So much ado...

... and yet I`m gonna talk about nothing.
A gruesome twin  attack in Norway that shocked and saddened me much more than the death of  a junkie singer; my working life turning upside down, bringing frustration and hope at the same time; the void left by stopping seeing some friends in my day-a-day; personal goals on the verge of being achieved - none of these have actually inspired me to produce a decent text.

I just wanted to write but there was too much ado to decide on what to say. I didn`t want to wax either philosophical or political, thus I decided to write about nothing. And here you are: a short post about nothing; the sheer writing for the sake of writing.

Maybe another day, when polemical and depressing topics become scarce, I might write about something useful. For the time being, nothing will do way much better.

Now, if you excuse myself, I`ll watch the South American Cup finals.

Rock and roll isn't dead, unfortunately.

     I remember being about 10, shamefully holding a Barbie doll - once I was too old for that - playing with my sister and a haven’t-seen-her-for-ages friend when the recently arrived MTV Brazil started to show Metallica’s Enter Sandman video clip. Much as I had always been keen on music, I had never really felt it, it had never really touched me. Well, as it was Metallica, touch is inaccurate. I had never felt a song rip my innocent young skin, get deep into my guts and make me want to spit them out in excitement.

     It was like the first sniff of coke – not that I’ve ever had it in my life – exciting, energetic, brutal. Of course after a short while I discovered that the Black Album was far from being as brutal as rock and roll could be, but to my pop-ballad-used ear it was a huge shock. The rough voice, the drums, the deep riffs, everything: I just knew it. I knew I should, I had to look for more. I was already addicted, and it had only been my first dose.
     From that moment on, thanks to some neighbors, friends and even my father, who convinced me Sepultura was one of the best bands ever (thanks, Dad! They are!), my heart has beat rhythmically, following Lars’ and Igor’s drums and Harris’s and Burton’s bass lines. I went further to any kind of rock that was at hand: classic, hard rock, heavy metal, death metal (even its name was aggressive!), punk, gothic rock, gothic metal. All that senseless teenage aggressiveness had a way out; it could finally get out of its den.
     Yet… It was not enough… It was too powerful a sensation to stay still in my bedroom just listening. There had to be more. There had to be a place, a moment, anything, to let all that energy explode and become a virus and spread itself and pulse and gain more strength and … there was. And I discovered it, again with Metallica, in the early ‘90s: a rock concert. There, me and my sister, two teenage girls, on the ground, standing shoulder to shoulder with long-haired tattooed fetid bruisers, ogres and trolls, who would pointlessly hit each other and look happy… That was it. That’s where we should have always been, where we should have been born.
     As time and concerts went by, getting as nearer to the stage as possible was the challenge. Elbowing our way through such peculiar and violent fauna was our biggest achievement and we would brag about it for ages. Well, we have been. Year after year, concert after concert, song after song, we lived happily, energetically, meaningfully.
     Eventually, of course, we grew older, but that addiction never grew weaker – it only grew more expensive. From that on, concerts only of the Monsters, of the Gods or of the Best. Too much money, too much age, too much adulthood to go.
     Good old habits die hard, though, and Ozzy Osbourne, the lord of darkness, the mad man, the bat biter, was announced to play in our city. That’s it, we’re going! On the ground, at the front, not even showering before going. Faded rock and roll tees and worn out sneakers on, let’s rock!
     That thrill, nonetheless, lasted till we got there. We were at a stone’s throw distance from the stage, but again – and this time unfortunately – it wasn’t enough. The trolls were gone, the ogres, vanished. Instead there was scent, high heel and party make-up. People looked healthy and neat and you could stretch yourself between them without even touching anyone. And if you would, they would apologize.
     Sepultura’s concert then started and to my utter surprise there wasn’t even a single fight, let alone a hitting-each-other-pointlessly group. Nothing. I tried hard not to care and started jumping, swearing and singing along with the band. That was when I was interrupted by a girl politely asking me to stop, for I was on a puddle and she was getting wet. What shocked me the most, however, was that she looked terrified when I politely asked her to fuck off. I could have been ripped into pieces if I had done that 15 years before. Well, she would have been ripped, actually.
     By the time Ozzy stepped in the stage, I was already in pieces, devastated, miserable. Rock and roll is not dead, as it has been said for ages. I wish it was dead. I wish it was six feet under. I wouldn’t be disappointed if that was the case. But those people – and they were actually people, civilized people – liked rock and roll, they were happy and they could even sing the songs. But they couldn’t rock. And I could understand: God (or the devil) gave rock and roll to all of us, but put it in the soul of a select few.

