<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311</id><updated>2011-12-20T23:40:43.215-06:00</updated><category term='graduação'/><category term='formatura'/><category term='futuro'/><title type='text'>Histórias da Lawrence University</title><subtitle type='html'>O album de fotografias da minha vida na Lawrence University</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>68</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-6888584980752189672</id><published>2011-06-07T16:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-06-07T16:53:44.481-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 47 -- THE END</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gy3gDxUsKQo/Te6c7uxvNFI/AAAAAAAAALs/AAaCvWD9Zes/s1600/IMG_2774.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gy3gDxUsKQo/Te6c7uxvNFI/AAAAAAAAALs/AAaCvWD9Zes/s320/IMG_2774.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;I had been postponing writing this last chapter of my life at Lawrence University... because I am silly and emotional, and I hate saying goodbye. Lawrence was my home for 3 years and at Lawrence I've learned so many lessons, so many things about the world, about people and about myself, that I could barely bring myself to saying farewell to you, dear invisible reader. I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;f you're expecting wise words from me, please, don't wait anymore. I have nothing to say other than at Lawrence I lived everything I was supposed to live. I will miss a few friendly faces, I will miss the routine, I will miss feeling challenged by people interested in my future, but now it is time to put in practice everything I learned. I am ready. It is time to say goodbye.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Before I turn the page and close this book, I must say thanks to everyone who believed in me, everyone who supported me throughout this journey abroad and the people who are still expecting great things from me. Thank you, mom, for being patient. Thank you, EducationUSA, for making this dream possible. Thank you, Lawrence University staff, for keeping me even though I had no money in my pockets. Thank you, scholarship donors, for securing my education. Thank you, all my friends, for staying around and for being my second family. Thank you, U.S. Embassy, for starting this whole adventure. Thank YOU, for listening to me and sending your thoughtful comments. And, above all, thank you, God, for allowing me a chance to make a difference in this world; without You, I wouldn't be here, I wouldn't be myself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;Good luck to you, good luck to me. The curtains will close in a few seconds, but the show of life will continue in this vague idea of reality. Borrowing the lines of Truman (&lt;i&gt;The Truman Show&lt;/i&gt;): &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;"&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"&gt;Good morning, and in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!"&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-6888584980752189672?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/6888584980752189672/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/06/capitulo-47-end.html#comment-form' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6888584980752189672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6888584980752189672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/06/capitulo-47-end.html' title='Capitulo 47 -- THE END'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gy3gDxUsKQo/Te6c7uxvNFI/AAAAAAAAALs/AAaCvWD9Zes/s72-c/IMG_2774.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-8341810233058089889</id><published>2011-05-17T18:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T18:38:14.701-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 46 - What Makes You Who You Are..?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CgDE1B0vfPw/TdMF9PH65RI/AAAAAAAAALk/DIGbIrVcXtk/s1600/formatura2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CgDE1B0vfPw/TdMF9PH65RI/AAAAAAAAALk/DIGbIrVcXtk/s320/formatura2.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;This afternoon I spent a few hours reading &lt;a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=VhpLAAAAMAAJ&amp;amp;printsec=frontcover&amp;amp;dq=the+prelude+william+wordsworth&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;ei=hAHTTbexE4blrAHz0pjGDQ&amp;amp;sa=X&amp;amp;oi=book_result&amp;amp;ct=result&amp;amp;resnum=2&amp;amp;ved=0CD0Q6AEwAQ#v=onepage&amp;amp;q&amp;amp;f=false"&gt;The Prelude&lt;/a&gt;, by William Wordsworth, which I highly recommend. Wordsworth poetically spoke of the time in his life that made him the poet-person he was; during his childhood he would wander alone through woods, he would play in the river, he would simply sit by a tree and daydream. Nature, it seems, was a constant beloved friend in his childhood.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;At times,  though, I found my mind wandering away. I found myself thinking about the things in my childhood that molded my personality, my morals, things that fed my imagination and shaped me into the person I am (or, rather, the person I think I am) today. I must say that, despite my fond memories of the time when I lived with my mother, grandparents, my uncle and cousin Steve, the time when I thought I could feed trees with infusions I prepared, the time when I would write in the garden, and the time when uncle Eduardo told me stories about Santa Claus; I suppose that the strongest influence in everything I am comes from my time at &lt;a href="http://www.cmr.ensino.eb.br/"&gt;Military School&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;I was very young and shy when the Army took me and they soon told me (and my mother..!) that, although I was only 12, I had to learn to be responsible for myself, my mistakes and my decisions. It can be quite shocking for a mother to hear that her own daughter, who was nothing more than a scrawny easily scared little girl, had to start facing the world like an adult. She soon learned, fortunately, to let them teach me how to be strong, how to handle my frustrations on my own, how to embrace honor, discipline and loyalty. They taught me, above all, to always tell the truth, no matter how many problems telling the truth might bring. Military School taught me that I shouldn't fear competition. They taught me to respect everyone around me. They taught me to observe silently, to stand still in contemplation of the world and to speak up when my eyes met injustice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hmMmVDsVwNs/TdMGAatw5SI/AAAAAAAAALo/7lvGH39Xi04/s1600/englishclass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hmMmVDsVwNs/TdMGAatw5SI/AAAAAAAAALo/7lvGH39Xi04/s320/englishclass.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;It's been 5 years since I left them, but I suppose it was only a physical departure. I bring them within my heart, I bring that military education in my veins, I am a product of that culture. Although I could never justify killing even to defend one's nation and therefore could never have a military career, because only God has the right to take one's life and to end one's mission on Earth, I suppose there is a lot more in the Army that only people who experienced such doctrine would be able to list. I am thankful for the time spent with them. &amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-8341810233058089889?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/8341810233058089889/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/05/capitulo-46-what-makes-you-who-you-are.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8341810233058089889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8341810233058089889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/05/capitulo-46-what-makes-you-who-you-are.html' title='Capitulo 46 - What Makes You Who You Are..?'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CgDE1B0vfPw/TdMF9PH65RI/AAAAAAAAALk/DIGbIrVcXtk/s72-c/formatura2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-3781369981341952373</id><published>2011-05-17T00:37:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T00:51:29.531-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Yes, I am Alive.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zEMYUR8hhp8/TdIJjIMStLI/AAAAAAAAALg/8rgSk-THoR0/s1600/athena.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zEMYUR8hhp8/TdIJjIMStLI/AAAAAAAAALg/8rgSk-THoR0/s320/athena.jpg" width="190" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;How did Da Vinci manage &lt;i&gt;that&lt;/i&gt;? When I say 'that' I am referring to, of course, his thirst and eagerness to continue learning, studying, researching, being more and more productive, getting to know about everything! I am always impressed when I remember that such brilliant and restless mind ever existed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;I've been really busy lately and it seems to me that during these last 2 weeks of school I will be doing work for a lifetime. By the end of the day I feel I've drained my fountain of inspiration; luckily, though, as soon as my head hits the pillow, and my room is dark and quiet, I start to hear the workers in my factory of thoughts and ideas getting ready for the next day. I hear them murmur that "the system might be overloaded." They are concerned, but they are diligent and careful workers, and they'll get all machines working properly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;...and on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, at 1:40 p.m, my friend Tatiana Biryukova -- who's from very cold distant lands -- gladly joins me in complaining about our work load. We're both foreigners. We know how to swear in different languages... though, for the sake of politeness, we only dare to make annoyed faces at wise Athena. &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-3781369981341952373?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/3781369981341952373/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/05/yes-i-am-alive.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3781369981341952373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3781369981341952373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/05/yes-i-am-alive.html' title='Yes, I am Alive.'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zEMYUR8hhp8/TdIJjIMStLI/AAAAAAAAALg/8rgSk-THoR0/s72-c/athena.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-5166681351064547823</id><published>2011-05-05T15:47:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-05-05T15:58:55.604-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 45 - And this chapter is about Rebecca getting published</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U3xju0v2fr0/TcMMHFQuawI/AAAAAAAAALU/Ww6VlOkCnv4/s1600/operation_legacy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U3xju0v2fr0/TcMMHFQuawI/AAAAAAAAALU/Ww6VlOkCnv4/s1600/operation_legacy.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;If you've known me since I was a kid, you'd know the one ambition I had in my life was to become a published author. I am pleased to tell you that, thanks to God, this wish came true in March, 2011. To my surprise, however, instead of getting my work published in Brazil, my career sort of started in the U.S., exactly where I am. It is a surprise because my writing is not the best in English. I often feel I am a writer in Portuguese -- or, rather, I know 'enough' to feel I can write properly in my language -- but in English I still have so much to learn.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Last fall I was invited to join a project along with a few other students and a professor at Lawrence. &lt;a href="http://www.oldgloryhonorflight.org/index.html"&gt;Old Glory Honor Flight&lt;/a&gt;, an NGO in Wisconsin, was seeking volunteers to interview WWII veterans and to transcribe their stories. The result would be an anthology of war memories: &lt;u&gt;Operation Legacy&lt;/u&gt;. I had to put my fears of writing in English aside and accept the challenge. I interviewed submarine crew member Everett Butler, who's been in Pearl Harbor for his military training and, serving in Manila, witnessed the bombing of the Cavite Navy Yard. His courage and humbleness reinforced my desire to continue writing about wars and, above all, about people who voluntarily or involuntarily experience wars.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;You will find &lt;u&gt;Operation Legacy&lt;/u&gt; available on Amazon.com; the money raised from sales will allow Old Glory to fly more WWII veterans to Washington D.C. to visit the WWII memorial. Here is the &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1935920103"&gt;link&lt;/a&gt; to the anthology.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-5166681351064547823?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/5166681351064547823/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/05/capitulo-45-and-this-chapter-is-about.html#comment-form' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5166681351064547823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5166681351064547823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/05/capitulo-45-and-this-chapter-is-about.html' title='Capitulo 45 - And this chapter is about Rebecca getting published'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U3xju0v2fr0/TcMMHFQuawI/AAAAAAAAALU/Ww6VlOkCnv4/s72-c/operation_legacy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-2668886223154116733</id><published>2011-04-12T18:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-04-12T18:03:02.704-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 44 - 'Springish' Weather</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://2.gvt0.com/vi/rynvewVe21Y/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rynvewVe21Y&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rynvewVe21Y&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #073763; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;If you're in Appleton you noticed that this week the weather is finally getting better. Even cats and dolphins are befriending each other! It's warm and sunny, students forgot they have homework assignments due tomorrow and now are playing football and volleyball near Main Hall Green and the Frat Quad. This afternoon, after a meeting with my adviser, I walked from Lawrence to Walgreens and I didn't have to wear a jacket. It is very comforting to notice that, although not officially, spring is here. Even if you're an indoors type of person like me, try to at least go sit outside for a few minutes and enjoy this calmer and pleasanter aspect of nature. Go for a walk, sit outside to read a book, wear sandals, or simply walk barefoot... but, please, let your body produce vitamin D today.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-2668886223154116733?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/2668886223154116733/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/04/capitulo-44-springish-weather.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2668886223154116733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2668886223154116733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/04/capitulo-44-springish-weather.html' title='Capitulo 44 - &apos;Springish&apos; Weather'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-8724865641790435466</id><published>2011-04-11T15:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-04-11T15:28:03.945-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 43 - Tornado Watch - Part II</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/qiNTlWZX7Iw/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qiNTlWZX7Iw&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qiNTlWZX7Iw&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Today, in class, everyone was talking about the tornado that hit Appleton last night. I am posting a video I found on YouTube and the last section of it shows what Neenah, a town around 16 minutes away from Appleton, looked like yesterday. The weather today seems unstable, but in general the winds were very strong throughout the whole day. Earlier this afternoon it was sunny, but right now a huge mass of gray clouds are taking over the sky. I wonder if we'll have a repetition of yesterday. I seriously hope not! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-8724865641790435466?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/8724865641790435466/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/04/capitulo-43-tornado-watch-part-ii.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8724865641790435466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8724865641790435466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/04/capitulo-43-tornado-watch-part-ii.html' title='Capitulo 43 - Tornado Watch - Part II'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-3145171499309030364</id><published>2011-04-10T21:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-04-10T21:12:34.764-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 43 - Tornado Watch</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-fa85fc379c8e3de1" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v7.nonxt8.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Dfa85fc379c8e3de1%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151928%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D8370D532F3697F316BA0DC3461116FC27D47AA64.3FBFB1A4FBF9E52B77B11BC3D92FB5AF62D40371%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dfa85fc379c8e3de1%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DSYzOfsdUKdkYf5cOkc6YcGxl7M0&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v7.nonxt8.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Dfa85fc379c8e3de1%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151928%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D8370D532F3697F316BA0DC3461116FC27D47AA64.3FBFB1A4FBF9E52B77B11BC3D92FB5AF62D40371%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dfa85fc379c8e3de1%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DSYzOfsdUKdkYf5cOkc6YcGxl7M0&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Alright, perhaps I am the most ridiculous person ever, but I really don't like storms. I also hate sirens and tornadoes. Add all that and you'll find a very scared version of yours truly. Tonight, when I arrived from Madison, I found Apple-town like this. I ran back to my residence hall as fast as I could. Right outside Kohler Hall a guy was 'enjoying' (?) this festival of nature, his arms open as if saluting the storm. He said hello to me, but I was too busy running and could only stare at my shoes. "Hey.." I said, "and I don't even know who you are." My hoodie didn't allow me to see his face. He laughed.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-3145171499309030364?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/3145171499309030364/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/04/capitulo-43-tornado-watch.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3145171499309030364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3145171499309030364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/04/capitulo-43-tornado-watch.html' title='Capitulo 43 - Tornado Watch'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-8087450034311522761</id><published>2011-04-02T03:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-04-02T03:21:49.983-05:00</updated><title type='text'>...and I bet you didn't know I look different!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o73Ijfl0IkE/TZbaZGjWXoI/AAAAAAAAALQ/uSz6vhVHcjQ/s1600/Becca_Green_Shirt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o73Ijfl0IkE/TZbaZGjWXoI/AAAAAAAAALQ/uSz6vhVHcjQ/s320/Becca_Green_Shirt.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #274e13;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia,&amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;,serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;Did you know my hair was short? I forgot to tell you that, for the first time in my life, I got a haircut like this. Yes, this is a rather trivial subject, but I suppose my long hair was a strong memory you had of me if you were trying to remember what I looked like. My mom could barely believe me when I told her my hair was short. See, when I was a kid my uncle wouldn't let anyone get near my long curls. He thought I had to keep them forever. I hope I am not like Samson, though. I thought that, maybe now that a cycle is almost over in my life, it was interesting to try to change a little the way I look. My hair, then, was my victim! I liked it a lot and I think I'll keep it like this from now on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-8087450034311522761?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/8087450034311522761/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/04/and-i-bet-you-didnt-know-i-look.html#comment-form' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8087450034311522761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8087450034311522761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/04/and-i-bet-you-didnt-know-i-look.html' title='...and I bet you didn&apos;t know I look different!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o73Ijfl0IkE/TZbaZGjWXoI/AAAAAAAAALQ/uSz6vhVHcjQ/s72-c/Becca_Green_Shirt.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-1800770019601850533</id><published>2011-04-01T06:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-04-01T06:35:12.584-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Early in the Morning and I Can't Sleep</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Seriously, why? Why can't I simply be one of those people who fall asleep a minute after they are in bed? Sometimes I wish my mind wouldn't wander away like this, but it's 6:24 a.m. and here I am thinking about writing. I thought a great deal about what my day was like yesterday (and I must add it wasn't one of my favorite days), but I suppose I am mostly getting distracted with ideas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt; I need to continue a story I started last summer, otherwise my fountain of imagination will start overflowing and that could cause serious damage. The writing of it was so demanding and so psychologically draining that I had to abandon the project for a few months and engage in different 'adventures'. That other plot demanded a lot more from my ability to live through my characters. I suppose my previous characters, although interesting to me, perhaps were a little flat. This other work I mentioned, though, required a lot more thinking and feeling than I was accustomed to.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;I wish I could tell you more about it, but I still am the same self-conscious being you've met. I need to do some serious writing and then editing before I let you hear this story. For now, if you please, would you wish me good luck? I've engaged in numerous writing projects and I am asking God for a chance to succeed in at least one of them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Have a great weekend and good luck with your endeavors you too!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-1800770019601850533?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/1800770019601850533/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/04/its-early-in-morning-and-i-cant-sleep.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1800770019601850533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1800770019601850533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/04/its-early-in-morning-and-i-cant-sleep.html' title='It&apos;s Early in the Morning and I Can&apos;t Sleep'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-4131340822274805078</id><published>2011-03-03T15:30:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-03-03T15:30:45.856-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 42 - Carros Sequestrados Numa Noite Fria de Inverno</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Agora falta bem pouco ate o fim do winter term. Esse inverno foi um bocado frio e nevou tanto que mesmo o pessoal daqui, acostumado a nevascas, estranhou. Uma noite dessas fiquei ate tarde acordada estudando e terminando meus assignments, quando notei um veiculo sendo rebocado ao final da rua. Ja era muito tarde e nao havia ninguem na rua, apenas o carro sendo rebocado. As luzes do reboque eram laranjas e brilhavam na neve que caiu constantemente durante a madrugada. Uma meia-hora depois outro carro foi rebocado. Achei a visao, espiando da janela do meu quarto no Kohler Hall, um pouco triste. Pensei nos pobres carros sendo "sequestrados" para sabe-se la onde numa noite tao fria quanto aquela e tambem pensei nos donos (pobres pais descuidados) acordando na manha seguinte para encontrar o carro desaparecido.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Por falar em carro, eu nem sei dirigir. Pergunto-me se algum dia vou aprender. Minha visao noturna (e diurna!) eh terrivel. Eu nao enxergo quase nada e mesmo com oculos renovados tenho sempre que carregar o livro a poucos centimetros do nariz para conseguir ler. Acho que sempre dependerei de alguem para me levar a algum lugar ou entao viverei de pegar onibus, porque a responsabilidade de dirigir a noite eu nunca gostaria de ter! Nao, ja basta o meu pouco senso de direcao e os meus olhos ruins mesmo de dia. Imagine dirigir numa noite em que o mundo parece inserido num daqueles globinhos de neve? Lembro que o meu amigo Leo ate contou-me que quando ele estava aprendendo a dirigir sentia como se o carro mal coubesse na pista junto com os outros veiculos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-4131340822274805078?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/4131340822274805078/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/03/capitulo-42-carros-sequestrados-numa.