NNN(-TV)SNB(B)CNN(P)BS on Google Video: Maximum metrosexuality in the great tradition of Globosat’s Manhattan Connection, from a Brooklyn guy lost in Brazil.
Disclosure: I have no commercial or personal ties with anyone from CartaCapital magazine.
My brother-in-law told me recently he did some covers for them a few years back — not their strong suit, cover art, but I didn’t tell my cunhado that because he’s a great guy and a talented artist.
But I didn’t know that until after I head been reading the mag for a few years. Plus, he owes me money — interest-free, of course — so it is not like I am benefiting economically from being related to the guy.
I just happen to like it enough to buy it regularly, in my search for something readable to consume on the subway. That’s all. You can break the sigilo of my contas bancárias, if you like.
This endorsement — CartaCapital is far from being the only newspaper, magazine or Web site you need to read to keep up on things around here without coming to believe in nonsense, but a lot of the other ones have not been invented yet, or are struggling to get started — is entirely spontaneous and unremunerated.
Never met those guys.
I would like to, though. Buy them a beer. They tend to earn it. Leandro Fortes: I really admire the guy’s crisp prose style and his way with framing his reporting in the simplest, most elegant way available. While avoiding the gerund.
Young Gianni Carta’s version of New York, translated into English, paints a picture of life in Gringolândia that stands a good chance of being recognized as such by your average gringo.
Unlike, say, the Globo soap opera América, according to which our great nation is a deluxe Miami Beach shopping mall, recreated on a Globollywood back lot and filled with hooting rodeo cowboys, brandishing their platinum cards.
I am even warming to the soccer column of Socrates, even though I am not much of a sports fan. Thomaz Wood’s management column is always smart and surprising. The Tevelândia column is good for an acerbic laugh in 5 laudas or less. And someday I will take a refresher course in macroeconomics so I can understand what the hell Delfim Netto is talking about. And so on.
I’ve sent them a few fan letters by e-mail.
That’s it. I swear. I don’t agree with everything they opine — and what do I know, anyway? I’m not from here. But at least they don’t lie to me, hold out on me, get me all hot and bothered about trivialities, or insult my intelligence. It’s a reality-based community center in a blasted mediascape of gibbering neo-psychedelic jaguar gods and shrieking hysterical virginity.
That’s all I’m really looking for: mental exercise that doesn’t make stupider as a result. Is that so much to ask for? For R$7.50?