Oh sweet... nothing!

So I am back, in a much better mood and still nuts about Top five lists.

I've been having a difficult week: too much work, low self steem brought by PMT, late nights and early mornings, some flirtation with insomnia...

Anyway, it's almost Thursday, which means almost Friday and the wild amount of work I had is tamed. Too good a perpective to be mourning for little things. 2 episodes, however, reminded an unpleasant Top 5 list:

Top 5 Worst Things That Can Happen To You When Your Self-Steem is Low Because Of Your Weight
1. Somebody stands up on the bus to allow you to sit because that gentil bastad thinks you're pregnant.
2. A man comes to you to give you the business card of a lose-weight-now-ask-me-how products shop. And adds he himself has lost 20kg in 6 months!
3. A passer-by whispers something about you being hot and chubby, in a vain attempt of making you feel desired.
4. Your mother points out how fat you look, even if you are only swollen as a result of suffering from PMT
5. The chair you are sitting on breaks down noisily and you collapse on the floor

After having experienced 2 out of these 5 situations in a 24h interval, the only thing I could do is go to the gym every day. Let's see what top 5 list THAT will generate...


Soundtrack: Oh, sweet nothing by Velvet Underground

I’m Wrong About Everything

Yeah, yeah, yeah... Long time no read, I know. Loads of news, but since this is not my Dear diary, I'm not updating anybody about my life. Wanna know any news? Ask me. Period.

Actually, what has driven me to updating my blog was just PMT and my mother. And the fact that I am reading High Fidelity - a book that makes you want to go around creating Top 5 lists.

So, here goes the first, in a teenage tone.

TOP 5 MOST IRRITATING THINGS A MOTHER DOES:
==> Always having a nasty comment about your weight.
==> Always knowing the right moment to utter that: when your self-steem is at the lowest.
==> Always giving that I-told-you-so look when things go wrong - your diet included.
==>  Always having something 'alternative' to take: juices with lettuce, homeopathy, good vibrations and crap like that.
==> Never complimenting in a clear way. When doing so, making sure it sounds like an offence.

There, I made my first High Fidelity list. I'm only half way through the book, hence there will be more lists. Hopefully made by a better mooded writer.

Cheers.


Soundtrack: the title of this post, by John Wesley Harding

Spending cold Winter days indoors writing...

Back posting! In a some kind of vacation, which has given me the opportunity to do something I've always wanted to do: write an article about ESOL - for either practicing writing and reviewing teaching theory.
So, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE, fellow teachers, comment on the language AND on the content.
=D

What’s the drill for getting our students’ month around language?

As many other techniques in the ESOL area, drilling is a quite controversial one. Some teachers say it is pointless and boring whereas many say it is old-fashioned. However, a point has to be clear in our minds when planning a drilling exercise: What is our aim when making our students repeat ourselves?

What is drilling?

According to the Cambridge Advanced Learner's Dictionary, a drill is “an activity which practises a particular skill and often involves repeating the same thing several times, especially a military exercise intended to train soldiers.” Well, now I am absolutely sure many teachers are frowning upon the idea of using a military technique in the classroom (although I also can spot some mean grins). Gently tucking the dictionary away, drilling as a teaching resource is to make the students repeat words or utterances for a given period of time.