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/4131340822274805078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/4131340822274805078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/03/capitulo-42-carros-sequestrados-numa.html' title='Capitulo 42 - Carros Sequestrados Numa Noite Fria de Inverno'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-7549361872793317189</id><published>2011-02-22T15:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-03-03T14:54:52.774-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='graduação'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='formatura'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='futuro'/><title type='text'>Formatura em Junho</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RxVRM8HNmcU/TWQrNQO5k6I/AAAAAAAAALI/54jcM72oClA/s1600/buddypoke.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RxVRM8HNmcU/TWQrNQO5k6I/AAAAAAAAALI/54jcM72oClA/s320/buddypoke.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576629745287271330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Agora falta bem pouco para a minha formatura. Por toda parte escuto outros alunos veteranos, como eu, falarem da ansiedade por junho se aproximar a todo vapor. Todos estamos arrumando as nossas coisinhas, recarregando nossas baterias e nos preparando para essa vaga ideia de futuro. Deseje-me sorte, pois comeca um novo ciclo da minha vida.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-7549361872793317189?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/7549361872793317189/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/02/formatura-em-junho.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7549361872793317189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7549361872793317189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/02/formatura-em-junho.html' title='Formatura em Junho'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RxVRM8HNmcU/TWQrNQO5k6I/AAAAAAAAALI/54jcM72oClA/s72-c/buddypoke.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-670094729442869735</id><published>2011-02-20T14:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-02-20T14:52:39.018-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Neva, Neva e Neva em Appleton</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-11bf2ef99dcf9138" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v22.nonxt1.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D11bf2ef99dcf9138%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151928%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D43CE087348CCFE147809F7844872A0D9C442757.1B6180BDD530ACF4B7B1722BB14143DE6E9F074B%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D11bf2ef99dcf9138%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3Dnn9Br8eFycjPxegfjtjsgt-Jptw&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v22.nonxt1.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D11bf2ef99dcf9138%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151928%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D43CE087348CCFE147809F7844872A0D9C442757.1B6180BDD530ACF4B7B1722BB14143DE6E9F074B%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D11bf2ef99dcf9138%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3Dnn9Br8eFycjPxegfjtjsgt-Jptw&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Esta nevando um bocado em Appleton. Semana passada o inverno parecia ja se despedir e dar lugar a temperaturas mais amenas, dar lugar a ansiosamente aguardada primavera. Hoje, no entanto, quando abri as cortinas do quarto para ver o sol brilhando la fora... SURPRESA! Nada na massa cinzenta de nuvens la em cima sugeria que ontem, ainda ontem, o ceu era de um azul-intenso brilhante. E os terrenos, que ja estavam quase limpos da neve, amanheceram cobertos por esse manto branco que voce pode ver no video. Quando fui tomar cafe-da-manha no Campus Center mal consegui erguer a cabeca pelos floquinhos que burlavam a protecao das lentes dos meus oculos e iam me espetar os olhos. Na volta, com as vestes gotejando, voltei a protecao do meu quarto aquecido. Esse video eh uma amostra do inverno por aqui, observado pela janela do meu quarto, numero 201, do predio residencial Kohler Hall.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-670094729442869735?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/670094729442869735/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/02/neva-neva-e-neva-em-appleton.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/670094729442869735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/670094729442869735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/02/neva-neva-e-neva-em-appleton.html' title='Neva, Neva e Neva em Appleton'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-7832527171711099567</id><published>2011-02-03T11:53:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2011-02-03T11:57:04.669-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Apple-Town Congelada</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Frio, frio, frio... aqui na Lawrence esta muito frio. Por toda parte, especialmente quando ando de um predio a outro, escuto os alunos reclamarem baixinho (e outras vezes ate mais alto) quando o ventro sopra forte e leva o calor do corpo. Para voce ter uma impressao, nessa temperatura logo que voce eh exposto ao vento as narinas se tornam imediatamente secas, para entao comecarem a produzir mais fluidos de maneira exagerada, o que piora a situacao. O nariz escorrendo se torna ainda mais gelado e vermelho-sangue. Outro detalhe eh sair ao vento com cabelo molhado -- em poucos minutos os fios estarao congelados. Sem brincadeira. Seria engracado, se nao fosse tao frio...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-7832527171711099567?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/7832527171711099567/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/02/apple-town-congelada.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7832527171711099567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7832527171711099567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/02/apple-town-congelada.html' title='Apple-Town Congelada'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-4071309610826217458</id><published>2011-01-31T13:06:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-01-31T13:13:29.063-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Estrada</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;Nesse exato momento eu estou dentro de um onibus em algum lugar entre Milwaukee e Fond du Lac. Na minha cabeca, ao observar a paisagem coberta por esse manto branco de neve, um pensamento recorrente: oh, melancolico ultimo dia de janeiro. Mas, pelo menos ha a estrada e os carros indo e vindo, as arvores peladas, as casas de telhados cobertos pela neve que cai ha 1 hora. Eu gosto de viajar, gosto de ver o mundo, embora na maior parte do tempo eu assuma ares de Emily Dickinson. Dizem que vem uma terrivel tempestade por ai e o meu estomago, que nao ve comida desde ontem a noite, reclama...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-4071309610826217458?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/4071309610826217458/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/01/estrada.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/4071309610826217458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/4071309610826217458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/01/estrada.html' title='A Estrada'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-5046009506798152837</id><published>2011-01-21T00:38:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-01-21T00:41:35.863-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Lembrancas de Ouro Preto</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-619da2c512ddf3fd" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v5.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D619da2c512ddf3fd%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151929%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D7A524BD5168C51D32E4A88EAF08FE5C083BE8D9.143E82D7CE4C2CFBCF8568F9B5ADDA6150E1C705%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D619da2c512ddf3fd%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DBQJBTYJsXyfSpkryAQFt3cqd-4Y&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v5.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D619da2c512ddf3fd%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151929%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D7A524BD5168C51D32E4A88EAF08FE5C083BE8D9.143E82D7CE4C2CFBCF8568F9B5ADDA6150E1C705%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D619da2c512ddf3fd%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DBQJBTYJsXyfSpkryAQFt3cqd-4Y&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-5046009506798152837?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/5046009506798152837/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/01/lembrancas-de-ouro-preto.html#comment-form' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5046009506798152837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5046009506798152837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/01/lembrancas-de-ouro-preto.html' title='Lembrancas de Ouro Preto'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-3245131351230671514</id><published>2011-01-08T16:29:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-01-08T16:42:57.064-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 40 -- V for Vendetta?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TSjoBTRu9pI/AAAAAAAAAK8/QlilG2FZ_Wk/s1600/v-de-vinganca-2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TSjoBTRu9pI/AAAAAAAAAK8/QlilG2FZ_Wk/s320/v-de-vinganca-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559948849041045138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Estava eu aqui, em epoca de implorar que algum agente literario adote essa escritora em atual estado de orfandade, quando um rapaz entrou saltitando no laboratorio de informatica e surpreendeu-me enquanto eu escrevia um email para uma agencia literaria da qual gosto bastante. O mais surpreendente, fora os gestos do bailarino, foi a pintura ao melhor estilo Guy Fawkes que ele tinha no rosto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tirei os fones de ouvido, virei-me para o rapaz e ele seguiu para um computador atras de mim, totalmente alheio a qualquer olhar curioso. Em verdade eu ja o vi outras vezes aqui no Kohler Hall e ele sempre pareceu-me... diferente... no modo como segue de um lugar a outro. Por exemplo, certa vez meu amigo Naveed estava conversando comigo na front desk, numa noite dessas em que eu estava on duty, e esse mesmo garoto passou correndo pelo lobby e nos surpreendeu ao fazer um gesto que apenas posso descrever como um miste de ballett e "passa a bola para mim, estou livre!". Na epoca achei que fosse apenas locura de finals week... mas hoje vejo que nao.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se voce me perguntar por que ele eh assim... nao saberei dizer. A menos que ele seja algum dancarino profissional constantemente ensaiando, por que alguem andaria de um lado a outro correndo e saltitando como uma lebre em perigo, erguendo os bracos para cima como se quisesse agarrar o ceu?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-3245131351230671514?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/3245131351230671514/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/01/capitulo-40-v-for-vendetta.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3245131351230671514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3245131351230671514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/01/capitulo-40-v-for-vendetta.html' title='Capitulo 40 -- V for Vendetta?'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TSjoBTRu9pI/AAAAAAAAAK8/QlilG2FZ_Wk/s72-c/v-de-vinganca-2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-8100274696258308556</id><published>2011-01-07T18:20:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-01-07T18:50:24.371-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 39 -- Winter Term</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TSe0gQlz9JI/AAAAAAAAAK0/sLEfCN3Pero/s1600/lawrence-university.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 194px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TSe0gQlz9JI/AAAAAAAAAK0/sLEfCN3Pero/s400/lawrence-university.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559610731314541714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;As aulas recomecaram. O comentario principal por aqui eh "as ferias passaram rapido demais" e eu concordo! Estudar eh sempre bom e faz bem a mente e ao espirito, mas durante as ferias eu sempre tenho a impressao d&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;e que eu sou mais feliz. Leio e escrevo no meu proprio tempo, visito outros lugares e mais uma serie de outros detalhes que fazem o meu coracao sorrir. Eu adoro a Lawrence, mas acho que ja esta na hora de dar adeus ao mundo de testes e comecar a vida real, por mais que a vida real nao seja nenhum paraiso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O winter term comecou e com ele o meu horario academico sobrecarregado. Mesmo nessa primeira semana de aulas ja estive acordada ate as 4:00 da manha terminando de escrever uma redacao e lendo o material de outra aula, para no dia seguinte levantar as 8:00! O resultado sempre envolve olhos ardidos, corpo dolorido e humor nublado... E tem feito frio, muito frio! Eu estava caminhando na College Avenue um dia desses com Michael e o interior das minhas narinas comecaram a congelar! Mesmo Michael, que nasceu e cresceu nesse clima, tambem estava reclamando.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recomecar as aulas, em verdade, nao eh de todo ruim. Eh claro que ha o lado bom e eh para esse aspecto que devemos olhar. Manter a mente ocupada eh o melhor presente de todos. Ociosidade nunca fez bem a ninguem! Nesse trimestre continuo meu independent study e tambem estarei terminando outros projetos pessoais. Rever amigos e professores tambem eh bom, embora a maioria esteja sempre ocupada. Ouvir piadas e rir durante staff meetings eh o melhor remedio para uma semana dificil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Abracos de Apple-town!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Se voce quer saber um pouco mais sobre a Lawrence University eu sugiro a serie This is Lawrence no YouTube. O link abaixo eh um video sobre o Main Hall, predio onde tenho a maior parte das minhas aulas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.youtube.com/user/LawrenceUniversity#p/u/17/_9ZqWHNhhq0&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-8100274696258308556?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/8100274696258308556/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/01/capitulo-39-winter-term.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8100274696258308556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8100274696258308556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2011/01/capitulo-39-winter-term.html' title='Capitulo 39 -- Winter Term'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TSe0gQlz9JI/AAAAAAAAAK0/sLEfCN3Pero/s72-c/lawrence-university.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-5303732084781241008</id><published>2010-12-15T00:51:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-12-15T01:33:15.689-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Merry Christmas!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TQhto101TSI/AAAAAAAAAKo/GYt0cmtQ9Mk/s1600/van_gogh-starry-night2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 262px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TQhto101TSI/AAAAAAAAAKo/GYt0cmtQ9Mk/s320/van_gogh-starry-night2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550807089145007394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;When I was little my uncle Eduardo used to tell me stories every night. Thanks to him, perhaps, I grew up so fond of books... of day-dreaming... and turned out to become a writer myself -- a writer, let's be frank, who still has a lot to learn! This quick post, however, is not about my poor grammar. It is about my uncle's stories! Actually, it is more specifically about a certain story... a certain -- as I like to call it -- reverie told around Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you did not remember (or didn't think it could be possible), in December it is summer time in Brazil. In cities like my dear Recife we listen to and sing "White Christmas" during this time of the year, but the song (alas!) has no real meaning other than imagining -- or rather, like Bing Crosby would have said, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;dreaming&lt;/span&gt; of... -- what Christmas is like in places like where I now find myself. Summer nights in Brazil have clear, bright skies. The breeze is cool and constantly inviting family gatherings outside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uncle Eduardo was known for his loud laughter that could be heard miles away, but during summer nights, when we sat outside contemplating the sky, he knew how to say just the right words in a very small and powerful dose of imagination and get both of us in silent reverie for hours. "The stars are windows and if you pay attention you will be able to see people walking by them on the other side of the sky", he would say to me. Once I could swear I saw Santa Claus walking by one of those windows, his red clothes shining through the glass. Santa waived at me and I waved back. We would stay in that state, silently observing the sky, our upturned faces lit by the moon and our own dreams, until someone joined us and mentioned how the sky looked beautiful that month. We would smile and agree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merry Christmas to you!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-5303732084781241008?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/5303732084781241008/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/12/merry-christmas.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5303732084781241008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5303732084781241008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/12/merry-christmas.html' title='Merry Christmas!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TQhto101TSI/AAAAAAAAAKo/GYt0cmtQ9Mk/s72-c/van_gogh-starry-night2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-2490672837618285541</id><published>2010-12-07T23:51:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-12-07T23:56:40.040-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Terca-feira a Noite</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;Terca-feira a noite. Ja eh quase quarta-feira e Michael e eu ainda estamos acordados. Ele esta sentado perto da bancada tentando escrever um paper para a aula dele comparando Macbeth e The Tempest, de Shakespeare. As aulas dele ainda nao terminaram e as provas finais sao na mesma semana do Natal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;Eu estou por aqui, em ferias, sentada numa bean bag logo abaixo de uma lampada alta, lendo um artigo e outro na internet, pensando na vida e principalmente pensando no meu novo livro. Espero estar com tudo pronto antes do dia 23. Hoje eu passei o dia inteiro escrevendo e agora estou tentando colocar as ideias em ordem para amanha.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;Nao sei a que horas vou dormir, mas vou ficando por aqui para dar apoio moral a Michael.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;Abracos! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-2490672837618285541?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/2490672837618285541/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/12/terca-feira-noite.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2490672837618285541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2490672837618285541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/12/terca-feira-noite.html' title='Terca-feira a Noite'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-2524052262841838343</id><published>2010-12-04T13:36:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-12-04T13:50:28.799-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Snowing!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-15952eb436c3df13" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v22.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D15952eb436c3df13%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151929%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3DBD4F23BF0187F3C25765F1397CAAE38EA4BEA57.38F21DBD9BCF82091A45A3B34109893A9E0FC02D%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D15952eb436c3df13%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DOX3Z3f3iudnU-9CHs5NWTgTX-CI&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v22.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D15952eb436c3df13%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151929%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3DBD4F23BF0187F3C25765F1397CAAE38EA4BEA57.38F21DBD9BCF82091A45A3B34109893A9E0FC02D%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D15952eb436c3df13%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DOX3Z3f3iudnU-9CHs5NWTgTX-CI&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 255);"&gt;A primeira neve do ano! Hoje pela manha, quando olhamos pela janela aqui em Madison, foi o que vimos. Nevou a madrugada inteira e no video voce ainda pode ver floquinhos miudos caindo do ceu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No fundo voce escutara Michael no computador jogando Starcraft... :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Abracos a todos no Brasil e boas festas! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-2524052262841838343?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/2524052262841838343/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/12/its-snowing.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2524052262841838343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2524052262841838343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/12/its-snowing.html' title='It&apos;s Snowing!!!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-1299269464561913973</id><published>2010-11-21T17:51:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-11-21T17:54:25.848-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 38 - I am dangerous too!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TOmw0bAY6WI/AAAAAAAAAKg/3ppj7DVrTPM/s1600/poster.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TOmw0bAY6WI/AAAAAAAAAKg/3ppj7DVrTPM/s400/poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542155231105182050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-1299269464561913973?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/1299269464561913973/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/11/capitulo-37-i-am-dangerous-too.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1299269464561913973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1299269464561913973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/11/capitulo-37-i-am-dangerous-too.html' title='Capitulo 38 - I am dangerous too!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TOmw0bAY6WI/AAAAAAAAAKg/3ppj7DVrTPM/s72-c/poster.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-1946798611677381560</id><published>2010-11-11T13:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-11-11T13:14:54.322-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 37 -- Fim do Outono</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Ola!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ja faz tanto tempo que eu nao escrevo um post (e ja faz tanto tempo que esse post nao eh em Portugues). Hoje, no entanto, me deu vontade de sentar e escrever na minha lingua materna, mesmo nao tendo tanto o que dizer...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Essa eh a penultima semana de aulas e agora falta muito pouco ate o fim do fall term. O outono passou rapido! A ideia de que nao terei mais "fall terms" na Lawrence me alegra de certo modo. Como voces ja sabem estou contando os meses para a minha formatura, e embora a vida la fora seja mais complicada... eu acho que eu estou pronta para comecar a trabalhar, sim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu ainda nao sei se poderei voltar ao Brasil para o Natal, mas por enquanto o plano principal eh estar em Madison, com Michael. Embora o periodo seja de descanso, temos alguns projetos por terminar durante as ferias de inverno. Se voce estiver por perto, venha nos visitar! Madison eh conhecida pelas guerras de bola de neve entre os dormitorios do campus. Ano passado, para quem lembrar, eu fui testemunha do campo de batalha! Caso nao nos vejamos nesse fim de ano... boas festas!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Abracos saudosos dessa cidadezinha gelada em Wisconsin!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-1946798611677381560?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/1946798611677381560/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/11/capitulo-37-fim-do-outono.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1946798611677381560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1946798611677381560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/11/capitulo-37-fim-do-outono.html' title='Capitulo 37 -- Fim do Outono'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-3222426887897315517</id><published>2010-10-17T23:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-17T23:26:06.264-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 36 -- ...and I am so busy this year!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TLvMTafYhRI/AAAAAAAAAKY/C21U1uO4mpY/s1600/trabalhando.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TLvMTafYhRI/AAAAAAAAAKY/C21U1uO4mpY/s400/trabalhando.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529237601427948818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear friends, how are you? I am sorry it's been a while since my last post, but it is my Senior year at Lawrence University and that literally means that my life is... crazy! I see lots of homework assignments piling up every day and on top of that I am juggling with both the writing of my last novel and my honors project on alternative journalism.