tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4321899635107880042012-02-16T01:48:32.981-05:00Luis Fernando Verissimo's Private Life Comedies (Comedias da Vida Privada)mlnoreply@blogger.comBlogger351100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-60439728083197874692009-02-15T16:25:00.001-05:002009-02-15T16:26:44.810-05:00

Ron and Nancy went to bed at their usual time. Ron grabbed his book. But Nancy, apparently, wanted to talk. - Honey...- Mmmm?- You know what day it is?- Thursday.- Of the month. - Oh... eighteenth. - And?- And, what?- Think about it. It's an anniversary. My God, thought Ron. I forgot our wedding anniversary again, like last month. But if it had been last month, it couldn't be now. It also

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-63915795798226953622009-02-15T15:15:00.001-05:002009-02-15T15:15:49.662-05:00

The doorbell rings and the man goes to open the door, before which he does a little jig. At the door is a woman. In this case "woman" is a euphemism, she is more than a woman. If God were to present his best work for a contest, He would send her. I have to remember that for later, he thinks. - Hi - she says. - Hi. Come in. She walks in and looks around. - Am I the first?- No. Since I was

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-68375680181580063082009-02-15T14:19:00.001-05:002009-02-15T14:25:10.247-05:00

John was tired when he got home and said to his wife, Mary, that he wanted to take a bath, have dinner, and go straight to bed. Mary reminded John that that evening they had plans to have dinner with Peter and Louise. John slapped his forehead, cursed and declared that he would not, under any circumstances, go have dinner at anyone's house. Mary said that the dinner had been scheduled a week

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-44605042570027063192009-02-14T15:21:00.002-05:002009-02-14T15:23:27.511-05:00

With time, the couple developed a code to communicate from afar in social situations. When he rubbed his nose it meant "let's leave". When she tugged her left earlobe it meant "be careful," usually his cue to change the subject of conversation. Pulling at her right earlobe meant "stop drinking". If he then spun his wedding ring around his finger it meant "don't be a pain". If she then

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-23297013689133292982009-02-14T15:01:00.000-05:002009-02-14T15:02:11.718-05:00

- No, Hun. Stop.- Baby...- Don't insist.- And why not?- Just don't.- You don't love me.- Don't be stupid. I do. I just think we need to take it slow. Give time time.- Give time ti... But the world is ending!- Don't be dramatic. Just because I don't want to doesn't mean the world is ending.- But the world really is ending! Don't you read the papers? It's coming to an end. There is no time

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-80605482035606250922008-11-12T12:06:00.001-05:002008-11-12T12:06:22.312-05:00

He said:- But, Land Reform...She said:- You gonna tell me you're against it?He tried bailing:- It's a complex issue.She insisted:- Hold on a sec.- Gimme a kiss, girl.- Wait. This is important. I want to know.- What?- Land Reform. Are you against it?- Why? Are you for it?- Obvie.- You want the old man to have his land taken from him and given away?- Your father owns a lot of land?- Tons.- I

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-44003640444525731462008-11-10T11:01:00.001-05:002008-11-10T11:06:23.084-05:00

She (young, beautiful, alone) had just finished rubbing tanning oil on her arms, after applying it to her legs, thighs and face. She looked around. A few meters from her, sitting on the sand, a man read the newspaper. No one else was around. She examined the man carefully. Wedding ring? Yes. Married. Thirty, Thirty-five. Definitely not ugly, though his nose was a tad long. She spoke:-

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-81951485707501369282008-11-10T10:31:00.002-05:002008-11-10T10:35:35.917-05:00

- Hello?- Russ, let me talk to Moira.- What?!- I know she’s there. Put her on the phone.- Michael, have you lost your mind? Why would Moira be here at this hour?- I just wanna talk to her, Russ. I’m not gonna fight, I won’t make a scene…- What is this? Do you have any idea what time it is?- I’m sorry if I interrupted anything, but I need to speak with Moira.- Michael. Listen. It’s three o’

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-90648694254525231922008-11-07T12:20:00.000-05:002008-11-07T12:21:36.812-05:00