It first appeared in the scenario of language teaching in the 60s as one of the central pillars of the audiolingualism approach. There, drilling was used to “promote mechanical habit-formation”* in order to develop accuracy on pronunciation and command of the structures. Those would end up leading to fluency. Cutting a long story short, supported by structural linguistics and fiercely attacked by Chomsky, this approach, thus the drilling technique, started falling from grace.

So, why drill?

In contrast to the aim of drilling in the audiolingualism approach, it is possible to face it as a tool to model and memorize the target language, as a way to fix pronunciation and as an important resource to get rid of fossilized mistakes. When repeating words or utterances, features like intonation, stress, linking sounds can be internalized.

Especially in lower levels, in which students have not acquired enough autonomy yet, drilling is useful to make them confident enough to use the new language in a less controlled moment of the lesson. By getting their mouths around, students might feel more comfortable before experimenting what they have just learned.

It is important to outline, though, that drilling is not, by all means, a tool for grammar or lexis internalization. First of all, because it is not a communicative exercise; it is the repetition of a model aiming the restrict practice of something new to the learners. Secondly, a teacher can only state her students have internalized the target language after seeing them using it different contexts and freer activities.

How can I drill?

There are some different drilling techniques. As far as practicing is concerned, choral and individual drilling are more efficient. Choral drilling consists in the teacher modeling and the group repeating in unison. At that moment, the teacher is able to listen for pronunciation/structure mistakes without exposing her students. Repeat it twice or more, depending on the response, correcting if necessary. To prevent students from dubbing in large groups, drill in groups of 3 or 4.

After having drilled in choral, it is less likely one of them make a mistake, thus the teacher can ask one or two students to repeat alone. If a mistake pops up, it is advisable to ask one or two students to repeat it properly and then come back to the one who has mispronounced. For example:

Teacher: vEgetables

Student 1: vEgetables

S2: vegetAbles

S3: vEgetables

S4: vEgetables

S2: vEgetables

It a way of not exposing the mistake and raise S2 awareness about his own mistake.

There are other ways of drilling like the substitution drilling, which is recommended for grammar and focus a little bit more on the structure. For example:

Teacher: Ski. I can ski. Play tennis. I can play tennis. Ski...

Student 1: I can ski

Teacher: play tennis

S 2: I can play tennis

Teacher: ride a bike

S3: I can ride a bike**

If you are drilling longer sentences, an alternative to not lose the pace of the sentence is drilling backwards. For example:

Teacher: a rug.

Students: a rug.

Teacher: a rug and a big TV.

Students: a rug and a big TV.

Teacher: there’s a rug and a big TV.

Students: there’s a rug and a big TV.

Teacher: In my living room there’s a rug and a big TV.

Students: In my living room there’s a rug and a big TV.

Again, it is crucial the teacher bear in mind why she is drilling for. The technique will be chosen according to the language being taught.

Conclusion

Drilling can be an useful technique to make students comfortable in the presence of a new language item. It helps to build their confidence by giving them an accurate model to follow and not exposing their mistakes.

What can hinder the learners in their effort to reproduce the language accurately is the improper moment of the lesson in which the drilling takes place. Repeating something meaninglessly will not help as much as a meaningful repetition. Drilling has to (I would say must) happen after the clarification of meaning, so it does not end up being a mere parroting, but an effective and far-from-being-old-fashioned way of practice.

References:

* Bowen, Tim. Teaching approaches: what is audiolingualism?

In onestopenglish.com

** Russel, Alex. Drilling - Judicious Use of Brute Force in the ESL Classroom.

In usingenglish.com

*** ESOL teaching skills taskbook. Unit 2 – Drilling techniques.

In languages.ac.nz

**** Kerr, Phillip. Minimal resources: drilling.

In onestopenglish.com

Connemara, Kylemore Abbey and The Cliffs of Moher

Trying to spend as less time as I can at the internet house, so I`ll post only the photos as the comments.
See ya soon!