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to find time, though, to say how I am doing and to hear from you. In general I think I am fine and I am positive I will survive this academic year. I can't wait to be done with school and the very nature of being stressfully busy means that time is flying! It is already October! Very soon Christmas will be here and then, when I least expect, it will be warm again and time to wear a graduation gown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sad part, though, is that I find myself being recently somewhat detached from society. When I am not working, I'm in my room writing as much as I can and trying to catch up with my reading. It's been somewhat lonely, but thanks to my boyfriend I've got a few precious opportunities to hang out and see that there's a world out there. I have to make sure I don't end up neglecting the friend I've made here -- I am not sure they need me, but I do need them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's all I have to say for now... and, Jeez, it is already late. I should probably start getting ready to go to bed. Tomorrow I've got lots to do! See you soon -- hopefully -- and don't let school take over your life, OK?. I'm looking forward to my Winter break and by then, who knows, I'll be a lot closer to making my dream of becoming a published author come true. Fingers crossed!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-3222426887897315517?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/3222426887897315517/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/10/capitulo-36-and-i-am-so-busy-this-year.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3222426887897315517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3222426887897315517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/10/capitulo-36-and-i-am-so-busy-this-year.html' title='Capitulo 36 -- ...and I am so busy this year!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TLvMTafYhRI/AAAAAAAAAKY/C21U1uO4mpY/s72-c/trabalhando.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-6967800155099434196</id><published>2010-09-11T21:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-09-11T21:43:42.676-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 35 -- Senior Year!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TIw-Cmc-zwI/AAAAAAAAAJw/DRv-ZwybSL4/s1600/Jumping.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TIw-Cmc-zwI/AAAAAAAAAJw/DRv-ZwybSL4/s320/Jumping.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515851858024779522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dear friends,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am back and it is quite exciting to think that this is my Senior year at Lawrence University! To be honest I can't wait to be done. I really want to start right away my career as a journalist and a writer, but knowing myself I think I will miss these &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lawrentian&lt;/span&gt; days. This year I'll pay extra attention to everyone and everything just to try to develop stronger memories for when I'm feeling blue during my life outside the bubble.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These days I've been busy working as a residence advisor and getting to know the freshmen. They are very nice kids and extremely talented. There's also the group of Japanese students from Waseda University and other exchange students -- I can tell one can expect great things from them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last weekend we were playing Kohler (Hall) Clue and all RAs spread around the building. I stayed in my room, so the new students would know where to find an RA. The game going on in my place was Harry Potter trivia and I even wore a hat... pretending to be a witch myself. I am quite impressed that one of my residents knows absolutely everything about Rowling's series. He knew the answers to so many questions right away!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's it for now, but very soon, once I get my routine settled, I will be posting more stories, so stay tuned.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-6967800155099434196?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/6967800155099434196/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/09/capitulo-35-senior-year.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6967800155099434196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6967800155099434196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/09/capitulo-35-senior-year.html' title='Capitulo 35 -- Senior Year!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TIw-Cmc-zwI/AAAAAAAAAJw/DRv-ZwybSL4/s72-c/Jumping.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-3126495312978608111</id><published>2010-06-19T23:57:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-20T00:37:26.219-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Gustavo's Graduation</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;At La&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;wrence University, when it is almost time to graduate, international students get emails asking them to help with the pronunciation of their names. My dear compatriot, Gustavo, graduated last week. He told me that he actually called the provost and explained that his last name was Portuguese, therefore a little bit complicated to pronounce.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TB2msJ0FVxI/AAAAAAAAAJY/tox-F-GaD7Y/s1600/gustavo1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TB2msJ0FVxI/AAAAAAAAAJY/tox-F-GaD7Y/s320/gustavo1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484723198685959954" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt; See, Gustavo's full name &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;is Gustavo Cavalcanti Guimaraes. I also am a Cavalcanti (de Carvalho), and I know how difficult it is for them to say "Cavalcanti".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TB2mICZnF1I/AAAAAAAAAJQ/YiXZRYs0Jgo/s320/gustavo3.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484722578220586834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;No, that wa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;sn't the problem", told me Gustavo. "He pronounced '&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;Cavalc&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;anti' well..." and then he smiled. He continued: "You don't know what I did... I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;ha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;d to do something... I was there waiting for my turn to be called and when he called me he said... 'Gustavo Cavalcanti GOSTOSO'".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TB2li2mbJJI/AAAAAAAAAJA/h6xgjeylrL4/s320/gustavo+2.jpg" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484721939397944466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;Only a few people understood the joke. ("Gustavo, I didn't know your last name was pronounced like that..."). Ah, Gustavo is impossible! I don't know when I'll see him again, but I am sure he'll have a great life and I will hear a lot about his success.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;Congratulations, Gustavo! We'll miss you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;P.S. "Gostoso" is common slang in Brazil meaning "hot"!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-3126495312978608111?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/3126495312978608111/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/06/gustavos-graduation.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3126495312978608111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3126495312978608111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/06/gustavos-graduation.html' title='Gustavo&apos;s Graduation'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TB2msJ0FVxI/AAAAAAAAAJY/tox-F-GaD7Y/s72-c/gustavo1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-4041191243239998069</id><published>2010-06-19T14:01:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-19T14:20:14.889-05:00</updated><title type='text'>"Are You a Rebecca or a Becca?"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TB0YSuT5jZI/AAAAAAAAAIg/mitvw-tuSzk/s1600/green-question-mark.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 299px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TB0YSuT5jZI/AAAAAAAAAIg/mitvw-tuSzk/s320/green-question-mark.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484566631155338642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"Are you a Rebecca or a Becca?", asked me a lady who I was serving yesterday during the first dinner I was covering. To be honest I did not know exactly what to say; in the middle of a busy event somebody comes to me asking one of those philosophical questions that nobody could deeply respond: who are you? what am I? I just shrugged and said a bit uncertain "Um... Both, I guess!".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:georgia;color:#000066;"&gt;I had never stopped to think about the complexity of names and nicknames. In Brazil I usually introduce myself as Rebecca, but here in the U.S. I've found myself simply saying "I'm Becca". My mother always calls me Becca and a few friends in Brazil, but the great majority of people -- even the ones I know since I was a baby -- is more inclined to call me Rebecca. I was used to these formalities, but when I moved to Wisconsin and started studying at Lawrence it was really amusing to hear my professors simply calling me Becca.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:georgia;color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:georgia;color:#000066;"&gt;Maybe when my life split into two and I left home this new part of me had to have a different name, and that's why today sounds weird to me to be called by my real name. When I visit Recife perhaps I'll find odd to be called Becca occasionally. I think I will have to deal with being a Rebecca and a Becca at the same time...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-4041191243239998069?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/4041191243239998069/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/06/are-you-rebecca-or-becca.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/4041191243239998069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/4041191243239998069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/06/are-you-rebecca-or-becca.html' title='&quot;Are You a Rebecca or a Becca?&quot;'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TB0YSuT5jZI/AAAAAAAAAIg/mitvw-tuSzk/s72-c/green-question-mark.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-1372568301558937047</id><published>2010-06-18T14:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-18T14:33:08.946-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Where Is Rebecca?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TBvJfThXMsI/AAAAAAAAAIY/Bt--6LcEHxU/s1600/DuoBroom.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 248px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TBvJfThXMsI/AAAAAAAAAIY/Bt--6LcEHxU/s320/DuoBroom.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484198510907044546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Hey guys!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sorry it's been a while since my last post, but I wanted to let you know that I am alive and doing fine this summer. The 2009-10 academic year is over, but I am still at Lawrence University working a lot to save money. By the way, I have Senior standing now! Weird... and exciting!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every day I get up at 5:00 AM and work until 2:30 PM cleaning the residence halls and a few other buildings. Next Monday I will be at the Music-Drama Center, if you want to show up and say hello to a tired worker who needs support and encouragement. Today I am working for the catering department, serving during a few events over Reunion week. The good news is that a few friends will be working with me during the same shift, and that is absolutely comforting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Sunday I am moving out! I will be living with my friend Mya Win at her friendship family's house not very far from campus. They went to Ecuador and needed someone to water their plants and feed a little blue parakeet, Sky. Isn't that wonderful? Free housing is the best thing ever!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will let you know more details about my life and what's going on, soon. I am still editing my book, and hopefully I will get a literary agent interested in it. I can't wait to get my work published and become an official writer!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I hope all is well with you guys. Let me know how's life been treating you and if you have fun plans for this summer / winter / depends on where you are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;-- Becca&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-1372568301558937047?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/1372568301558937047/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/06/where-is-rebecca.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1372568301558937047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1372568301558937047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/06/where-is-rebecca.html' title='Where Is Rebecca?'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/TBvJfThXMsI/AAAAAAAAAIY/Bt--6LcEHxU/s72-c/DuoBroom.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-2324356561141515228</id><published>2010-04-08T14:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-08T14:11:29.555-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 34 - Spring... Where? (Part II)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;...and today, ladies and gentlemen, snow-white Winter came visit us at Lawrence. Our grounds woke this morning covered in pure white snow! I wonder what happened to poor Spring weather.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love this place..!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-2324356561141515228?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/2324356561141515228/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/04/capitulo-34-spring-where-part-ii.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2324356561141515228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2324356561141515228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/04/capitulo-34-spring-where-part-ii.html' title='Capitulo 34 - Spring... Where? (Part II)'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-3023908243484259212</id><published>2010-04-07T16:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T16:49:57.699-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 33 - Spring... Where?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S7z9cO71fJI/AAAAAAAAAII/fMD2-1mxutk/s1600/umbrella.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 314px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S7z9cO71fJI/AAAAAAAAAII/fMD2-1mxutk/s320/umbrella.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457515509953428626" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;My fellow Lawrentians are all disappointed. When you live in Wisconsin the most awaited season is not even Summer -- it is Spring, oh yes; when, after a long period of snow and freezing cold nose, hands, and feet, we are supposed to start experiencing sunny days, warmness, and the first opportunities to stay outside. Well, the Spring season started a few weeks ago, though what we have today are the cloudiest days I've experienced here so far.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is very windy, too. Sometimes I just feel like I will be blown away down to the Fox river. This epic thought, actually, really kept my imagination working for hours one of these days when I felt like the cool &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;breeze&lt;/span&gt; was pushing me away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be honest it is not as bad as you're probably imagining. Yesterday, when I was on duty sitting behind the front desk, I had fun watching students walking in and out of the building. During rainy seasons people tend to get really creative, and everything counts to protect your head (especially your hair) from getting wet. I saw a Chinese girl leaving the lobby with a newspaper on her head, because she had left her umbrella with a friend. Another girl was courageous enough to walk all the way back again to the 4th floor, where she lives, to get a coat to cover her hair -- she complained, complained, and complained some more... but she went upstairs anyways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Spring, Wisconsin!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-3023908243484259212?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/3023908243484259212/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/04/capitulo-33-spring-where.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3023908243484259212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3023908243484259212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/04/capitulo-33-spring-where.html' title='Capitulo 33 - Spring... Where?'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S7z9cO71fJI/AAAAAAAAAII/fMD2-1mxutk/s72-c/umbrella.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-2303131987027361723</id><published>2010-03-25T15:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-25T15:44:14.066-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Thank You, Mr Shaw!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S6vK1JJQm7I/AAAAAAAAAIA/4H_IOYBtwvk/s1600/Mr+Shaw.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S6vK1JJQm7I/AAAAAAAAAIA/4H_IOYBtwvk/s320/Mr+Shaw.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452674788198751154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;It is not fair that two of the people I've always admired had to go a long trip. I don't know when I'll see them again, but I am positive the beginning of their journey in a better world doesn't mean the end of their lives here: they will always live through the great memories we have of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week my dear friend, Mr Dennis Shaw, passed away. I've heard about his great personality even before I became a Youth Ambassador, and finally in 2007 we met in person. Unfortunately Mr Shaw was not the team leader of my group of YAs, but talking with him even for a few minutes made me understand why everybody seemed so fond of him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that same year we met in Ouro Preto - MG, Brazil, during a conference hosted by Partners of the Americas. Mr Shaw shined, among many people, as a sun. He had more energy than everybody together, and a heart bigger than the country he was visiting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you very much, Mr Shaw. I will never forget your supportive words and how you called me "Rebecca-zinha". I will never forget your smile and your sincere tears, your genuine affection, and your laughter. You became my second grandfather, and I will hold you in my memories as such.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-2303131987027361723?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/2303131987027361723/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/03/thank-you-mr-shaw.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2303131987027361723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2303131987027361723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/03/thank-you-mr-shaw.html' title='Thank You, Mr Shaw!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S6vK1JJQm7I/AAAAAAAAAIA/4H_IOYBtwvk/s72-c/Mr+Shaw.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-7343555251745641719</id><published>2010-01-13T15:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-13T16:31:35.199-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 32 - Recife and Wisconsin, Together.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S05Iq0kXfiI/AAAAAAAAAH4/QO7E3avQVeE/s1600-h/pl_northeast14.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S05Iq0kXfiI/AAAAAAAAAH4/QO7E3avQVeE/s320/pl_northeast14.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426354501530910242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;When you are an international student what is the best thing that could happen? Well, now that I think about this question I can actually make a gigantic list of wonderful things that [international] students want to happen in their lives... However, let's just pretend there's only ONE amazing thing we're always expecting to find: some kind of representation from home even when we are far away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;Even the most independent traveler would agree that deep in his heart it's always comforting to find the flag of his country, a restaurant or random stores selling goods from his culture, during his trips. If this traveler is lucky enough to meet compatriots, it certainly means a 5-minute celebration of his heritage with people who back at home would be, ironically, mere strangers.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;Today when I went to my Rationality of Terrorism class I was surprised to find a guy wearing a shirt from Recife, my homeland. He was giving his opinion on the chapters we started studying this week, and I must confess I totally lost track of what he was explaining, and focused all my attention on the picture of a shark on his shirt. For a second Recife and all its culture and inside jokes came to Appleton, this freezing small town in Wisconsin. The shark was saying "Te pego na volta!", which means "I'll get you when you come back!". Even if you understand Portuguese, and you're not a person from Recife, it would be hard to figure out why a shark would be saying that to someone who had visited [specifically] Recife.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;Back at home we started having serious problems with shark attacks, and whoever visits Recife gets scared when finding those lovely sharks warning signs along the coast of some of our main beaches. Some [stupid] courageous people challenge those signs, go swimming, and lose a leg, or maybe an arm, to our hungry sharks. One needs to be very 'tough' to visit Recife, actually, and if you're a tourist nothing better than a "I've visited Recife and survived" type of shirt that my fellow classmate was wearing to prove his superior courage to everyone else.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;I was very glad to find someone bringing Recife to my class, which made my day. I even talked with that boy, who at another circumstance would just [or PROBABLY NOT] look at me, smile with his eyes, and recognize that at some point in his Lawrence life I took a Government class with him. This type of recognition actually goes both ways. But now everything will be different, because we both know the meaning of the shirt he was wearing, and even if after today we don't find more reasons to talk with each other, we will always share the same cultural knowledge: if you ever visit Recife, READ THE SIGNS! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-7343555251745641719?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/7343555251745641719/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/01/capitulo-32-recife-and-wisconsin.html#comment-form' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7343555251745641719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7343555251745641719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/01/capitulo-32-recife-and-wisconsin.html' title='Capitulo 32 - Recife and Wisconsin, Together.'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S05Iq0kXfiI/AAAAAAAAAH4/QO7E3avQVeE/s72-c/pl_northeast14.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-3295025321520470316</id><published>2010-01-11T20:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-11T21:44:40.619-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Thank You, Miep!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S0vwBWIZ3wI/AAAAAAAAAHw/idQXjkwDw7k/s1600-h/gies.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 231px; height: 293px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S0vwBWIZ3wI/AAAAAAAAAHw/idQXjkwDw7k/s320/gies.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425694082009259778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;"It seems as if we're never far from Miep's thoughts"&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote style="text-align: right;"&gt;(Anne Frank)&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Today when I checked the news I was surprised to find out that Miep Gies passed away today, January 11, at the age of 100. Born in Vienna, Miep moved to Amsterdam, where she met Otto Frank and started working at Opekta, Otto's company.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Miep was a great friend of the Franks, and helped hide them from the Gestapo and the SS officers when her friends were threatened to be sent to concentration camps. She was one of the angels who visited them regularly in the "Secret Annex" bringing groceries; clothes; and, above all, hope in better days.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;When the Franks were found hiding and were sent to Westerbork, Miep saved Anne Frank's diaries and, without reading them, kept them safe to be given back to Anne the day she returned. Anne, unfortunately, perished in Bergen-Belsen. When Otto came back to Amsterdam, the only one of his family who had survived, Miep presented Anne's diaries to him.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Thank you very much, Miep. Thank you for your generosity and unconditional love. Thank you for being this fair, kind, extraordinary human being, who broke every barrier of prejudice and saw people's hearts. God bless you, and I pray that He will keep your name fresh and strong reminding mankind that we must do our best to maintain this world a just and peaceful place.  &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-3295025321520470316?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/3295025321520470316/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/01/thank-you-miep.html#comment-form' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3295025321520470316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3295025321520470316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/01/thank-you-miep.html' title='Thank You, Miep!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S0vwBWIZ3wI/AAAAAAAAAHw/idQXjkwDw7k/s72-c/gies.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-2030403966182523031</id><published>2010-01-10T15:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-10T16:01:07.216-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 31 - Uma ou Duas Licoes Sobre Seguranca Pessoal</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S0pN-VIvgeI/AAAAAAAAAHg/GZbvhrdWTSk/s1600-h/OlhoMagico_3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S0pN-VIvgeI/AAAAAAAAAHg/GZbvhrdWTSk/s320/OlhoMagico_3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425234434342224354" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Nao importa o local, seja la onde voce morar sempre ouvira: mantenha sua porta trancada, &lt;/span&gt;por via das duvidas. A licao vale mesmo para as cidades mais seguras, e as instituicoes mais socialmente conscientes, porque existem dias ruins que modificam as mentes mais puras, e tambem imprevistos casos de cleptomania.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se a minha missao como jornalista eh alertar e influenciar positivamente, o farei. Dessa vez falo por experiencia propria, ignorando nomes e datas deliberadamente. Espero sinceramente que voce leia a seguinte historia, e tire suas proprias conclusoes com a mentalidade esperada de alguem que sabe discernir entre o que eh certo ou errado, ou o que eh inconveniente e o que nao eh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Como brasileira, se voce me permite o justo uso da minha nacionalidade, de uma cidade grande aprendi a nao confiar em ninguem nem em circunstancias. Aprendi a observar mais, ouvir mais, e falar o necessario dependendo do quao confortavel a situacao era para mim. Fechando-me em mim mesma, segui a mesma regra para minha vida social: olhos sempre abertos, mochilas sempre comigo, portas trancadas mesmo que eu estivesse deixando o ambiente apenas por uns poucos segundos. Talvez eu seja medrosa, mesmo -- mas a minha seguranca eh um bem que cultivo cuidadosamente como um floricultor perfeccionista.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outro dia estava eu sentada a minha escrivaninha, ja tarde da noite, os fones de ouvido abafando a maioria dos sons externos. Minha mesa, que antes estava na parte sul do meu quarto, virada para a janela, teve que ser mudada para o norte por conta da fiacao da internet, e gracas ao Michael, que empurrou moveis para la e para ca, agora estudo ao lado da minha porta. Se eu tivesse visao de raio-X viria o corredor e os residentes passando ocasionalmente aos seus quartos, seguindo para as aulas, ou simplesmente visitando uns aos outros.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Em determinado momento ouvi sons do lado de fora, mas nao pude discernir o que falavam. Para a minha surpresa, no entanto, vi a porta estremecer como se alguem nela estivesse se apoiando. O meu cerebro parou de ouvir a musica que eu escutava, e a minha total atencao focou na macaneta da porta, que mexeu seguidamente em tentativas frustradas pois, como sempre, eu trazia o meu quarto trancado. Nesses momentos parece que os pensamentos fogem para longe, porque o organismo se prepara principalmente para respostas instintivas; mas assim que o peso sobre a porta afastou-se ruidosamente, meu primeiro pensamento foi:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh my God!!! Paranormal Activity... Zombieland... The Sixth Sense...!!!" -- eu altamente recomendo os filmes citados, os dois primeiros assisti durante o meu winter break e deixou minha imaginacao extremamente agucada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando eu finalmente lembrei que Miss Havisham (o fantasma de uma ex-aluna da Lawrence University)  mora no sotao do Ormsby Hall e nao teria razoes para vir assombrar os residentes do Trever Hall, levantei-me da minha cadeira. Ataques de zumbis tambem era uma opcao bastante improvavel, e mesmo com o coracao na mao, abri a porta com ares de quem desafiava seja la quem houvesse tentado abrir meu quarto sem permissao. Erro #1: Eu nao espiei pelo olho magico, o que teria me dado a opcao de (1) enxergar a mascara do Panico parada diante da minha porta; (2) visto um outro olho me espiando de volta; (3) qualquer outra alternativa que voce achar mais assustadora. Erro #2: Quem disse que eu estava em condicoes de desafiar alguem? Todas as tentativas do Michael em me ensinar defesa pessoal mostraram-se frustradas diante da minha pouca tecnica e vulnerabilidade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olhei para os dois lados do comprido corredor onde moro, e estavam vazios. Antes que mais fantasmas pudessem vir assombrar minha imaginacao, percebi que uma das portas um pouco adiante estava aberta. Seja la quem houvesse tentado abrir a minha porta, devia ter feito o mesmo com aquele outro quarto. Minhas suspeitavas foram comprovadas: Uma garota fora de si, bebada, encontrara a primeira porta destrancada e entrara no quarto achando ser o seu. Os amigos dela, sobrios, a alertavam de que ali nao era o seu quarto, e no escuro a puchavam do beliche para o qual ela tentava subir. Sorte a dela que os amigos estavam por perto, nao acham?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Como residence advisor do predio a segui por mais alguns minutos observando a serie de encrencas em que ela se meteu por nao saber discernir o mundo em que estava. Finalmente ela foi encaminhada ao proprio quarto, e os amigos ficaram de plantao esperando que ela adormecesse. Novamente, sorte a dela que os amigos estavam por perto. Eu consigo imaginar uma serie de problemas caso ela estivesse sozinha... e voce? Sorte, tambem, de quem mantem a porta trancada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu acho que dessa historia todos podemos aprender importantes licoes: saiba controlar o quanto bebe; e, por via das duvidas, mantenha a porta trancada, afinal de contas nunca se sabe quem pode tentar entrar no seu quarto no meio da noite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-2030403966182523031?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/2030403966182523031/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/01/capitulo-31-uma-ou-duas-licoes-sobre.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2030403966182523031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2030403966182523031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/01/capitulo-31-uma-ou-duas-licoes-sobre.html' title='Capitulo 31 - Uma ou Duas Licoes Sobre Seguranca Pessoal'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/S0pN-VIvgeI/AAAAAAAAAHg/GZbvhrdWTSk/s72-c/OlhoMagico_3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-7766876320258745932</id><published>2010-01-03T21:35:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-03T21:55:36.518-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 30 - Faz Frio em Appleton</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Ola, feliz Ano Novo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ja estou de volta a Lawrence University apos ferias de inverno bastante razoaveis. Como nao fiquei no campus, como voces sabem, estive visitando algumas cidades aqui nos Estados Unidos, e nem sequer ousei desfazer as malas. Em todos os momentos estava eu pronta para mais uma aventura.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gostaria de agradecer aos Kozak, minha friendship family, que me acolheu a maior parte do tempo na fazenda deles em Black Creek, e tambem me proporcionaram duas viagens memoraveis a Chicago. Eu vi a antiga Sears Tower, mas o que mais me impressionou foi avistar o predio do Chicago Tribune..!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tambem foi muito legal passar a virada do ano com o Michael e o Jake. Ganhei um cheesecake do Eli's Cheesecake World; o Michael ganhou uma apple pie da mae dele; entao passamos o final do ano comendo doces. Brindamos com agua, filmei os meninos brincando com fogos, e assisti 500 Days of Summer no cinema!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ontem retornei a Appleton, e o Michael e eu nos surpreendemos com o frio terrivel que esta fazendo aqui. Para dormir, fora tres camadas de lencois, tive que me cobrir com meus casacos. Faz frio em Appleton, e amanha comecam as minhas aulas. O Winter Term promete grandes novidades... contarei tudo a voces em breve!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-7766876320258745932?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/7766876320258745932/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/01/capitulo-30-faz-frio-em-appleton.html#comment-form' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7766876320258745932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7766876320258745932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2010/01/capitulo-30-faz-frio-em-appleton.html' title='Capitulo 30 - Faz Frio em Appleton'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-5362406641247367405</id><published>2009-12-10T13:50:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T13:51:20.722-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Inverno em Madison</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SyFRLA7dxlI/AAAAAAAAAHE/lM5F5hggBf4/s1600-h/snowball+fight.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SyFRLA7dxlI/AAAAAAAAAHE/lM5F5hggBf4/s320/snowball+fight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413697476745872978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;O inverno chegou em Madison, Wisconsin. Por toda a parte ruas e telhados estao cobertos em neve. O corajoso que se arriscar a andar do lado de fora precisa se proteger contra dois males: (1) O terrivel frio. (2) Guerras de neve.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Se voce esteve acompanhando os jornais leu a noticia de que no dia 09 de janeiro cerca de 3,000 alunos da UW-Madison se reuniram para uma das maiores guerras de bola de neve ja vistas. Dormitorios competiram contra si, e trouxeram consigo baloes d’agua e outros equipamentos para melhor defender as trincheiras. Os ataques duraram 1 hora, com ocasionais feridos (cortes no rosto nao muito serios) levados aos hospitais proximos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;O que voce nao ficou sabendo, no entanto, eh que na noite do dia 08 de janeiro houve uma pre-guerra reunindo uma centena de adoslescentes. Eu estava la, e contarei a voce o que vi:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Nevava ha horas. Eu estivera observando vizinhos ao apartamento do Michael se divertirem do lado de fora com as camadas interminaveis de gelo em flocos que rapidamente formavam paredes brancas por toda a parte. Quando o Michael retornou ao apartamento foi necessario sair outra vez para comprar alguns mantimentos indispensaveis. Ele perguntou se eu queria ir com ele, e apos observar a vida la fora fui tomada pela curiosidade comum aos que nao gostam de se arriscar, mas de certo modo adorariam saber como eh passar por tao nova experiencia.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;A maior parte das ruas estavam vazias. Motoristas nao se arriscariam a dirigir com toda aquela neve. Mais tarde naquela mesma noite vi um carro da policia deslizar de maneira perigosa, e entendi melhor por que Madison parecia tao vazia, quase inospita com uma temperatura tao feroz. Caminhamos por alguns minutos, ate o vento comecar a trazer gritos e urros comuns aos cenarios de batalha. Dificil entender o que diziam, mas entre uma palavra e outra ouvia-se “Corre!”, e mais gritos de temor e euforia.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Para a minha frustracao os meus oculos tinham flocos de neve derretendo nos vidros. Retirei-os do rosto diversas vezes numa tentativa de limpa-los, porem sem luvas consegui apenas congelar as minhas maos, que logo comecaram a ficar insensiveis. O meu humor, como voce pode imaginar, ja nao era dos melhores. Lutei por melhorar a minha visao a medida que nos aproximavamos da fonta dos gritos, e quando finalmente consegui enxergar melhor avistei centenas de pessoas separadas apenas por uma rua, o lado direito atacando o outro com muitas bolas de neve que cruzavam o ceu como estrelas que brilhavam com as luzes artificiais dos predios.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;O Michael e eu seguimos por tras do lado esquerda da batalha. Ele trazia uma bola de neve apertada entre os dedos, “so por precaucao para nos defender”. Vi uma bola espatifar-se bem proxima ao meu pe direito. Pulei para o lado instintivamente, e tentei avistar a fonte do ataque – eu nao estava ali para guerrear, algo me impede de atirar ate mesmo bolas de neve; mas eu estava vulneravel.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Tentando encontrar quem havia mirado a massa inteira do lado esquedo, pela qual o Michael e eu passavamos, comecou a correr na nossa direcao. “Eu acho que o outro lado comecou a atacar!”, disse eu, puxando o braco do Michael. A sirene do carro da policia provou-me errada – a presenca da policia havia dispersado a todos numa euforia sem sentido. Ouvi alguem passar correndo proximo a mim perguntando se era contra a lei atirar bolas de neve.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;O Michael olhou para mim, os olhos ligeiramente apertados com o gorro comprido demais. – Becca, corre!! – disse ele. Senti o fluxo de adrenalina percorrer as minhas pernas. Eu nao queria ter que sair correndo como se tivesse alguma culpa, mas nao era uma boa ideia estar no meio de uma “horda” descontrolada. “Ok”, respondi de volta, e ambos comecamos a correr em direcao ao supermercado ladeados por muitos alunos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Voce ja tentou correr vestindo quatro camadas de roupa e um cachecol comprido? Fiz o possivel para manter o equilibrio, e segui em frente nao tao rapida quanto gostaria. O Michael estava ao meu lado esquerdo, poucos centimetros adiante.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Senti-me estranhamente calma. Por alguma razao que ninguem nem eu mesma compreendo sinto-me atraida por guerras, embora todos os meus tratos sejam os de quem foi criada como uma flor fragil. Talvez eu seja assim delicada e vulneravel, mas para desespero de todos sei que pertenco a um universo que em milhares de aspectos nao sao compativeis com a minha personalidade tranquila.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Eu nao estava entre todos aqueles alunos para lutar, e a ideia de atirar bolas de neve nao me entusiasmara como teria entusiasmado alguem nascido para a arte da guerra. Eu estava ali simplesmente para ver e sentir, e narrar a voces os fatos sob a visao de alguem que vivenciou tudo, porem nao se envolveu. Eu estava ali para socorrer Gregos e Troianos, e nao tomaria lados. As minhas maos estavam limpas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;-- Eu estou aqui para proteger voce – dissera o Michael, o bom e velho instinto protetor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;-- Nao preciso de protecao – disse eu, segura de que nada me ocorreria, embora o mundo ao meu redor sugerisse o contrario.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;A correria parou, finalmente. O carro da policia continuou circulando por mais alguns minutos para garantir que a guerra de bolas de neve nao se tornaria uma brincadeira perigosa. Retornando para casa ainda ouvimos mais gritos, ate que o som da batalha que continuava foi abafado pela neve que caia, especie de efeito estufa que envolve a cidade inteira deixando-a estranhamente silenciosa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;No apartamento do Michael minhas vestes gotejavam a neve derretida. Meu rosto estava vermelho e ardido. Meu humor caia perigosamente. Mas, de certo modo, eu estava sarisfeita por ter me arriscado do lado de fora. Embora tivesse sido um grande e relativamente inocente jogo, a guerra tem muitas faces. Uma delas eu vi essa semana, sobrevivi, e narrei a voces com a voz de alguem que viu cometas brancos cortarem o ceu e acertarem gorros variados de cidadaos americanos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Em alguns anos o chao que verei nao sera branco, e sim vermelho-vivo. Os projeteis cruzando o firmamento nao serao gelados, porem quentes, e mais velozes. Estarei pronta, de qualquer forma, e contarei a voces tudo o que ver, sentir, e ouvir.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;…ate la.. feliz inverno, Wisconsin! E boas festas a voces, queridos brasileiros. Saudades imensas, vontade de voar ao sul.   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;  &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-5362406641247367405?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/5362406641247367405/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/12/inverno-em-madison.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5362406641247367405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5362406641247367405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/12/inverno-em-madison.html' title='Inverno em Madison'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SyFRLA7dxlI/AAAAAAAAAHE/lM5F5hggBf4/s72-c/snowball+fight.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-708742017359587132</id><published>2009-11-24T17:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-24T17:23:43.153-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 29 - Ferias de Inverno, Ai Vou Eu!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SwxqX-oa2VI/AAAAAAAAAG8/REw16Z8iUkM/s1600/luggage.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SwxqX-oa2VI/AAAAAAAAAG8/REw16Z8iUkM/s320/luggage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407814212747188562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Fim do Fall Term..! (e ainda nao comecou a nevar)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Finalmente tive minha ultima prova ha algumas horas, &lt;/span&gt;e estou livre para o famoso winter break (ferias de inverno). Por aqui estamos todos fazendo as malas, empacotando livros e outros pertences, e organizando as financas, porque dessa vez para ficar no campus eh preciso pagar uma taxa dolorida no bolso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu particularmente nao estarei por aqui: amanha sigo para uma cidadezinha rodeada por milharais ha cerca de 40 minutos de Appleton, onde ficarei na fazenda da minha 'friendship family', os Kozaks, especie de familia de apoio em Wisconsin que a Lawrence arranjou para mim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enquanto retiro as malas da parte de baixo da minha cama, e entrego 'quarters' a uma vizinha que desesperadamente precisa de mais creditos para poder usar a maquina de lavar e a secadora, penso que essa semana deveria estar indo para a minha querida Recife. Recife, que a essa epoca deve estar esquentando com a proximidade do verao! Caminhar pelo portao de desembarque e ver a minha mae entre a multidao que aguarda, na ponta dos pes e esticando o pescoco, numa leve inclinacao para a esquerda... Enfim, eh a vida de quem nao tem tantos meios assim, mas hei de visitar minha terra natal ano que vem, se Deus quiser!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esse inverno, no entanto, nao sera ruim como voce deve estar pensando. Visitarei o meu namorado, que eu amo, amo, amo... E irei a Chicago na primeira semana de dezembro com os Kozaks, para a reuniao de familia deles! Sem falar que agora que tenho um laptop posso finalmente trabalhar com mais privacidade nos meus projetos; livros; e applications para bolsas de estudo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quem sabe, ate, um milagre ocorra e eu apareca no Brasil a tempo do Natal! Seria o maior milagre de todos os tempos, tirando a vida em si. Se voce acredita em milagres, fe, e na forca do pensamento, reze por mim! Quem sabe juntos possamos encontrar meios razoaveis de me permitir ver os Carvalho, que esse ano ganharam dois novos integrantes: Anita e Giuseppe... Sim, tambem consigo prever grandes historias entre esses primos, filhos de Kamila e Thiago respectivamente, que vieram ao mundo portando nomes que por si so ja carregam importantes ligacoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quem viver, vera..!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- Feliz Natal e um Prospero Ano Novo a todos os povos!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-708742017359587132?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/708742017359587132/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/11/capitulo-29-ferias-de-inverno-ai-vou-eu.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/708742017359587132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/708742017359587132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/11/capitulo-29-ferias-de-inverno-ai-vou-eu.html' title='Capitulo 29 - Ferias de Inverno, Ai Vou Eu!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SwxqX-oa2VI/AAAAAAAAAG8/REw16Z8iUkM/s72-c/luggage.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-6699681656808618992</id><published>2009-11-01T16:16:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-01T16:20:15.354-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Things</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;I am very inclined to believe that things are getting better in my life. I am not only inclined -- I am sure and strongly certain that more than anything else joy will be constant for at least a long period. Yes, the orbs are conspiring to get me delightful surprises!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-6699681656808618992?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/6699681656808618992/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/11/good-things.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6699681656808618992'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6699681656808618992'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/11/good-things.html' title='Good Things'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-8896800848597478614</id><published>2009-10-18T23:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T00:04:51.223-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 28 - Root Beer FLOATing on my Notes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/StvzNftBCOI/AAAAAAAAAGs/jLMc99jhako/s1600-h/rootbeer.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394172391880460514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 162px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/StvzNftBCOI/AAAAAAAAAGs/jLMc99jhako/s200/rootbeer.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;At 9:30 pm I already was tired of studying Geology. Coincidentally I went to the front desk at the same time my friend Cuong’s program started: Free Root Beer Floats! I don’t even like root beer very much, but I decided to stay around – I was tired and wanted some distraction to relax my mind. I had my notes with me, neatly written with my fountain pen, and on nice ivory paper. I spread the sheets of paper on the desk, and while sipping root beer I read what I had written about the types of rocks and magma. First I disliked the taste of the beverage – but ice cream, I must confess, improved the flavor of it; and improved it in a way that made me refill my cup.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Alex was getting excited with the songs he was choosing on YouTube, and couldn’t stop arguing with Cuong, who wanted to listen to [and sing along, and dance..] different songs. In order to end the mess they were making behind the front desk it was decided that the freshmen hanging around could pick whatever songs they wanted, and which RLA they wanted to see dancing that song. The idea did not bother me much because I was simply hanging out for a while before going back to Geology.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After deliberating with his friends one of our 1st floor residents, Kyle, came to the front desk with his decision: “We want this song… And we want the FOUR of you to dance it..!”. That was when I raised my head and looked around… to my surprise they had included me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Hold on… what do you mean by “the FOUR of you”? – and my hand accidentally bumped into my cup, and made the content of it spill all over my notes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I ran desperately to stop the black river that my ink formed on the desk and had started dripping on the floor. Nobody paid attention to me, though – only Tasmia, 3 minutes later, realized what was going on when leaving the front desk for some reason. She started to laugh at what she described as the “not happy, though not very sad face” I had, and helped me clean the mess I made.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those were just random notes I took while studying this afternoon, so losing them was not a major disaster. Though still was pretty depressing to see them all blurred by root beer and ice cream. “See, that’s why I’ve never liked root beer…”, I said to Tasmia, who couldn’t stop laughing. It was pretty comic, indeed. I had to laugh at my clumsiness. I was so annoyed at my loss [nice paper; black ink; ice cream; and even root beer], that I decided to go back to the computer lab to study.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I wonder if I will ever recover from such traumatizing experience…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-8896800848597478614?