Marcos, 23 anos, namora a Di, tem uma gata chamada Sofia. Adora música, cinema, HQs, livros, séries de TV, videogames e tudo que é gadget.
Estuda cinema na FAAP, tenta fazer filmes e assiste tudo que tem chance.
Acumula CDs, DVDs e HQs pela casa.
Sonha em ter um quarto só de depósito. Toma banho quente até no calor e água gelada e sorvete até no frio.
Paulista, paulistano e são-paulino.
Fã de mais bandas e filmes do que dá pra citar. (é melhor perguntar)
Bom, aqui está o tal trecho do livro. Na verdade, acho que serão dois. Se eu não estiver cansado depois de transcrever o primeiro. De qualquer jeito, vou devagar e sempre, ainda to no ICQ e tudo mais...
"That´s the thing that puzzles me about those who feel contemporary pop (and I use the word to encompass soul, reggae, country, rock - anything and everything that might be regarded as trashy) is beneath them, or behind them, or beyond them - some preposition denoting distance, anyway: Does this mean that you never hear, or at least enjoy, new songs, that everything that you whistle or hum was written years, decades, centuries ago? Do you really deny yourselves the pleasure of mastering a tune (a pleasure, incidentally, that your generation is perhaps the first in mankind to forgo) because your are afraid it might make you look as if you don´t know who Harold Bloom is? Wow. I´ll bet you´re fun at parties."
"A couple of times a year I make myself a tape to play in the car, a tape full of all the new songs I´ve loved over the previous few months, and every time I finish one, I can´t believe there´ll be another. Yet there always is, and I can´t wait for the next one; you need only a few hundred more things like that, and you´ve got a life worth living."