The Kylemore Abbey:

The lake in front of the Abbey

The Goth Cathedral of the Abbey

The abbey from the bottom

The abbey and the lake

The Cliffs of Moher

EXTREMELY windy!

still the Cliffs

A detail from the Cliffs

I'll try to post as much as I can!

=D

First cities

Well, here I am again, at the publand. I`ll try to be short, because I don't want to spend neither time or money online, once both can be converted in Guinness.

CLONMACNOISE and SHANNONBRIDGE

Clonmacnoise is the perfect example of the expression 'in the middle of nowhere'. It is a 7 km road sided by farms. What brings lots of people there is the ruins of a monastery from the X century.

the 'city'

the bed and breakfast we stayed in Clonmacnoise

 the monastery ruins - breath-taking

closer...

the monastery cemetery ruins

Then, there is Shannobridge, at the end of the road which Irish like to call a city. It's not a 7 km road; it's a 3km street which shelters 3 pubs..    

the other 'city'

the Shanon river and the bridge

the pub - 100 years standing.

Well, I have to go. Hope to post more photos soon!

=D

R.I.P. Lobo

It was 1998 and I was resting from my first end of semester rush at college. My mom called:

- A Husky puppy has followed me on the street. I think I'm bringing him home.
- But what about the cat? - I asked, worried about MY pet.
- I can't help, she said. It followed me to my friend's houses' door and it waited for me 'till I left! I'm bringing it home.

Ok, it was her choice. More than one hour later, mom came home. There wasn't any puppy with her. It was as big as a German Shepard and it was brought by the third taxi driver. None of the previous agreed on putting such a big dog in their cars.
- Ok, it's just a Husky, mom. Call him Lobo, as any other Husky, I said poshly

He was tired and weak from having spent such a long time on the streets and he couldn't even stand. We called the vet and made an appointment for the following day. At night I went up to him and try to stroke his head. He growled at me. I was scared and a thick wall was built between us.

I kind of liked him but I was a little afraid. Then I realized my cat didn't like him so I started to side with her. In addition, I felt a little jelous because my mother loved him so deeply but she only liked my pet.
Time went on. My cat died of cancer - poor thing. So difficult to put her to sleep...
Anyway, the days went by and I still couldn't feel comfortable with that dog. He was big, bold, roomy and lazy.

In 2000 my mother travelled for 2 moths. My sister had left home to live by herself some moths earlier, thus it was just me and him. For 2 long months. "I'll just feed him and give him fresh water. That's all.", I thought, forever bearing that first night growl in mind. And along came what I now name as "our second first night".

I had just left my mother at the airport and the house was mine. I had the brilliant idea of watching The Shinning. Alone. At home. At my BIG house. I was scared to death! I went up to my bedroom, resigning myself to a sleepless night. To my surprise, that dog, that big bold roomy and lazy dog climbed the stairs behind me and tucked himself in right beside my bed. That night I could sleep. Soundly. Like an angel.

After that I was free to love that brown furry big fellow as I'd always wanted to, but had been too pride to allow myself to do so.
Many years went on, with him bothering me so many times to walk him, embarassing me so often by popping in front of my neighbours' doors, annoying me by barking at every single dog that would pass by my house at 2 in the morning. On weekends, very early in the morning he would open my bedroom door, wake me up to walk him. Extremelly annoyed, I would turn the other side and come back to sleep only to wake up later and find my books all peed.
I remember bathing him on hot summer days as an excuse to have an outdoors shower myself. More than once he would escape from the leash to seek asylum under my mom's legs - completely wet and covered with soap.

Today Lobo is gone. Gone for good, after having escaped so many times to chase little lady dogs.
He is asleep forever, after so many nights sleeping by my side. Cancer has won again and has taken another pet away from me - this time the pet I would never forget. The big, bold, roomy and lazy lovely dog.