“I am becoming accustomed to the idea of considering every sexual act a process in which, at least, four people are involved.” S. Freud- Try to relax…- Sorry. It’s just that there’s a part of me that, you know? Stays out of it, distanced, watching it all. A part that can’t give itself to you…- I understand.- It’s as if there’s a third person in bed.- Right. It’s your superego. Mine is also

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-15017875791957096892008-11-07T10:56:00.001-05:002008-11-07T10:58:37.286-05:00

Paul and Dee invited Lana and Antonio for dinner at their house and then to watch what Paul referred to as “a lil porno” on the VHS. Antonio went against his will, whereas Lana didn’t see any harm.- I don’t see any harm.- C’mon, Lan!- What’s the problem?- I dunno – said Antonio, who didn’t want to be a party pooper, but c’mon!They barely knew Paul and Dee. He eventually agreed on one condition.

mlnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-32380112242767474132008-11-07T10:15:00.002-05:002008-11-07T10:16:30.605-05:00

The last time they had seen each other one was trying to bash the other over the head with a bat, while the other attempted to defend himself by throwing wild punches at the first. One yelled, “Communist!” and the other yelled, “Fascist!” But this was years ago. Now here they are, years older, at the same old dive bar. They had greeted each other discreetly. Embarrassed. After a few minutes

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-89492121748023450682008-10-30T11:32:00.001-04:002008-10-30T11:32:49.404-04:00

Daphne could not believe her ears. Her left ear, specifically, through which she heard Peter Vest-Pocket’s voice, on the phone.- Daphne, are you there? It’s me, Peter.When she finally regained her senses, the small and lively Daphne – that’s how she had been described as a debutant in Tattler a few years back – did her best to control her voice.- You mean the dirty, betraying, disgusting,

mlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-47273070026746402772007-10-01T10:30:00.000-04:002007-10-01T10:42:13.604-04:00

An insistent knock on the door. The old lady walks across the living room of the old house with difficulty, to open the door. As she opens it she sees a big man, almost twice her size, smiling at her expectantly.-Auntie... he says.-What?-It's me, Auntie.-You! she exclaims.But then she realizes she doesn't know who he is.-Who are you?-Don't you recognize me, Auntie?The old lady examines the man

mlnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-48435235663545611732007-09-27T13:00:00.000-04:002007-09-27T13:28:22.071-04:00

Souza said of himself:-I am the world's last romantic!And he really was a rare breed. A gentleman. Women did not know how to respond to his advances. They were confused when Souza not only kissed their hands but said, "At your feet." Was he kidding?But they liked it. It was different. They had to try hard not to laugh sometimes when Souza said something particularly clumsy about the color

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-73862010637000827132007-09-25T13:27:00.000-04:002007-09-25T13:45:25.624-04:00

They bumped into each other, after thirty years, at a party. She smiled and said, "How are you?"-You two know each other? asked the host.He did not say, "We do know each other. In the biblical sense, in fact. She was the love of my life. I almost killed myself over her. I could drop dead right now. Oh, life, life."He said:-Yup.-It's been ages, huh? she said.He sat down next to her. He was

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-2913501342151175952007-09-19T15:49:00.000-04:002007-09-19T16:10:51.083-04:00

They met at the building's trash area.  Each holding their bag of garbage.  It was the first time they spoke to each other.-Good morning...-Good morning.-You live in 610, right?-And you're 612.-Yup...-We haven't met formally...-I know...-I'm sorry for the indiscretion, but I have seen your garbage..-My what?-Your garbage.-Oh...-I noticed there is always very little of it.  You must have a small

mlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-81460785313995289332007-09-19T13:45:00.000-04:002007-09-19T14:07:33.080-04:00

Beach scene.Alzira, age 43, civil servant, attractive even without the plastic surgery, divorced, daughter lives with her dad, Pier 5, Sunday morning, sees, walking in her direction between the umbrellas and the argentines, Rogerio, 22.  Her heart beats as if she was 19.  She looks for her cigarettes in her big beach bag - lotion, tissues, newspaper, My God, he's almost here! - to disguise her

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-91714133339482933112007-09-17T16:23:00.000-04:002007-09-17T16:45:59.534-04:00