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/8896800848597478614/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/10/capitulo-28-root-beer-floating-on-my.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8896800848597478614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8896800848597478614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/10/capitulo-28-root-beer-floating-on-my.html' title='Capitulo 28 - Root Beer FLOATing on my Notes'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/StvzNftBCOI/AAAAAAAAAGs/jLMc99jhako/s72-c/rootbeer.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-2217930881325777745</id><published>2009-10-03T20:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T20:35:09.767-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Junior Year</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/Ssf7vlCyD4I/AAAAAAAAAGI/URGAuJs9_Qk/s1600-h/chapel.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388552273988292482" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/Ssf7vlCyD4I/AAAAAAAAAGI/URGAuJs9_Qk/s320/chapel.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#000099;"&gt;Saudacoes a todos..!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Junior year... Pois eh, chegou o meu penultimo ano na Lawrence. As vezes fico impressionada como o tempo passa correndo -- mas tem que ser assim mesmo, sim? Ficar parado no espaco nunca foi melhor opcao.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Para que nao sabe..: Tive o melhor verao de todos os tempos. Aprendi bastante sobre mim mesma, sobre um amigo querido, e sobre a vida em si. Viajando pelos EUA aprendi um pouco mais sobre cultura e Historia local, e pela primeira vez comi no Taco Bells [muito nao entenderao a razao do meu orgulho; mas, enfim... foi legal!].&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Ao retornar a Lawrence tornei-me uma RLA (residence life advisor), que - em termos Harry Potter - eh uma especie de 'monitor'. Junto com mais 9 alunos cuidamos para que a vida no Trever Hall seja a melhor possivel, e que os alunos antigos e os calouros possam viver em harmonia e aprender a respeitar o local em que vivem e os colegas de dormitorio. Posso dizer que tenho aprendido bastante com o novo cargo -- principalmente aprendido sobre mim mesma: Nunca pensei que fosse me sentir tao segura ao lidar, por exemplo, com estudantes bebados:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Cena 1:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Estou eu na recepcao do Trever Hall por volta das 10:00 pm, e percebo que um aluno nao consegue abrir a porta de entrada. Eh um dos nossos residentes, e esta caindo pelas tabelas, amparado por um outro aluno. O que fazer? Abro a porta, e ajudo o aluno a entrar. Ele eh estrangeiro (por razoes diversas nao identificarei a nacionalidade do querido pinguco, pois nao quero gerar estereotipos entre os meus leitores), e num Ingles quebrado [e influencia de 'pinguces'] eles me agradece umas 10 vezes seguida.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Ele eh alto, e largo. Parece um guarda-roupas. E eu temo pelo ombro do colega sobrio -- na manha seguinte ele certamente sentira o peso da amizade. Seguimos com o aluno bebado ate o quarto dele. Ele agradece mais umas 10 vezes. Deitado na cama ele parece terrivel. Meus olhos imploram para que o amigo fique tomando conta dele, mas o amigo precisa ir. Nao eh bom deixar bebados sozinhos, eles podem [ATENCAO: SE VOCE ESTA COMENDO AGORA, POR FAVOR, NAO CONTINUE ESSE TEXTO. EM CASO DE ESTOMAGO FRACO, TAMBEM NAO CONTINUE. EU AVISEI, PELO PROPRIO BEM DO SEU TECLADO, PULE PARA O PROXIMO PARAGRAFO] &lt;em&gt;vomitar&lt;/em&gt; e se afogar no proprio vomito. Eh muito serio, em verdade. Por isso, caso voce tenha que lidar com algum estudante bebado que queira ficar deitado (porque chega um momento em que o organismo nao aguenta mais e pede para ser desligado) tenha em mente que uma boa ideia eh manter o corpo dele de lado. Junto a cama colocamos a lata de lixo, que serviu muito bem ao proposito.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Chamei o meu chefe (RHD: Residence Hall Director, especie de 'sindico') so para ter certeza que nao era o caso de maiores cuidados. O rapaz discursou numa lingua estrangeira, e depois caiu no sono. O mantivemos deitado de lado, so por precaucao. Quando o vejo sobrio hoje em dia nao consigo esquecer do episodio anterior -- eh incrivel como a primeira impressao eh a que fica.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;Fora esses incidentes, tudo segue bem. Tenho publicado mais materias para o jornal da faculdade, e tambem trabalhado lavando pratos no refeitorio. Ha muitas historias sobre o refeitorio que preciso contar -- mas essas ficam para depois...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Boa noite, e parabens Brasil! Por aqui todos muito orgulhosos pela conquista: Olimpiadas de 2016 no Rio de Janeiro!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-2217930881325777745?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/2217930881325777745/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/10/junior-year.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2217930881325777745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2217930881325777745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/10/junior-year.html' title='Junior Year'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/Ssf7vlCyD4I/AAAAAAAAAGI/URGAuJs9_Qk/s72-c/chapel.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-3679485331701026518</id><published>2009-07-28T20:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T20:32:43.512-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cade a Rebecca..?!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-392bb3f6b39910e1" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v10.nonxt8.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D392bb3f6b39910e1%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151929%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D2447A6C3F323A2CF790D2ED9DC0DA3700C57E635.3544B9A37FB684B25272D9D58ED6A921D4551B87%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D392bb3f6b39910e1%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DVkNlVrI43ssfD5ba6o2HzI8e7rA&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v10.nonxt8.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D392bb3f6b39910e1%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151929%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D2447A6C3F323A2CF790D2ED9DC0DA3700C57E635.3544B9A37FB684B25272D9D58ED6A921D4551B87%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D392bb3f6b39910e1%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DVkNlVrI43ssfD5ba6o2HzI8e7rA&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;E ai, tudo bem? Nao, eu nao morri. Estou de ferias em Minnesota!!! Como estava com saudades de todo mundo decidi gravar esse video rapido, com a pessima iluminacao do quarto... Mas, enfim, fica a prova de que eu nao fui abduzida.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Musica de fundo, Ray Charles. Nao, eu nao tenho nenhum direito de uso. Ray Charles and The Count Basie Orchestra.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Sim, era a camisa do programa Jovens Embaixadores.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Eu tambem quero cruzar a India de trem! Passei alguns segundos (da para perceber no video), me imaginando no lugar do Sanjay....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-3679485331701026518?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=392bb3f6b39910e1&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/3679485331701026518/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/07/cade-rebecca.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3679485331701026518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3679485331701026518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/07/cade-rebecca.html' title='Cade a Rebecca..?!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-6946799702574822620</id><published>2009-05-29T20:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-29T21:33:36.051-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 27 - Dia Brasileiro</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-24cc0631fe418480" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v19.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D24cc0631fe418480%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151929%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D8315E6A8A7858FB2940A0005C464B315E95655B8.404BC37709857CA50FAFD38C15EA5C676AF42927%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D24cc0631fe418480%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3D6zIOwweH_-G1D6l6I6xt3mhrI2s&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v19.nonxt4.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D24cc0631fe418480%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330151929%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D8315E6A8A7858FB2940A0005C464B315E95655B8.404BC37709857CA50FAFD38C15EA5C676AF42927%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D24cc0631fe418480%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3D6zIOwweH_-G1D6l6I6xt3mhrI2s&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Hoje quando eu estava voltando do meu trabalho no refeitorio ouvi o grupo Sambistas tocando no Frat Quad, que eh a area onde estao localizadas todas as fraternidades da Lawrence University. Saquei a camera, e filmei o que voce vera logo mais.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nao eh nenhum trabalho profissional, e a imagem esta ate tremida. Mas voce podera ver um grupo de patos (?) cruzando o ceu, e algumas pessoas dancando de maneira engracada.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mila Pimentel, lembrei de voce!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-6946799702574822620?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=24cc0631fe418480&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/6946799702574822620/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/05/capitulo-27-dia-brasileiro.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6946799702574822620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6946799702574822620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/05/capitulo-27-dia-brasileiro.html' title='Capitulo 27 - Dia Brasileiro'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-6982857452432656353</id><published>2009-05-20T11:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-20T12:19:50.470-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 26 - Spring Term</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/ShQ7OTzLXXI/AAAAAAAAAFY/y3LuqP3ANr8/s1600-h/spring460.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337956575360015730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 209px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/ShQ7OTzLXXI/AAAAAAAAAFY/y3LuqP3ANr8/s320/spring460.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Eh Primavera na Lawrence University. Os gramados estao tao verdes quanto os encontrados no Brasil, e o campus inteiro cheira a flores. Nao estou falando da linguagem poetica que apela aos sentidos do leitor; porem, literalmente, as petalas dos jasmins, que desabrocharam semana passada, em contato com o sol emitem um forte aroma que cercou predios academicos e residenciais.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Pela manha eh comum ver alunos metidos em poucas vestes, estirados na grama esmeralda, absorvendo os raios solares que tanto fizeram falta nesse inverno, que foi tao prolongado. Munidos de livros e oculos escuros, ha uma combinacao engracada entre veraneio e trabalho intelectual que para mim nunca se encaixou muito bem - mas as aulas se estendem ate o comeco de junho, e mesmo a chegada da estacao das flores nao poderia barrar a producao de &lt;em&gt;papers&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;em&gt;essays&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;em&gt;presentations&lt;/em&gt;, e afins.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Sigo para a minha aula de Arabe, no 2 andar do Main Hall, abro uma janela e me sento no parapeito observando a vida la fora, antes que o professor Verita chegue e nos cumprimente com ares egipcios. O vento sopra levemente, baguncando os meus cabelos, e eu fecho os olhos: "Vento, vento.. leva as tristezas, e traz apenas alegrias!", murmuro. E ele, brincalhao, eh claro que atende ao meu pedido.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;"Ahla wa sahla!" -- exclama o professor Verita.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Eu dou uma ultima espiada nas arvores estendendo galhadas cobertas por folhas recem-nascidas; no ceu azul, quase sem nuvens; e a contragosto volto ao mundo dos livros. "William Wordsworth, afinal de contas, estava certo", penso, lembrando das aulas de Literatura Britanica.&lt;em&gt; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-6982857452432656353?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/6982857452432656353/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/05/capitulo-26-spring-term.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6982857452432656353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6982857452432656353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/05/capitulo-26-spring-term.html' title='Capitulo 26 - Spring Term'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/ShQ7OTzLXXI/AAAAAAAAAFY/y3LuqP3ANr8/s72-c/spring460.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-5935381677659512605</id><published>2009-05-15T16:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-15T16:55:22.922-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 25 - O Ataque do Peru Assassino</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/Sg3kKAKx69I/AAAAAAAAAE4/XmTSC_XxccU/s1600-h/peru+voando.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336171993998945234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/Sg3kKAKx69I/AAAAAAAAAE4/XmTSC_XxccU/s320/peru+voando.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Essa historia eu nao vivi, mas quem me contou foi a Britta numa dessas noites em que risos eram necessarios para nos manter firmes e acordadas para terminar de estudar:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;-- Ah, voce nao sabe o que aconteceu ontem... - disse ela, levantando-se da escrivaninha, que fica logo ao lado da minha. Ela havia se levantado, promessa de que a historia exigia alguma encenacao. Virei as pernas para o braco esquerdo da cadeira, e esqueci Literatura Britanica por alguns minutos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Continuou:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;-- Ontem eu fiquei ate por volta das 5:00AM estudando no salao comunal com o Sanjay. A uma certa altura olhei pela janela e vi um passaro gigante!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;-- O que? Gigante como?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A Britta ergueu a mao para mostrar a altura dele. - Era alto assim - a mao um pouco acima do joelho - ...e gordo, tambem. Pois bem, eu vi o tal passaro gigante andando entre os arbustos ao redor do predio de Ciencias, bicando as janelas. O Sanjay e eu passamos a observa-lo, e logo ficou claro que era um peru.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;-- Um peru?! - exclamei. Minha memoria acerca de perus se resumem as ceias de Natal que tive ao longo da vida com a minha familia. Alguns pensamentos engracados de pessoas imitando o som que eles fazem tambem espocaram na minha mente.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;-- Sim! Um peru... - ela parou e respirou fundo, os olhos fechados. Para entao continuar: - Voce ja viu a maneira como eles andam? - e riu, andando com os joelhos ligeiramente arqueados, e balancando a cabeca para frente a cada passada.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ri. Quem diria que a minha colega de quarto era tao boa em imitar animais... Mas a melhor parte estava por vi:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;-- Mas voce nao sabe o que o peru fez! Havia uma mulher correndo do lado de fora, e eu juro que o peru a viu antes que ela pudesse nota-lo! Ele entao saiu correndo e se escondeu atras de um arbusto! - a Britta usou o freezer como arbusto na demonstracao - ...e entao... quando ela passou... O PERU SAIU VOANDO NA DIRECAO DELA!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Cai na gargalhada ao imaginar o peru atacando a corredora, e ainda mais com a Britta balancando os bracos para imitar o voo do peru. - Ah, eu nao acredito que eu perdi essa cena! Voces nao tinham uma camera ou coisa parecida..? - suspirei. Para minimizar minha frustracao a Britta iniciou uma pesquisa no YouTube, e a verdade eh que descobrimos o quanto esses passaros natalinos podem ser maliciosos!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A teoria eh que ele fez de proposito... - Eu vi que ele se escondeu para atacar a mulher... - disse a Britta balancando a cabeca. Vai entender o que deu na cabeca do passaro... estava de mal humor, provavelmente.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;...por precaucao tenho evitado areas com arbustos. Voce, caro leitor, faca o mesmo quando vier a Lawrence University. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-5935381677659512605?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/5935381677659512605/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/05/capitulo-25-o-ataque-do-peru-assassino.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5935381677659512605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5935381677659512605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/05/capitulo-25-o-ataque-do-peru-assassino.html' title='Capitulo 25 - O Ataque do Peru Assassino'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/Sg3kKAKx69I/AAAAAAAAAE4/XmTSC_XxccU/s72-c/peru+voando.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-2224828598436512974</id><published>2009-05-10T00:51:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-10T01:07:01.551-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Quick Note</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Lamento ter passado algum tempo sem publicar historias. Nao, elas nao cessaram de ocorrer na minha vida -- porem alguns capitulos as vezes sao publicaveis apenas nas paginas dos meus diarios pessoais.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O que posso dizer eh que tenho aprendido bastante com essa vida de aluna internacional. Nao estou falando apenas das aulas que tenho na Lawrence University. Falo principalmente das licoes de vida, dos ensinamentos que se aprende ao viver a vida como alguem adentrando o mundo adulto; como alguem vivendo longe de casa pela primeira vez; como a unica pessoa responsavel por mim mesma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As vezes eh dificil, sim. Ha, claro, dias em que eu olho ao redor e digo "Quero ir ver a minha mae agora, e ponto final!". Nao, nao se preocupem -- esses rompantes sao perfeitamente normais (...considerando que minutos depois recobro as forca e sigo em frente com a minha vida normalmente).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nesses ultimos dias, no entanto, muita coisa mudou (..e nessa reflexao o ligeiro ar melancolico desse post eh explicado). O lado bom eh que, como apontado anteriormente, aprendi bastante. O lado ruim eh... o lado ruim eh... Vamos apenas pensar que nao  ha lado ruim, sim?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I still like you very much. Things will be fine, soon. I promise.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-2224828598436512974?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/2224828598436512974/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/05/quick-note.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2224828598436512974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2224828598436512974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/05/quick-note.html' title='A Quick Note'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-3436268904614427161</id><published>2009-03-11T22:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-11T22:40:30.265-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 24 - Uma Novidade Que Quase Custou As Minhas Notas</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Lamento por todos esses dias em que eu passei sem postar uma historia que fosse - mas estive tao doente que mal podia me levantar da cama. Foi exatamente 1 semana apenas ouvindo a chuva na minha janela; ocasionais risos distantes dos alunos caminhando la fora; muita febre e tontura; spray para garganta sabor cereja; e dois pares de olhos azuis identicos sobre mim: As gemeas Britta e Hannah Luteyn, minhas enfermeiras.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Parece que enquanto eu dormia a Primavera veio nos visitar, e trouxe um pouco de calor. Mas certa manha, ao dar uma boa olhada na vida atraves das cortinas, para a minha surpresa encontrei a Lawrence afundada em neve. Estava tudo branco outra vez. E hoje faz tanto frio que a pele do rosto arde e fica de um vermelho intenso pouco estetico.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Mas fui ao medico, e ja estou consideravelmente melhor. Tambem conversei com os meus professores, entao esta tudo (aparentemente) sobre controle para as provas finais, que serao semana que vem. Amanha, por sinal, eh meu teste oral em Arabe - portanto me desejem boa sorte!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A novidade que quase custou minhas notas poderia ter sido a gripe violenta, mas na verdade foi um assunto totalmente diferente. Eu nao sei exatamente se devo informar, porque o fato eh que eh melhor esperar um pouco pelos resultados - porem se der certo vai trazer grandes alegrias para mim, para a minha familia, e para as pessoas que torcem pelas minhas empreitadas.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Parece um pouco injusto colocar dessa maneira, mas vamos esperar, sim? Eu prometo que sera uma boa noticia - ou, pelo menos, eu espero que ela venha. Mas me dediquei bastante; tanto que acabei negligenciando um pouco os meus estudos, mas ja esta tudo se ajustando. Agora eh so torcer pelo melhor!   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-3436268904614427161?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/3436268904614427161/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/03/capitulo-24-uma-novidade-que-quase.html#comment-form' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3436268904614427161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3436268904614427161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/03/capitulo-24-uma-novidade-que-quase.html' title='Capitulo 24 - Uma Novidade Que Quase Custou As Minhas Notas'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-8093746089479199816</id><published>2009-03-02T22:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-02T23:44:35.372-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 23 - Uma Historia Envolvendo a Policia de Appleton</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Como dizem... "Para tudo ha uma primeira vez!". Nao, nao eh o que voce esta pensando -- lamento desaponta-lo, porem nao fui presa, ou &lt;em&gt;arrested&lt;/em&gt; por qualquer razao. A historia que contarei hoje, no entanto, apenas tres pessoas conhecem -- ou melhor, quatro: Tamanna, Mya, uma policial de Appleton, e eu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ao final de setembro os alunos internacionais ainda estavam bastante perdidos. Literalmente... A gente andava com mapas colados ao nariz. Era facil nos identificar: Nao porque tivessemos tracos diferentes, ou qualquer tipo de sotaque... Os americanos, mesmo eles, tantas vezes podem ser apontados como vindos de outro pais, visto os genes dos ancestrais imigrantes que muitos trazem. O que podia nos identificar, no entanto, eram os mapas fazendo volume nos nossos bolsos e uma eterna expressao de quem acaba de descer na parada de onibus errada (...por falar nisso, ja contei a respeito do dia em que dormi voltando do trabalho e acabei perdendo o ponto de onibus? Essa, no entanto, nao eh uma historia da Lawrence University).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Tamanna, Mya e eu precisavamos ir ao shopping Fox River procurar por alguma companhia de celulares, e tambem comprar utensilios de que precisavamos. No meu caso eu nao estava em condicoes de assinar qualquer plano telefonico que fosse, mas definitivamente precisava comprar calcas pretas que nao fossem jeans -- iria comecar a trabalhar para o departamento de catering da Lawrence, e definitivamente nao tinha calcas e sapatos adequados ao cargo. Nao lembro exatanente do que mais as minhas amigas precisavam, mas recordo vagamente a Tamanna - que eh tao magrinha - reclamando que precisava ir checar o departamento infantil.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Chegar ao shopping, no entanto, era um problema maior do que meu guarda-roupas inadequado. Qual onibus? Onde fica a parada? Quanto custa a passagem? E onde fica o Fox River, exatamente..?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ora, ora - somos tres garotas crescidas ja morando sozinhas - o que poderia dar errado?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;O que poderia dar errado? Essa eh uma pergunta bem interessante. Mal sabiamos nos tres, mas encontrar o Fox River Mall foi uma das maiores sagas da nossa vida. A aventura, no entanto, decidimos guardar apenas entre nos, visto alguns detalhes minimos..:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Descobrir onde ficava a parada de onibus, e em qual onibus embarcar. Para a nossa surpresa nos informaram que precisariamos ir a rodoviaria de Appleton (que fica logo atras da College Avenue, uma caminhada agradavel). Nao parece o tipo de informacao primaria para alguem querendo se locomover? &lt;em&gt;Onde&lt;/em&gt; ficava o destino, e &lt;em&gt;qual meio&lt;/em&gt; nos levaria ao lugar. Nem sabiamos o basico!