R.I.P., Lobo. May dog's heaven be full of books for you to pee on, comfy sofas for you to sleep on and little lady dog for you to chase. I'll deeply miss you.

Read me to sleep

I started studying for the Cambridge language examinations in 1997. I enrolled for the CPE preparatory without the slightest idea of what it was. Obviously, I dropped it after 3 months. Last year I decided to go for something easier - CAE.
At the beggining I though it was as difficult as CPE. I almost gave up once more. However, few hour of studying per week has lead me to a brand new universe: the I-am-capable-of-doing-it universe. Consequently, I've become aware of what I would have to do to fill the language gap that has always bothered me: have fun with English. I have always loved listening to the news (don't ask me why... I just love it. Period.), so I've been insanely downloading the Global News Podcast in an almost daily basis from the BBC website.
Nonetheless, it's reading that's been making my days deliriously happier. I've been madly in love with it since I first joined two syllabes to make a meaninful word come to live. Therefore, I'm deeply immersed into cubic meters of a wide range of language, soaking up every single chunk presented to me by those who have been touched by sweet the hand of inspiration. And I'm about to be tucked in by one of them.
So, good-night, sweet readers and flights of angels read thee to thy rest.


Soundtrack: Asleep - The Smiths

It's been a hard day's night...

... and I've been working since 7.30a.m. I've already had a rebel teen messing around in my class and crook  wannabe but extremely good student trying not to learn English.
I got home at 8 at night, I've been planning classes since that and I still have 2 classes to go, CAE exam-like exercises do to, homework for the CPE course, writing included. Moreover, tomorrow I'll have been up for 2 hours at 9 am. And you know what? I am in a wonderful mood and deliriously happy. That's what assures me I deeply love what I do.
Go figure...

Literary and Medieval Dublin.

Ok, go ahead and say it. I have been here for 2.5 weeks and I haven’t published a single post about Dublin. A crime I admit committing.

Despite being the capital of the Republic of Ireland (not part of the UK), Dublin is a quite small city, with 1,2 million of people, 10% of São Paulo’s population. However, it holds so much Art and History that it took me 7 days of endless walking to get to know half of it. And I am definitely sure I won’t be able to see everything. But, I think I have enough fluency of Dublin to talk about Literary and Medieval Dublin.

Birthplace of many of the greatest writers in English Literature, you can actually “meet” them and see their houses.

Wilde’s house

Oscar Wilde

Bram Stoker’s house

Me and James Joyce

Then you can see Medieval Dublin. Star with DVBLINIA, an interactive exhibition that recreates the Viking period. The statues are astonishing, due to their human-like form. Even an archeological excavation site has been recreated.

The ticket to DVBLINIA allows you to visit Christ Church, the oldest church in Dublin (and the oldest I’ve ever seen), which dates back to 1100. There you can visit the graves, where many politicians and famous people are buried. Moreover, you can check the Treasure – but no photos allowed.

Christ Church

Mummified cat and mouse, found while some repairs were being done.

End your Medieval tour in St. Patrick’s Cathedral. It’s not as beautiful as Christ Church, but it’s worth the visit.

Take another day to see the Dublin Castle, because the Medieval walking tour is exhausting, but you won’t regret doing it.

Cheers, mates! =)

Host family and friends

Definitely, the best way to be in touch with a culture is staying with a host family. Not only because you can experience the day-a-day of a country, but also you might have cohabitants, who will add a different taste to your trip.

I’m having the opportunity to have a Japanese guy, Russian and French girls, 2 Korean people and a Belgian guy in my everyday life. I’ve also met people from Italy and France during coffee break or lunch time and, on the top of that, I have teachers from England and Scotland.