-I know you'll laugh, but...-Yes?-Please, I don't want you to think I'm hitting on you.-Ok, go ahead.-Don't I know you from somewhere?-Maybe...-Nice.  1971.  Hotel Negresco lobby.  Promenade des Anglais.  The baron introduced us... baron... baron what's-his-name.-No, no.  I wasn't in Nice in '71.-It could have been '77.  Any warmer?-What month?-April?-Nope.-August?-August?  In season?  Heaven

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-51559104295932736542007-09-13T17:02:00.001-04:002007-09-13T17:29:33.720-04:00

Dentist's waiting Room. Man in his forties. Young, beautiful woman. She flips through a Cruzeiro from 1950. He pretends to read a Dental Life.He thinks: what a woman. Those legs. It's rare, seeing legs nowadays. Everyone's wearing jeans. We're back to the time where the most you could hope to see was the ankle. I've always been a leg man. Legs with stockings. Nylon stockings. Man, I'm an

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-32649986991392493362007-09-11T15:29:00.000-04:002007-09-11T15:53:34.268-04:00

She saw him looking pensive in the imported wine aisle. She wanted to turn around, but it was too late, her cart was right by his foot. He stared at her, first blankly, then surprised, then embarrassed, and they both smiled. They had been married for six years, separated for one, and that was the first time they met since the separation. They smiled, and he spoke before her; they almost spoke

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-53270233396235036732007-09-10T13:39:00.000-04:002007-09-10T14:01:13.793-04:00

I met Rick Blaine in Paris, not too long ago. He has a joint near Madeleine that gathers all the american drunks that Harry's Bar kicks out. He's 70, but doesn't look a day older than 69. He has the same bags under his eyes, his hair is gone, and his belly only stopped growing for lack of space behind the bar. He denied being Rick at first.-I don't know a Rick.-It says so outside. On a giant sign

mlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-1588898428232378782007-09-07T13:50:00.000-04:002007-09-09T18:54:41.114-04:00

-I have never been unfaithful to my wife, doctor.-Yes.-I've never even had another woman. I was a virgin when I married.-Right.-But, from the very beginning, when I was with her, I thought of another woman. It was the only way I could, you know? Function.-Function?-Make love. Sex. You know.-Right.-At first, I thought of Gina Lollobrigida. Do you remember Gina Lollobrigida? Then, for a

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-51157932925733141542007-09-07T12:02:00.000-04:002007-09-07T13:01:53.477-04:00

Honey, I swear it wasn't me. That's so ridiculous! If you were here - Hello? Hello? - look, if you were here you would see my face, inocent as the devil. What? What do you mean ironic? "As the devil" is an expression, dammit. You think I would kid around at a time like this? Hello! I swear, on my mother's grave, on our joint bank account, on our children's lives, that it wasn't me in

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-36487062131795540312007-09-06T16:33:00.000-04:002007-09-06T16:50:07.204-04:00

When he felt that he was going to die, Dr. Ariosto asked for a few moments alone with his wife, Mrs. Quiléia (Quequé). -Sit down, Quequé. She sat down on the edge of his bed.  She protested and cried when she learned that her husband was near the end.  But Dr. Ariosto calmed her down.  They both knew he didn't have much time and it would be better if they accepted that without any drama.  He

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-9837315324933785092007-09-06T13:09:00.000-04:002007-09-06T16:33:18.299-04:00

Gisela confessed to Martô, her best friend, that no single piece of recent news had shocked her more that the newfound trendiness of boxer shorts.-I don't think you understand, said Giselda.-I understand, said Martô.-Júlio wears boxers.-I know.-And it gave a certain sense of security, you know?Martô understood.  It was later in the afternoon.  The two had kicked off their shoes and had their feet

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-66850833375115664712007-09-05T19:59:00.000-04:002007-09-06T15:33:57.148-04:00

It was scandal when a certain succinct phrase about Silva's wife's, how should I put this, moral conduct, was found painted on the front of Souza's house. Silva, furious, went off to confront Souza: -Who was it? -I don't know. -How do you not know? It's your house. -I can't stand out in front of my house all day, making sure no one is painting on it. Can I? He couldn't. But it couldn't remain how

mlnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-64482917537231404462007-09-05T19:24:00.000-04:002007-09-05T19:54:46.989-04:00