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ja no onibus conversavamos alegremente, embora houvesse uma certa tensao camuflada: Por que cada bloco em Wisconsin parece identico? Cada rua, estabelecimento, esquina... tudo igual! Ouvimos o motorista anunciar que estavamos na market area, o que quer dizer "area de mercado", e o estacionamento do tal lugar parecia tanto com o do shopping (tinhamos o visitado apenas 1 vez, porem num onibus fretado pela Lawrence, e com monitores). Nao sabiamos nos que o tal &lt;em&gt;market area&lt;/em&gt; na verdade era Market Area!!! Descemos do onibus, olhamos ao redor... "NAO EH AQUI!!!".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;O que fazer? Observamos tristemente o onibus seguir adiante. Perguntamos a uma senhora onde ficava o shopping, e ela disse que na verdade nao estavamos tao longe assim, mas que em termos de caminhada seria um pouco comprida, sim. Fazer o que? Tamanna, Mya e eu decidimos que iriamos, sim, andando...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;...e como andamos! Andamos tanto, em fila indiana, pelo acostamento da rodovia. Nao sabiamos se estavamos seguindo o caminho certo, mas sabiamos que precisavamos chegar ao destino. Riamos da nossa propria sorte, tres garotas perdidas no coracao dos EUA, prometendo jamais passar adiante a historia. "Gente, nao podemos andar por aqui...", eu ia repetindo, e Tamanna rebatia dizendo que nao havia por onde caminhar (nao havia calcada ou coisa parecida).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Um carro policial de Appleton piscou a sirene logo adiante. Como eu previ, parou ao nosso lado. Uma policial sorridente colocou a cabeca para o lado de fora de janela: "Algum problema, garotas?". Sim, todos os problemas do mundo! Descemos do onibus no lugar errado, e agora nao sabemos o que fazer. Estamos andando a horas, precisamos chegar ao shopping, e nao o encontramos! "Oh, voces nao podem andar por aqui. Estao perto do Fox River, na verdade. Eu levo voces ate la". E onde foi parar toda a historia de que nao se deve aceitar carona de estranhos? Ah, e quem liga?!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Chegar ao shopping foi como... como... como encontrar, por exemplo, o cadaver do menino no filme &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUVnfaA-kpI"&gt;Stand By Me&lt;/a&gt; (Baseado no livro The Body, de Stephen King, que eu li quando estava no Colegio Militar).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Esse dia de aventuras veio como uma amostra do que a vida realmente eh: Andamos rumo a um objetivo, e nem sempre sabemos bem como chegaremos la, porem sabemos que precisamos continuar andando. Contanto que nos mantivessemos juntas teriamos forca o suficiente, e fe o suficiente, para seguir em frente. A minha dica, no entanto, eh para que voce mantenha um olho bem aberto para saber em qual parada deve descer... e, hum... nem sempre confie em rostos amigaveis oferecendo caronas - mesmo que no nosso caso tenha dado certo, e tenha sido uma policial, realmente nao ha como saber em quem confiar. E como saber de quem se pode receber ajuda? Nesse caso eu diria que vale a pena confiar nos proprios instintos, e os meus sempre funcionaram bem.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;- Eu nunca estive num carro de policia... - disse a Mya, com um ar conservardor assustado.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;- E nem fizemos nada! - completei. A Mya olhou para mim, os olhos puxados, e nos duas so pudemos rir uma da outra.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Essa foi a nossa primeira experiencia - e unica, espero - com a policia de Appleton. E entao... vai guardar o nosso segredo?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;    &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-8093746089479199816?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/8093746089479199816/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/03/capitulo-23-uma-historia-envolvendo.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8093746089479199816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8093746089479199816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/03/capitulo-23-uma-historia-envolvendo.html' title='Capitulo 23 - Uma Historia Envolvendo a Policia de Appleton'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-1815581362803532024</id><published>2009-03-01T01:37:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-01T16:53:03.514-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 22 - O Meu Maior Receio</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Ganhei um novo seguidor! Oops, o Historias da Lawrence University ganhou um novo seguidor -- o que quer dizer que mais e mais pessoas vao lendo os causos que aqui relato acerca da minha vida como aluna internacional. Para comemorar o sucesso (Oi..?!) do blog decidi que deveria dividir com voces tres historias. Em tres posts diferentes, quero dizer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;O meu maior receio quando entrei para o mundo universitario americano.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Uma historia envolvendo a policia de Appleton.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Uma novidade que surgiu entre as paredes da Lawrence e quase custou minhas notas.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vamos a primeira historia, entao. Alguem faz ideia de qual era o meu maior receio acerca do mundo universitario americano? Hm... Vejamos...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...eu deixei Recife numa sexta-feira logo apos o horario do almoco. A minha familia toda (ou quase toda) estava no aeroporto, e uns amigos dos tempos de Colegio Militar e mIRC (...sim, eu sou do tempo do mIRC!). Voei para o Rio de Janeiro, e de la embarquei a noite para Atlanta. Cheguei bem na terra do Tio Sam por volta das 8:00 da manha do sabado, e aguardei no aeroporto pelo meu voo a Appleton, que deveria sair apenas as 9:15 da noite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;"&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)"&gt;Atlanta, 13 de setembro de 2008 (sabado)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)"&gt;--&gt; 2:35PM&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)"&gt;Ja incrivelmente aborrecida por estar sentada aqui so vendo os avioes chegando. Quero ir para Appleton logo, e poder deitar numa cama, que eh do que estou precisando. Estou tao cansada que nao tenho nem palavras para explicar -- ha alguns minutos quase cochilei aqui mesmo onde estava; acordei apenas com o peso do corpo deslocando para frente. Abri os olhos atonita, mas por sorte nao havia (eu acho) ninguem olhando&lt;/span&gt;".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Um trecho do meu diario para explicar o que foi passar um dia inteiro no aeroporto. A experiencia nao foi das piores, no entanto -- ora essa, eu havia acabado de chegar nos Estados Unidos!&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;O voo para Appleton - WI foi o mais turbulento da minha vida. Havia, literalmente, uma tempestade sobre a cidade, e o aviao chacoalhava da pior maneira possivel entre camadas e camadas de nuvens. Ao meu lado Roy (ainda lembro do nome dele, que foi meu vizinho de assento) tremia de medo, enquanto eu simplesmente ria espiando a janela -- afinal de contas estava chegando, FINALMENTE, em Wisconsin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tim Schmidt, da International House, estava me esperando no aeroporto. Seguimos para a Lawrence numa van da universidade, e com ele me explicando sobre a cidade e as atividades da manha seguinte. No escritorio do Tim peguei alguns mantimentos como garrafas d'agua e biscoito, ja que nao havia jantado, e telefonei para casa a avisar que estava bem. Acabei, oops, acordando a minha mae, que em vez de dizer "Tchau, durma bem" ao final da conversa simplesmente disse "Va tomar um banho".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sim, fazia sentido, eu passara 1 dia inteiro sem ver a cara do chuveiro... Mas... foi ai que eu lembrei do meu maior temor: Os quartos dos dormitorios nao sao suites! O que quer dizer... sim... voce tem que ir tomar banho num vestiario ou coisa parecida. Nao sou tao pudica assim, mas o pensamento de ter que ir enrolada numa toalha para o banheiro (como normalmente se faz) me aterrorizava mais do que qualquer viagem turbulenta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eh verdade que no andar do predio onde eu moro, o Ormsby Hall, so ha garotas -- mas mesmo assim... Sem falar que a circulacao de garotos nao eh proibida, visto que o segundo andar do dormitorio eh masculino.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ja estava tarde, eu nao sabia o que fazer, e precisava tomar um banho. Coragem, Rebecca... Enfiei uma muda de roupas, toalhas, e produtos de banho numa bolsa larga que ganhei na minha viagem a Minas Gerais, e segui pelo corredor a procura dos chuveiros. Encontrei rapidamente, e entrei rapidamente num deles, fechando a cortina o mais apertado que pude.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu estava tao aterrorizada com a ideia de que alguem pudesse entrar no vestiario, que simplesmente tive o banho mais rapido da minha vida. Acho que durou cerca de 5 minutos -- e quem me conhece sabe que esse recorde dificilmente baterei outra vez.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoje em dia eh natural tomar banho ouvindo o barulho dos outros chuveiros (e as vezes ate ouvindo algumas alunas cantando, embora nem todas sejam tao boas cantoras assim), e eu sempre me lembro da primeira noite em que os conheci...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...continuo, no entanto, me recusando a ir e vir de toalha. Eu me troco nos chuveiros. E, ah... a bolsa de Minas Gerais eh incrivelmente util!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-1815581362803532024?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/1815581362803532024/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-22-o-meu-maior-receio.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1815581362803532024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1815581362803532024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-22-o-meu-maior-receio.html' title='Capitulo 22 - O Meu Maior Receio'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-8985373318371061764</id><published>2009-02-26T00:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T12:35:46.295-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 21 - Qual eh o significado da nossa amizade?!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/Sabg-lMpRtI/AAAAAAAAADM/YRnkHXI6Efk/s1600-h/Britta+e+Rebecca.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307176576644368082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/Sabg-lMpRtI/AAAAAAAAADM/YRnkHXI6Efk/s200/Britta+e+Rebecca.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;A Britta eh a minha colega de quarto na Lawrence University. Foi amizade a primeira vista - uma dessas parcerias que so o destino saberia explicar. Como eh que de repente duas pessoas que nunca haviam se visto na vida acabam tendo que dividir o mesmo apartamento na faculdade e, ora vejam so, se dao tao bem desde o primeiro dia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Como boas colegas de quarto dividimos quase tudo - comida, tristezas, e alegrias. Dividimos, inclusive, gripes. Essa semana a Britta desceu do primeiro andar (como eu chamo a cama de cima do beliche) e me encontrou enfiada em tres camadas de cobertas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Eu nao me sinto muito bem...", anunciei, notando minha propria garganta seca. Ela perguntou se eu queria que ela trouxesse o meu almoco, mas optei por levantar e espantar a doenca para longe. O fato eh que acabou respingando nela.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O quarto 314 do Ormsby Hall acabou se tornando um antro de virus. Sanjay, que eh um desses amigos que ja entram sem bater, passou a lavar as maos cada vez que tocava em alguma coisa. "So ando com voce na semana que vem!", exclamou ele, um dedo apontado para mim, como se eu estivesse carregando a propria peste bubonica.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A verdade eh que ele anda tao aterrorizado em adoecer que comecou ate a evitar a Britta, sua melhor amiga e colega do conservatorio de musica. Ontem ela abriu a porta do quarto de sopetao, um envelope na mao, e a expressao mais ofendida que eu ja vi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Olha so o que eu encontrei!", e estendeu-me um envelope. "O Sanjay com medo de subir aqui fica colocando mensagens na nossa caixa de correio! Hoje quando ele me viu no refeitorio deu um pulo para tras dizendo que nao iria falar comigo. Olhei bem para ele e perguntei &lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;afinal de contas, qual eh o significado da nossa amizade?!&lt;/span&gt;".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sera que entre melhores amigos tambem vale o tal de "...na saude e na doenca"? Pelo visto no Ormsby Hall segue a ideologia &lt;span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;amigos, amigos - gripes a parte&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-8985373318371061764?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/8985373318371061764/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-21-qual-eh-o-significado-da.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8985373318371061764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8985373318371061764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-21-qual-eh-o-significado-da.html' title='Capitulo 21 - Qual eh o significado da nossa amizade?!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/Sabg-lMpRtI/AAAAAAAAADM/YRnkHXI6Efk/s72-c/Britta+e+Rebecca.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-2840850377603477413</id><published>2009-02-25T00:01:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T00:42:59.435-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 20 - Carnaval nos Estados Unidos</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SaToaN8ggWI/AAAAAAAAADE/gnesGIutHhQ/s1600-h/mask.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306621798066979170" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SaToaN8ggWI/AAAAAAAAADE/gnesGIutHhQ/s320/mask.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Por conta de pessoas como a Marina eu continuo escrevendo. Ela eh uma dessas parentes da familia Jovens Embaixadores que, por uma gentileza real, para a ler tudo o que escrevo por aqui. E de onde vem tanta paciencia para me ouvir relatar todas as historias sobre as araras do zoologico de Madison; os trolls no corredor do subsolo do Ormsby Hall; o primeiro dia de neve...? Eu nao sei - mas agradeco o carinho e o reconhecimento. Portanto, Marina, continuarei escrevendo. Obrigada!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;E qual eh a novidade de hoje?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Eh Carnaval na Lawrence! Ou melhor... eh Mardi Gras. Na semana passada chegaram colares de contas coloridas pelos correios. Quando entrei no quarto certo dia apos uma aula encontrei dois colares: Um verde e um rosa - ou seja, um para mim e outro para a minha colega de quarto, Britta. Qual eh a minha cor preferida..?! Sim, eh claro que fiquei com o verde, e em vez de usa-lo como colar encontrei outro uso para ele: Enrolado no meu pulso direito tornou-se uma boa pulseira, acredite ou nao.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A noite, por volta das 9:30, fui para o predio Memorial Union curiosa para entender como o Carnaval era comemorado nos Estados Unidos. Segui com tres camadas de vestes, e o cachecol bem proximo ao pescoco, pois embora a Primavera esteja se aproximando parece que o Inverno eh o unico que ainda nao sabe disso.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ao entrar no Memorial Union os meus timpanos foram surpreendidos pelo som incomum de uma banda tocando num salao que chamamos de Riverview Lounge (e ele realmente tem vista para o rio Fox), de onde normalmente se escuta o ritmo [para mim inconfundivel] de um estilo musical chamado swing. Ao longo do corredor duas mesa repletas de alunos veteranos vestindo camisas amarelas na qual se lia "Mardi Gras". Numa delas estavam vendendo (?) colares de todas os tipos - porque aparentemente eles sao altamente necessarios caso voce decida celebrar o Mardi Gras (...e eu que transformei o meu em pulseira...). Noutra mesa li "Margaritas", e achei extremamente confuso o fato de estarem vendendo bebidas alcoolicas - mas no fundo acho que era apenas uma versao nao-alcoolica, ja que nao havia ninguem checando identidades.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Atravessei o portal do Riverview Lounge, repleto de fitas brilhantes coloridas, e que para o meu espanto transformara-se num verdadeiro cassino. Jogos de cartas, e outras formas de aposta de toda sorte - embora nao houvesse ninguem apostando nada, apenas testando a propria sorte. Logo adiante uma banda inteira de senhores vestidos de vermelho em branco. Olhei ao redor pensando "Entao eh assim que eles celebram o Carnaval por aqui...?". Por um segundo troquei as mesas, onde aqui e ali identificava-se um garoto vestido de mulher (...?!), por um bom ritmo de percussao e gente fazendo passos de frevo e samba.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Um pouco desapontada (e ligeiramente gripada) decidi voltar para o dormitorio. Uma plaquinha indicava que a comemoracao seguia no subsolo: Pinturas Faciais / Casamentos / Cartomante. Desci as escadas e a primeira coisa que vi foi um colega da classe de Arabe II se casando com a namorada diante de um altar conduzido por alunos - as aliancas que ambos receberam foram aneis com um confeito vermelho na ponta em formato de coracao. Ate ganharam um certificado oficializando a data.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Seguindo a direita havia uma banda de jazz tocando para umas poucas pessoas sentadas em mesas redondas e colorindo mascaras. Reconheci a maioria como garotas que moram no mesmo andar que eu no Ormsby Hall. Ninguem estava muito interessado na banda - porem, verdade seja dita, ate que eles eram muito bons!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Segui a esquerda e encontrei uma sala de estar com uma mesa de sinuca - porem, mais interessante, encontrei uma mesa redonda na qual um rapaz metido em vestes de mago fazia previsoes com cartas. Estava usando uma marcara negra, e de qualquer modo nao reconheci-lhe a voz - mas devia ser um aluno da Lawrence com um certo conhecimento sobre a arte de ler o futuro em cartas. Sentei-me num sofa diante dele, observando como conduzia a leitura - ele olhou para mim e eu sustentei o olhar. "Vamos ver se voce sabe o que esta fazendo ou nao" - nao pude deixar de pensar, e receio que ele tenha lido os meus pensamentos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Com o tempo deixei de incomodar o cartomante com o meu olhar fixo, e permiti-me pensar em outras coisas. Lembrei do Michael me dizendo que em Madison ele escutara que na State Street um dos bares estava planejando uma tematica brasileira para o Mardi Gras - lamentei com os meus botoes que eu nao pudesse ir ate ele, ou que ele nao estivesse em Appleton para ver que tinhamos ate um cartomante!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Deixei a sala do cartomante me sentindo ligeiramente febril, e retornei ao dormitorio. Os sintomas da gripe vao e voltam, e eu sigo com a vida normalmente porque nao posso simplesmente enterrar-me na cama ate que esteja totalmente melhor. Pergunto-me, no entanto, o que o cartomante teria me dito caso eu tivesse me submetido a sua consulta...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;...nunca saberei. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-2840850377603477413?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/2840850377603477413/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-20-carnaval-nos-estados-unidos.html#comment-form' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2840850377603477413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/2840850377603477413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-20-carnaval-nos-estados-unidos.html' title='Capitulo 20 - Carnaval nos Estados Unidos'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SaToaN8ggWI/AAAAAAAAADE/gnesGIutHhQ/s72-c/mask.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-6709324384779618104</id><published>2009-02-22T15:39:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-22T15:53:17.192-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 19 - As Araras do Zoologico de Madison, WI</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;O Michael sempre soube da minha paixao pelos animais, e do quanto eu sinto falta dos meus cinco gatos que ficaram no Brasil. Na Lawrence so temos permissao para criar peixes, e so apos aprovacao da sindica do dormitorio. Peixes, como todos sabem, nao gostam muito de ser afagados - para a minha tristeza.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;No dia seguinte a festa de Halloween na State Street, ligeiramente comparavel ao Galo da Madrugada em Recife, o Michael e eu levantamos cedo para um tour pela cidade. Conheci a UW-Madison, que eh a universidade onde ele estuda; e outros pontos turisticos. A minha alegria, no entanto, foi o passeio ao zoologico.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Corri de um lado a outro, rindo com ursos polares, e girafas africanas. Pulei de alegria na casa dos repteis, achando tudo muito interessante. Encontrei capivaras, flamingos, e leoes - mas nada se comparou a casa dos passaros, quando encontrei a placa "Passaros Brasileiros".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;- Passaros do Brasil! - exclamei, deixando o Michael para tras e correndo a me aproximar das arvores. Os animais gritavam enlouquecidos, meio esganicados, assustando uma garotinha la pelos seus seis anos. "Veja, eles sao bonitos, sabem falar..." explicava a mae dela.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Quando o Michael finalmente me encontrou eu estava certa de que poderia surpreende-lo com a surpresa de passaros falando em Portugues.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;- Oi, caras, tudo bem? - exclamei para os papagaios diante de mim.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;- Hello - disse um deles. Cruzei os bracos, aborrecida.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;- Voce eh brasileiro. Fale em Portugues. POR-TU-GUES. Vamos...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;O Michael, ao meu lado, falou em Ingles com o passaro, que prontamente o imitou:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"How are you?".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Decepcionada com os passaros brasileiros, que nao me reconheceram como compatriota, puxei o Michael pela manga da camisa em direcao a saida. Todavia, ja perto da porta, ouvi um grito inconfundivel do bichinho com o qual eu estivera tentando conversar:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;- Oi, arara!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Dei um pulo de alegria. - Ouviu? Ele falou em Portugues!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;O Michael so fez rir. E na hora de ir embora, porque meu onibus iria partir de volta a Appleton em 1 hora, praticamente chorei e agarrei-me aos portoes do zoologico (nao, isso nao aconteceu - mas nao faltou vontade) como se crianca fosse outra vez.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-6709324384779618104?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/6709324384779618104/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-19-as-araras-do-zoologico-de.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6709324384779618104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6709324384779618104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-19-as-araras-do-zoologico-de.html' title='Capitulo 19 - As Araras do Zoologico de Madison, WI'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-8649314923659162423</id><published>2009-02-20T00:56:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-20T01:06:35.220-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 18 - A Chuva</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: lucida grande;"&gt;Ha umas duas semanas o Michael veio me visitar. Engracado encontra-lo me esperando sentado na biblioteca do predio de Humanas, onde eu estava na minha aula de Arabe. Ve-lo entre todos aqueles quadros com fotografias dos meus caros Lawrentians da turma de 1800-e-la-vai quase o fez parecerer como um dos nossos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fomos assistir a apresentacao de tres bandas, e no retorno ao campus comecou a chover. Coloquei o capuz do casaco na cabeca, e ele ficou olhando para o ceu, aborrecido com S. Pedro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Ah, chuva. Eu detesto quando chove! - resmungou.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Por que? - perguntei, imediatamente lembrando da minha chuvosa Recife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Porque... porque...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ele estava sem palavras. Decidi dar uma ajudazinha indicando a razao mais obvia para tamanho desagrado com as nuvens cinzentas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Porque arruina o meu cabelo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Isso! Eu detesto a chuva porque arruina o seu cabelo - e sorriu um daqueles  queridos sorrisos largos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-8649314923659162423?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/8649314923659162423/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-18-chuva.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8649314923659162423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8649314923659162423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-18-chuva.html' title='Capitulo 18 - A Chuva'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-7441071863929108047</id><published>2009-02-17T23:36:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-18T20:50:25.597-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 17 - Andando Pateticamente</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SZukhz68TiI/AAAAAAAAAC8/Uzns-8iq5_Q/s1600-h/sanjay.