr. Colberts teachings. It’s heaven.

The problem with that kind of day is that I start thinking about how much time we spend doing nothing, going to gym, shaving the legs, looking at the mirror, making sure we are not rotting alive, instead of reading, it freaks me out.

Then, I get paranoid and swear I’ll never go back to the NYSC again. It’s just when I remember I paid a two-year membership that I change my mind. Of course I’ll exercise, it costs a lot of money.

The only way to get me inside a gym is the thought of a very young death by heart attack or something and money thrown away.

I’m a horrible human being.

“you are so fucked up, i wish you die”.


So, I’ve dropped weight, from 182lbs to 158lbs. It’s not that much and it’s not the ideal either. But the jokes come along with it.

By boss calls me “percelana rasa”.

Que diabos significa porcelana rasa? De onde as pessoas pegam estas expressões totalmente sem sentido?

Ele ainda completa, “você vai ficar igual a menina da novela”. Que novela e que menina, eu não sei.

Meu chefe grava a novela no Tivo. Meu ídolo!


Tem show do The Rapture marcado para um dia antes do Halloween. Eu tô convencendo a acessora de imprensa dos caras que sou digna de uma entrevista com eles antes da performance.

Se tudo der certo, eu converso com a banda em New York um dia antes do show e alguns minutos antes de entrarem no palco. Argumentos para convencer a moça, não me faltam. No one knows Pieces of the Poeple We Love better than I do. Neither the band. Eu cito trechos das músicas nos momentos menos apropriados.

Se rolar, eu provavelmente morrerei do coração. Depois do show, claro.

[O pessoal do trabalho acha que eu tenho uma fixação com morte. I wonder why…]


Eu estive fora por três dias na semana passada, having the time of my life. When I got back to the paper, my mother’d sent a package. I got so excited, ripped off the box open and found underwear. Underwear everywhere and everybody starring at me.

Then, I found a pretty little doll. Her t-shit says “Happy Birthday”. I put the thing on my desk and everyone who gets in asks me when it’s my birthday. When I say “February”, they look at me with that question mark in their eyes. It’s just precious to see it. Then, they say, “Sua mãe é louca.”


Claro que dentro da caixinha tem uma porção de remédios. Minha mãe deve ser a única pessoa do planeta capaz de sneak in com remédios pela fronteira. Faixa preta e tudo…



Qxt’s for sure.

Serei uma marinheira (eu não tenho a mínima idéia se esta palavra existe!). I’ll be a fucking sailor.

E depois o Tomita ainda quer discutir a facilidade da construção de frases em certas línguas…


I’m working on a piece about “early-pregnancy diagnostics of fetal anomalies”. It’s a tricky piece. Even though I’m in the US and here abortion is an option, I write in Portuguese, for a Brazilian paper, and in Brazil it’s not.

Interesting. To say the least.


Shortly after Mychelle left the paper, Romulo did too. To me, it was devastating. We are friends, all right. But the newspaper is really our only link. The people you work with are the only people you really see everyday. I knew that I was not going to meet them as often, and I knew Mychelle would never answer her cell phone, so… It was pretty much it.

Today, Romulo is back working at the paper. And it means so much to me. He is the stupidest fuck I’ve ever known. The music video bellow proves it. So, he is the closest a person can get of be like me or making a connection with me.

Anyway, I’m just so happy I have someone to give the finger to first thing in the morning, call “moron”, slap him in the face as I feel like it. **happy***

This is the closest of public affect displays I get.

So, welcome back, you fuck!


You see, I have about 30 videos on You Tube. The one that is watched the most is Romulo singing funk carioca. Like, over 1300 hits.

People love stupid people.

I should create a “stupid people’s club”.


After 9:00pm, I don’t really think straight anymore. It’s almost 12, so I have no idea what I writing. It’s proved, in the paper when I work late, the craziest things come out of my mouth.


Six degrees é a melhor surpresa na temporada de séries nova. Claro que tem Studio 60 e Heroes. Mas, Six degress é rei! Vício total.


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