I think everyone should have a fiancé in Grajaú, especially married men.  Before you accuse me of promoting adultery, let me add that my fiancé in Grajaú is purely theoretical.  And note that I say fiancé, and not girlfriends or lovers.  Grajaú fiancés are chaste and withdrawn.  They'll only let you hold their hand, if that.  That little mound of meat on the base of the thumb, for instance, only

mlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-80929871812886848822007-09-05T15:54:00.000-04:002007-09-05T16:20:24.030-04:00

When she heard the apartment door open, the woman sat up in bed and said:-My God! My husband!Her lover also sat up, spooked, less by the husband than by the phrase.-What did you say?-I said, "My God! My husband!"-That's what I thought, I just didn't want to believe it.-He told me he was going to Sao Paulo!-Maybe it's not him. Maybe it's a burglar.-We should be so lucky. It's him. He's coming to

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-46402734787831868972007-09-05T12:41:00.000-04:002007-09-05T13:19:12.737-04:00

José died, with poetic justice nonetheless, on a plane halfway between São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro.  It was his heart.  He died in a grey suit and dark tie, holding the same black briefcase with which he landed at the Santos Dumont airport every Monday, for years.  Only this time, he got off the plane horizontally, the briefcase on his chest like a provisional tombstone. -Good ol' Paulista,

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-42630312951686635122007-09-04T13:12:00.000-04:002007-09-04T18:18:37.344-04:00

Dado, sixteen, informed Caco, fifteen, and Marcelinho, fourteen: His parents were going to be out of town for the weekend.  The house would be empty.  It was perfect. -Sweet, said Caco, rubbing his hands together.  Marcelinho was quiet. They had already picked the ad:  "Samantha - Relaxing Massages for Business Executives.  At-Home Service."  Dado called.  After all, it was his house.  While

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-18906002134813140782007-09-04T10:30:00.000-04:002007-09-06T10:52:10.076-04:00

The middle class is a strange land.Mirtes couldn't stand it anymore, so she told Lurdes.-Your husband was seen going into a motel.Lurdes' jaw dropped and her eyes widened. She sat there, like a statue, for a minute, minute and a half. Then she asked for details. When? Where? With whom?-Yesterday, at Discretissimu's.-With whom? With whom?-That I don't know.-What do you mean? Was she tall?

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-73246861600526384532007-09-01T10:08:00.000-04:002007-09-04T17:15:38.956-04:00

Nobody thought it was strange when, after twenty-five years of marriage, and after raising their children together, Dr. Pompeu's wife filed for divorce.  The reasons behind it were the usual for the time: she didn't want to be a housewife.  She wanted to live her own life, study psychology, have her own career.  Alright.  The scandal, evidence of lingering prejudices, really occurred when it was

mlnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-14050010455599820722007-08-31T11:20:00.000-04:002007-09-04T17:16:18.259-04:00

This is an exemplary story, it’s just not very clear what it’s an example of. Either way, keep this away from the children. It also has nothing to do with the Brazilian crisis, the apartheid, the situation in Central America, or the Middle East, or man’s adventure on this Earth. It is situated on the somewhat lower level of the minute afflictions of today’s middle class. Anyways. It happened

mlnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-40795057541061208652007-08-30T15:25:00.000-04:002007-09-04T17:16:48.408-04:00

This is what happened: Vânia finally conceded and agreed to meet Rogério in an apartment in Copacabana. But insisted on absolute security. Nobody could see her entering or leaving the building. If her husband found out, if her husband even had the faintest inkling…Rogério swore that no one would see her.-This is not a busy street. I pay the doorman not to see anything. The next-door

mlnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-432189963510788004.post-10176271284433774062007-08-30T12:46:00.000-04:002007-09-04T17:17:37.035-04:00

He arrived at the beach on a Tuesday, which was weird. When the kids came home from playing and swimming in the ocean, they found their father on the veranda. “Huh,” they remarked. Moments later his wife came home and also thought it was strange that he was home on a Tuesday, especially with that look on his face. She immediately thought the worst. “Is it my mother?!” No, no, her mother was

mlnoreply@blogger.com0