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304013886938959394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 136px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SZukhz68TiI/AAAAAAAAAC8/Uzns-8iq5_Q/s200/sanjay.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Na vida a gente conhece umas pessoas que acabam inspirando a gente. Aqui na Lawrence nao foi diferente. Quando eu vi o Sanjay Seth pela primeira vez eu sabia que ele se tornaria um grande amigo, mas no fundo nao fazia ideia da diferenca que ele faria na minha vida.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Certa vez, antes de voar para o Texas, ele me disse:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Rebecca, va fazer alguma coisa com a qual voce nao se sentiria totalmente confortavel, como cantar. Va ter uma aventura!".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Naquela noite voltei para o meu quarto e pensei com os meus botoes. E nao eh que ele esta certo! Eu seguiria o conselho do meu amigo e voltaria no tempo para a epoca em que eu me descobrira escritora. Inspirada pelas palavras do Sanjay comecei a escrever o livro que daqui a alguns dias submeto a publicacao no Brasil.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hoje a noite, voltando do refeitorio com ele, o Sanjay teve a ideia de criar uma nova modalidade de caminhar. "Isso, vamos andar de maneira patetica!", disse ele, iniciando uma coreografia definitivamente digna dos zumbis do Michael Jackson em Thriller -- e depois trocando para ares de &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBDEN5AFmWU"&gt;Hugh Grant em Love Actually&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Quem me conhece bem sabe que eu segui rindo, preocupada com toda a atencao que ele estava chamando no caminho para Ormsby (sim, moramos no mesmo dormitorio), mas afinal de contas la estava mais um ensinamento do americano filho de indianos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Por que se preocupar tanto com o julgamento alheio?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;...ate arrisquei o passo "corrida de obstaculos imaginaria", mas de maneira muito comedida. Ai, ai... ainda tenho muito o que aprender. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-7441071863929108047?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/7441071863929108047/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-16-andando-pateticamente.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7441071863929108047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7441071863929108047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-16-andando-pateticamente.html' title='Capitulo 17 - Andando Pateticamente'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SZukhz68TiI/AAAAAAAAAC8/Uzns-8iq5_Q/s72-c/sanjay.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-1417061057899547315</id><published>2009-02-15T15:39:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-15T15:59:27.023-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 16 - Aprendendo Sobre Eu Mesma</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A vida na Lawrence eh bastante corrida. Nao que tenhamos vinte atividades para realizar num so dia (..e, as vezes, sim). A verdade eh que, por morarmos na instituicao, as aulas exigem bem mais do que o contexto sala de aula. Aprender numa manha nao eh suficiente -- os professores nos informam os horarios em que estarao nos escritorios deles para que possamos ir discutir assuntos inacabados, ou buscar consultoria em algum projeto ou redacao. Eh uma atitude altamente encorajada por aqui.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Os professores tambem passam muito tempo conversando entre si sobre os alunos. Porque nao basta que voce se saia bem na aula de um... precisa ter o mesmo bom desempenho nas classes de todos os outros. A minha adviser na Lawrence eh a professora Hoffmann, professora de Literatura, e a melhor amiga dela eh a professora Barrett, que foi minha professora de Analise Literaria. Certa vez a professora Barrett contou-me que elas duas ficaram ansiosas quando souberam da chegada de uma aluna brasileira ao departamento de Ingles (a prof. Barrett havia sido aluna de intercambio no Brasil ha muitos anos), e que desde entao conversavam muito ao meu respeito. Sobre o que falam eu nao faco ideia. Mas o fato da professora Barrett ter me dito que elas duas me adoram eh um ponto ao meu favor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Todo o corpo doscente espera muito dos alunos. No outono conheci o professor Verita, que me encara como uma apaixonada pela Lingua Arabe e lider da turma (...e que reclama se eu atraso algum exercicio); tambem tive o prazer de estar na turma da professora Barrett, que me ensinou a escrever novamente, e apresentou-me a Henry James.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;No inverno conheci o professor Peterson, que surpreendeu-me por saber o meu nome. Ele deve ter uns setenta anos, e de constituicao fisica me lembra o meu avo Arnaldo. As aulas dele me fazem refletir acerca de mim mesma muito mais que qualquer outro professor ja conseguiu -- eh como se aos poucos eu estivesse redescobrindo a mim mesma, e ele sabe que eu tenho muito a oferecer&lt;em&gt;. &lt;/em&gt;Em &lt;em&gt;O Holocausto&lt;/em&gt; vou compreendendo nuances da minha propria cultura, e deitando ideias no papel que possuem um significado maior para mim.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Voce eh judia?", perguntaram-me mais de uma pessoa apos ouvir-me falar sobre o assunto.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Nao... Ou melhor, parte de mim eh. Sei que tenho parentes distantes em Portugal que sao. Sei tambem que pareco-me com eles. Sei que a minha familia eh originalmente judia. E como eu ainda nao havia parado para sentir esse pedaco de mim? Esta ai a razao para a minha imediata identificacao com Anne Frank, quando aos doze anos a li pela primeira vez e nem ao certo sabia o significado da palavra &lt;em&gt;holocausto&lt;/em&gt;?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A cada dia vou aprendendo um pouco mais sobre mim mesma...  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-1417061057899547315?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/1417061057899547315/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-16-aprendendo-sobre-eu-mesma.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1417061057899547315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1417061057899547315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-16-aprendendo-sobre-eu-mesma.html' title='Capitulo 16 - Aprendendo Sobre Eu Mesma'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-1487422217933848664</id><published>2009-02-15T01:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-15T01:53:40.463-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 15 - Pegadinhas de Sabado a Noite</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SZfJ-mFg0eI/AAAAAAAAACk/YhPSwOXKvB4/s1600-h/michael+and+becca"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SZfJ-mFg0eI/AAAAAAAAACk/YhPSwOXKvB4/s200/michael+and+becca" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302929163464790498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Michael e eu nao moramos na mesma cidade. Estou em Appleton, e ele em Madison - uma viagem de 2 horas de carro. Uma ou duas vezes no mes ele vem me visitar; e passei o Halloween por la.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O fato eh que mesmo ligeiramente distantes ele eh o meu melhor amigo, e a unica maneira que conhecemos de diminuir as fronteiras eh pela internet. Sempre foi assim, na verdade. E embora contemos a todo mundo que nos conhecemos no Marrocos, a verdade eh que num dia de sorte, ha alguns anos, nos conhecemos online -- e, quem diria, eu vim parar numa universidade perto da dele.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sabado a noite e ambos ocupados. O bate-papo do email ligado para servir como um "Estou aqui caso voce precise de apoio moral". La pelas 10:00P.M. a minha inspiracao ja havia acabado (eu estava escrevendo desde cedo), e ele nao aguentava mais estudar. Decidimos jogar alguma coisa online para relaxar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ele encontrou um site com jogos para multiplos jogadores. Era bastante simples -- entravamos no jogo como convidados (Guest 1459, ou Guest 4886, e por ai vai). O Michael escolheu um jogo de cartas, disse em qual sala online estava, e qual Guest era ele para que pudessemos jogar juntos. Segui os procedimentos, jogamos, e eu perdi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Da segunda vez, aborrecida por um pedido meu que ele nao havia atendido, decidi aprontar com o meu amigo. Uma pegadinha de sabado a noite que na verdade nao foi premeditada, mas surgiu no calor do jogo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A minha conexao havia caido ou algo parecido, e quando eu retornei a sala de jogos online o Michael nao sabia se era eu. Ele clicou no Guest (que por sinal era eu) no impulso, achando que estava falando comigo -- porem rapidamente compreendeu que poderia estar enganado, e disso tudo surgiu minha ideia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ele disse..: ...Becca?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu, brincando: Nao, cara.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ele: Ah, voce deve estar cheio de interrogacoes agora. Foi mal ae!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Michael ja ia encerrar o jogo com a pessoa que nao era eu (mas era eu, sim). Decidi voltar atras, rindo, e dizer a ele que era eu sim, e que poderiamos comecar o jogo. Mas quem disse que ele entendeu...?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu: Nao, sou eu!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Para o Michael foi alguem tentando se passar por mim. Entao disse:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nao, nao. Ate logo, amigo!".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Curto e grosso. Deixou a sala de bate-papo do jogo sem ao menos deixar a pessoa se despedir. Eu, evidentemente, tive um ataque de risos. No bate-papo do email expliquei a ele que era eu. "O QUE? ERA VOCE?!!".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pegadinhas de sabado a noite fazem a minha alegria..! Obrigada, Michael!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-1487422217933848664?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/1487422217933848664/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-15-pegadinhas-de-sabado-noite.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1487422217933848664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1487422217933848664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-15-pegadinhas-de-sabado-noite.html' title='Capitulo 15 - Pegadinhas de Sabado a Noite'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SZfJ-mFg0eI/AAAAAAAAACk/YhPSwOXKvB4/s72-c/michael+and+becca' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-8730608001942551226</id><published>2009-02-08T02:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-08T02:27:34.604-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 14 -- A ser escrito...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#6666cc;"&gt;I am so sorry, but I can't.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-8730608001942551226?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/8730608001942551226/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-14-ser-escrito.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8730608001942551226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8730608001942551226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2009/02/capitulo-14-ser-escrito.html' title='Capitulo 14 -- A ser escrito...'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-8697234780975106417</id><published>2008-11-28T18:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T19:14:32.348-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 13 -- Comida Mal-Cheirosa (…Para Nao Usar a Cruel Palavra Fedorenta)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Eh Thanksgiving nos Estados Unidos – oque quer dizer que os meus camaradas Lawrentians foram visitar os pais e outros parentes. Eu mesma, ate hoje cedo, estava na casa da minha Friendship Family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A questao principal eh que quem por aqui ficou (…uns poucos Moicanos) precisou / precisa arcar com um pequeno detalhe: Downer Commons fechado ate domingo! Oh ceus, o que fazer? Na semana anterior ao feriadao puder ouvir muitas teorias sobre como sobreviver sem a cozinha do Downer (que ja esta fazendo falta, e que ninguem mais reclame da comida deles!). O meu amigo Thai, por exemplo, contratou os servicos da irma mais nova – que esta aqui no campus exclusivamente para cozinhar para ele, critique quem criticar. E a Jaz, entao, que comprou toneladas de macarrao pre-pronto..!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Thai e a Jaz devem estar se virando como podem, mas – sem querer ser cruel – ha quem nao tenha o menor talento para sobrevivencia na selva. Essa noite quando desci para o meu amado (como senti saudades dele!) laboratorio de informatica, tive minhas narinas IMPIEDOSAMENTE invadidas pelo cheiro delicioso que vinha da cozinha. Torci o nariz – “Que cheiro ruim!”, murmurei em Portugues, comprovando a teoria do Michael de que quando solto algumas palavras rapidamente na minha Lingua nativa nunca eh um bom sinal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sentei na cadeira, aborrecida. Seria o meu mau-humor por ter jantado brigadeiro? Considerando que ficara comendo doces a maior parte do tempo na noite anterior, e que tivera um mau resultado no dia seguinte. Ou sera que era o resultado de poucas noites de sono? Preocupacao pela aproximacao das provas? Irritabilidade pelo frio nos pes (…por que nao desceu de meias?!)? NAH, nao era meu humor de lua – era a comida fedida, mesmo, que incensou o laboratorio…!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ninguem merece…&lt;br /&gt;…e Feliz Thanksgiving! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-8697234780975106417?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/8697234780975106417/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-13-comida-mal-cheirosa-para.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8697234780975106417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/8697234780975106417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-13-comida-mal-cheirosa-para.html' title='Capitulo 13 -- Comida Mal-Cheirosa (…Para Nao Usar a Cruel Palavra Fedorenta)'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-1277878480518949169</id><published>2008-11-18T00:10:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T00:23:18.515-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 12 -- As Brumas de Ava…Lawrence</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SSJfUhAnv6I/AAAAAAAAACc/zzrwT1YXGEk/s1600-h/mistsofavalon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269879320039899042" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 301px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 301px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SSJfUhAnv6I/AAAAAAAAACc/zzrwT1YXGEk/s320/mistsofavalon.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Trilha Sugerida:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3h0o_irhzxs&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3h0o_irhzxs&amp;amp;feature=related&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ha algumas noites, num belo efeito, a Lawrence University ficou envolta em brumas, como as que envolviam Avalon. Quando sai para jantar a nevoa estava fina, mas ao retornar do Downer Commons encontrei o caminho de volta com visibilidade baixa. Para achar o percurso quase usei a tecnica da Morgana, erguendo os bracos, para logo em seguida abaixa-los – assim disipando as brumas… &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mal se via a bandeira dos Estados Unidos fincada no topo do Main Hall. Lembrei-me de uma conversa boba que tive com nao-lembro-quem sobre algum dia cravar a bandeira brasileira ao lado da americana – logicamente nao faremos isso (…sera?), mas imaginar a bandeirinha verde tremulando num dos pontos mais altos do campus foi certamente uma bela imagem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La estava o Ormsby Hall, parado no tempo, envolto por brumas leitosas, como se o gigante do ceu – das historias que meu primo Jorge costumava me contar quando eu era crianca – houvesse se debrucado demais para ver o que nos, Lawrentians, estavamos a fazer. Suas barbas, muito brancas, sobre nossas cabecas. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-1277878480518949169?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/1277878480518949169/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-12-as-brumas-de-avalawrence.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1277878480518949169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1277878480518949169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-12-as-brumas-de-avalawrence.html' title='Capitulo 12 -- As Brumas de Ava…Lawrence'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SSJfUhAnv6I/AAAAAAAAACc/zzrwT1YXGEk/s72-c/mistsofavalon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-4106560369058493009</id><published>2008-11-17T23:48:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T23:55:04.081-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 11 -- “Ah, era so um fantasma…!”</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SSJYq2-l0NI/AAAAAAAAACM/vh817ZI4xac/s1600-h/casper4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269872007312691410" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 198px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SSJYq2-l0NI/AAAAAAAAACM/vh817ZI4xac/s320/casper4.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Trilha sugerida:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zgnlZs3uB2Q"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zgnlZs3uB2Q&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;As minhas aulas de Arabe sao no subsolo do Main Hall, que eh o predio de Humanas da Lawrence University – um dos mais antigos no campus; e como o Ormsby Hall… igualmente cheio de manias e misterios!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoje no meio da aula ouvi um barulho esquisito vindo do corredor – como um choro fino de mulher, ou um grito curto… Aparentemente apenas o professor Verita e eu ouvimos. Arragalei os olhos, sentada na primeira fila, como ele – que nesse exato segundo coincidentemente estava olhando para mim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- Ouviu isso? – perguntei, fazendo minha cara de “Uai, Medo..!”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- O que foi isso? – disse ele, tambem intrigado.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A essa altura a turma toda ja havia silenciado – Nao sei, mas so sei que foi bem estranho!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O professor Verita, que eh um italiano alto (…e corajoso, agora eu sei) la pelos seus quarenta anos, deixou a bancada onde estava o computador no qual controlava os slides, e foi checar o que havia provocado o esquisito choro – grito – ou afim. Da minha cadeira quase gritei “Esta maluco, professor? Nao va!!!”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um segundo depois ele retornou – sorriso de Thiago Lacerda interpretando o Giuseppe Garibaldi em A Casa das Sete Mulheres:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- Ah, era so um fantasma..!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O som do meu suspiro amedontrado ainda ecoa na sala 05, Main Hall, da Lawrence University… &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-4106560369058493009?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/4106560369058493009/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-11-ah-era-so-um-fantasma.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/4106560369058493009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/4106560369058493009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-11-ah-era-so-um-fantasma.html' title='Capitulo 11 -- “Ah, era so um fantasma…!”'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SSJYq2-l0NI/AAAAAAAAACM/vh817ZI4xac/s72-c/casper4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-6473679812757889353</id><published>2008-11-17T23:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T23:33:29.495-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 10 -- O Diario da Princesa</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SSJToZP18II/AAAAAAAAACE/Tgg_y2EuYkY/s1600-h/975198~The-Princess-Diaries-Posters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269866467414110338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 215px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SSJToZP18II/AAAAAAAAACE/Tgg_y2EuYkY/s320/975198~The-Princess-Diaries-Posters.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Trilha sugerida:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=udUrbki67SY&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=udUrbki67SY&amp;amp;feature=related&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Voce ja imaginou o que eh descobrir-se herdeiro de um trono de um pequeno reino europeu..? Pois isso aconteceu comigo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;…brincadeira! Nao, isso na verdade ocorreu a Mia Thermopolis, no livro O Diario da Princesa, da escritora Meg Cabot, que eu li ha alguns anos, no Brasil. Outro dia estava assistindo aqui na Lawrence aos filmes de mesmo nome, baseados nos livros, pela centesima vez – e fiquei pensando em como seria interessante ser responsavel por um reino. Logico que a responsabilidade seria grande, mas no todo muito recompensandor colocar em pratica a ideologia que trago no coracao.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando se tem voz, como uma rainha, para expressar no que se acredita eh um verdadeiro milagre! No fundo estar aqui em Appleton tem me feito monarca da minha propria vida – resta agora tomar as decisoes certas para que nao apenas eu seja feliz, mas todos ao meu redor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-6473679812757889353?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/6473679812757889353/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-10-o-diario-da-princesa.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6473679812757889353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6473679812757889353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-10-o-diario-da-princesa.html' title='Capitulo 10 -- O Diario da Princesa'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SSJToZP18II/AAAAAAAAACE/Tgg_y2EuYkY/s72-c/975198~The-Princess-Diaries-Posters.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-1443304051580760548</id><published>2008-11-15T15:30:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-15T15:34:19.337-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 9 -- Dia de Jovem Embaixadora</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SR9AViDDYOI/AAAAAAAAAB8/ZqAratx72a8/s1600-h/youthwhite.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269000827707810018" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 160px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 160px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SR9AViDDYOI/AAAAAAAAAB8/ZqAratx72a8/s400/youthwhite.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Sugestao de trilha:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHSs2QOj1po&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHSs2QOj1po&amp;amp;feature=related&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Certa manha estava atrasada para a primeira aula do dia: Analise Literaria, 9:00am, no Main Hall. Levantei da cama apressada, aborrecida por ter que deixar as cobertas quentinhas, e enfrentar um dia frio de fins de outono.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olhei a gaveta com as roupas, indecisa. O que vestir? Nao havia muito tempo para pensar nas tendencias da moda outono-inverno. Revolvi os casacos e, como surgido das profundezas do meu coracao, avistei uma adoravel logomarca – a tatuagem que trago na alma: Jovens Embaixadores. “Mas Rebecca, voce deve usar a camisa do programa apenas quando estiver em missao!” – ouvi o grilo falante pulando no meu ombro direito. Ah, por que nao…? Enfiei um sueter vermelho, e meti a camisa dos Jovens Embaixadores por cima.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sai do Ormsby Hall me sentindo totalmente Youth Ambassador. Quando visto a camisa do programa sinto-me pronta para trazer luz ao mundo, vida! Sinto-me forte o suficiente para fazer a diferenca, e nada pode me deter! Lembro do encontro com a primeira-dama Laura Bush; das conversas com congresistas; do bate-papo com o embaixador do Brasil nos EUA; das perguntas do embaixador Sobel; da alegria em poder passar um pouco da minha cultura, e entender os costumes alheios. E… principalmente… lembro dos amigos queridos de uma vida – os Jovens Embaixadores!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Entrei na classe de Analise Literaria com essa sensacao poderosa, e apos alguns minutos de aula la estava a profesora Barrett elogioando meu desempenho: “A Rebecca ja disse coisas inteligentes demais sobre os sonetos de Shakespeare” – e lancou-me um belo sorriso. “Agora quero ouvir as ideias de voces. O que? Ah, parece que concorda totalmente com a Rebecca, Evan!”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E o dia transcorreu belo como a missao dos Jovens Embaixadores: 1. Consegui renovar um livro na biblioteca; 2. Ensinei a uma aluna como estudar a metrica dos poemas ingleses e de Petrarca; 3. E estava com uma boa sensacao quanto ao teste de Arabe que teria no dia seguinte (…que, por sinal, acabou sendo excelente!