Yeap, it IS a lot of different things, but I think the pictures will speak for themselves. Enjoy! =)

Left to right: Reiji (Jap.), Irina (Russia), Edele (Irel. and host mother), Maureen (Irel. and MY host mother), Selène (France) and Soo-Jean (Korea). They were having caipirinha. I did it myself! u.u

Left to right: Reiji, Henrique (Brazil- classmate), Soo-Jean, Alex (Korean – classmate), me and Kevin (Belgium –classmate). Alex took us to a Korean restaurant. VEEEERY hot food. VEEERY hot.

On my birthday, we had a party here at my house and then went to a pub. Reiji bought the cake, my host mother bought the wine, and the girls and the mothers wrote me cards and bought me very nice gifts.

Next Thursday Irina, the Russian girl, will cook Russian pancakes for dinner. =D
The only sad thing is I’m leaving in two weeks and I’ll probably never see most of these people again. They have been making me feel at home away from home.

Miss you all!

Liverpool em dois dias

Chegue o mais cedo possível a cidade, mas não antes das 9, pois NADA funciona antes das 10 da manhã – ao menos de final de semana. Após emocionar-se por estar no Aeroporto John Lennon (chorei, claro), pegue a linha de ônibus 500, pague absurdas 2,60 libras (porra de país caro essa Inglaterra!) que te deixará em Albert Docs. O lugar é lindo, frio e cheio de lojas (porra de país caro essa Inglaterra).

Aqui é onde a experiência começa:

THE BEATLES STORY ENTRANCE

E ela é emocionante. Dentre as salas da exibição, que cobre absolutamente toda a biografia da banda, elejo a réplica do estúdio da Abbey Road e a sala Imagine como as melhores.

Sim, chorei nas duas. Tá, na imagine não chorei, me acabei. A atendente da loja veio ver se estava todo ok. Mico. Ao final da exibição, vá ao Tourist Information Centre e agende a Magic Mistery Tour, que te levará de ônibus psicodélico a todos os pontos que importam da história dos Beatles. Eu preferi agendar para o segundo dia, pois assim teria tempo de conhecer a cidade antes.

De Albert Docs, após explorar bastante o lugar, os museus e as lojas, vá até a Anglican Cathedral. Linda, gigante, com um parque maravilhosamente mórbido ao lado, com lápides por todo o lado.

Depois disso, vá para o hotel. Fiquei em um hotel bem central, bastante justo, chamado Lord Nelson. Fácil de achar, em frente a estação central de trem de Liverpool e muito próximo de lugares como a Central Library e St George’s Hall. 55 libras a diária.

Check in feito, só há um lugar para ir: THE CAVERN CLUB. Maravilhoso. A balada lá começa 2 da tarde sem hora para acabar. Muito familiar, com gente de todo qto é lugar d mundo, de todas a idades com um único objetivo: ouvir música ao vivo. A entrada é baratíssima (algo barato nessa porra de país caro que é a Inglaterra), só 1 libra. E o pint lá dentor não sai por mais de 3 libras. Conclusão: conheci uma garota do Paraná, enchi a cara e nem sei como cheguei ao Hotel....

Domingo, após combater a ressaca, vá a Mersey Ferries, onde há mais Beatles Story para ver. Infelizmente não é permitido tirar foto. Após a Mersey Ferries, volte a Albert Docs para pegar o Magic Mistery Bus e emocione-se novamente.

In Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs

On the corner is a banker with a motorcar

Behind the shelter in the middle of the roundabout

Strawberry fields forever

Dicas para os beatlemaniacos: junte grana e fique no Hard Day’s Night Hotel, que tem quartos para cada um dos integrantes da banda (aposto que a do Ringo é minúsculo) e traga muita grana, ou você passará vontade. Tem mto souvenir pela cidade toda.

Em resumo: Liverpool respira música. Em todo o lugar. Mas ela não se resume só a Beatles. A arquitetura é única e lindíssima e há muito que se ver entre uma Beatle tour e outra.

Próximo post em inglês de novo: Brazilian night with my host family and friends E Guiness Storehouse. \o/