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When I was a little girl, my parents took me to see the Christmas decorations on the streets which, in addition to twinkling lights and decorated trees, also included a small crowd of Santa Clauses. Nothing special, a prosaic family activity that my older sister loved, as did most children. Most, but not me.

The memories I have of that first encounter with the street Santas are one of those blurred memories we have of events from our early childhood, but the impact that the experience had on me was so strong that I can still feel it vividly today, and I can only describe it as fear and amazement.

Fear because they were obviously impostors, trying to pass themselves off as the real Santa Claus. and amazement because the adults seemed not to realize that, if there was a Santa Claus on every corner, they could only be copies of the real one, the true Santa, who would never stay on the sidewalk shouting out promotions for a shoe shop.

To make things even worse, they insisted that I should sit on the lap of one of the fakeSantas and have a picture taken! Were adults really that stupid? Apparently, yes.

If the adults who were supposed to protect me seemed not to realize the danger (who were those men in red with fake beards, anyway?), then it was up to me to get out of that situation. I was alone in my mission to unmask the fraudsters and I resisted bravely, fighting with the weapons I had at the time, crying and probably kicking a bit, too. It had some effect, I guess. At least, not a single photo with Santa Claus. And, by the way, I also learned not to trust people who pretend to be what they are not.

You might think that I was a very suspicious little girl and that I did not experience the magic of Christmas, but I prefer to believe that I was, in fact, a very smart little girl, who was not easily fooled and had an admirable sense of survival.

I certainly did not doubt the existence Santa Claus, quite the opposite, but my Santa Claus, the one who inhabited my mind and heart as a child, was a transcendental, powerful being, and he did not even remotely resemble those poorly made copies that were certainly not the responsible ones for the presents I found under the Christmas tree in the living room on the morning of the 25th.

Probably many other kids have cried the first time the met a street Santa or questioned the profusion of Santa Clauses on the streets, I was just more determined than average and did not give in.

This Christmas, I wish you the determination of that little girl and the discernment to distinguish the true magic of Christmas, the one you cannot explain but feel deep in your heart, from the false promises and the meaningless “ho-ho-hos”.

Merry Christmas.

Be seeing you!

G. F.

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Yesterday, on the way home after a delicious dinner at a small Colombian restaurant in the neighborhood, I noticed that the driver was listening to my favourite jazz program and whose host usually treats me with great attention. I was so happy to meet a member of the Jazz family that I immediately texted the show host and the jazz-loving driver got greetings from him, live on air.

The driver told me that listening to jazz made him more atttemptive to other kinds of music. “Now I even like opera!”, he said. I could not help but thinking about the enormous power of music to get people together, and how one genre usually leads to another, often making classifications between classical and popular music silly.

Speaking of jazz in particular, perhaps because it is a niche that has been out of the spotlight for some time already, it gives us the impression that its fans are but a few souls scattered around, which is a big mistake. The jazz family is huge and everywhere.

Talking about the congregational aspect of music, I think that sometimes it clashes with the so-called herd instinct or, as the Oxford Dictinary defines it: “an inclination in people or animals to behave or think like the majority”.

Extensively exploited by advertising, it explains a lot of the “more of the same”, that seems to be the policy for most radio stations (and tv shows etc). Any attentive music listener knows what I am talking about. With the argument that “this is what people want to hear”, an intense narrowing of what is heard or not heard on major communication channels is justified.

The algorithm (always the algorithm) did not invent musical sameness. It just intensified an already existing process. It is somehow sad we actually do not even notice how our playlists have very few choices that are truly ours and a whole lot of suggestions from…guess what? Your Highness, the algorithm.

Of course, you read this many, many times already, but you do not care too much, because the algorithm and you are the same, you think. It knows exactly what you like. It can see your soul and preview what you want to listen, right? No, honey. Wrong. Totally wrong.

The first step to find out what you really like is to pay attention to what you hear and decide, undisturbed, whether a song will be saved in your playlist.

The next step is to find out more about the artists who touch your heart. There is a world of music production that is not part of the streaming platform catalogs. Do your homework and be amazed by your discoveries!

Now go back to your “most played from the previous year” playlist and review your concepts. I would love to know what’s changed, what’s left and what’s new.

Be seeing you!

G.F.

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Corporations always win. The average individual, caught in the net of big companies, which will decide all aspects of their lives. From what you eat, to where you keep your money; from how you spend your leisure time to with whom you spend your pleasure time, there is always a corporation involved. Not even religious dates manage to escape the voracious radar of corporations and Christmas is no exception.

My story begins early in the month, on December 6th. On that day I bought online eighteen packages of Panettone to give as a present to family and friends. In Brazil, the Italian yeast-leavened bread, usually made with raisins, candied fruit peels, almonds, and a bit of brandy is a holiday traditional, and I was very happy for the good deal. With the delivery due to the fourteenth, what could go wrong? Well, quite a lot, as I would find out.

By the 10th it was clear to me that the package would not arrive on time. My account on the web store kept showing: “preparing your order” and the web chat was not a big help either. One day, I waited online for seven hours (I started in the 79th position on the line) just to be automatically disconnect, when the counter showed there were three people ahead of me. Pure evil? A total lack of organization? A mix of both?

I was not only very angry about not getting any kind of attention by the company, but also totally frustrated about the lack of my (already plaid) gifts. My sister came with a partial solution: a local super market had enough packages to replace my lost, by the same price. Great! The big corporations would not ruin my Holiday, although there was still the matter of the money to be solved.

On the 15th, since the delivered date had expired, I logged in again on my account on the web store and canceled the purchase. No need to tell you that, again, the company did not contact me. Little did I know, the plot twist was about to happen.

On the 20th the order arrived. Watching that huge box with all the packages laying on living room I felt confused. No sign from the company, no money back, double costs to me, double profits for them (if you consider the replacements bought at the supermarket). I simply did not know what to do, and hated the fact of being made “a hostage” by a big company.

I felt really angry and quite guilty for having such a feeling so close to Christmas. After all, no situation is so bad that it cannot be made worse by guilt. On the following day, I had a great idea, which turned the situation in my favor. A second plot twist: instead of trying to reach the company for a refund, I would simply donate the Panettones to the orphanage I usually help. Of course!

This way, it does not matter anymore, if the company will ever pay me back or, at least, answer one of the numerous e-mails I´ve sent. The packages had already paid themselves, so to speak. This time, the big corporation would not win, for a change.

The next day, the box with the Panettone packages was gone and there was a big empty space in my living room, but my heart was overflowing with pure joy. Since then, I feel ready for a Happy New Year.

Be seeing you!

G.F.