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O peso na consciencia por ter usado a camisa do programa fora de uma ocasiao especial se dissipou facilmente… Existe missao maior que representar a propria cultura em terras estrangeiras? Tenho sido jovem embaixadora desde o dia 12 de setembro! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-1443304051580760548?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/1443304051580760548/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-9-dia-de-jovem-embaixadora.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1443304051580760548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/1443304051580760548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-9-dia-de-jovem-embaixadora.html' title='Capitulo 9 -- Dia de Jovem Embaixadora'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SR9AViDDYOI/AAAAAAAAAB8/ZqAratx72a8/s72-c/youthwhite.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-6459670464149216088</id><published>2008-11-12T17:20:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T17:24:54.908-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 8 -- Videocassetadas da Lawrence</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRtlv0PLIII/AAAAAAAAABs/QPTWbgk8Pl8/s1600-h/tombo-thumb.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267916061290471554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 216px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 189px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRtlv0PLIII/AAAAAAAAABs/QPTWbgk8Pl8/s320/tombo-thumb.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Trilha sugerida:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OlKW-rUIER4&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OlKW-rUIER4&amp;amp;feature=related&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;O que acontece numa noite muito fria com uma leve chuva? O chao ganha fina camada de gelo!!! Lembre-se sempre disso – pode salvar vidas!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outra noite ia feliz no caminho para o Trever Hall:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- Je suis Rebecca. Je suis vingt ans. Je suis Brésilien! – Vinha repetindo a frase em Frances com orgulho, que o Shekh, do Senegal, me ensinara 1 segundo atrás (…achando-me pronta para ir para a Franca, ou Senegal!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eis que entre um “Je suis” e outro senti meus pes deslizaram como numa pista de patinacao, e se nao fosse pelo Shekh, que vinha “Oui… oui…” bem ao meu lado – num belo sotaque Michel de Gilmore Girls – eu nao sei o que teria acontecido comigo… &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-6459670464149216088?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/6459670464149216088/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-8-videocassetadas-da-lawrence.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6459670464149216088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6459670464149216088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-8-videocassetadas-da-lawrence.html' title='Capitulo 8 -- Videocassetadas da Lawrence'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRtlv0PLIII/AAAAAAAAABs/QPTWbgk8Pl8/s72-c/tombo-thumb.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-5173907615342139356</id><published>2008-11-12T17:04:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T17:07:42.843-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 7 -- Cuidado… animais selvagens!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRthtnzObUI/AAAAAAAAABk/DkZu0is37BM/s1600-h/american_black_bear.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267911625545772354" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 202px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRthtnzObUI/AAAAAAAAABk/DkZu0is37BM/s320/american_black_bear.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Trilha sugerida:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5qhe08b3XgE"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5qhe08b3XgE&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Na Lawrence University tenho visto animais que normalmente nao se encontra facilmente andando pelas ruas do Brasil. Eh sempre extraordinario estar indo para a aula e cruzar com um esquilo correndo com uma noz entre os dentes; ou mesmo dar de cara com um robusto guaxinim, saido do meio dos arbustos numa fria noite de fim de outono.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Todavia… cuidado! Esses animais adoraveis podem ser mais selvagens do que se imagina! Para mim, amante dos bichinhos, eh uma grande frustracao ter que dizer isso: Mas dessa vez nao posso dar uma de Tarzan. Eis algumas experiencias ruins:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Outra noite, na entrada do Ormsby Hall, fui literalmente atacada por um morcego. O bicho passou voando perto demais da minha cabeca, e la estava eu correndo abaixada para esquivar-me do rato voador (…sem mencionar o grito de susto que emiti). Mas o que foi que eu fiz para ele me tratar de maneira tao ultrajante?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Estava voltando do Plantz Hall, onde a minha amiga Mya mora, quando ouvi o silvo de uma coruja. Parei, ignorando a garoa gelada que lavava a Lawrence. Olhei ao redor, mas nao a vi. Outro pio. Dei alguns entre as arvores que emolduram o caminho para o conservatorio – todas estao peladas, prontas para o inverno. “Cade a coruja?”, perguntei em voz alta, achando estranho que o passaro pudesse estar encarapitado num galho nu, sob a chuva fininha que caia. Apos mais alguns passos ouvi novo silvo, dessa vez mais forte – nao sou o Dr. Dolittle, mas ouvi claramente o animal dizer “Nao se aproxime!”. Com medo de arcar com as consequencias, achei melhor retornar ao meu quarto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Hoje retornava do Main Hall (Predio de Humanas da Lawrence) quando ouvi dois sibilos assustadores. Olhei para uma arvore, e logo pude ver dois “adoraveis” esquilos se desentendendo de maneira epica! “Por que isso, caras? Sejam amigos!” – e fiz uma anotacao mental de que essas criaturinhas podem ser bastante… nao-amigas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aqui tambem eh facil encontrar ursos, apesar de eu nunca ter o visto – a nao ser num zoologico de Madison. Diante da minha alegria com os bichos, o Michael disse preocupado: “Hmmm… Caso voce esbarre com algum por Appleton, nao seja tao amigavel…”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sim, senhor! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-5173907615342139356?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/5173907615342139356/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-7-cuidado-animais-selvagens.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5173907615342139356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/5173907615342139356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-7-cuidado-animais-selvagens.html' title='Capitulo 7 -- Cuidado… animais selvagens!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRthtnzObUI/AAAAAAAAABk/DkZu0is37BM/s72-c/american_black_bear.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-3460823299541333089</id><published>2008-11-11T13:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T13:52:03.868-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 6 -- A Camara Secreta da Lawrence University</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRniWP9RkRI/AAAAAAAAABU/G9qna62vvJU/s1600-h/dumbledore-doors.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267490111055040786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 303px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 274px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRniWP9RkRI/AAAAAAAAABU/G9qna62vvJU/s400/dumbledore-doors.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Trilha sugerida:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2i81T_4z-tU&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2i81T_4z-tU&amp;amp;feature=related&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A Lawrence University possui uma serie de predios do seculo XIX. Como havia de ser, construcoes antigas tem la as suas manias, os seus misterios, os seus segredos a desvendar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu particularmente sou uma pessoa extremamente interessada em portas. Acho que tenho uma queda por elas. Quero abrir todas, descobrir o que ha por tras, encontrar mensagens deixadas por Lawrentians das primeiras turmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O Ormsby Hall eh de 1888, e diferente dos outros dormitorios, o chao dele range de maneira irritante. Voce sempre sabe quando ha alguem cruzando o corredor. A minha sorte eh que moro no 3º andar, e acima de mim so ha o sotao. Na primeira noite em que dormi na escola mal consegui pregar os olhos, mesmo tao cansada pela longa viagem: Alguem andava para ca e para la, fazendo pequenos barulhos que vinham do teto. Lembro de ter pensado “Que coisa mais chata, sao 2:00 da manha!”. Mas logo lembrei que nao haviam alunos morando acima de mim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nos ultimos dias, com toda a magia trazida pelo Halloween, dei para querer saber o que guardam la em cima. Para a minha alegria descobri a porta que leva a escada do sotao – mas, eh evidente, trazia um cadeado imenso. Testei minha chave-mestra; mas ela apenas entrou na fechadura… nao girou. E eu desejei tanto encontrar, por acaso, a chave certa, que acabei sonhando com ela.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoje, no entanto, quando retornava da aula de Literatura, levei um susto: O cadeado havia sumido! “Esta aberta…!”, exclamei, esquecendo que estava com pressa de ir pegar minha ultima redacao para uma revisao mais apurada. Nao havia ninguem subindo as escadas, ou no corredor. Poderia muito bem entrar la sem ser vista, e ir direto para o sotao do Ormsby Hall – todavia, quando me aproximei mais da dita porta ouvi que havia alguem por ali; provavelmente um empregado da Lawrence vindo do sotao.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adentrei o corredor rapidamente, para nao levantar suspeitas. Entrei no quarto, peguei o que precisava, e retornei na esperanca de encontrar o lugar vazio. La estava o cadeado outra vez! Bati o pe em consternacao.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Ja trancada outra vez?! Um segundo atrás estava aberta…” – reclamei em Portugues, e deixei Ormsby me perguntando se tudo nao havia passado de fruto da minha imaginacao. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-3460823299541333089?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/3460823299541333089/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-6-camara-secreta-da-lawrence.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3460823299541333089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3460823299541333089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-6-camara-secreta-da-lawrence.html' title='Capitulo 6 -- A Camara Secreta da Lawrence University'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRniWP9RkRI/AAAAAAAAABU/G9qna62vvJU/s72-c/dumbledore-doors.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-4979736031877883592</id><published>2008-11-11T12:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T12:54:05.023-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 5 -- Fala Portugues? Hmmm… Sexy!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRnUuopClzI/AAAAAAAAABE/prmkVNL-KUs/s1600-h/red_mouth.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267475136835131186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRnUuopClzI/AAAAAAAAABE/prmkVNL-KUs/s320/red_mouth.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Trilha sugerida:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OqS9U96biRU"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OqS9U96biRU&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Voces, brasileiros, portugueses, e cia, ja imaginaram que sao as pessoas mais sexy do mundo? A teoria eh a seguinte: Falou Portugues… sexy eh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outro dia estava conversando com um amigo da Lawrence, apos o jantar, e sem querer quase falei uma palavra em Portugues. As vezes isso acontece, eh normal – ontem mesmo, porque passei muito tempo conversando em Espanhol com a Drift, respondi “Si”, em vez de “Yes” ao Kelly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- Opa, desculpa! Quase falei em Portugues com voce!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- Nao, nao se preocupe – disse ele – Ou melhor, fale comigo em Portugues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nao lembro o que eu falei, mas provavelmente foi “Portugues nao eh assim tao dificil”, e ele ficou la parado, olhando para mim com a expressao mais sonhadora do mundo. Eis que me vem com..:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- Sexy…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cai na gargalhada. “Eh so uma Lingua, duh!!!”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- Nao me venha com ‘Eh so uma Lingua’. Sou eu quem estou ouvindo, sim? Entao EU digo se eh sexy ou nao.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ve se pode…? Ouviram, brasileiros? Facam bom uso da Lingua..! (sem duplo sentido…)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-4979736031877883592?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/4979736031877883592/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-5-fala-portugues-hmmm-sexy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/4979736031877883592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/4979736031877883592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-5-fala-portugues-hmmm-sexy.html' title='Capitulo 5 -- Fala Portugues? Hmmm… Sexy!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRnUuopClzI/AAAAAAAAABE/prmkVNL-KUs/s72-c/red_mouth.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-135905587038404860</id><published>2008-11-10T23:39:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T23:44:37.621-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 4 -- Professor Harry Gandalf</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRkbvw-4jmI/AAAAAAAAAA8/fOK_N9ZayWI/s1600-h/Gandalf%2520the%2520White.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267271746602962530" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 174px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRkbvw-4jmI/AAAAAAAAAA8/fOK_N9ZayWI/s200/Gandalf%2520the%2520White.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Trilha sugerida:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yiQmEyaox4M&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yiQmEyaox4M&amp;amp;feature=related&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;As aulas de Relacoes Internacionais normalmente sao bastante animadas com as piadas do professor Brozek, que nao mede esforcos em fazer florecer as sementes dos tratos entre os Estados nas nossas mentes jovens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hoje ele estava incrivelmente inspirado com as aulas em Economia, que nao sao das mais atrativas comparadas as licoes de “Por que as guerras comecam?”, e “Como explicar uma guerra em sete palavras” do mes passado:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apos tres exemplos ilustrando os tipos de Economia, o professor nos pediu para parar um momento e observar o que ele havia acabado de propor com os numeros, chegando ao estado de Livre-Comercio, num acordo entre dois paises ficticios A e B. Prendemos a respiracao: Ali estavam os mesmos numeros, mas como resultado de acordos mutuos entre governos! Os paises se ajudando e diminuindo as taxas alfandegarias. Eu, que estava sentada na primeira fila, abri um desses sorrisos de quem assiste O Senhor dos Aneis e descobre que o Gandalf nao morreu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- Eu sou o mago dos numeros! – exclamou o professor Brozek, sacando o giz e tracando um raio na testa. – Quero que me chamem de Gandalf, o Branco! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-135905587038404860?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/135905587038404860/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-4-professor-harry-gandalf.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/135905587038404860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/135905587038404860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-4-professor-harry-gandalf.html' title='Capitulo 4 -- Professor Harry Gandalf'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRkbvw-4jmI/AAAAAAAAAA8/fOK_N9ZayWI/s72-c/Gandalf%2520the%2520White.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-6024740940774266714</id><published>2008-11-10T23:31:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T23:38:55.448-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 3 -- Ramses</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRkaJTLGE6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/9EXl-KoFfmc/s1600-h/princess_b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267269986254459810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 294px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRkaJTLGE6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/9EXl-KoFfmc/s320/princess_b.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Trilha sugerida:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5iXN9XEKsJc&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5iXN9XEKsJc&amp;amp;feature=related&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Ja tive um gato tao amarelo quanto um raio de sol. Chamava-se Ramses, e era especial por essa pelagem canela, brilhante – porem havia algo a mais: Ele so tinha tres patinhas, mas conseguia correr mais rapido que qualquer outro gato.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Essa noite jantei com os Kozaks, que me levaram a casa do irmao da Deb (minha host mother em Wisconsin) para uma noite de pizza e sobremesa. “Temos dois gatos”, disse-me a prima da Casey. Pulei de alegria. Que saudades dos meus cinco gatos! No carro fizeram-me enumerar todos os nomes, e la estava eu..: Pok, Milk, Pinhozinho, Nina e Belly…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Adentramos a feliz residencia, que trazia a lareira acesa por esse outono ja com ares de inverno. Kyra sentou-se no sofa, e agarrou um gato amarelo como o Ramses. Corri por sentar-me ao lado dela. O bichano olhou-me com seus olhos cor de ambar. “Ei, voce parece com o Ramses…” – pensei, e tambem no quanto a minha mae teria ficado feliz por ve-lo. Ela tinha muito carinho pelo nosso gato.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Com a movimentacao das pessoas vindo cumprimenta-lo, saiu correndo. Arregalei os olhos, mas nao porque a Kyra disse “Sim, ele eh meio maluco” – mas sim porque reconheci de primeira aquela maneira de correr trotando. O gato, tao amarelo quanto o Ramses; tao rechonchudo quanto o Ramses; de olhos tao redondos e brilhantes quanto os do Ramses; tinha apenas tres patas, exatamente como o Ramses…!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;-- Inacreditavel… -- suspirei, achando-me sortuda demais. Quantas vezes temos a chance de reencontrar amigos queridos que ja se foram? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-6024740940774266714?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/6024740940774266714/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-3-ramses.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6024740940774266714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/6024740940774266714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-3-ramses.html' title='Capitulo 3 -- Ramses'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRkaJTLGE6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/9EXl-KoFfmc/s72-c/princess_b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-7890163061931295305</id><published>2008-11-10T23:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T13:53:46.374-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 2 -- Bem-vinda, Neve..!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRnb_SanZ3I/AAAAAAAAABM/d5xSZQeY9E4/s1600-h/gg_snow.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267483119508219762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 209px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRnb_SanZ3I/AAAAAAAAABM/d5xSZQeY9E4/s320/gg_snow.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sugestao de Trilha:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byw9YmfFh2E&amp;amp;eurl=http://www.orkut.com/FavoriteVideos.aspx?rl=ls&amp;amp;uid=6895483626275634838"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byw9YmfFh2E&amp;amp;eurl=http://www.orkut.com/FavoriteVideos.aspx?rl=ls&amp;amp;uid=6895483626275634838&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Quando acordei no sabado nao imaginava as boas surpresas que teria ao final do dia. La estava eu mais uma vez no meu esconderijo: O laboratorio de computacao do Ormsby Hall. Quase pronta para desligar o computador, uma janelinha de bate-papo surgiu vinda dos confins da Lawrence University. “Hi” – disse-me a pessoa mais inesperada. Franzi a testa, surpresa. “Hey!”, respondi de volta.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(…)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Subi as escadas correndo. “Nao acredito, nao acredito!” – feliz demais pela oportunidade de rever um amigo querido apos 1 mes sem contato. Peguei um casaco no quarto, luvas, e um gorro – ja passava das 11:00pm e deveria estar bem frio. Sim, estava… E o mais iscrivel: Estava nevando!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fui caminhando como os bracos abertos, disposta a me deixar envolver pelo maior numero possivel de floquinhos, que rodopiavam com o vento. As arvores esqueleticas da Lawrence balancavam gentilmente, projetando sombras no caminho por onde eu seguia – Numa outra noite, no mesmo lugar, fui surpreendida com a aparicao de um guaxinim.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alguem se aproximava a passos lentos. Alto, um sobretudo preto tao longo que lhe caia como um vestido. Estreitei os olhos… Quem seria voce? Outra pessoa tambem admirando a neve cair? Mais alguns passos e reconheci-lhe o rosto, emoldurado por um gorro escuro.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;-- Ah, mas que chance! – disse-me ele, sorridente.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;-- Fico feliz por ve-lo – respondi.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;E ambos ficamos parados sob a luz de um poste. E os pedacinhos brancos continuaram a cair do ceu, como perolas do colar de alguma deusa do tempo. Bem-vinda, Neve…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-7890163061931295305?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/7890163061931295305/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-2-bem-vinda-neve.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7890163061931295305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/7890163061931295305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-2-bem-vinda-neve.html' title='Capitulo 2 -- Bem-vinda, Neve..!'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRnb_SanZ3I/AAAAAAAAABM/d5xSZQeY9E4/s72-c/gg_snow.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2169066545664993311.post-3102127416400105390</id><published>2008-11-10T23:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T23:13:32.411-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Capitulo 1 -- Trolls no corredor do subsolo</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRkTiFxmDwI/AAAAAAAAAAM/RwETQ_PQWuQ/s1600-h/Trolls.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267262715573178114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 227px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRkTiFxmDwI/AAAAAAAAAAM/RwETQ_PQWuQ/s320/Trolls.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trilha sugerida:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wgcwsZ8tRE8"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wgcwsZ8tRE8&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;“O seu nome parece com o de um personagem saido de um livro!” – disse-me uma senhora certa vez. Que tipo de livro poderia ser, fiquei pensando. Um livro cheio de misterios e fantasia, a verdade eh essa. Em que outro romance estaria eu senao nessas historias?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Hoje estava no subsolo do predio onde moro, o Ormsby Hall, usando um computador do laboratorio de informatica, quando os vi. Dois garotos altos, vestidos de preto. O que ha de mais nisso? As mascaras assustadoras – cabeludas, transfiguradas, de homens narigudos… quase trolls, eu diria!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Em meu rosto formou-se uma bela interrogacao. Um deles acenou para mim de uma maneira lenta, enigmatica. Nao acenei de volta, simplesmente voltei a fixar o olhar na tela do computador, tensa. E enquanto eles se afastavam pelo corredor comprido, voltei a mira-los: As duas figuras saiam pela saida de emergencia que da para os fundos do predio. O que estariam aprontando?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2169066545664993311-3102127416400105390?l=historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/feeds/3102127416400105390/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-1-trolls-no-corredor-do.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3102127416400105390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2169066545664993311/posts/default/3102127416400105390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://historiasdalawrence.blogspot.com/2008/11/capitulo-1-trolls-no-corredor-do.html' title='Capitulo 1 -- Trolls no corredor do subsolo'/><author><name>Rebecca Carvalho</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05912841379949911325</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2ou7YbEg3A/TsDn26554EI/AAAAAAAAAQY/tTgu5eDD0Us/s220/IMG_2918.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Zn4tErknZdE/SRkTiFxmDwI/AAAAAAAAAAM/RwETQ_PQWuQ/s72-c/Trolls.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
