No use crying over spilt milk (Carnival Special 2)

This one is hot from the press! I am watching the carnival parade, not from a Brahma cabin like I would have preferred, but from the warm seat in front of my computer screen. Luckily, Globo is broadcasting the show live on the Internet (I suppose I could watch it on TV, but I’m actually trying to work at the same time). I’ve figured I needed to share my feelings about the school that has just finished their procession; Porto da Pedra. Grand costumes, grandiose floats and ...a grotesque theme. We were hereby presented with an exaltation of... yoghurt! Actually, not just yoghurt but milk in general and in particular, as various other dairy products have also made their way to the sambadrome. The comissão de frente, a group that opens a parade, symbolised "Lactobacilos da Folia". You know what makes milk turn into yoghurt? That’s what they were. Then came the allegorical floats; “The Milk of The Gods” to say that the heavenly drink is present in various civilisations (no joke?), through a yoghurt feast and the preferred delicacies in China (who would have known!), to “Yoghurt, from the Otoman Empire to the European Courts”. Seriously, have they run of themes for the carnival?? Other schools have decided to pay homage to famous painters, writers or other people that have somehow contributed to Brazil’s cultural growth. Themes such as important historical events or examples of cultures heritage are also common. But milk?

At the end of the parade, the commentators expressed their opinions, visibly struggling not to laugh. Someone said that their enredo was forced. Well, how much can you sing about the white liquid? Globo itself called the theme “unusual”. Surely “cheesy” would have been more appropriate.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The costumes were beautiful, the floats all glittery and sparkingly chee.. cheerful, the dancers shook their feathers sensually and all that. But as one person on the studio commented, it was all like “squeezing milk out of a stone”.*

http://g1.globo.com/carnaval/2012/fotos/2012/02/veja-fotos-do-desfile-da-porto-da-pedra.html#F375240

* é como tirar leite da pedra were the exact words, how accurate.

In the spotlight

Do you want to participate in a TV programme? I was asked one day. As an audience member, of course. Sure, why not, it might be an interesting experience, I thought. When I learned it’s a Jerry-Springer-type show, I winced, but curiosity won. After all, I had never visited a TV station before nor had taken part in any programme. This one was going to be recorded and I silently hoped they would make me sit somewhere where I would be invisible. Not that anyone would recognise me on this hemisphere, but just as a precaution. My boyfriend went with me (it was his idea!), but since the show’s host prefers female audiences, he was sent to the very corner of the bench and told not to stand up. I was granted no such privilege. Just the opposite. I don’t watch TV much and somehow I didn’t realise that the audience in the studio is expected to express loud joy/disapproval at crucial moments. Two production ladies made sure you knew when that was and encouraged you to give  your best. That meant having to clap (ok, I can do that much), wave your arms in the air (erm...),  stand up, sit down, stand up again, cheer when you, or the producers, liked what the guests said and boo when you/they didn’t. Pretty tiring, especially when you have a massive studio light shining right on your head, making you painfully aware of the power of television. Literally. The other females around me (the males were really well hidden) didn’t mind and, judging by the fancy dresses and heavy make-up, most of them seemed to think they were the stars of the night. In my jeans and Garfield top I stood out like a sore thumb.

By now you must be dying to hear what happened in the show. Nothing much. A well-endowed lady in her mid-twenties, and a very short evening dress, was accusing her ex-boyfriend/husband (sorry, I evidently wasn’t paying attention) of having betrayed her with two men at the same time and not paying child support, while he claimed not to be the father of her child. There was some pushing and shoving, with four bodyguards making sure it didn’t get out of hand, as well your regular, I suppose, cursing and blame-shifting. No tears, surprisingly, but instead, wait for it, wait for it! – some singing (the man), booty-shaking  to the rhythms of Brazilian funk (the woman) , shirt-ripping and chest-bearing (the man again)! If it’s your only chance to appear on television, you might as well make the most of it, right?

Spoiler alert. The production had had a DNA test made whose result was revealed towards the end. The man, having fiercely denied betrayal, was proved to be the father, to which the woman reacted: “Now you’re f***.” Steam rose from above the audience. I wanted to hide.

The photo was taken after the show was over.

In case you want to form your own opinion about the show, it's Programa do Ratinho @ SBT. Don't say I didn't warn you.